i came out to have a good time and i am honestly feeling so attacked right now

[ciao]

TEST DRIVE MEME

HOW IT WORKS:

► STEP 1 | Post a comment with a character that's not in HH as if they're already in the setting; alternative version, post character who is in HH. Scenarios if you need 'em!
► STEP 2 | Tag around and get a feel for your characters, whether you're just voice testing or planning to actually app them in!
► STEP 3 | Post this all over your plurk and get people to join in on this jolly good fun. Don't forget: it's mandatory.

the copypasta life

Comments

Sir Integra Hellsing || Hellsing (Epilogue)

[beastofawoman]

A) Pleasure Gate

[Inside one of the more desolate bars, one may find a withered old woman residing at the piano. On occasion, you may hear jaunty little tunes tapped from the keys: minuets, sonatas... some of the more patriotic English folk songs. Though more often than not her mind would wander to the works of Liszt or Ravel, perhaps setting a more dismal tone than one would care for inside a bar. Not that Sir Hellsing cared. As a general rule, she played for herself.

If you so happen to be lucky, perhaps she may take your request...?]

B) Alumni Gate

[Thankfully, the piano is not her day job. Not for lack of talent, rather, her reluctance to play anything she deemed too cheerful. Throughout the week she would occupy the gym of Altaciere High School, epee in hand. Swordplay was about as natural as breathing to Integra, it was only fitting she would take up the position of fencing instructor.

Class is in session!]

((OOC: Feel to toss another prompt at me if the above don't work for you!))

pleasure gate

[skyped]

That was beautiful, and again, quite beautiful!

( what integra might have not expected was a tall blond man, clapping like a boy at her performance.

like a puppy who was happy to see their owner, he could not help but express his joy at hearing such beauty. he wasn't all that educated himself when it came to music, but he knew how to appreciate a good tune. )

Can you play the theme song to Mr. Rodney Rogers?

( and again, he isn't that cultured. )

[beastofawoman]

[As Integra finishes her peice-- Dance of Knights by Prokofiev, she looks up from the piano nearly devoid of expression. What is one supposed to feel after such an enthusiastic applause despite flooding the room with depressing music for the day?

Fortunately, she's not quite certain what he's referring to, either. Ah-- what years of a sheltered, privileged life would do to a woman. She doesn't exactly feel up to giving him the decency of a response either.

So instead, Keith will receive an abrupt transition into Rachmaninoff - Piano Concerto #2 in C Minor, acting as if she were unable to hear him at all.]

[skyped]

( the sudden change in tone, and being ignored made keith stand there hopelessly looking at the woman before her.

he wasn't the type to rudely interrupt her when she played, so he sat back down towards the side and listened.

when she finished, he clapped once more, this time nervously. )

.........And again.....how beautiful.

( should he strike up a conversation? she was beginning to intimidate him....but he was a gentleman, or at least he tried to be. )

How long have you been playing the piano for?

[beastofawoman]

[She doesn't speak, or at least not at first. How long had she been playing the piano again? Walter had taught her for about as long as she could speak. Walter...

She pulls a small, silver tin from her pocket, and plucks a cigar from inside of it, soon setting to light it.]

For over 40 years.

[She states, almost remorsefully. She's no piano prodigy for certain, though she can certainly carry a tune well enough.]

[skyped]

That's very impressive....

( he isn't sure how old she is, but she looks like she moves well. however- )

But that wasn't what I meant. How long have you been playing for, here, today?

[beastofawoman]

[Hmm... let's see. Well, she's let off from the school around 4:30, then she comes here...]

Nearly two hours. Why?

[She says, exhaling the smoke from her lungs and seeming perplexed.]

[skyped]

Just curious, and again, curious!

( that was amazing! especially to someone like him. )

How do you last so long? Don't your fingers get tired or strained?

[beastofawoman]

Not especially.

[Expressed in her utmost apathy. Her wrists are made to swish her blade with ease and write literal stacks of paperwork. The piano was to help her maintain dexterity. She didn't seem especially tired, and could go on like this for hours! Not that she was about to brag this fact.]

Perhaps it is because I play with swords, young man.

[Suddenly there's a hint of playful amusement to her tone. This woman is dangerous when she wants to be, bro.]

[skyped]

Swords? Young man? Hardly!

( he felt like an old soul-

even though he acted like a puppy. )

I'm closer to thirty than I am to twenty, but thanks for the compliment I suppose, and again, thanks!

( she was a curious little thing, and he couldn't help but ask some more questions. )

Swords you say? In what fashion?

[beastofawoman]

[Well it's not everyday you meet a 6ft tall woman, with Rapunzel hair, wears suits, and smokes cigars as if it were a much needed medication.]

When you get to be about my age, you'll understand.

['Young' isn't so much a compliment as it is an observation, in this instance. She is 52, after all.]

Ah--! I'm a knight.

[Perhaps not the type who rides in on a white horse to save princesses kind, but a knight nonetheless.]

[skyped]

Your age you say? You look rather young....

( it wasn't a compliment if it helps him not look like an idiot-

but really he was just being blunt. ),/small>

A knight?! How awesome is that? A real one? With a horse and all?

[beastofawoman]

The flatterer you are. [She balks. Don't take it personally, Keith. She's only teasing.] I could have sworn I had spotted another wrinkle this morning.

[Stupid old age. Old... wrinkles... Walter. Nope, totally not thinking about her asshole turncoat confidant right now.]

I'm afraid the invention of the plane and car have rendered our need for a trusty steed obsolete. Though it is not as if I am unable to ride a horse.

[The horse is ceremonial at best.]

B

[youmataisan]

[After a much longer summer vacation than she'd expected, Rei was surprised to find she's what's known as a 'freshman' in the high school this year. This faux-American school system is strange...

For instance, this month, her P.E. class was supposed to practice fencing. At least she's heard the instructor is actually a normal person and not one of those practically faceless natives.

Other kids might be chatting with friends or already tuning out as they arrive at the gym, but not Rei. The quiet, serious girl stands alone, calmly awaiting instruction of some kind. If she's going to do this, she might as well take it seriously.]

[beastofawoman]

[And quite the character she is. As her students enter the gymnasium, Integra removes her mask, revealing a patched left eye and allowing her hair to spill out to her knees.]

Good afternoon, class. [She addresses the class, emitting something of an amused chuckle.] I will be your instructor for the next semester, you may call me Sir Integra.

[She darts her eye up and down the room, observing the students. Normally, she would opt to catch some of the chattier students off guard, but something piqued her about this girl in particular.]

Might I have a volunteer, please?

[Said as she points her epee in Rei's direction.]

[youmataisan]

["Volunteer" doesn't seem to be the word for it. But Rei's habit has always been to be polite and well-behaved in school, so even though this isn't anything like her exclusive girls' academy in Japan, she nods and steps forward.]

Yes, ma'am.

[... Should she have said "sir" instead? It seems rather odd that a female instructor would refer to herself as "Sir Integra". But it's not her place to comment on that.]

Though I'm a novice, I'll do my best.

[She says with a bow to Integra. If this is the kind of stuffy, formal environment she's used to, it's no wonder she wasn't casually chatting with the others. Maybe she'll loosen up after a little more time, but old habits die hard.]

pleasure

[ciao]

[ how can italy ignore a beautiful woman--and the piano, i guess that's a focal point for him as well, isn't it? as if being called by the latest strikes of the keys, he holds a glass of wine in hand ]

Ciao ciao, bella~ that's some interesting taste in music, isn't it? Not often I hear many go from Lizt to Ravel, and after some English? [ he's not judging, in fact he's just very curious ] Perhaps you're a pianist at home?

[beastofawoman]

[She perks up from as she hears the voice from behind, and turns her head. What a peculiar question. He noticed.]

I dabble. [She chuckles. It was a modest answer, yet not too far off from the truth. It was never her ambition or priority, though she had suffered through many a lesson growing up.]

[ciao]

[ music is something he can notice very well, even if he's awful at reading the atmosphere ]

Just dabble? But you have such beautiful hands. [ the little things, always the ones he notices ]

Do you have a favourite? Or maybe something you're really in the mood for? I'd love to hear your thoughts, dolcezza~

[beastofawoman]

[It was almost too amusing for her. In her experience, Italians generally sought after her head or the end to her country (not that it was the opinion of all Italians, to be certain). This, combined with the fact she was becoming more withered by the day-- well, she couldn't help but laugh to herself. At this age, she isn't used to being flirted at.]

I must admit, I have always been particularly fond of Rachmaninoff.

[Could she not pick a more depressing composer?]

[ciao]

[ he has no shame, he'll flirt with any woman any where, it's just his way of being ]

That's some beautiful taste, while at the same time... [ it was pretty depressing, now that he was recalling ] You wouldn't happen to be the type of person to play out their feelings, are you? [ he's not really worried, just more interested at this point ]

b!

[100times]

[Someone didn't get the memo that this was a fencing class, and instead got the bulletin that said this is a "bring your own weapon and fight" class.

That's probably the reason this guy sitting slouched in the corner with a halberd that's taller than he is- and that's an accomplishment, given that he looks about 6 feet tall.

He gives sort of a cocky scoff and smile before standing up, and walks all the way over to her with the halberd outstretched in front of him.]

I received your challenge. ["received" is a bit of a stretch for seeing a poster on a wall.] Do you want to die?

[...He apparently also didn't get the follow up email specifying that this is an instructional class and not a gladiator competition.]