Fics like a semblance of familiarity

Alucard levels her a look when he hears something sturdy clank against the surface of the wooden table. She’s brought a hand mirror, an antique thing with the Hellsing crest engraved in the silver and he briefly wonders if Walter gave it to her or if she snatched it from somewhere in the mansion. In her other hand, she has a simple, plastic hairbrush. He suspects it’s always been hers, it certainly looks that way. When Seras starts to struggle with the tangles in her hair, he chuckles, and the sound catches between the four walls and the damp, low-hanging ceiling of the basement, an echo. She huffs in frustration, levelling him a disgruntled look from underneath her blonde fringe, plastered against her forehead in wet strips of hair. With a flourish, he gets up from his chair, the tails of his coat bellowing with his movements when he rounds the table and approaches her; she throws a bewildered glance over her shoulder when he comes to stand behind her. After plucking the brush from her grasp, Alucard motions her to look straight ahead and hold the mirror properly.