isleofavalon | September Catch-all

Entry tags:

hellsing: walter c. dornez

September Catch-all

🧙 WHO: Walter C. Dornez and anyone
⚔️️ WHAT: Quests, etc!
🕒 WHEN: The month of September
🗺️ WHERE: Around Avalon, mostly Camelot and the farmlands for now
⚠️ WARNINGS: Excessive cuteness for prompt 1. Violence for prompt 2.

1. Shear Determination

Even with all he has resolved to do, the quest promising a reasonably good bit of income for his household in exchange for a simple task that happens to benefit Camelot as well manages to capture his attention. After a short amount of consideration, he resolves to actually go to sleep early so he can wake up rested during the daytime.

A handful of hours later, he's out in the pastures using his kinetic magic to full effect, levitating sheep just enough off the ground to gently float them over to him where he is seated on a patch of shaded grass beneath a smaller tree. Cross-legged isn't a way he usually sits, but it works well enough to nestle the small creatures in his lap as he goes to work, employing a single thin, sharp wire drawn from his satchel to slice through the wool.

He does so, sheep after sheep after sheep, accumulating quite the pile of wool in the process. It's going so well that, when he notices someone else, he looks up with an easy smile. "If you catch one or herd a few close to me, I'll shear them for you, too."

2. Cult Classic

It is on one of Walter's many, many nights out — and with his being nocturnal by habit, it is indeed one of many — that Walter notices the new fighting quest. He's walking along the side of of a narrow street, quite alone, glancing over his phone when he hears footsteps behind him. It takes only a few seconds to note that they seem to be drawing closer despite his brisk pace. Curiosity piqued, he spares a glance behind him... then comes to a stop.

Well, if it isn't a masked man in costume...! And he's armed, too. What luck!

"Good evening," he says to the would-be pursuer, a wide-eyed grin spreading across his face, lips parting to show the white of his teeth in the darkness. "You just saved me the trouble of looking for you."

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[ For himself to call it a habit, being out late? Well, it's more to do with his job than anything else, both here and back where home is for good. It's like so, that Sasara finds himself on the very tail end of a few—easily counted on one hand—people taking their way home, or away. Some gut feeling, after a while he finds himself already having picked up his pace.

Walking behind some stranger, stalking after them and into some quiet part of town, and eerie street off the main road; that's dangerous. Despite knowing so, Sasara himself still inches in with each step. His heart just about drops into his pants when the figure ahead of him stops.

He can hear the whisper of an evening greeting, bouncing off of the still air and just around the corner he'd jumped to hide behind. He's not a fighter, ya see, he really doesn't look the part! And yet he's keen to peer into the dark from his hiding spot, at the disguised figure Sasara hurried on behind and the guy facing his way now, grinning wide.

( How troublesome! A-ah... how interesting...! )

He'll just watch... if he can help it. ]

[As it turns out, his pursuer isn't terribly put off by his enthusiasm. His only qualm, muttered under his breath, seems to be that he was unable to find a man perfectly suited to the scene. Six-fingered men are in short supply.

Walter, not having the slightest awareness of the source material the man is drawing from, watches with quizzical amusement as the man draws a thin sword with a decorative handle from its scabbard.

The whole thing strikes him as absurd, like a child pretending to be a figure from a story, but the man launches into his chosen role with zeal, introducing himself, claims that he has killed his father, and tells him to prepare to die.]

I don't recall doing any such thing. But if you insist... go ahead. Let's play.

Emet-Selch hadn't come over with the express intention of helping shear sheep exactly...but now that he's here, watching the woolly animals bleat and chew at their feed, it brings up memories of the early days of Garlemald. How quickly a people's tool for cutting grass had become a weapon used to maim others...

A familiar voice calls out to him and he turns. Ah, it's the boy from before. What is their name again?

"Why are you using your wires to shear sheep?" he asks as he sidles closer.

"Because they're effective." Thin and sharp, they slice through the sheep's wool as effortlessly as they would a body. Yet, he is taking special care not to harm them. The weapon he uses to maim and kill is as, for the moment, a common tool.

"Are you surprised?"

He watches the wool fall to the ground, shorn cleanly from the animal's body. He has to admit, it IS effective.

"A little, I suppose." He finds a log and lowers himself on to it with the sigh of an old man. The sheep nearby take a few steps away from him. It must be the odd smell which lingers around him...

"What is more surprising that you are taking the time to help," he continues.

"It's a nice little way of bringing some money to my friends. And it doesn't take too much time away from my duties."

Despite his also having death magic, the odd smell does not linger around Walter, though it did in small amounts back in his world due to the company he kept. It has been months and months, so to speak, since he has spent time with the vampire. He has bathed many times more, and so the smell of undeath or decay has little chance to cling.

"How are you doing?" The old man sounds a far margin better than he did in that cell.

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead he stares out at the paddock and its ambling, woolly occupants.

"...He didn't reject me," he mutters. "Even after what I did, he still..."

How can he still be worthy of such love? He had thought that the moment Hythlodaeus found out, he would be alone again.

"Then you still have a chance to do right by him." And he'll leave it at that. The intricacies of their relationship is not a matter he is the slightest bit qualified to involve himself with.

"This wool is incredibly soft. I wonder if they'll be making clothing with it..."

He picks up a stray ball of wool as it rolls by and rubs it between his fingers. The oddly velvety texture and easy way it squishes reminds him of the Garlean people's early days, when they were merely farmers and not soldiers.

"If not, why not ask if you can take it off their hands? I'm sure with some compensation they would not object."

"There isn't much I would personally be able to do with it. I don't know how to spin or weave, and probably wouldn't here even if I could." Those efforts took a lot of time, and even with time not flowing as he was accustomed to, there is only so much he can do at once, and his other skills are more necessary to employ here.

"You, on the other hand..."

He releases the shorn sheep, and lets the wire come to a light rest against the ground as he floats another especially fluffy one towards him.

"Your magic would let you make something like yarn or cloth almost instantly. I think you would be able to get more use out of an arrangement like that. And who knows... it might be good for you."

Creating, instead of destroying.

He opens his mouth to object, only to realise that the boy has a point. The thought of using raw material like wool to make something like clothing had somehow never crossed his mind. Before, he would either purchase garments stitched and woven by hand or snapped his fingers to create that which he desired. It feels almost like cheating to use alchemy to create clothes here.

"...I am not a weaver," he mutters, staring at the clenched fists in his lap. "I could make clothes, yes, but I never had an eye for style. The one who did has been missing for several moons now and I don't believe he is coming back."

He closes his eyes. "I suppose I could at least turn the wool to yawn and thread," he concedes. "The money would be welcome."

The announcement of a person being missing draws Walter's attention momentarily away from his task, the boy inclining his head curiously.

"Why don't you think he's coming back?" He doesn't know who all the man is acquainted with. Perhaps whoever it was had not taken his breakdown so well?

"He has disappeared once before. I didn't think I would see him here, but I suppose the fates decided to reunite us briefly."

He stares morosely at his feet. "But they always leave in the end, so I shan't hold my breath."

"...A mortal, then?" Walter is giving the man the benefit of the doubt here, not presuming he's just an awful person who drives everyone away. ~~He had a clear reason for that psychotic episode, after all.~~

"Mortal, yes." He shrugs listlessly. "I dislike saying goodbye. Perhaps it was better for him to disappear like this without warning."

...It sounds like he must have to say goodbye an awful lot. Ironically, that's something Walter can understand. Not many have long lives in his profession. Being ageless and yet knowing mortals well enough to care for them...

"...How is Mister Hythlodaeus doing?"

A change in subject. A change in subject might serve to elevate the man's spirits.

"Did he ever convince you to try one of those ridiculous long breads?"

He huffs a small laugh. "Yes... He did. The cursed thing was actually quite good when toasted and buttered." Remembering it leads him to smile faintly. "I had to tear off portions of it to eat. He is also recovering well, but sometimes he still has night terrors."

There is nothing he can do for those except be there for his friend, reassure him that he is there now and will never leave Hythlodaeus alone again if he can help it.

"I'm sure he would like it if you paid him a visit sometime. He thrives on having company."

"I've been working so much I haven't made much time for anything else..." He's a bonafide workaholic, and this month in particular has called for his expertise. "But I shall see about setting some time aside to visit once this month's ritual is done."

Hopefully, once the souls have passed through safely, he'll have some time for more leisurely activities.

Little does he know.

"Do you two still live in that same little room?"

"I set up a storefront some time ago. We live above it now with one other."

Not a large place by any means but certainly larger than the inn room they had all been placed in when they arrived.

"If you've need of potions or jewellery, you may find us at Polydegmon's Lapidary and Brew."

The mentioned business name it quite unusual. It sounds... rather refined. Like one could go in and expect to encounter and unravel some manner of mystery.

He finds he rather likes it.

"I shall do so."

Taking another fluffy sheep into his hands, Walter cracks a smirk.

"Want to give this a try?"

The sheep, however, is startled by the sudden lift, promptly bleats out a ball of fire. Walter only narrowly manages to avoid it setting his pile alight by jerking his arms upward to lift the creature over his head.

"...Maybe not this one."

He blinks at the sheep, startled. He...hadn't thought these things breathed fire.

"I have never seen these creatures breathe fire before," he says after a moment. "But...I suppose I could try my hand at shearing a few."

"I think that's part of why they're so eager to have people shear as many as possible. Else they'll not be selling wool this season, but lamb and mutton."

Due to the sheep accidentally cooking themselves, he means.

After setting the sheep down on the other side of him -- far, far away from his pile of wool -- Walter starts to float another in Emet-Selch's direction. "Were you given any tools to work with?"

"No."

But a quick glance around shows him a pair lying idly about. With a tired sigh, he heaves himself up and fetches them. This body is only thirty-something years old but it feels older.

He hasn't worked up close with animals in a long time. The sheep bleats as he approaches. He reassures it with a few clicks of his tongue before positioning himself over its back. Since he doesn't have the benefit of wires as Walter does, he has to do this the old-fashioned way.

It starts to make his back ache the longer he bends over, but he methodically clips the wool off the creature, starting from the neck and working towards himself.

Once Emet-Selch gets to work, Walter returns to his own task. After all, he aims to rack up a nice little total by the time he's done for the day.

"A few more and I think I'll take the pile over to the farmer's. I'll see about getting a sack from them to make it easier to collect the rest."

His back is already aching after the first shorn animal. Straightening with a groan, he lets the sheep roll back to its feet and trot off to join its fellows.

"I may need your magic to carry the sack back to the city in that case..."

"I think I can manage that."

The great thing about the wires is how light they are. They're not much of a strain on his magic at all.

"Well then, let us see how many sheep we can shear!"

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September Catch-all

2. What do you call a cult that's hard to get into❓😱

I looked up the answer. Too diffi-cult for my underdeveloped sense of humor.

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