D" for Short
Frivolous Things ( Chapter 4 )
It all started when Dante was six-years old. It was ten o'clock at night—a time when most of the manor's inhabitants were either asleep or hard at work hunting vampires—and he was bored. His tutors had gone home, and there was, in the boy's opinion, absolutely nothing to do. His father was out hunting. His mother was making sure that his father hunted the things she told him to hunt. Most everyone else who was awake was hunting as well, or at least engaged in some sort of support activity. Dante wasn't allowed to help with missions yet, even though he knew which end of the gun to point at the vampire and how to squeeze the trigger.
Sighing, the child wandered to an old study that had been converted into a television room and curled up on the well-worn leather couch that sat against the back wall. He retrieved the television remote from the small oak end table to his right and turned the set on. Being a dhampir meant that Dante did not observe the usual waking hours of children his age, and that meant he usually did not watch television, since he slept through the hours of the day when most children's programs were aired. He didn't mind, since he had little interest in the shows anyway, but he didn't much care for the programs aimed at adults either, despite the fact that he sometimes sat with his mother while she watched the news.
Tonight's offerings did not look any better than usual. Dante scanned through the channels and found nothing but pointless sports, old news, and dramas and comedies that he was too young to properly understand. He repeated the process, and was on the verge of giving up when the next press of the channel button summoned the pounding of hooves against grass and dirt. A small band of scruffy-looking ponies was tearing across a field, unencumbered, as the sun set behind them. Dante's interest was suddenly piqued. He'd always liked horses, even though he'd never really been around them.
For the next forty-five minutes, the boy did not move from his seat or touch the remote. His eyes eagerly took in every nuance of the animals on the screen, and he listened with rapt attention as the program's narrator described the history of the horse in some detail. He had never realized how much there was to learn about them. Most of what was said went beyond Dante's comprehension, but that didn't matter. At some point in the program, the child's fascination with the animals had transformed into something more concrete and infinitely more dangerous to his parents' sanity.
The boy had decided that he wanted a horse.
~*~*~*~
Alucard raised an eyebrow when his son brought home yet another book about horses. Over the past few years, the boy had begun to amass a fairly impressive library of his own, with books on a wide variety of topics, but at least a quarter of these volumes were devoted to an animal that it had been made clear Dante could never have. The family occupation simply did not allow time for pets—Alucard excluded, Integra would sometimes say—and Dante understood this. Quite frankly, Alucard could not understand where the fourteen-year-old's obsession with horses had come from. What had been a passing interest had practically become a disease eight years earlier and had never gone away. The vampire counted himself fortunate that his son had finally stopped asking for a horse of his own after three years of hearing “no”.
“Another one?” Alucard asked when Dante had settled in the chair opposite his own to read.
“Another one,” the boy answered neutrally. He turned to the first page. The lack of any light save that from the fire in the massive hearth did nothing to impede him. Dante could see as well in the dark as his father did.
“Why do you insist on this pursuit?” the vampire pressed, heedless of his son's preoccupation with the book. “Your mother and I have already made our views on the subject quite clear.” It was not the horses that Alucard minded. He had been born in a place and time where the beasts were indispensable. He could appreciate their usefulness, and even recalled one or two of his own long-dead mounts with fondness. What Alucard did not understand was why, at fourteen, Dante continued to indulge a daydream that had little purpose and no chance of fulfillment.
Dante set his book in his lap and looked up to regard his father. Blue eyes met crimson as he explained. “Because I like them. It doesn't matter that I've never had a horse, or that I never will have a horse. What matters is that I enjoy them.” He smiled that close-lipped smile he'd inherited from his mother. “I may be the next leader of Hellsing, but I'm still a teenager. I have to disagree with you and Mother about something.”
Alucard snorted, and summoned a cold wind to riffle the pages of Dante's book. “You lost your place,” he remarked. “Let's go train.” He didn't give his son time to argue before he grasped him by the arm and pulled him out of the chair. Guns and swords were far more interesting than equines in this day and age—more useful, too.
~*~*~*~
A small bag of gold coins was passed from one hand to another. The human participant in the transaction tipped his hat and smiled. He was approaching middle-age, judging by the deep creases in his tanned face and the few grey hairs that peppered his predominately brown beard. His clothes were made of roughly spun cotton, and stained with grease and dirt. “Thanks very much, Sir. You won't be disappointed. If it needs any tuning up, just come right on back and I'll take care of it. Even give you a discount.”
The man's customer—a striking contrast to the seller, clad as he was in dark, well-tailored clothes and blessed with a youthful face and flawless, pale skin—simply nodded and turned away, leading his recent purchase towards the edge of town. The money to buy it had come from his father six months earlier, intended as a birthday gift. A brief bout of lucidity had apparently reawakened the Sacred Ancestor's paternal affections, and D had accepted the gesture without argument. It was the first time his father had acted like his old self in nearly three centuries, and a rare respite from the conflict that had soured their relationship since Integra's death. While D had continued to carry out Hellsing's mission, his father had worked to create the vampire nation that currently dominated civilization.
Once he was clear of town, D paused and drew the reins over his new horse's head. The animal was unremarkable by current cybernetic and bioengineering standards, but that mattered very little to the hunter. He only cared that the gelding was reliable and in good condition. As the dhampir swung into the saddle, he recalled the note his father had sent with the coins.
Happy birthday, Dante (or is it still D? I can't understand why you ever insisted on that name in the first place). Take these coins and buy yourself something useful. Don't waste it all on a daydream.
~*~*~*~
Closing Note: If you have a horse crazy child or are horse crazy yourself, you will have an intimate understanding of what D put his parents through, especially during those three years of asking for a horse of his own.
Sighing, the child wandered to an old study that had been converted into a television room and curled up on the well-worn leather couch that sat against the back wall. He retrieved the television remote from the small oak end table to his right and turned the set on. Being a dhampir meant that Dante did not observe the usual waking hours of children his age, and that meant he usually did not watch television, since he slept through the hours of the day when most children's programs were aired. He didn't mind, since he had little interest in the shows anyway, but he didn't much care for the programs aimed at adults either, despite the fact that he sometimes sat with his mother while she watched the news.
Tonight's offerings did not look any better than usual. Dante scanned through the channels and found nothing but pointless sports, old news, and dramas and comedies that he was too young to properly understand. He repeated the process, and was on the verge of giving up when the next press of the channel button summoned the pounding of hooves against grass and dirt. A small band of scruffy-looking ponies was tearing across a field, unencumbered, as the sun set behind them. Dante's interest was suddenly piqued. He'd always liked horses, even though he'd never really been around them.
For the next forty-five minutes, the boy did not move from his seat or touch the remote. His eyes eagerly took in every nuance of the animals on the screen, and he listened with rapt attention as the program's narrator described the history of the horse in some detail. He had never realized how much there was to learn about them. Most of what was said went beyond Dante's comprehension, but that didn't matter. At some point in the program, the child's fascination with the animals had transformed into something more concrete and infinitely more dangerous to his parents' sanity.
The boy had decided that he wanted a horse.
~*~*~*~
Alucard raised an eyebrow when his son brought home yet another book about horses. Over the past few years, the boy had begun to amass a fairly impressive library of his own, with books on a wide variety of topics, but at least a quarter of these volumes were devoted to an animal that it had been made clear Dante could never have. The family occupation simply did not allow time for pets—Alucard excluded, Integra would sometimes say—and Dante understood this. Quite frankly, Alucard could not understand where the fourteen-year-old's obsession with horses had come from. What had been a passing interest had practically become a disease eight years earlier and had never gone away. The vampire counted himself fortunate that his son had finally stopped asking for a horse of his own after three years of hearing “no”.
“Another one?” Alucard asked when Dante had settled in the chair opposite his own to read.
“Another one,” the boy answered neutrally. He turned to the first page. The lack of any light save that from the fire in the massive hearth did nothing to impede him. Dante could see as well in the dark as his father did.
“Why do you insist on this pursuit?” the vampire pressed, heedless of his son's preoccupation with the book. “Your mother and I have already made our views on the subject quite clear.” It was not the horses that Alucard minded. He had been born in a place and time where the beasts were indispensable. He could appreciate their usefulness, and even recalled one or two of his own long-dead mounts with fondness. What Alucard did not understand was why, at fourteen, Dante continued to indulge a daydream that had little purpose and no chance of fulfillment.
Dante set his book in his lap and looked up to regard his father. Blue eyes met crimson as he explained. “Because I like them. It doesn't matter that I've never had a horse, or that I never will have a horse. What matters is that I enjoy them.” He smiled that close-lipped smile he'd inherited from his mother. “I may be the next leader of Hellsing, but I'm still a teenager. I have to disagree with you and Mother about something.”
Alucard snorted, and summoned a cold wind to riffle the pages of Dante's book. “You lost your place,” he remarked. “Let's go train.” He didn't give his son time to argue before he grasped him by the arm and pulled him out of the chair. Guns and swords were far more interesting than equines in this day and age—more useful, too.
~*~*~*~
A small bag of gold coins was passed from one hand to another. The human participant in the transaction tipped his hat and smiled. He was approaching middle-age, judging by the deep creases in his tanned face and the few grey hairs that peppered his predominately brown beard. His clothes were made of roughly spun cotton, and stained with grease and dirt. “Thanks very much, Sir. You won't be disappointed. If it needs any tuning up, just come right on back and I'll take care of it. Even give you a discount.”
The man's customer—a striking contrast to the seller, clad as he was in dark, well-tailored clothes and blessed with a youthful face and flawless, pale skin—simply nodded and turned away, leading his recent purchase towards the edge of town. The money to buy it had come from his father six months earlier, intended as a birthday gift. A brief bout of lucidity had apparently reawakened the Sacred Ancestor's paternal affections, and D had accepted the gesture without argument. It was the first time his father had acted like his old self in nearly three centuries, and a rare respite from the conflict that had soured their relationship since Integra's death. While D had continued to carry out Hellsing's mission, his father had worked to create the vampire nation that currently dominated civilization.
Once he was clear of town, D paused and drew the reins over his new horse's head. The animal was unremarkable by current cybernetic and bioengineering standards, but that mattered very little to the hunter. He only cared that the gelding was reliable and in good condition. As the dhampir swung into the saddle, he recalled the note his father had sent with the coins.
Happy birthday, Dante (or is it still D? I can't understand why you ever insisted on that name in the first place). Take these coins and buy yourself something useful. Don't waste it all on a daydream.
~*~*~*~
Closing Note: If you have a horse crazy child or are horse crazy yourself, you will have an intimate understanding of what D put his parents through, especially during those three years of asking for a horse of his own.