Pippa had a system for vampires. Not just that Pureblood, Aristocrat, Level E bullshite. She had it down to a science. Purebloods were Level A, the toppa the top, cream of the crop and all that. High and mighty, too. Aristocrats were Level Bs. These two were always far too concerned about looks and their damn fancy parties to get into much trouble. They were the type who took their tea with not milk, but blood. But sheâ€™d come across the rare rogue that summoned mortal virgins into his mansion or what not. Ludicrous, really, but there was always those eccentric-types everywhere you went.<br/><br/>The next were interchangeable; the Level Cs, and the Level Ds. The only difference between the two were the levels of sanity and willpower between the two, very self-explanatory. Had some sense of morality in them, but the Ds were prone to going bat-shit at a secondâ€™s notice. The Level Es, same as popular belief, were nothing more than crazed, atrocious monsters, not a ghost of their human selves in them. Fun fact: Level Es were the only ones who were actually turned<span style="font-style: italic">into</span>vampires, all the others were born into it. Only happens when Level As were careless. Pip had never seen an E that was sane.<br/><br/>â€œSo whoâ€™s leading this stupid fracking thing?â€<br/><br/>Pippa groaned internally. Figures sheâ€™d end up with these moronic cretes. Honestly, she wondered when they would all shut their traps and start the mission. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Her hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose. It looked oddly like she was attempting to staunch a nosebleed.<br/><br/>She let her breath out and said, â€œJustina is, in theory.â€ Her feminine voice held a bit of the low Romanian slur of her homeland, nearly undetectable under years of living in England. She leveled her gaze at the vampiress in question. The dark haired woman was slumped on a crate in the alley they stood in, delirious and drunk.<br/><br/>Justina giggled at her, her lank hair falling in her face. â€œPhil-lipp-ia has fouur eyes, donâ€™ she?â€ The woman was completely slammed. Figures sheâ€™d go nuts with the whisky just hours before their mission.<br/><br/>One of the males growled imperiously. â€œSheâ€™s completely fuck-faced. Câ€™m on, I say wâ€™ do it witâ€™out her.â€ He glared at the small group of vampires. â€œHellsingâ€™s gonna tâ€™row a fit when he heers bout her Cockney arse...â€<br/><br/>Pippa frowned at the ancient Englishwoman, doubting Sir Hellsing would do much about her. Pip certainly wasnâ€™t going to be the one to tattle.<br/><br/>Justina sputtered indignantly, glaring at the speaker almost soberly. â€œ'U posh twat! I cun lead de mishâ€™un jus fine, I can!â€<br/><br/>If the air about the place was a color, it would be red. Red like the color Pippa kept seeing behind her eyelids. Her teeth grinded against each other, canines sliding out and sharpening. â€œKnock it off.â€ Her voice was a low growl, and it shut everyone up. Her eyes slid open and she gazed at each vampire in turn.<br/><br/>â€œKenneth, kindly leave Justina alone. Justina, do yourself good and stop with the liquor. Take a nap somewhere. But stay away from Hellsing for a while.â€ Her voice was low, not quite commanding, but not as mild as it usually was. Her stare was as severe as it always was, somber with subtle power underneath all the placidness.<br/><br/>A wind rushed through the alley, sweeping away the scent of cat piss that all allies everywhere seemed to smell like. For a moment it swept Pippaâ€™s blond hair from her neck and forehead, ruffled her short red yukata dress, the single long sleeve billowing around her pale wrist.<br/><br/>The other male smirked at her. â€œWay to take charge, little bird.â€ The only American of the bunch, he was a bit taller than the other man, and a thousand times more roguish. Pip considered him the least moronic.<br/><br/>â€œI am not taking charge, Jonathan.â€ Pippa said carelessly over her shoulder. â€œIn fact, you may have this one.â€ She wonder idly what about her resembled a little bird in any way, but really anyone who could decipher the train of thought of Americans was likely one himself.<br/><br/>Jonathan grinned roguishly at Pip, flashing his gleaming fangs. The moonlight glinted off them like ivory, like starlight. Everything about these Children of the Night was lovely, was deadly. Their beauty was disarming, and a weapon in and of itself. But so it was common knowledge.<br/><br/>â€œYou got it, Allen.â€ He said, then clapped his hands twice. â€œOkay, Justina, stay where you are. Pip can scout ahead. Kenny, youâ€™re with me.â€<br/><br/>Kenneth grinned at Jonathan and they exchanged what could only be described as a manly glance. Brief, with no words uttered, and the prominent feeling in the air was mischief. Pippa scowled and wondered when the hell the American would say her name correctly.<br/><br/>â€œReady, and BREAK!â€ With this ridiculous exclamation, the two males were off, dashing into the darkness.<br/><br/>Pippa growled and started off after them, leaping up and bounding off against the brick buildings swiftly without a backward glance at Justina. â€œItâ€™s Aluien; AHL-OO-AINE, not<span style="font-style: italic">Allen,</span>you bloody Yank.â€ She growled under her breath.