AN: I don't own Grimm, I just play in the sandbox that they provide. This is an AU, true, but more like a semi-rewrite. If it's not clear, Edmund is Monroe, (Eddie Monroe). I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is the intro, hope it serves you well.
'Listen well my cub, chick, hatchling, and fry
For the danger that hides is fast and wry,
It watches, sharpens its claws, its teeth,
it hides in shadow, above, beneath.
This foe has no price for it to be bought,
Its only satisfaction is the destruction it wrought,
It is born in bone and blood, much like you
But its soul and kindness are too few.
Beware the soulless beast of Grimm
They prowl the surface, when sun lights dim,
Their heart are ever empty, their faith is lost
They won't stop their hunt, no matter its cost
So bind your talons, claws, and venom
And follow the set paths of seven,
They will keep you to virtue true,
Then perhaps even care of you.
The first of trails is that of guard,
To serve another at no charge
Be their saviour, eyes or ears,
And guide them through their fears.
The second of the paths to take
Is undeniably for your sake,
Egoistic life is with price,
But one not paid twice.
Of third is very proud and worthy,
To lead those clean, and dirty,
Care for their futures, young n old,
They will follow as they're told.
Perhaps you crave the fourth far more
To be a healer, with no closed door,
Prepare your home, your hide, your nook,
To repair those the darkness took.
The fifth and sixth are intertwined,
For lovers together be enshrined,
Their dear promises, built on trust,
The darkness could never make them dust.
The seventh path is not for the tale to tell
For you must forge it your own and well,
It must beat a purpose clear, and pure
To keep your passage truly sure.
To hide from the beasts of Grimm,
You must mask your soul within,
For they envy that they do not own,
A heart to love, a path to roam.'
- An excerpt of a popular Wesen tale
Portland – 1871 September
"How can you tell if someone's a Grimm or not?" Marta asked, the blanket muffling her voice. The walls of the room seemed to cave together, and the light of the candle that sat close to her bed danced lower to the wax. Rolling to her side, the young girl peeped at her older brother through the thick woollen covers.
"Grandfather said they shifted like us. That really they're big black dogs." She whispered, clutching her covers tighter.
Edmund pondered on the statement. Their grandfather was a drunkard, and a wastrel. Though he did have a number of confrontations with the Grimms. The last one killed him, stuck his head on a pole and burned down their farm, which was effectively a clear message of: You're next. So he did have some credibility.
"Father says that you can't. That you can only really tell what they are if they're still young." Edmund replied, watching the pup across from him. Marta had yet to make her first full bodied shift, but she had felt the surge before. It took hours to calm her down, weeks for her lips to heal. And close to a month for her to accept what she was.
She took it well, it took him longer. Then again he was the disappointment of the family who chose to turn down hunts, brawls and public displays of aggression. No, he was something worse than a disappointment. He was a pacifist (as far as Blutbaden were concerned). That just didn't fly with a family full of wolves. His mother tried to quell his father's worry by saying it was just a phase, the longer time passed, the more he knew it wasn't.
He didn't want to hurt anyone. It only made trouble, making things difficult for a quiet life. He couldn't deny that he felt blood-lust just as much as the next Blutbad, but that was something he'd have to figure out how to control.
"But grandpa-"
A knocking came from the upstairs bedroom, brother and sister stilled.
"Edmund, Marta, go to sleep. It's one in the morning! Edmund, you have to find work tomorrow." Howled their mother.
Marta ducked underneath the covers, complying to the demand with disgusting efficiency. Edmund made a face of defiance, but what was he going to do? He was turning eighteen next year in the summer and he was still living with his parents. Not only by human status was it degrading, but for a grown Blutbad it was just strange.
He couldn't just leave his parents and sister in a place where they weren't even properly settled. Not after the country wide moves they went through. The first one was from the small hamlet in Germany, to Scotland, then to the United States. Nowhere seemed to be free of Grimms. After the first one torched their farm they panicked, packed up and left. Then in Inverness they ended up bumping into one who had a personal vendetta against wolves.
So they made for the 'new world'. Or whatever new was.
A month by boat, another by train of trying to figure out where to go, they ended up in Portland because of it being a new city. His father's perspective was; 'the further away from the Grimms they could get, the better.' Odds are they couldn't have infiltrated here. Edmund Monroe looked out the darkened window. It was a new beginning, no more rummaging with his friends, no more wild hunts (Angeline wouldn't have liked that); a simple life.
Portland was ideal in a way. It was quiet, a forest nearby. Perfect to teach Marta the basics, and for her to go through her adolescence without alerting authorities of anything. Edmund smiled to himself and closed his eyes and fell into sleep.
Deep but not long. Edmund woke up to the scratching of nails several hours later. Only to find Marta clawing at wall beside her, etching in flowers into the wood. When she saw him wake up, she instantly stopped and looked away guiltily. She knew exactly what she did wrong, yet still went ahead with it. Classic behaviour of the Monroe brood. Just ask his older brother Hans, oh wait, you couldn't. He thought it would be a good idea to steal from a fox. That was the end of him.
Getting up, Edmund dressed himself in his Sunday best, and even put some effort into taming his hair. He had to look presentable. He had the places to look into for interviews picked, sorted, and filed in his mind. There were five, altogether. He left himself with enough safeties to go to. His father got hired to help get the street cars set up around the city. It wasn't high paying, but it put food on the table. So if all else fails …
"Do you think you'll get hired Eddie?"
Marta asked, her doll like eyes watching him with curiosity. Edmund could only shrug his shoulders. "I hope so. Otherwise you'll have to go work and support us." He joked, making the pup giggle, pushing her face into her palms.
Standing up from her bed she ran to him and wrapped her thin arms around his torso. "I think you will. And I think you'll also buy me chocolates every month."
Edmund scoffed. "Why should I do that?"
She grinned into his side. "Cause I'm your favourite sister ever."
The teen rolled his eyes. "You're my only sister. Come on, you need to get breakfast. And I need to get to Mr Errol before seven." He shook off Marta and escaped out the back door. His mother would demand that he would eat before he left, but seeing as there being only an hour left to get there he wasn't going to take any distractions. Even if his stomach was unsettled by his commitment to finding employment. It's alright, it would understand in the long run.
The young wolf sped along the already busy roads, sufficiently avoiding the waste left behind by horses, as well as the water accumulated in the recesses of the path from the rain. Portland was a small town, but for a place that was less than fifty years old, it was hitting it off in every direction. They even had a theatre, not much in the realm of talent, but he figured it would come. Eventually.
He arrived forty minutes early. Maybe that breakfast would have been a good thing.
The shop itself was open, and Edmund let himself in. The inside smelled of oak, willow, and lacquer. Tasted like metal and oils. Edmund breathed in the shop, this was the best place in town for a watch, clock or the repair of one. Mr Errol had moved from Great Britain to open his business in the United States, he had stores open in the East of the country, but he chose to settle down in Portland. Everyone's loss, his gain. If he got employed that is.
He had always been soothed by the way the gears worked, he could always match his breathing to the clicking of the minute hand, and the sheer of the seconds. It was one of the few things that helped him keep in control.
The inside of this shop was fantastic. There were all kinds of models, cuckoo, grandfather, pendulum, hairspray, there was even a marine chronometer sitting on one of the shelves. Covered in metallic gloss, he leaned in to get a better look at the detail engraved on the side. It was window dressing for a piece this old, but it pulled him in none the less.
"Who's there?" Called a strained peeling voice, noise of cane against floor boards. The wolf didn't have to guess who it was.
Edmund gathered himself, he didn't want to meet Mr Errol with his mouth hanging open like some sort of clown.
"Edmund Monroe, I'm earlier than I said I'd be, I just wanted to take a look at the clocks. I've always appreciated your work." He called, exuberant would have been a minor understatement. His accent was still heavy, but he could still be understood.
"Monroe, hmm." Mr Errol grunted, stepping out from the back. He was balding, and the hunch over his shoulder stuck upward. But that didn't impede on his craft, all he needed were his hands, which were nimble in their trade, and eyes. The same dark orbs that he was observing Edmund with. It wasn't comfortable, it was as if he was looking straight into him, trying to figure out how he ticked.
"Tell me, what is it that you like about my work?" Mr Errol asked, his brow lifting in expectation.
Edmund smiled and eagerly walked over to the Lighthouse clock that hung on display.
"For one, the detail in the presentation alone is fantastic. But inside" He took the liberty to opening the back, he didn't catch the look of horror that phased Mr Errol. "Is state of the art. I've admired these for months." He closed the clock to see his (hopefully) future employer giving him a reproachful look.
"Do you often act before consulting?"
Edmund swallowed awkwardly. "I apologize. I'm just excited to have this chance to speak with you."
Mr Errol pursed his lips, observing him from toe to hair. "Tell me, Mr Monroe, do you have any experience dealing with intricate technology?"
Edmund wanted to lie, pass himself off as a great technician. But he didn't roll that way.
"Unless you mean my mother's stove-" A stern look from Mr Errol told him that option was not listed. "No, sir. But I'm always eager to-"
"My other applicants all have a … rigorous training." He cut him off.
Monroe knew then – he was being let go. Before he even got in! He couldn't help but let his wolf-self bleed through. Mr Errol in turn changed, revealing a rather crooked frown of a Scharfblicke staring him down.
"And none of them Blutbad either."
Edmund quickly schooled his features back into order. Disappointment was a heavy feeling, it brought him into the state of ill control every time.
"Perhaps you'll find your place better at the butcher house." Errol sniffed, reeling his beaked face back. Not that it made any difference, all Edmund could see is the twisted owl blink at him.
"Thank you for your time." He grunted, and left the store, letting his feet drag behind him. It should ruffle the bird's feathers. Well, four more places to go, kicking the pavement outside the shop he walked forward. There was a repair shop just down the road.
The interview there went as well as the first. It was a Bauerschwein, and all he could do is sit there and salivate in front of him – he got out before the pig could yell bloody murder pointing his hoof at him. He didn't need that attention, period. He knew it was over though, deep in his heart. He'd never be able to go into the Nester Restaurant for the rest of his life. The two were brothers, and would probably put him and his family on some sort of watch list.
Third time's the charm, yes? Clearly not. The third place was his mother's place of work, she was a tailor's assistant. Mostly she helped with cloths, and took care of the customers. Sometimes she would actually work on the clothes people requested, if they were of poorer income. He ended up knocking down a rather expensive mirror, it wasn't his fault. Not really, there was a child. Like most children curious, and ended up grabbing his breeches, he panicked and caused a dummy to fall. Which set off a domino effect, pushing clothes racks falling one by one, until they reached the mirror. He hadn't truly felt fear until he glimpsed his mother's face when she saw the mess.
He didn't care what anyone else said. Grimms had nothing on her, she could probably tear one limb from limb if she ever got close enough. And the Grimm was unarmed. Or preferably de-armed.
Fourth he tried his hand at a popular destination for the unemployed. Street Sweeping. That one he rejected of his own accord. Two meters short of the layout he turned tail and ran. The stench was unbelievable. He thought it was going to be like it was on the farm, nowhere close! He had his nose pressed into the crook of his elbow all the way down the street.
Newspapers weren't his forte. Especially when it came down to the cliché of the dog carrying the newspaper, the humiliation vs income. Though the two fell out completely when he got railroaded by the head editor. The man was more insufferable than family of fleas. So five down.
The sixth – the sixth he couldn't force himself to bend to. Watching his father break his back, then return home the shell of a man he knew once only fuelled his desperation. Anything, anywhere. It was half past three, he spent the day wandering from place to place, only to get nothing accomplished. Only building the feel of rejection.
An hour later of peeping into windows to see if he could squeeze in a chance to speak to someone was pointless. Stores were closing, it was past four, and he lost his windows. He could of course go hunting (not that sort) tomorrow, but where in town? He buried his face in his hands.
"You, you, you, you mongrel!"
Edmund raised his head and became the spectator of a somewhat rare, and in his mind, entertaining sight. There was Mr Errol his silver hair mussed upwards in sweat and movement as he tried to catch the young man who dodged his every attempt to strike him with his cane. Every clank against the ground sounded like a victory.
"Steal from me, will you? I'll get you for that! Police!"
The younger man sported decent clothes, but by the look of it either borrowed or stolen as they were several sizes too big. Underneath his arm was the marine chronometer he had been admiring. By the looks of it, Mr Errol's highly qualified assistant ended up being a robber. A highly organized one at that, along with an eye for quality.
The wolf looked at the owl trying to get at the thief. Couldn't stop the ill-natured smirk that started to creep on his mouth. Hey, if he got hired, he wouldn't have grabbed and run. Hell it would have been difficult to get him out of the shop after closing time. Oh well, irony of life, and not his problem.
It wouldn't have been that is, if the idiot didn't run in his direction when the hefty policeman ran after him. The thief panicked and ran in his direction. What wouldn't he have done not to have the simple instinct to chase when he saw prey run. He could feel himself jump from the bench he had been resting on, he could even feel the muscles in his legs tense and push him forward, but he could not hear the little voice in his head on which he relied on that said 'stop moron, you're getting involved'.
Seconds later he had his hand on the lad's good suit, and with no effort threw him down in the dirt. His back hit the ground, and from the look of it experienced quite a bit of pain. Here he stopped. Biting down into someone's throat in the middle of the street was Hans's level of stupidity.
Just keep in mind; Pitchforks and torches, torches and pitchforks.
"This boy is a felon, I want him put in chains!" Rattled Errol as he purposefully pointed his cane in the new owner of a possible broken back. The policeman was panting over him, not exactly catching everything that was demanded of him.
"You!" Errol hooted, it was almost laughable. This morning, he would have jumped through hoops for the man to notice him and take him under his wing. The hunchback pointed his cane with the certainty that few could at a wolf. Edmund frowned, he wanted to snap that piece of wood. Maybe along with the bird's back.
"Me." He agreed, bending down and prying the pricey clock from the thief's fingers, half tempted to take it and run himself. They'd never catch him, but for the cost of a marine chronometer it wasn't worth it to go into hiding. He handed Mr Errol the item and raised the man up by his oversized collar.
"You've got one set of arms on you, boy." Huffed the policeman. His ginger beard covering most of his face, the uniform smelled of mustard and coffee. In an odd way he looked like a cumbersome caricature of a leprechaun. Except, taller, and a firearm at his side.
"It's nothing officer, just saw this one run, and you know instinct takes over." Monroe excused, waving a hand as if it was no big deal. The officer beamed. The young wolf wondered if he did something wrong.
"Come with me to the precinct. You bring the miscreant."
Words seemed to connect slower than he thought because he got to the end of that request with maximum effort.
"Isn't that your job?" Was all he could snap back with, but followed the officer any way. The thief tried to spin out of his grip, but fat chance of that, he was taller and stronger than him. Should have stolen that damn clock half an hour earlier before he was moping around.
They arrived at the building and Monroe knew why he never knew where the police headquarters were located. It was overshadowed by two taller, and better kept structures. The paint wasn't new, it was peeling off from the weather, and there was some uncomplimentary graffiti on the walls. He had always assumed this was something other than a police office. They entered, inside was marginally better preserved, but still just as compressed as the outside.
"Nick! Is the Inspector in now?"
Edmund's eyes slid to the front desk, manned by a teen even younger than him. He looked like he could have been fifteen at best. Pale skin, charcoal black hair that was trimmed short enough for his profession, uniform unkempt, but not in tatters.
"He's in his office."
The voice however was not as immature as he guessed it to be. He had to re-evaluate things, no condescending jokes, or anything of the sort.
"Nick take the thief to the cells, and why don't you show…"
Edmund guessed that was his cue to introduce himself. "Edmund Monroe."
"Monroe around?"
Nick looked back and forth between the three personages that somehow managed to draw themselves up before him, walked out from behind the desk, his posture militant. He grabbed the thief from Monroe's hold like he was a bag of produce. With a curt hand gesture he indicated for the Blutbad to follow him.
Once they were out of sight, Monroe asked what was saddling his mind for the last few moments.
"Is there a reason why I'm here? I promise I haven't killed anyone." Lately.
Nick looked over at him, and raised a thin eyebrow. "Richards has been offered a position on city council, he's been looking for a replacement ever since. Odds are you won the lottery. Though he did bring in ten other people over the last week. "
Monroe looked at him with the expression of a lost pup, at least that's what he felt like. He wasn't applying here, the police were so out of his consideration that it was dazing. Not because it was more than he expected, but because he would end up being in a position of early warning. If anyone in his family stepped a paw out of line, he'd be the first to know.
"Hold on, why would I work here?"
"Do you work anywhere else?" Nick countered.
Monroe unwillingly answered the truth once again. "No."
Nick grinned, his internal youth spilling out from within. "Then I suggest you take this offer while it stands." He pushed the thief into the cell, and locked the door.
"I take it you're happy to do the police book-keeping." Monroe accused.
Nick shrugged. "I do what I need to." He answered cryptically. He didn't explain himself, or justify his choice of words. Monroe just looked at him uncertainly. Deciding to do his own type of digging, he scented the air subtlety, hoping it would pass for him being a snob. Nick smelled of blood, and not his own. Portland was a quiet place more or less, not a lot of bloodshed. Sure there were murders but not that many to smell like he bathed in it.
He didn't smell like a Blutbad either.
"Mr Monroe."
Edmund and Nick broke out of their respective company, to find a towering individual standing by them. He was at least six foot, broad shoulders, built thin, wiry, you couldn't tell for sure – his clothes hid most of it. But his instincts activated, telling him to keep on his toes. Monroe looked at Nick who's back straightened, and he stepped into 'attention'.
"I'm Inspector Renard, it is in my understanding that you've apprehended a criminal for us."