Disclaimer: I won the rights to Hellsing off Kohta Hirona in a game of blackjack. Alright, maybe not. I have no rights to Hellsing. I'm not making money off this, though it would be nice if I were…


Office Repair Blues

Chapter IV


It was when Maxwell spilled his morning coffee all over the kitchen that he got the first inkling of a bad day ahead. The priest screamed something that was definitely not Christian as the scalding coffee burned his hand. Still cursing through gritted teeth, he cleaned up the mess and reached for the pot. A second string of colorful curses erupted when he realized it was empty. With a groan, Maxwell headed for the door to find a coffee shop.

It took him three hours of driving around in circles to remember that most British people don't drink coffee.

A tired, caffine-deprived priest made his way back up to the Hellsing Manor, dreading what crazy repairs Walter had planned for the day. He tried the door. It was locked. Maxwell sighed and rang the doorbell.

A head wearing a familier red hat poked through the peephole.

"Oh," Alucard said blankly, and the two stared at each other for a minute. "If you don't have Caramel Delights Girl Scout Cookies, we're not interested."

"Alucard, I don't have any—"

"How about Thin Mints?"

"Alucard, I'm not selling Girl Scout cookies!"

"Could have fooled me," Alucard muttered. "Well we only buy Avon Products, so you can tell Mary Kay to kiss my—"

"ALUCARD! I'm not selling anything!" Maxwell felt a vein explode and sudden urges to consume mass quantities of whisky and nicotine were rising. "Do I look like a salesman to you?"

Alucard pictured the furniture salesmen in their tacky suits. "I suppose not. Well, we're not interested in the faiths of a Jehova's Witness; I think Walter was using your pamphlets for toilet paper." His head retreated back inside.

"I'M NOT—" Maxwell blinked. "…what?"

"Budget cuts," Alucard said, head reemerging from the peephole. "I suppose you want to come in."

"No, but I have a feeling you're going to make me anyway."

"Yep. I'm not suffering with the Wacky Cleaning Wonder in there alone." And Alucard phased the rest of himself through the door and grabbed Maxwell by the collar.


"Yes, Judas priest?"

"You know, you're only supposed to put your eye through the peephole, not your whole head."

"I knew that."

"Sure you did."


Anderson watched Alucard and Maxwell troop upstairs, making the long trek to Integra's still-ruined office. He had a good view of the stairs from his position at the kitchen table, a plate of toast infront of him and the daily newspaper by his side. The paladin had been doing a good job of avoiding being noticed and forced to help, and he intended it to stay that way. Biting into his toast, he opened his new favorite source of entertainment to read up on the local crazies.

Ninja Shot Dead

"Well this could be amusing," Anderson said, glancing at the headline. He continued reading.

A middle aged man followed an elderly woman home from the grocery store last Thursday. Oddly, he was dressed in a ninja suit. He attempted to break into her house when they reached it, but the woman's husband saw her stalker and shot the ninja three times.

The Ninja was found dead at the scene.

The ninja has yet to be identified. The London police chief says that they are looking for a white middle aged male and has submitted his fingerprints for testing in the police database.

The article went on to describe the elderly woman and her husband, but Anderson was laughing too hard to continue.

"A stalker ninja…what will they come up with next?"


Maxwell and Alucard entered the Office of Doom to see Walter sitting on the floor, surrounded by large boxes. The butler had a large book in his hands, about as thick as Tolstoy's War and Peace and just as picture-less. He was flipping through it, glaring angrily at the pages.

The pages stared back.

Walter screamed in frustration and flung the book away. It bounced off Alucard's head and landed in Maxwell's hand. The priest examined it while Alucard nursed his new wound, glaring daggers at the butler.

"This is the longest instruction manual I've ever seen," Maxwell commented offhandedly.

"Clearly you've never read the Bible," Alucard muttered, and Maxwell shot him a dirty look.

"That is for Integra's new desk," Walter interjected before any more fights could break out and ruin the already ruined office. "And don't start fights. Or we'll have to fix the wall all over again."

Maxwell and Alucard shut up quickly.

"I guess when it said Some Assembly Requiered they meant it," Maxwell said, observing the contents of one of the boxes. There were large pieces of wood, about three dozen screws of all different shapes and sizes, and an equal number of nuts, bolts, and other assorted hardware. "Can't we just use duct tape and super glue?"

"NO!" Walter yelled. "We cannot use duct tape and super glue to assemble Integra's new desk."

"…why not?"


"Never mind. Forget I asked. But seriously," Maxwell said, displaying the book. "How are we going to make heads or tales of this?"

"Very, very carefully," Alucard suggested, dumping the contents of a box into the middle of the floor and examining a screw.

"Well I don't understand a word of it! I'm sorry I don't speak fluent moronese," Maxwell spat.

"…You mean German?"

"Of course you don't understand any of it," Walter said, taking the book away from Maxwell. "Its in Spanish."

"SPANISH!" Maxwell yelled. "Who the hell speaks Spanish in England?"

"Made in Taiwan," Alucard read off the side of the box.

"That explains it."

Walter and Alucard both stared at Maxwell, who blinked.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Who speaks Spanish in Taiwan?"


Anderson headed upstairs towards Integra's office holding a cup of coffee. He had spent the better part of the morning searching for it, and was proud of his prize. The priest sighed as he took another sip of the treasured liquid and climbed the rest of the stairs.

"They should really have an elevator in this place," he mused aloud as he poked his head around the corner.

Maxwell was holding a large piece of plywood while Walter stood with a bolt in hand. "Connect screw B into angle slot D…there is no angle slot D!" he yelled in frustration, throwing the bolt at Pedro, the Spanish translator the frustrated butler had called. It bounced off Pedro's head and landed in Anderson's coffee. The priest frowned and plucked it out, handing the bolt back to Maxwell.

"Is that coffee I smell?" Maxwell said, sniffing the bolt. Without warning, he began gnawing on it as Walter directed his anger at Alucard.

"Alucard, pass me a monkey wrench."

"What's a monkey wrench?" the vampire asked curiously.

"That thing you're holding in your hand."

"How can I be holding a monkey wrench when I'm not a monkey? You should go to the zoo. They have monkeys there," Alucard said helpfully, still examining the monkey wrench he held in his hand.

"SWEET MERCY MAHEM!" the butler screamed in frustration.

There was silence. All eyes were Walter.

"What?" he asked, noting the unusual quietness of the room.

"What did you just say?" Anderson asked. Walter paled.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I just yelled the first thing that came into my mind. What…did I say?"

"LOVER!" Alucard yelled, leaping across the room.

"Ya said, and I quote, 'Sweet Mercy Mayhem'," Anderson said, trying not to laugh. "You were just asking for that one."

"No! No!" Walter yelled as he ran away from Alucard, who was chasing him. The image of the vampire sending him cards and a teddy bear on Valentines Day was just too sickening. He jumped inside one of the empty boxes and closed it. Alucard, too intent on chasing him, tripped over the box and fell. He dusted himself off, then asked his hat if it had a pen and paper on it with which he might write Walter a love letter.

Anderson blinked, seeing Maxwell still gnawing on the bolt craving caffine, Walter locked in a cardboard box, and Alucard composing a poem to his 'strawberry shortcake' on a piece of pink, flower scented paper.

"What do I do?" he mused aloud, wondering if this group might make it into tomorrow's newspaper headline.

"Let's have a fiesta!" Pedro yelled, slamming a sombrero onto Anderson's head and pulling out a pair of maracas.

"Weren't you supposed to be knocked out?"


Author's Notes:

The Ninja article is real. I wasn't making it up. (http/ Seriously, though, I was laughing hysterically when I ever saw that headline.

I know I've been terrible about updating, but I'll try to get a few more updates in before May. I have no idea when this is going to end; its just kind of going along at its own little pace. Thanks for all the feedback I've been getting on this; keep reviewing, please? Ideas for new torture, anyone?