A dear friend of mine once referred to our mutual place of work as a "ball of confusion". She was quoting a song I believe. I had laughed at her witticism but had not truly appreciated the concept on a personal level until now.
My final test on the Tortoise is today but instead of concentrating on my training, I have spent these last three nights trying to figure out what was going on with my hormones and why I had reacted so strongly to Walter during my shooting lesson with little to no success.
It had taken less than a second to decide that talking to Alucard was right out. He either either knew nothing about it, in which case I would only be giving him further ammunition to abuse and exploit me or he already knew all about it, perhaps had even caused it but was choosing not to tell me for his own amusement. In which case he would simply abuse and humiliate me for my "whiny ingratitude". Plus, there was the almost certain chance that he would gleefully and quite publicly share this information with the party in question.
Alucard had made it clear on more than one occasion that he did not like the influence Walter had over me. He would have no qualms about using this embarrassing revelation to drive a wedge into that relationship. As awkward as I was feeling around Walter at the moment, it would be nothing compared to what would happen if he were appraised of my new found, ahem, awareness of him.
He would, I am sure, be very polite and understanding about the whole thing. He would probably try to attach a rational, biological explanation to it like he had with the tears. What a horrid thought, even if it was what I was trying to do myself. Worse yet, he might try to be kind and let me down gently thinking I had developed some ridiculous schoolgirl crush on him, which I haven't! At least I don't think I have. I mean, I remember having stupid crushes when I was younger and even a few cases of unrequited lust but this thing that was happening to me held none of the ridiculous euphoria or anxious nausea that either of these states always seemed to entail.
Regardless of the cause, the thought of losing Walter's respect and companionship fills me with dread. It isn't worth the risk so I have shut my mouth and am running Alucard's mazes like the good little lab lab rat I am, baulking and complaining I hope just enough so he won't get too suspicious.
This however, has not stopped me from conducting a few little experiments of my own. I have begun a covert operation to discretely invade the personal space of as many of the denizens of the Hellsing estate, especially the male ones, as time and circumstance will allow, so far with extremely mixed and not particularly useful results.
I began my research in the lab. It seemed the logical place to start. Plus, I had to be there anyway, might as well test them while they were testing me.
It was a total wash. Dr. Levin smells of antibiotic soap and has the annoying habit of taking my temperature whenever I approach him and poor Andrew smells of acne wash, aftershave and fear (well he does work with Miss Pringle) and tends to start stammering when he gets close to cleavage. Neither of them elicited a single spark of the warm and fuzzeys in me.
I decided to try the kitchen next. I figured I could sniff the cook and bake some treats for the Geese at the same time. The cook, a grizzled old Hellsing veteran by the name Garvel, tolerated my presence in the kitchen because I had introduced him to cream cheese brownies but if poor Seras so much as poked her nose in the door he would hurl blistering curses and saucepans with deadly accuracy.
My final test on the Tortoise is today but instead of concentrating on my training, I have spent these last three nights trying to figure out what was going on with my hormones and why I had reacted so strongly to Walter during my shooting lesson with little to no success.
It had taken less than a second to decide that talking to Alucard was right out. He either either knew nothing about it, in which case I would only be giving him further ammunition to abuse and exploit me or he already knew all about it, perhaps had even caused it but was choosing not to tell me for his own amusement. In which case he would simply abuse and humiliate me for my "whiny ingratitude". Plus, there was the almost certain chance that he would gleefully and quite publicly share this information with the party in question.
Alucard had made it clear on more than one occasion that he did not like the influence Walter had over me. He would have no qualms about using this embarrassing revelation to drive a wedge into that relationship. As awkward as I was feeling around Walter at the moment, it would be nothing compared to what would happen if he were appraised of my new found, ahem, awareness of him.
He would, I am sure, be very polite and understanding about the whole thing. He would probably try to attach a rational, biological explanation to it like he had with the tears. What a horrid thought, even if it was what I was trying to do myself. Worse yet, he might try to be kind and let me down gently thinking I had developed some ridiculous schoolgirl crush on him, which I haven't! At least I don't think I have. I mean, I remember having stupid crushes when I was younger and even a few cases of unrequited lust but this thing that was happening to me held none of the ridiculous euphoria or anxious nausea that either of these states always seemed to entail.
Regardless of the cause, the thought of losing Walter's respect and companionship fills me with dread. It isn't worth the risk so I have shut my mouth and am running Alucard's mazes like the good little lab lab rat I am, baulking and complaining I hope just enough so he won't get too suspicious.
This however, has not stopped me from conducting a few little experiments of my own. I have begun a covert operation to discretely invade the personal space of as many of the denizens of the Hellsing estate, especially the male ones, as time and circumstance will allow, so far with extremely mixed and not particularly useful results.
I began my research in the lab. It seemed the logical place to start. Plus, I had to be there anyway, might as well test them while they were testing me.
It was a total wash. Dr. Levin smells of antibiotic soap and has the annoying habit of taking my temperature whenever I approach him and poor Andrew smells of acne wash, aftershave and fear (well he does work with Miss Pringle) and tends to start stammering when he gets close to cleavage. Neither of them elicited a single spark of the warm and fuzzeys in me.
I decided to try the kitchen next. I figured I could sniff the cook and bake some treats for the Geese at the same time. The cook, a grizzled old Hellsing veteran by the name Garvel, tolerated my presence in the kitchen because I had introduced him to cream cheese brownies but if poor Seras so much as poked her nose in the door he would hurl blistering curses and saucepans with deadly accuracy.
At first I just assumed it was the usual prejudice against vampires until I realized he seemed to have the same visceral reaction to all females under the age of 40. "Jezebels, the lot o' them!" He was wont to inform me. Even Sir Integra tended to avoid the kitchen when he was in a snit so I really wasn't too surprised when I leaned in a bit too close to him over the salmon croquettes, to feel the cold steel prongs of a toasting fork press against my ribs. "Now then miss, we both know your a good gel so why don't you just step back a bit and I won't have to dent my nice new Calphalon pan 'ere." I squeaked a bit and scuttled back to my brownies.
"Women!" He grumped. "Just can't help it I guess but you resist it ya hear gel? Resist temptation and avoid damnation I always say." I wasn't sure which temptation he was admonishing me to resist; him or the croquettes but nodded solemnly to avoid ejection from the kitchen. He gave me a final glare before turning back to his salmon and muttering about Jezebels. I was still within saucepan range so I suppressed my amusement and pulled the brownies from the oven. Besides, I had my results which were, well, nothing really. There was no weird awareness or urge to cuddle, despite Garvel's paranoid assertions, and he smelled like old man and salmon cakes which, while not horrible, certainly did not have me swooning with longing, just the heat.
I sighed and cut up the brownies. Maybe I needed younger, less deadly subjects. Paid mercenaries perhaps? Hmm...Several handsome young test subjects all packed together in one spot. Yes, the Geese would do nicely. "Work, work, work." I mock groused to myself as I piled baked goods on a tray. I cleaned up my work area, bid farewell to the cook and scampered over to the barracks.
--------
Well that went over like a lead balloon. My first victim/test subject was Zelig. Not for any particular reason other than the fact that he pounced on me the second I walked through the door.
Unfortunately Griffin, Bulls and Sherman had spotted me as well and a brief melee ensued over possession of the goodies. Zelig may be small but he fights nasty and so with a few carefully aimed kicks and punches he managed to set the other three against each other and escape with me and half the contents of the tray before anyone, me especially, knew what had happened. That man really likes his brownies.
"What am I going to do with you?" I sighed as he dragged hiss prizes, myself included, into a defensible corner.
"I've already told you the plan." He said through a mouthful of fudge and walnuts.
"I refuse to be either your death muse or a groupie." I snapped.
"We both know I'm going to talk you into it."
"You most certainly won't."
"We'll see." He said patting my hand. He plopped down at a table and began sorting his horde. I snorted then sank down next to him. He gave me a suspicious look then seemed to remember I was the one who had brought his treats in the first place and relaxed.
"So what are you working on today?" I asked. Watching in fascination as he built a twisting tower out of brownies.
"Well, I was working on my mural but my death muse," He said giving me the hairy eyeball. "Is being stubborn and won't pose for me."
"Death muses can be like that." I said unsympathetically. "But Mr. Russell's daughter seemed quite keen to be a nymph for you."
"Oh yes." He said. "She's already agreed to pose."
"Yeah, that to."
"I do have this effect on women." He said. "Can't help it. It's quite annoying sometimes when I'm trying to work."
I narrowed my eyes. It's often hard to tell if Zelig is joking. I'm not completely sure he even has a sense of humour by normal human standards.
"I'll sketch her in tomorrow but today..." He said pulling a brownie, Jenga style, from the tower. "I'm working on a side project combining natural patterns and fractal imagery onto textiles. You see," He said, warming to his subject. "most mathematicians think of fractals as self-similar complex equations, that is to say, a reproduced detailed geometrical pattern that remains similar and repeats the pattern in finer and finer detail the more closely you examine it. Making the structure very hard topographically to measure. You may have seen some of the recently published photographs of Mandelbrot sets that are so popular right now. Very sci-fi, very trendy. It's what most laymen tend to think of when you mention fractals but the thing is they are also very common in nature. Fractal patterns are everywhere and people just don't see them often because they are so large or so small as to be easily missed." He pulled a gel pen out from behind his ear and cast about for a writing surface. "Take mountains for example. From the widest range down to the smallest pebble, you seem the same shapes and patterns repeating over and over. Look at the oak tree its branch its leaf. The cauliflower, the fern..." He had given up on paper and started drawing patterns on the back of my hand and up my arm.
I didn't mind though it was an interesting topic plus it gave me an excuse to lean in and get a good sniff. Not bad. For all his uncaring attitude towards most social conventions, Zelig was actually quite well groomed. His black uniform was always impeccably clean and pressed his boots mirror bright and he wouldn't be caught dead out of his room if his goatee weren't closely trimmed and his midnight hair not gelled to within an inch of its life. He was as handsome and sleek as a cat and twice as temperamental.
All things considered, I guess I should have been attracted to him but for some reason I always seemed instead to be torn between wanting to mother him or throttle him to death. Besides, who wants to date anyone who spends more time in the bathroom getting ready than you do? Still, if my hormones were acting up I should at least feel a bit tingly around him shouldn't I?
I leaned in a bit and gave him a sniff. Not bad. Sort of citrus and spicy like a cloven fruit but no strong urge to nuzzle him. Zelig, oblivious as usual, simply used my proximity to roll up my sleeve and begin tracing lines along my biceps never missing a beat in the conversation. "ah the fern is actually a favourite of mine, so beautifully complex in it's apparent simplicity." He demonstrated by inking a sheaf of fronds down my triceps. "You see how nicely they all fit together like a beautiful nature puzzle, complementing and interlocking. Now add some lighting and some frost. See how jagged they are and yet they both bloom....Corrine!" He yelped.
"Sorry, but it tickled." He had reached the inside of my elbow causing me to jerk a bit.
"Gah! I hate it when women move. Why do they always want to wiggle when I am trying to work on them?"
"And now you know why Zelig's girls always leave disappointed." Said Sherman brightly as he slid up to us and tried to steal a brownie. "Hey Corrine."
Zelig blocked him with a snarl. "Mine! Go get your own."
"Which, the brownie or the girl?"
"Both! And I'll have you know the girls always come back."
"Cause ya pay them to."
"Of course I do they're professionals."
"They most certainly are." Agreed Sherman with a smirk. "Hard 'Working girls', each and every one."
Zelig frowned thoughtfully then perked up a bit. "Is that you won't pose for me Corrine? How bout I pay you a little something then you can say your a professional too."
Sherman barked with laughter as he reached over two fingers to gently ease my gaping mouth closed. "I think you've just shocked Corrine." He said.
"What, why?" Asked Zelig. "Your not so bad looking, I've done worse...we would have to do something about your outfit."
"Is he..." I whispered, struggling to find my voice. "...comparing me to a prostitute?" I asked Sherman.
"Um Zelig?" Said Sherman carefully. "Remember when we discussed how to talk to regular women?"
"Maybe." Replied Zelig as he restructured the brownie tower.
"well, perhaps this would be a good time to dust off the memory."
"But Corrine's not a regular girl." Snorted Zelig. "She's...well, Corrine."
"Yes but,"
"And once I pay her she'll be a pro, just like the other's." He slid a 20 pound note out of his wallet and placed in my hand. "There." He said with satisfaction.
I stared down at it, dumbfounded.
"Don't worry Corrine," Said Zelig patting my hand. "I'll be careful with you as its your first time and I know your worried about those extra pounds but I've always preferred the Rubenesque figure."
I clenched my fist around the money. It made a dangerous crumpling noise. "So now I'm a fat prostitute?"
"Don't worry," Chuckled Sherman. "He often forgets to sleep with them so you might be OK."
I whirled on him clutching a fistful of his shirt with my free hand. "What did you just say to me?"
"Just having a little fun is all Corrine."
I growled and twisted my wrist a bit. He smelled of flannel,sweat and, dare I flatter myself, just a hint of fear. No attraction there that's for sure.
"Ow! OK, now it's not so funny no more." He shifted a bit uncomfortably and frowned. "And whatcha so mad at me about? He's the one who said it."
"You started it. Besides Zelig doesn't know any better."
"True." Agreed Zelig.
"What?" I asked confused.
"My last therapist said I had boundary issues, something to do with childhood trauma I think, plus an almost pathological inability to correctly read social situations. Actually, he more shouted it than said it." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "'Course I'd just blown up his BMW."
I stared at him blankly.
"Um,could ya let go now Corrine?" Asked Sherman.
I glanced down to where my fist still clutched the front of his shirt. "I'm not sure that I should." I mused.
"Geeze! Why not?"
"Cause I really want to strangle someone at the moment and your the closest person."
"You know, you didn't used to be so violent."
"We have this effect on people." Said a voice from behind me. I tilted my head back to look into Stewart's smiling face.
"Hallo Corrine, you look like an Escher print."
"I know, Zelig did it. Kinda nifty huh?" I wiggled my arm back and forth a bit to show him eliciting a grunt of displeasure from Sherman.
"Dag woman!" He protested. "Yer rippen out the Love Rug...and who says 'nifty' any more?"
"I do." I said tugging warningly on his shirt. "Got a problem with that Mr. 'Love Rug'?"
"No Corrine." He said smartening up. "But it do kinda hurt a bit so if I say sorry could you just...let...go?"
"How bout we go over the your audio files from last week." Said Stewart as he carefully pried my fingers away from the Sherman's shirt. "I got some really freakish harmonic readings off your voice,
totally brilliant."
I nodded and started to walk away when I heard Zelig say.
"You see how she taps into her inner death muse to defend me? Don't make me unleash her upon you again"
"Nah, that ain't it trust me." Replied Sherman. "I've got seven sisters I know when a girl's 'on the ra..." I whirled and stalked back towards him eyes blazing. I felt Stewart's arm band about my waist.
"Zone's heating up." He said brightly as my feet lifted from the floor. "Extracting subject from the situation." I grumbled and glared daggers at my almost victims as Stewart dragged me away.
--------
Well that went over like a lead balloon. My first victim/test subject was Zelig. Not for any particular reason other than the fact that he pounced on me the second I walked through the door.
Unfortunately Griffin, Bulls and Sherman had spotted me as well and a brief melee ensued over possession of the goodies. Zelig may be small but he fights nasty and so with a few carefully aimed kicks and punches he managed to set the other three against each other and escape with me and half the contents of the tray before anyone, me especially, knew what had happened. That man really likes his brownies.
"What am I going to do with you?" I sighed as he dragged hiss prizes, myself included, into a defensible corner.
"I've already told you the plan." He said through a mouthful of fudge and walnuts.
"I refuse to be either your death muse or a groupie." I snapped.
"We both know I'm going to talk you into it."
"You most certainly won't."
"We'll see." He said patting my hand. He plopped down at a table and began sorting his horde. I snorted then sank down next to him. He gave me a suspicious look then seemed to remember I was the one who had brought his treats in the first place and relaxed.
"So what are you working on today?" I asked. Watching in fascination as he built a twisting tower out of brownies.
"Well, I was working on my mural but my death muse," He said giving me the hairy eyeball. "Is being stubborn and won't pose for me."
"Death muses can be like that." I said unsympathetically. "But Mr. Russell's daughter seemed quite keen to be a nymph for you."
"Oh yes." He said. "She's already agreed to pose."
"Yeah, that to."
"I do have this effect on women." He said. "Can't help it. It's quite annoying sometimes when I'm trying to work."
I narrowed my eyes. It's often hard to tell if Zelig is joking. I'm not completely sure he even has a sense of humour by normal human standards.
"I'll sketch her in tomorrow but today..." He said pulling a brownie, Jenga style, from the tower. "I'm working on a side project combining natural patterns and fractal imagery onto textiles. You see," He said, warming to his subject. "most mathematicians think of fractals as self-similar complex equations, that is to say, a reproduced detailed geometrical pattern that remains similar and repeats the pattern in finer and finer detail the more closely you examine it. Making the structure very hard topographically to measure. You may have seen some of the recently published photographs of Mandelbrot sets that are so popular right now. Very sci-fi, very trendy. It's what most laymen tend to think of when you mention fractals but the thing is they are also very common in nature. Fractal patterns are everywhere and people just don't see them often because they are so large or so small as to be easily missed." He pulled a gel pen out from behind his ear and cast about for a writing surface. "Take mountains for example. From the widest range down to the smallest pebble, you seem the same shapes and patterns repeating over and over. Look at the oak tree its branch its leaf. The cauliflower, the fern..." He had given up on paper and started drawing patterns on the back of my hand and up my arm.
I didn't mind though it was an interesting topic plus it gave me an excuse to lean in and get a good sniff. Not bad. For all his uncaring attitude towards most social conventions, Zelig was actually quite well groomed. His black uniform was always impeccably clean and pressed his boots mirror bright and he wouldn't be caught dead out of his room if his goatee weren't closely trimmed and his midnight hair not gelled to within an inch of its life. He was as handsome and sleek as a cat and twice as temperamental.
All things considered, I guess I should have been attracted to him but for some reason I always seemed instead to be torn between wanting to mother him or throttle him to death. Besides, who wants to date anyone who spends more time in the bathroom getting ready than you do? Still, if my hormones were acting up I should at least feel a bit tingly around him shouldn't I?
I leaned in a bit and gave him a sniff. Not bad. Sort of citrus and spicy like a cloven fruit but no strong urge to nuzzle him. Zelig, oblivious as usual, simply used my proximity to roll up my sleeve and begin tracing lines along my biceps never missing a beat in the conversation. "ah the fern is actually a favourite of mine, so beautifully complex in it's apparent simplicity." He demonstrated by inking a sheaf of fronds down my triceps. "You see how nicely they all fit together like a beautiful nature puzzle, complementing and interlocking. Now add some lighting and some frost. See how jagged they are and yet they both bloom....Corrine!" He yelped.
"Sorry, but it tickled." He had reached the inside of my elbow causing me to jerk a bit.
"Gah! I hate it when women move. Why do they always want to wiggle when I am trying to work on them?"
"And now you know why Zelig's girls always leave disappointed." Said Sherman brightly as he slid up to us and tried to steal a brownie. "Hey Corrine."
Zelig blocked him with a snarl. "Mine! Go get your own."
"Which, the brownie or the girl?"
"Both! And I'll have you know the girls always come back."
"Cause ya pay them to."
"Of course I do they're professionals."
"They most certainly are." Agreed Sherman with a smirk. "Hard 'Working girls', each and every one."
Zelig frowned thoughtfully then perked up a bit. "Is that you won't pose for me Corrine? How bout I pay you a little something then you can say your a professional too."
Sherman barked with laughter as he reached over two fingers to gently ease my gaping mouth closed. "I think you've just shocked Corrine." He said.
"What, why?" Asked Zelig. "Your not so bad looking, I've done worse...we would have to do something about your outfit."
"Is he..." I whispered, struggling to find my voice. "...comparing me to a prostitute?" I asked Sherman.
"Um Zelig?" Said Sherman carefully. "Remember when we discussed how to talk to regular women?"
"Maybe." Replied Zelig as he restructured the brownie tower.
"well, perhaps this would be a good time to dust off the memory."
"But Corrine's not a regular girl." Snorted Zelig. "She's...well, Corrine."
"Yes but,"
"And once I pay her she'll be a pro, just like the other's." He slid a 20 pound note out of his wallet and placed in my hand. "There." He said with satisfaction.
I stared down at it, dumbfounded.
"Don't worry Corrine," Said Zelig patting my hand. "I'll be careful with you as its your first time and I know your worried about those extra pounds but I've always preferred the Rubenesque figure."
I clenched my fist around the money. It made a dangerous crumpling noise. "So now I'm a fat prostitute?"
"Don't worry," Chuckled Sherman. "He often forgets to sleep with them so you might be OK."
I whirled on him clutching a fistful of his shirt with my free hand. "What did you just say to me?"
"Just having a little fun is all Corrine."
I growled and twisted my wrist a bit. He smelled of flannel,sweat and, dare I flatter myself, just a hint of fear. No attraction there that's for sure.
"Ow! OK, now it's not so funny no more." He shifted a bit uncomfortably and frowned. "And whatcha so mad at me about? He's the one who said it."
"You started it. Besides Zelig doesn't know any better."
"True." Agreed Zelig.
"What?" I asked confused.
"My last therapist said I had boundary issues, something to do with childhood trauma I think, plus an almost pathological inability to correctly read social situations. Actually, he more shouted it than said it." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "'Course I'd just blown up his BMW."
I stared at him blankly.
"Um,could ya let go now Corrine?" Asked Sherman.
I glanced down to where my fist still clutched the front of his shirt. "I'm not sure that I should." I mused.
"Geeze! Why not?"
"Cause I really want to strangle someone at the moment and your the closest person."
"You know, you didn't used to be so violent."
"We have this effect on people." Said a voice from behind me. I tilted my head back to look into Stewart's smiling face.
"Hallo Corrine, you look like an Escher print."
"I know, Zelig did it. Kinda nifty huh?" I wiggled my arm back and forth a bit to show him eliciting a grunt of displeasure from Sherman.
"Dag woman!" He protested. "Yer rippen out the Love Rug...and who says 'nifty' any more?"
"I do." I said tugging warningly on his shirt. "Got a problem with that Mr. 'Love Rug'?"
"No Corrine." He said smartening up. "But it do kinda hurt a bit so if I say sorry could you just...let...go?"
"How bout we go over the your audio files from last week." Said Stewart as he carefully pried my fingers away from the Sherman's shirt. "I got some really freakish harmonic readings off your voice,
totally brilliant."
I nodded and started to walk away when I heard Zelig say.
"You see how she taps into her inner death muse to defend me? Don't make me unleash her upon you again"
"Nah, that ain't it trust me." Replied Sherman. "I've got seven sisters I know when a girl's 'on the ra..." I whirled and stalked back towards him eyes blazing. I felt Stewart's arm band about my waist.
"Zone's heating up." He said brightly as my feet lifted from the floor. "Extracting subject from the situation." I grumbled and glared daggers at my almost victims as Stewart dragged me away.
No comments:
Post a Comment