Cassidy is a vampire from the comic book, Preacher. He's not like Hellsing vampires - he can eat regular food, drink what he wants, doesn't have fangs per se, but will go up in flames if taken out in the sun. He regenerates like nobody's business, though. He has no fear of holy objects, but has been named "abomination" by God himself. His Irish accent is written as rather thick in the comic book. My apologies to those who hate accents in fic. I empathize.
Preacher and all its characters are the property of Garth Ennis and whatever corporate entity has contract on that portion of his soul. The same can be said of Hellsing as regards Kohta Hirano and his soul. Some rough language follows. If the word "fuck" offends you, you're already in trouble, aren't you?
"Oy, is this seat taken?"
The lanky priest looked up at the speaker – a reddish haired man who looked like he'd seen more trouble than he should have for his age and probably had caused most of it. Trouble, he snorted. I could use some human trouble for a change.
"Aye, have a sit." The two men appraised each other before both smiled.
The newcomer extended a hand, "Cassidy."
The priest took it in a strong grip, replying, "Alexander Anderson." He was slightly surprised that this rough looking man was joining him of his own accord. There were available seats in the bar and a Catholic priest was not usually a drinking man's first choice of company.
"Good t'meet yeh, Anderson. Alex? Father? Can I getcha a drink?" Cassidy pointed to the priest's empty glass. When his tablemate nodded, he shouted to a waitress and had her bring them a pitcher of beer.
"Anderson is fine. What's a man like ye doing chatting up a priest on a Saturday night? Shouldn't ye be out raising hell?"
Cassidy grinned and settled his sunglasses more comfortably on his nose. "I'm feeling a mite nostalgic. I've a good friend who's a preacher and yer collar made me think about him."
Anderson raised his eyebrows, surprised by the statement. "No offense, but ye don't look like the type to be keeping company with the clergy."
"Well yeh know how it goes, don't judge a book by its cover. If yeh wasn't wearing that collar, I wouldn't think ye was a priest. Yeh look more like most of the hellraisers I've known. I bet yeh'd be great in a brawl."
"I've been known to crack a few skulls now 'n then, if ye must know." Anderson took a long pull off his freshened beer and grinned.
"That's what I'm tellin' yez! Sometimes there's some arseholes who need a good poundin'. Jesse understands that, too. That's why we're friends."
"Jesse? Is that yer preacher friend? Where is he?"
"Yeah, Jesse's the preacher. I don't know where he is right now. Off findin' God somewhere to make him answer for leavin' us alone while the world falls to shite."
Anderson frowned at the blasphemous comment before deciding the man had to be pulling his chain. "Having some fun at the priest's expense, are ye?" He drained his beer and poured another glass.
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm tellin' yeh nothin' but the truth. Truth don't matter fer bollocks when we've got more beer." Cass took a swig of his drink and appreciatively watched the assets of a passing woman. After the woman passed, he turned back to the priest, "Ah, ye're not supposed to appreciate some of the finer things'n life, but I didn't make any promises."
Anderson grinned and looked in the direction the woman had passed. "I gave up lust, not esthetics. Lust is an easier sin to conquer than pride or rage. Those two may be my downfalls some day."
Cassidy lit up. "We should play Seven Deadly Sins: every time we see an example of a deadly sin, the person who named it gets t'watch the other person have a shot." He stood up and waved the waitress over, ordering a bottle of whiskey and a very rare hamburger. "Ye want anything to eat, Anderson? Y'might want to put somethin' in yer stomach afore we get too far wi'the drinking."
"Nah, I'm fine. Ye'll be amazed how much it takes to make me fall over. Ye're gonna be seeing that hamburger again before I'm done with this game."
"Lust. Have another."
"Lust? Whaddyez mean? Where'd yeh see lust?" Cass slurred at the priest.
"Yer head nearly spun off yer neck when that woman walked by." Anderson smirked and took another pull off of his beer.
"That wasn't lust, that was…whadderyecallit…esthetics." The man blinked at the shot glass in front of him and the amused face of the priest watching. "Buggrit." He tossed back the drink and shook his head. "Right. Now yeh were telling' me about the orphanage where yeh help the 'wee bairns,' but yeh just don't look like an overgrown babysitter."
He leaned over and grabbed one of the priest's hands. "Ye're gonna say that yeh cut yer hands to shit on nappies and baby teeth?"
Anderson pulled his hand away from the other man. Cassidy's hands felt overwarm, feverish. It must be the alcohol, he thought. "Knives," he responded tersely.
Cassidy lounged in his chair and looked at the priest suspiciously. "Knives? Don't ye dare tell me ye're one of those arseholes who cuts himself for fun. Ye're too smart for that shite. What do they call that now? Emo? I thought that was some jackass comedian, but now it's some shit fad with kids."
Anderson grunted and leaned back. "No, I don't cut myself for fun and even if I did, most of the cuts wouldn't leave scars."
"Well yeh can't leave me hanging like…" He trailed off. "Envy. Have a drink, mate." Cassidy pushed the bottle across the table.
"Where?"
"That yob over there. Look at his eyes bugging out over the couple in the corner."
"Why isn't it lust?"
"Nah, look at'im. He might want her, but that's not what's got him now. He envies the other guy cuz he's got the girl. His envy's bigger'n his hard on."
Anderson watched the man in question and decided that his companion was right. He probably was lusting, but it was outweighed by the man's envy. He poured another shot and downed it. "Ye've got a good eye for envy, Cass. I'd have pegged ye for a lust and anger man, meself."
"Lust's easy, mate. It's envy that'll rip yer heart out and shit in the hole." Anderson's stare sharpened at the pained subtext to Cassidy's words.
He shook himself, and looked at the priest again. "But we're not talkin' about ol' Cass's fuckwittery, we're talkin' about why a Catholic priest who works in an orphanage has hands covered in knife scars. Fess up, mate."
"I kill vampires." Nobody ever believed a bald statement like that. Anderson waited for the standard laugh and headshake that signaled that the listener thought they were being pranked.
Cassidy leaned forward, frowning, "Yeh wanna run that one by me again?"
"Vampires. I kill them. Ye know, the damned undead? Fangs. Red eyes. Bloodsucking creatures of Satan who have no souls and leave ranks of revivified corpses behind them. Vampires."
"Right. Vampires with great big fangs. And what do yer big fangy vampires have to do with knife scars on yer hands? Do yer vampires carry knives and cut up yer hands a lot?" Cassidy was still leaning forward watching Anderson with an unnerving intensity.
"This." Anderson laid a shining silver blade on the table. One moment his hands had been empty, the next a two-foot long knife had simply sprouted in his grip. Cassidy pursed his lips appreciatively and picked it up.
"Yeh kill vampires with this sticker?" The priest nodded. "Why?"
"Why?" Anderson gaped at the other man. "Why? Because they're vampires!"
"Yeah. Beasts. Abominations. I've heard it from the source. But why you?" Cassidy ignored the priest's stare at his comment.
"Because I am an agent of God! Because they profane the earth with their damned footsteps. Because I am the best man for the job!" Anderson's face was flushed red with drink and anger.
Cassidy tipped the bottle to Anderson's shot glass. "Pride. Yer drink."