New ficlet
Dec. 28th, 2004 01:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinelagrandeTitle: Heathen Monsters
Summary: A little vignette of Anderson at the orphanage.
Fandom: Hellsing
Word Count: double drabble
Rating/Warnings: G
Pairing: N/A
A/N: This is silly and fluffy and badly written. But I like it anyway.
Alexander Anderson sat in his cell, quietly studying a map of the latest FREAK outbreaks. A tiny voice interrupted his work. “Father Anderson?”
“Aye?” he said, turning towards the door. One of the orphans stood at his door, clutching a raggedy teddy bear.
“There’s a heathen monster in my closet,” the little boy said fearfully. Anderson smiled and arose from his desk.
“Let’s see if we cannae sort yon beastie,” he said, taking the boy by the hand and leading him back to his room. Anderson stopped him at the door. “Ay’ll take it from here,” he told him.”
Anderson stepped into the boy’s room. From somewhere in Anderson-space, a paper barrier appeared on the closet door. He lanced it through with a blessed bayonet.
He stepped out of the room. “Ye can go on tae sleep now,” Anderson told the little boy. “Remember tae pray before ye sleep.”
Anderson returned to his cell, smiling to himself. He arranged his paperwork and knelt for his own nightly prayers. Not three words into his rosary, he heard a pitiful fake cough behind him. He turned to see a different orphan standing at his door.
“Father Anderson? There’s something under my bed…”
Summary: A little vignette of Anderson at the orphanage.
Fandom: Hellsing
Word Count: double drabble
Rating/Warnings: G
Pairing: N/A
A/N: This is silly and fluffy and badly written. But I like it anyway.
Alexander Anderson sat in his cell, quietly studying a map of the latest FREAK outbreaks. A tiny voice interrupted his work. “Father Anderson?”
“Aye?” he said, turning towards the door. One of the orphans stood at his door, clutching a raggedy teddy bear.
“There’s a heathen monster in my closet,” the little boy said fearfully. Anderson smiled and arose from his desk.
“Let’s see if we cannae sort yon beastie,” he said, taking the boy by the hand and leading him back to his room. Anderson stopped him at the door. “Ay’ll take it from here,” he told him.”
Anderson stepped into the boy’s room. From somewhere in Anderson-space, a paper barrier appeared on the closet door. He lanced it through with a blessed bayonet.
He stepped out of the room. “Ye can go on tae sleep now,” Anderson told the little boy. “Remember tae pray before ye sleep.”
Anderson returned to his cell, smiling to himself. He arranged his paperwork and knelt for his own nightly prayers. Not three words into his rosary, he heard a pitiful fake cough behind him. He turned to see a different orphan standing at his door.
“Father Anderson? There’s something under my bed…”
