Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing (mortalmaster) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-08-06 14:19:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | lindsey mcdonald, sir integral hellsing |
Who: Integra Hellsing & Lindsey Mcdonald.
What: Looking for a spell/ritual to get her out of LA.
Where: Magic shop, downtown.
When: early in the evening.
Rating: PG.
Status: Complete.
The shop reeked to burnt lavender that was slightly nauseous even from the entrance. Integral wrinkled her nose and made her way inside without flinching. She had smelled worse in her short lifetime: the stink of the pile of corpses in London caught by the flames of the war bonfire or rotting impaled by poles of iron and wood, for example. The driver started the engine behind her and left. She had instructed him to return in half an hour. This wasn’t a neighborhood for a Rolls Royce to park and wait placidly until the mistress was done shopping. It was a good man the one Alessa had hired; he valued to keep his mouth shut when Integra ordered him to explore this part of the city. He had almost protested when she had told him to leave her alone on these ominous streets. She could not blame the poor chap for his haste to flee; this was a quite menacing zone framed by the shadows of crumbled buildings that seemed to darken too quickly as contrast with other areas.
Theban Books and Antiques was the sign craved on decaying wood in front of the shop. Theban was the name of the alphabet of witches: A magic store. Or at the very least related with the Occult.
Integral had come early, the shop had just opened and it was almost empty. She spotted several customers scurrying around, buying ancient candles and asking for the rare talisman collection. The knight wasn’t interested in any of those. She surveyed the perimeter for a second, blue eyes scanning the structure of the construction. It was larger from within and had two long corridors illuminated by a dim, yellow light. Integra fished out a cigar from her pocket and lit it; she puffed and exhaled the smoke before turning to the clerk of the counter. He was a little man with grey eyes and red hair standing on his own chair, short like a circus dwarf and with a permanent frown fixed on his face.
“Alchemy, theories about dimension journeys and anything of the like,” she demanded with a puff. “Where?”
“Left,” he answered, motioning to the aisles behind her. Integra turned to glance at them and nodded.
“Thank you.”
As she moved forward the left passage, Integra could notice more people. They didn’t spare her a look, engrossed in their search. There weren’t walls separating the corridors. Those were bookshelves, thick and strong, filled with dusty volumes wrapped on leather covers. When Integra's eyes adjusted to the peculiar lighting of this section, she would begin her quest. Over the months, Integra's priority had never changed: she had to leave and finish the war Major started.