Theme: Child

At age three they gave him electric shocks, age four, a weighted club that he used on animals, beat the beasts bloody while scientists smiled and wrote glowing test reports. Five saw the gift of garrotte wire that he turned into a whip. Six years old was his first ring and at age seven, two more. That year, one of those smiling scientists lured Walter into an empty room and told him to take off his clothes. They found him fairly quickly; finding the woman was more difficult. He'd hidden some of the pieces.

He always was a precocious child.

Theme: Judas

He'd been taught to kill since the time he could walk, an efficient and cruel experiment aimed at creating superior soldiers. The scientists fed him a diet of religion and national fanaticism; he could recite the Bible when most children were still learning how to read but he had never been embraced in care or in kindness. His grasp of human emotions was purely intellectual until the day a scientist came to say goodbye. The man picked him up, pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead and in that moment, that hateful Judas kiss, Walter understood both love and betrayal.

Theme: Hound

He was surprised at how easy it was.

He simply reached out and shook hands with the fat man; an accord made, an agreement reached. Walter betrayed his God, his Queen, his country and his Hellsing. Arthur's devoted butler no more. Why did he do it? He wasn't certain. For thrills, perhaps, or a youthful desire to rebel. The Angel of Death's equivalent to painting the bedroom walls black.

One thing for certain: if Walter betrayed once, he could do it again. If the fat major thought that he had control, he was wrong. Walter was no one's faithful hound.

Innocence

"I want something extra this time," says Walter during his yearly meeting with the major. "I want a woman."

"What for?" asks the major, "Besides the obvious, of course. An angry young man like yourself would surely want something a little more than a mainstream prostitute. Do you like to beat your women? Cut them? Kill them, even?"

"No! No, nothing like that. It's just that Arthur has already slept with every damn whore in Britain. I don't want to be where he's been. That's all."

The major looks amused. Walter returns the look, man-to-man, inwardly cursing his blushing innocence.

Hunter; Predator

"This is Rip van Winkle," said the major. "We call her the Huntress."

Walter looks at Rip and Rip looks back. She's tall and just this side of starveling. She holds her musket like it's her lover and stares like she's wondering what he tastes like. Walter blinks stupidly, suddenly indescribably nervous. "How do you do?" he stutters nervously. The corner of her mouth twitches.

"I do very well," she says mildly, and flicks a long strand of hair over her shoulder. Walter turns to the major.

"She's fine," he says, knowing full well that they're both laughing at him.

Corpse

She is death-pale, almost skeletal. Her breasts are non-existent. All things considered, she is not attractive. Her long, elegantly curled hair is her only beauty.

Walter regards his arousal. She's almost child-like in her underdevelopment but that's not what turns him on. A vampire certainly, an animated corpse and necrophilia has never appealed. He has always been fascinated by the processes of killing things. Once it's dead he tends to lose interest.

In the end, he supposes that it's because she's dangerous. He looks at her shark teeth, wonders about vagina dentata and waits for her to take his virginity.

Cross

She says, "Why do you wear this?" and points at the sliver cross he wears on a leather thong around his neck. "Do you really believe in it?"

Walter opens his mouth to answer, and then stops, frowning. He thinks hard. Finally he says, "I do. If there are unholy creatures, then it stands that there must be holy beings."

Rip strokes the metal with her fingertip and sucks at the resulting blister. "Do you believe in God?"

"I believe in God. I just don't think that He believes in me."

"Whose side are you on?" He smiles, doesn't answer.

Power

She holds him down as easily as pinning a newborn kitten. His hands are behind his back, his own weight rendering his rings useless as she licks his chest like a child with an ice cream. He curses softly but fluently. Stupid to let his adolescent hormones get him into this situation, stupid to walk straight into the lion's den, the vampire's mouth. She has him pinned. All she has to do is bite. The Angel of Death helpless against a single vampire, and not a very powerful one at that. Pathetic. That was the only word for it. Pathetic.

First encounter

"Don't be frightened."

"I'm not."

"Does this hurt?"

"No."

"Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"I've killed things more powerful."

"True. Have you ever been this helpless, though?"

"No."

"Here, I'll just…"

"Oh! It's cold!"

"What did you expect?"

"Something warmer."

"I'm dead."

"Correction: you're undead. Small but significant difference."

"Indeed. However, I may be quick but I'm not warm. I could be, if you give me a little something."

"Arthur says that women always want something in return. 'Blood sucking parasites' is what he told me once."

"Very true. Now, shall I bite you or just cut it off?"

Blood

"Blood is the coin and currency of the soul, the daguerreotype of will," says Rip as she sucks the seeping wound on his finger. She wraps her bony self tighter around him, the blood- his blood- warming her chilly flesh all out of proportion to the amount that she's actually drunk. Walter absently theorises that it is some sort of chemical reaction, but he's finding it hard to concentrate. "'The blood is the life.' Isn't that how the story went? 'The blood is the life.' I cannot make my own. Without blood there is no life. Therefore, I am dead."

NOTES: Written for the now defunct LJ community, 100drops. A list of themes and the challenge was a perfect 100 word vignette for each.

I didn't get very far.