Way Ωf the WΩlf (Hellsing AU)

fae and father (3)

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Currently you are lying on an antique bed and staring at the ceiling. Thoughts wander constantly through your head. Like the time your mom takes you to the 'country' doctor as your period hasn't started. He tells her you're exceptionally healthy and not to worry about the 'heats' not starting yet. A virile one will put you into an immediate one and nature will take it's bonding course.
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Then the complete blackouts, that sometimes last two or three days. Your mother would explain it was that nightmare fever returning. No one ever turned up mauled to death or hairy and howling at the moon thirty days later. So the joke was 'not a Werewolf's', though your mom seemed 'off' with her laugh.
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Ireland has been quite nice overall. At first some of the places would 'eye' you and then the next day you were welcomed with open arms. You wouldn't in return buy a meal for the fae which only enamoured you more with the local folk. Now you get discounts on food and stay at bread breakfasts. You also visit Scotland to enjoy it's rugged landscape then stay in small towns and hike the local moors. The usual warnings that other tourists get are not given to you. You even began to learn Gaelic and are now fluent in it.
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The best part of all, no more nightmares that deal with the demon king or Strogoi as you mother called him. The final bit of wisdom your dear mom departs on you.
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•Stay away from a dark and dangerous man called...Alucard.
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You laugh about that, Dracula spelled backwards. Of all the silly things, your mother would tell you though you definitely still remember King Favarra, clearly. Tonight though, you are back in Ireland and the voice of an exceptionally loud Catholic priest can be heard. You decide to least get a look at this priest. So with light steps, you leave your place of stay. Your hand pushes the polished brass door handle to enter the pub, called strangely Shaggy Lamb. You have a feeling there is a hidden meaning, since shag means sex in British slang but always play the dumb American transplant.
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"Evn' (Y/n) want your usual lass?" Sean the bartender yells over the crowd. The fact you can be served is rather unique. Sometimes your age would have pub owners question why such a young lass was coming to drink beer alone.
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"Tuigim!" you say back. (means to the Irish I understand-don't use yes or no)
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You find a spot, to spy on, the lot in the pub. All the regulars are in tonight. It doesn't take long for a blonde giant of a priest can be seen bantering on, in a heavy Scottish accent. His hair is cut short and spiky. He's stout as muscled thickly even under his clothes, that perhaps he needs tailor made ones. Lastly his face sports a couple of scars. Some would find him irresistible if not for being a religious fanatical priest.

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(Fucking should be Irish but apparently the Church of England is failing and now Catholicism is the growing section of Christianity. So heh, ye gin git thee Scots words like giddles. What's a giddle you ask? Girl...Edinburgh not 'berg'. I warn yea but nooo yea didna listen ta me!")

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"I be here ta kill me un e'vil tha walk th'ee land..."his accent thick even for you.