Scene #4867: Uneasy Alliances

Owner	Pose
Heinkel Wolfe	The whole of Italy has been on high alert since the incident that reshuffled the multiverse. Patches of corruption have sprung up like mushrooms in the wake of it. Some countries have shored up their borders and become as a turtle before the onslaught. Other countries have been overrun, devolved into chaos in the wake of throngs of attacking ghouls. Those secret groups that had once fought against the vile and the unholy have gone public -- one of them, at least; Vatican Section XIII had enjoyed a lengthy press conference, with Maxwell speaking of their purpose and their dedication to defending the faithful. He had answered questions, soothed worries, and generally come across as the charming and charismatic smooth talker that he is. She'd been unconscious for that. Her mission with Maaka had necessitated acting as something of a very loud distraction to a man with a lot of flunkies that happened to have a lot of bullets. She'd been in surgery for a while, and then she'd been in surgery for a while more. By the time she'd gotten out of it all, she'd been reduced to hobbling down the corridor with a cane. One of those three men had been a much better shot than she'd realised; at the time, she hadn't even been aware of a few of those gunshots. (The most painful ones had taken priority, one supposes.) By the time the sun is sinking below the blood-red horizon, Heinkel Wolfe is slowly and carefully hobbling her way to a cafe on the outskirts of Rome. She's wearing her customary cassock-like coat, starched collar stark against the black of its weave. Despite the hour, her sunglasses are firmly in place on the bridge of her nose, and she blows out a relieved sigh when she finally slides into a chair. She's slightly early, but she doesn't seem to care. A signal to the nearest waitstaff has a cup of what smells like hot chocolate steaming in the twilight for her. Police Girl can order for herself once she arrives, but Heinkel would sooner have something warm. Rome is in the throes of a cold snap in the wake of the multiversal shuffle; some reports even claim there's a little snow dusting down in places of the city. There's also a platter with a few pastries on it. Heinkel seems to have selected a croissant for herself. Part of her is hoping Seras shows up, and part of her is hoping the Hellsing operative forgets all about it.
Seras Victoria	"What on Earth am I doing...?" Seras quietly complains to herself as she nears the cafe. She's wearing blue jeans, a grey blouse with a dark grey vest over it, and a light grey Gatsby Hat. Because nobody walks around in a uniform on a dinner meet! That's just silly. The Draculina sticks her head through the door and looks left and right, looking for a person who - she just realizes - she's never seen before. Not that this is terribly difficult. Intuition is enough to narrow down who of those here is Heinkel! So Seras beelines for the table... though none too quickly. She seems a tad nervous and wary. "Good evening. Are you Heinkel?" The question's asked in the lightest and least certain of tones...
Heinkel Wolfe	The closer Seras gets to the table with the lone occupant, the more she might get the sense that there's more to this person than meets the eye. They have incredible presence, despite slouching in the chair, a cane leaned up against their thigh. They're wearing a suspiciously cassock-like coat, and the starched white collar marks them as an ordained priest of the Catholic faith. Short, straw-coloured hair frames a face too androgynous to tell the gender of; cut ragged and somewhat scruffy-looking. The closer Seras gets, the higher the likelihood that the Draculina will hear the sound of... faint singing? It's hard to tell if the voice is a man's or a woman's, and it sings in soft Latin, half-sung and half-hummed. The voice sounds as though it could pull off Gregorian chant with excellence, and it makes even this simple, old . "Adeste fideles laeti triumphantes Venite, venite In Bethlehem. Natum videte Regem angelorum Venite adoremus, venite adoremus, venite admoremus Domin--" It's about then that Heinkel Wolfe senses and hears someone approaching as the door opens just enough to admit Seras Victoria's head. It doesn't take long to find the person at a lone table closest to the warmest spot in the building. Snow filters down outside; the temperature is fiercely, freakishly cold for what should be a mild Mediterranean winter. Snow in and of itself is a rarity over Vatican City; now there are flurries to rival the Italian Alps. The head tilts just far enough to regard Seras, maybe; those glasses shield the eyes completely, and seem completely unnecessary for a setting this dim. Those opaque lenses remain fixed on Seras long enough to perhaps make the Draculina nervous. She's being studied, and Heinkel makes no effort to hide that. "Sit down." Heinkel jabs a forefinger downwards, towards Seras' chair. The voice is just as ambiguous in speech, with a heavy German accent; the specifics would, if Seras were aware, trace the stranger to someplace in Austria. But... is this a Pater or a Signora? "Ja, I am. Paladin Heinkel Wolfe, Vatican Section XIII, 'Iscariot.'" She shrugs, cassock-coat rustling. "You know, if I hadn't arranged this, my superior vould haf done so anyvay." After a moment she shows her teeth in a sort of half-grin. They seem just a shade too pointed for normalcy. "If I didn't know any better, Fraulein, I'd say you're /nervous/. Vhat, you think ve can't hold to our end of a treaty? You're not talking to Father Anderson, today."
Seras Victoria	Singing in LATIN is pretty telling, and Seras' sharp hearing picks it up in no time at all. Eye contact is made, and Hellsing's newest recruit briefly purses her lips... But she bends down and slips into the chair nevertheless, keeping her eyes on Heinkel's. Well, her glasses, anyways. And is it ever ODD not being able to identify someone's gender on a glance. That isn't helping matters! "Would he?" She asks rather innocently, though the words end up being swallowed into a half-gulp of voice cracking. One smooth breath later (not that she needs it apart from talking), and she returns the smile, tentatively. "Thank heavens for that..." Anderson is SCARY.
Heinkel Wolfe	Slouched in their chair and resting an elbow on the table, the priest doesn't seem to be very disturbed by the prospect of meeting with a pet vampire of the Hellsing Organisation. There's the possibility that she hasn't read the report, considering the scope of Vatican Section XIII. Iscariot have been very, /very/ busy people over the last forty-eight hours. The priest drops their chin into their gloved hand, and the tilt of their head suggests they're watching Seras in spite of those opaque lenses. "Bishop Maxvell? Ja, he vould haf. The Vatican ist very interested in good publicity, right now, and that means vorking vit the group ve publicly allied ourselfs vit." Heinkel sighs. "Actually, those orders come from above Chief, even... ve just don't haf the numbers to keep up vit everything, and from vhat ve know--" Heinkel grins, showing teeth, "--ve're pretty sure Hellsing doesn't, either." It's a guess; an educated guess, but one that is hopefully unsettling. Keeping the Draculina on her toes seems to be the priest's go-to strategy for now. Or maybe the priest is just genuinely enjoying messing with Seras' head, since there can't be any hostilities. Heinkel straightens with a grunt of clear pain, reaching for the hot chocolate and taking a nice long sip. It smells good. Quality chocolate. Once that's done, Heinkel looks directly to Seras again, at least to go by the tilt of her head. "Down to business, I guess." "Vhat the hell are you so scared of? Ve /did/ sign papervork, you know; extremely /extensive/ treaty papervork."