The van Helsing estate, home to the van Helsing family and the Hellsing organization, was usually bustling with activity in the late afternoon, as the elite vampire-hunting shock troops performed maintenance and final check-ups of their equipment in preparation for the coming night's activities. Yet today, the soldiers - to a man - were cowering under whatever was handy, unless they could come up with a plausible reason to be far, far away. Because sweet, timid little Integra, darling daughter of the commander, was throwing a tantrum, the likes of which had not been heard in centuries.
"No! Father, I will not go to Hogwarts! What they teach is heresy - blasphemy - abomination!. I mean, witchcraft! They should all burn in Hell!" The final word was accompanied with a resounding crash as one of the flower vases in the room decided to spontaneously shatter in a particularly spectacular fashion.
The elder van Helsing shook his head at his daughter, who was most likely the cause of the explosion in the first place. He shouldn't have left so much of her upbringing to the house vicar, it seemed - the man was good for blessing weapons and rousing the troops, but he had precious little tact or tolerance for other faiths - and tolerance, feigned or real, would be a neccessary survival skill in the next head of the van Helsing family and the Hellsing organization. Besides the need to learn to control her wild talents, he had great faith that Integra Wingates Fairbrooks van Helsing would learn the value of tolerance and unlikely alliances there. In fact, he could almost guarantee it.
"Daughter, it is necessary to go there in order to learn to control your powers - they can't be driven out of you, and the only other option would be to lock you in a room until they fade away, which usually leaves the poor witch or wizard insane. Is that what you want, Integra? To live as a prisoner in this tower until madness takes you?"
"But they're heathena, father! Blasphemers!" Integra whinged, and her father sighed.
"One day soon, Integra, you must learn that the one God has many faces, and that each man may choose the one he finds most suitable. As witches are born, and not made, do you not think that others at this school will share your faith? God gave you this gift, and I expect he had in mind that you use it, not throw it away,"
The argument continued for a few more hours before he finally wore her down to grudging acceptance. Drat that accursed vicar!
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(Posted Wed, 24 Nov 2004 00:54)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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