Hello, and welcome to my first fanfiction, One for the Money! This is not my first story, but this is the first one I've posted and the first I'm going to actively pursue in finishing.
I need to clarify a few things before starting it off.
1) My Sebastian might be very different from the Sebastian portrayed in the manga/anime. Not in the sense he will be gushy and friendly, but in the sense he will be brutal and violent - like a demon. I am choosing to do this due to something I noticed during the manga. The way Sebastian acts as seen in the manga and anime is the way he acts in front of Ciel - his master. So I kind of thought about that for a bit before decided how he was going to act. The Sebastian usually seen is his professional act. When it shows Sebastian when the contract first begun - easily angered, impatient, etc-is the way Sebastian will usually act with heroine in later chapters. He won't be all brutal all the time, but he will be more demon than human, because that's what he is- a demon. Sorry if this seems a stupid thing to clarify. This is how I view Sebastian, and this is what I've collected from his behaviour in the manga and anime.
2) This will be an anime/manga combo verse. I will try to not confuse you guys, but I will be adding a second, underlying OC plot, due to something that will happen all the way at the end. It will NOT be as important as the actual plot from Kuroshitsuji. Just so you know :D.
3) It will probably take a while for the OC and Sebastian to get together. It will take a while for the OC to get over her own stubborness and other things, and it will take Sebastian a while he has feelings, much less feelings for her.
The streets of the East End were quiet, mostly empty in the late hours of the night, save for drunken or lost stragglers, the few predators in the shrouded dark of the alley ways watching for easy prey, the homeless and starving sleeping on the curb of the road, and two distinct forms of a tall, raven black haired, red eyed man dressed in a clean black suit, walking in the shadow of a short young boy. The blueish-black haired boy had a black eye patch made of silk over his right eye and was dressed in the luxurious style of a very rich nobleman, holding a cane in his bejeweled hand, containing a gold ring on his middle finger and a blue silver ring with a large blue gem on his thumb. Both males were pale skinned from a life of indulgence and privilege. The contrast between the clean, finely dressed men was enough to separate very pointedly them from the poverty of the East End and drew the unwanted gaze of the thugs of the area to them, though the pair appeared very comfortable – too comfortable – as they walked through the streets, meaning they were either familiar with the area, or they were armed to the teeth with training and weapons. Most likely, by the unconcerned way they carried themselves, the answer was both.
Though the roads were quiet and almost bare, the many taverns, housing the impoverished holding most of the population in their walls, were bustling with activity; any stragglers made their way into the bars, and groups of drunken men would stumble out of the doors every now and then, having been too drunk to continue their revelries, or having been kicked out and cut off from their prized beverage. The young boy scoffed as a duo of drunken men attempted to aide their friend in getting up, only to end up falling and placing themselves in the same predicament as their friends.
The boy mumbled an insult at their foolishness, a hiss of the word 'idiots', and the tall man watched the boy out of the corner of his eye. After watching the drunken, dirty men mumbling and stumbling in a vain effort to get up, the boy turned to the tall man, his only visible eye – cobalt blue in colour – narrowing at the man. "Are you sure this is the right place to find him, Sebastian?"
The man, Sebastian, smiled warmly, though his eerily coloured eyes remained cold. "Of course, my Lord. This is the place where Lao said we would find the man named Damian."
Huffing out a breath in annoyance, the boy remembered the exchange with Lao. Since Lao had been busy, and the lord needed the lead, he had gone to the Chinese man's opium den, which was a decision the boy immediately regretted. The den was filled with scantily clad women, and the stench of the addicting yet vile smoke filled every crevice in the room. The boy had needed info, info he thought he would get from the constantly smiling man, but he had been sadly mistaken when the Chinese trader turned him away, sending him to a bartender that worked at the tavern in front of the pair named Damian Williams.
Hoping that he would be able to have a background check done on the bartender to know whether or not force would be necessary for the bartender to spill details, and maybe even a few dirty little secrets that could be used to coerce the info out, he ordered Sebastian to do a thorough search through records belonging to the Yard. The info itself hadn't been hard to get, per say, but it had been futile, since the name Damian Williams didn't match the brief, vague profile from the Lao. The only two Damian Williams who lived in London was an extraordinarily old nobleman who was eighty-seven-years-old, living in the rich district of the city, and a 4 year-old child living in the market districts. The new information was fantastically frustrating, due to it meaning that this 'Damian' character was either a foreigner, or he was working under an alias.
Remembering the frustration now, which had been an event that happened earlier that same morning, made the boy's fingers clench a bit tighter around his cane. This damn Damian better have the information that he wanted.
The sound of a throat clearing at the boy's shoulder made him look up at his butler, and he scowled at the too happy, insincere smile on the man's face. Maybe the smoke from Lao's den had gone to his head. "Perhaps we should go in, Young Master?"
Frowning, the boy turned his head back to the poor shape of the cheap, wooden door, and wordlessly moved towards it, hearing the click of his own shoes, and the almost soundless taps of the butler behind him. Stepping up onto the small deck in front, which sported a few tables which were probably used more in the day for lunch, the boy pushed open the door into the bar, and had to suppress the urge to sigh in complete irritation at the chaos inside. The occupants inside were loudly laughing and talking, and a large table of both drunken men and a few waitresses singing a horrible out of tune song, and most of the people around them had obviously joined in at some time. The long, oak bar was in no better shape, crowded with people impatient for beer. The closed off end closest to the door was crowded, and voices were hooting and cheering from it, the people crowding and standing on their tiptoes to watch whatever was going on. Some people left, cups ales and beer in hands, laughing.
Sebastian and the boy looked to each other, both raising an eyebrow, and moved closer to the crowded bar as a unit. Sebastian, much taller than the lord, looked above the crowd, and his eyebrows raised in interest. The boy hissed, grabbing the butler's arm. "What's going on?" He said it in a normal volume of voice, despite the loud rowdy occupants of the tavern, with full faith that his butler could hear. To confirm his belief, the butler looked down at his master.
The man smirked, then leaned to the master's height, whispering just loud enough for the boy to hear him. "It seems the bartender we're looking for is quite popular."
The boy jerked away from the butler, looking the the bar, and pushed his way through the throngs of people. As he moved closer, he could hear one voice above most of the others. The voice itself was too androgynous for him to tell what the gender of the speaker. He pushed a bit more forcefully, but as the bodies got closer together, he found himself unable to force his way through the group on his own. As he was about to call, a white gloved hand moved the people apart, allowing the boy through. Already knowing the owner of the hand, the lord continued moving, and finally caught the own of the voice.
"... So I'm standing there, drinks in hand, this woman is so drunk she's not catching the hint, I've been working the entire day and even I'm not drunk enough to consider letting her into my room, Charlie is hanging over my shoulder almost unconscious, and I'm still trying to get to the other side of the hall so I can dump the bloody bastard into his room and get some well deserved shut eye for myself. Then," The owner of the voice paused, a grin clear in their voice, the groups of people hanging onto their every word, "Charles suddenly gets some second wind from God, he takes two steps, and the bloody fool goes face first down the stairs!"
The groups of people exploded into laughter, and a deep voiced bartender a little farther down shouts at the voice, sounding clearly embarrassed. "Hey! You forgot the part where you sang 'Amazing Grace' from atop the bar as loud as you could, you bugger!"
"Yes, but that, my friend, was when I looped the group of gorgeous women nearby with my incredible voice and impeccable charm!" A few people sitting at the bar started to whoop and holler, and the crowd thinned out a bit as they received their drinks and headed to other tables, and the boy finally got a seat near the bar, and he sat down, frustrated by how much effort it had taken to get there. The teller of the story turned, a smile on their lips, and the boy finally caught the face of their informant.
He had dark auburn, almost dark red hair, cut into a shaggy bob, framing his face. His white teeth, exposed by a wide smile, stood out a bit against his tanned skin, and some freckles splattered against his cheeks, and had a squarish jawline, which matched him, with his lean body type, but he wore loose clothing, so it was very hard to tell if he was muscular or not. He had deep set, almond shaped eyes the colour of indigo, framed with dark lashes. He wasn't tall, but he certainly wasn't short, standing at 5'7".
The boy looked to the butler, and Sebastian nodded – this was their man.
Damian's smile fell a bit when he looked down at the boy. He arched a dark eyebrow, his once wide, friendly and welcoming grin being replaced by a sardonic smile as he placed his hands on
the edge and leaned on the bar. "I don't serve children, boy. Go somewhere else for a drink." Scowling, the boy stared down Damian. The man didn't seem to falter, he simply smirked a bit.
The boy huffed out a breath, speaking clearly and loudly over the noise of the tavern. "I don't need a drink; I need information.
Sighing, Damian pushed away from the bar as an older man called for an ale, and he called a 'coming right up!' to the man before looking at the boy a bit condescendingly. "Well, you wouldn't be the first." He turned to the tap behind him, grabbing a cup from a shelf under the bar and grabbing the lever of the tap, the ale sputtering a bit before coming out in a steady stream of it spilled into the glass. Damian spun the cup in what seemed to be practised skill, and he called out to both bartenders and their customers. "Hands!"
All of the customers and workers leaned away from the bar, and the bartender from earlier, Charles, called back. "Clear!"
Going back to the bar's smooth, flat counter, Damian pulled his arm back, cup in hand, and slid it down the long strip of the bar into the hand of the awaiting man, earning a few whoops and calls of 'ten points!' to the bartender.
Damian turned back to the boy, studying the boys face for a few moments. "Noble clothes, fancy eye patch, and the desire to get information..." The man let his words hang in the air a few moments, then suddenly, his eyes sparked and widened, and it looked like two pieces of machinery had clicked together and something that had confused him suddenly made sense. "You're the Watchdog, Ciel Phantomhive."
Ciel sighed, and now regretted not wearing a disguise. For what reason he decided he didn't need to wear a disguise, he had no idea, but now decision it was coming back to haunt him. Some people refused to deal with Watchdog, and Ciel found he couldn't blame them; most, if not all, people in the East End have had dealings in some type of criminal activity, and cooperating with the Watchdog usually ended up with them being locked in a deal with him as an informant, or ended up with them in jail. Or dead.
Having no other option, he simply nodded, cupping his hands under his chin and putting his elbows on the bar, and leaned forward. "So, will you give me the information I want?"
The bartender's eyes narrowed dangerously, carefully examining every feature of the Watchdog, as if he were trying to find a way to discern whether or not Ciel's words were truth or lies. "It depends, Watchdog. What do you need to know, and what price will it fetch?"
The boy waved the butler forward, and Damian reached for the money as the butler placed the large bag of money on the bar. Damian looked up, and he locked eyes with Sebastian for a solid minute, watching him with a gaze foreign to Ciel as Sebastian stared back in an expression that could only be puzzlement, but Damian broke the eye contact, coughing, and looked down at the money, then whistled in appreciation.
Damian chuckled, taking the money in his hand. "Damn kid, I knew nobles had money, but this is more than I expected. With this much, I'm willin' to help ya with whatever you need to do. So, what do you need to know, kid?"
"I need to know where the Ferro family does their operations, and where they hide their drugs." Ciel said simply, watching Damian.
Damian's lighthearted smile fell off his face completely, and he looked around, then leaned over the table, whispering to Ciel. "If we're gonna talk about this, we've gotta go somewhere else. There's too many people who are victims of those bastards here." Damian looked up, stretching to be a bit taller than he was, and shouted through the noisy room. "Chelsea! Come take over, I'm takin' a break, and it might be a while!" Once the woman he had called tapped him out, Damian waved Ciel to follow him.
Ciel raised an eyebrow, but obeyed, getting up. Sebastian and Ciel follow Damian up the stairs, and at the top, Damian produced a silver key, and inserted it into the lock, twisting it and pushing open the door into one of the rooms. Ciel and Sebastian looked to each other as Damian walked in, then they entered in after, though Ciel noticed Sebastian slide a shiny, long object out of his coat sleeve out of the corner of his eye. As he walked in, Damian slid off his over sized jacket and threw it off to the side, revealing a somewhat feminine yet muscular figure beneath his clothing. He sat down on the bed at the far wall, crawling over and opening the window above it, then sat on the edge, his legs spread, his right arm resting on his leg as he placed his other elbow on his corresponding knee, cupping his chin in his hand. He sighed, reaching his free hand to rest on top of his head, and he grabbed his hair and pulled, and all his hair slid away, revealing it to be a wig.
The boy's eyes widened as long, waist length hair tumbled out of the wig, tied back into a ponytail to make all the hair fit into it. The wig was a completely different hair colour than the wig. While the wig was a dark red auburn, her hair was a dark chocolate brown, almost black in colour. 'Damian's' eyes seemed a bit brighter by the long curtain of dark hair framing his face.
'He' looked up, raising an eyebrow at Ciel's staring. "Take a picture, kid, it lasts longer."
Clearing his throat, the lord regained a bit of composure, but the question still formed on his lips when he spoke. "If you're a woman, why are you dressing as a man?"
She grinned, and when she spoke, her voice was very clearly that of a woman's, rather than the neutral voice she used back in the bar. "It's a lot easier to get a job as a man than it is as a woman. Plus, I get paid more, and I've got a kid to feed."
Ciel almost choked. She looked as if she was in her early twenties, which was the time most women would already have a child, or if they were late, begin having children, but Ciel couldn't imagine this cross dressing woman having any."You have a child?"
She blinked, then laughed out loud. "Oh, God no! No, the kid is my brother. He's fourteen, so he's about your age," She snickered, "That's a good one. Me? With a kid?" She shook her head to herself, smiling. The woman leaned over to a bedside table, opening a drawer and pulling out a cigarette packet and a lighter. She put the cigarette in her mouth, then lit it, taking a long drag, and then puffing it out through her nose like a bull. "So... You wanted info, right?"
Snapped out of thoughts, he nodded slowly, leaning against the door. "The Ferro Family."
Nodding herself, she took the cigarette out from between her lips, blowing out more smoke. "Italian mafia. Notorious for their loan sharking, drug growing and dealing, and theft. They've left a lot of good people on the streets." She shook her head, taking another pull of her cigarette.
Ciel's lips curled very slightly upwards in a satisfied smirk So, she knew what she was talking about, and the work to getting here hadn't been for nothing. "I told you earlier, I need to know their place of operations, and where they hide their drugs."
She exhaled her smoke, and Ciel coughed a bit. "I know where they operate, mainly. Or at least, a pretty good idea. Where they hide their drugs... If it's not hidden where they make it, I don't know. But, I'm sure you've got enough connections to have at least one person who can find it. Or," She smirked at him, a gleam of meaning in her eyes, "you can always... Convince them to tell you. I'm sure they'd comply, hm?"
Ciel almost smirked himself. She was clearly familiar with his methods, but unfortunately, he knew that she was purposefully being vague. "So, are you going to tell me?"
"Patience is a virtue, kid. But first," She held up a finger, narrowing her eyes, "I want to know what you're plannin' to do with this information."
Ciel hesitated a second, thinking. If she was affiliated with the Ferro family, then they would be aware of the plans, and Ciel would be found out. But, if he didn't tell her, he wasn't going to be able to fulfil his mission to the Queen, which was required of him. Well, he would, but it would take time in order to find a new source of information, and by the way she seemed completely confident in her words, she seemed to be the best source besides an actual member of the Ferro's.
He smirked. "My job is to stop the rat problem here in London. With this information, I will shut down their drug deals, and their mafia as a whole."
`She observed his face carefully, taking a drag of smoke and huffing it out. "Now, my second condition. I don't care how you shut up the Ferro's, honestly, they've been pissin' me off too long... But I get to help. And I get to place the bullet between Azzurro Vanel's god damn eyes. You can't find their location without me, so it's only fair that I get to get the kill shot."
Ciel straightened up a bit, looking her in the eyes. He was bewildered by the condition. What grudge did this woman have? Perhaps she had been a victim. "Why would you want to kill Azzurro Vanel?"
For the first time, she broke eye contact, taking the stub of her cigarette out of her mouth and pressing it into the ashtray at the bedside table, extinguishing it. She blew out a cloud of smoke in a deep sigh. "His loan sharks attacked my old man. My grandpa needed money, and I had only been working a week at that time, but the rent was due before my pay, and we were gonna get kicked out. Azzurro's men came to collect two weeks later, and even when my grandpa paid them back the loan he took out, they kept shoutin' and throwin' a god damn fit about interest, and I managed eventually kick them out. But..." She sighed and her expression darkened, and she brought her hands together in between her spread knees, and bowed her head a bit, "They got my grandpa as he was coming home from the docks. A neighbour of mine, Allen – good man – came to my house with grandpa over his shoulder, beaten and bloody. The bastards knocked out my old man's windpipe, so he's still having troubles breathing and talking."
Ciel didn't know what he had been expecting, but the hearing the entire story had not been it. Even when he scanned her face for any dishonesty, and he didn't see anything – the only thing he saw was pure regret and grief. Underlying the negative emotions, the familiar spark of a determination fuelled by the desire for revenge he knew oh so well. He paused in his reply to her, thinking thoroughly and carefully. The woman would probably hold them back in terms of combat if confrontation was involved, and really, the only positive outcomes for allowing her to help was that she would get them to the location and she was thirsty for the blood Azzurro Vanel. But... If, and only if, he allowed her to go after Vanel, Ciel could get out of wasting time with meaningless arguments with the Yard. So... Hm. Maybe she did have a bit more pros.
Though he was still wary, Ciel pressed a bit more, his visible eye narrowing. "Are those your only conditions?"
She nodded. "That's all."
He sighed, still having reservations. "I have a few conditions myself." He finally said, and she narrowed her eyes, then waved for him to continue. "You are not to make any attempt on my life. If you do, you will be taken down with force. If the situation where you're deemed a potential threat to me, you will not be allowed to accompany us." She nodded again, and Ciel held out his hand. "Then welcome aboard." She got up, and took his hand in her's, giving his hand a firm shake. Then, before she could say anything, Ciel interjected. "I would like to know your name, first."
She shook her head and shrugged to herself. "I don't see why it matters what my name is."
Before Ciel could answer, she moved to a dresser on the right wall, looking like she was going to pointedly ignore him, so he decided to wait until she was done… whatever she was doing.. She grabbed her jacket off the floor, put it on, then slid open a drawer of the dresser, slipping a dark object from it fast enough Ciel could not tell what it was, and placing it within her coat. She grabbed another object, and put it on top of her head, tucking her hair into the newspaper boy hat she had put on. She turned back to Ciel, and she walked towards him, and standing up to her full height, she seemed a lot taller than she had before when she was standing behind the bar.
Holding herself tall and alert, her posture switching over from the air of casual familiarity to the composure of a strict, experienced professional. She looked them both over, her eyes suddenly piercing, probing and examining the pair of men. "Have either of you got guns?" Her question hung in the air, the odd pause at the end of her sentence hanging in the air. Her casual, somewhat warm voice was gone. "Any weapons, of any kind?" She amended her last sentence, and peered at the males through the dark room.
Ciel felt his hand instinctively twitch up in an attempt to rest at his side where the holster to his small pistol hung, supported by a series of harnesses, safely hidden between the layers of his undershirt and his button up shirt. The pistol was small, barely larger than his hand, and was kept either on his back, or at his ribs, depending on how much he needed it hidden. He had brought it in case of any... unforeseen situation. Even though he knew Sebastian could – would – protect him, he had brought it as a simple precaution. Investigations were unpredictable, and the East End was crawling with gangs, mafia, thieves, and murderers.
Though he did not speak for a moment, he nodded slowly, like a sudden movement would trigger something in the woman. Before he could vocalize his confirmation, Sebastian spoke, his calm, velvet voice clearly ringing through the room.
"Of course, Miss. Both of us are armed." Ciel looked back, and the calm poker face of a smile was on his butler's face.
"Good," she said as she walked to the small closet on the other side of the room, and pulled a long, recognizable shape, and taking a strap and throwing it over her shoulder. Ciel's eye widened. What the hell was this woman doing with a high powered rifle?!
Ciel stared at her incredulously as she passed, and looked to Sebastian for confirmation of being legitimant, but he wasn't looking at Ciel to see the silent order; his eyes were firmly locked on the woman's back, eyes narrowed as if he were very deeply in thought and the slight curl his lips indicated... interest. That brought the young master's previous thoughts and questions of the strange and inexplicable woman to a screeching halt. Sebastian was rarely interested in... Well, much of anything. With the exception of cats, Ciel's soul, and, if Ciel remembered correctly, he could see the brightening of the butler's eyes in the face of a fight. Though he had yet to see anyone match or best his butler in combat, or anything for that matter.
Carefully eyeing Sebastian, Ciel silently vowed to ask the butler of his thoughts on the bizarre new, temporary addition to their team and crossed his arms. More likely than it wasn't, Sebastian had probably sensed on something about the woman, or had seen something hadn't Ciel picked up. Though he hated to admit it, only having one eye did... handicap Ciel, only a bit, but it stopped him from noticing anything out of the corner of his right eye.
The woman, while Ciel had been thinking, had stepped in front of him, and she cleared her throat less than subtly, smirking a bit while eyeing the space behind him. He looked up to her, then behind him, and he suddenly realized like lightning had struck him that he was blocking the door. Pushing down his embarrassment by replacing it with a light glare, Ciel balled his hands into fists, steeling himself in the process.
"You didn't answer my question." He said, eye narrowing at the woman.
She tilted her head, her smile widening, but the slight shift in her demeanor made the action seem almost... sinister. Ciel didn't back down, keeping his gaze steady on the woman, and it seemed that that had been the response she wanted, because the almost suffocating atmosphere dropped, and she chuckled lightheartedly, smirking. She paused a moment, finger at her lips. She was thinking. "My name is… Siobhan Cunningham."
The boy grunted, staring her down as he stepped aside, letting his suspicion show on his face. Without another word, the woman made a small hand gesture for the pair to follow her, opened the door and brushed past him.
Ciel could not help but think of the strange way she responded to his question. He looked to his butler, who gave the boy a look that showed that he agreed with the master. She was lying.
Though her night had not gone exactly as she planned, the woman found she couldn't complain. The Watchdog, though his reputation surpassed his boyish and childish appearance, was easy to deal with, and she appreciated that he wasn't friendly, but not rude, with just the right amount of hostility that she found it bearable. The kid, despite this, was very unlike any child she had seen before – despite living in the East End, where most children were thieves or starving, most would not look up towards an adult staring them down and would duck their heads and firmly look at the ground, while the little Phantomhive looked her dead on, like delinquent glaring down an authority figure. His words were fine sentences using fancy words – something no kid would have in this part of the city would have under their belt. It made him different from other children she had seen in her life, sure. But his whole act that he had was probably just a noble thing, used to spit on the ones deemed unworthy.
As a sudden thought occurred to her – a thought that made his little act seem like the performance of a small toddler – as her lips pursed into a thin line to suppress a wide smile and a snicker. Though the brat seemed suspicious of her name, he had bought her lies, and he had gave it away that he believed her so clearly in his eyes, she could taste his gullibility in the air. Well, saying she had lied was a harsh way of putting it – more like she had stretched the truth... a lot. Her name was the largest stretched, pulled so far that it was pretty much entirely a lie. Siobhan Cunningham was not her name, not by a long short. Then, there was the sob story about revenge for her grandpa. Her grandpa had been attacked, but not for the reason she had said, and not enough that he was crippled, just enough that he had visible bruises and cuts over his face and limbs. But, ageing people were weak, breakable. Push them over, and they break a bone. So, regardless of whether or not he was hurt badly or not, the fact that those rats, those scum – had attacked her family under the pretence of wanting money? Lies. The money had been paid in full, even the ridiculous interest, but it was done out of spite for her. Oh, her blood had boiled at the gall of those thugs when Grandpa stumbled in through the door. Her activities weren't legal exactly, but at least she knew how to hide her bloody tracks.
Truth be told, after Grandpa took out that loan, she was forced to start working for the Ferro's to help the old man work it off. She had started by simply running drugs from the production house, a large apartment building to the south side of the East End, to the drug dealers who dealt the drug. When she showed some 'potential' after a couple of gangsters from a rival mafia had landed in a hospital after attempting to attack her, she was moved up, and started acting as a bodyguard for the dealers. By the time the debt was paid back, she was one of the people tasked with the destruction of those opposing the gang or those who got in the way. If she wanted to be fancy and give herself a nice, little spiffy title, assassin was the closest thing that came to describing what she did. When one of the higher ups told her that the debt was done, she worked barely two more weeks before she handed her resignation to the main man, cut all ties with the Ferro's and moved from the little shack by the docks to an apartment north of the 'End with Gramps and her brother.
But the boy didn't need to know all that. All that kid needed to know was that she could handle a gun, and she could handle it well. The round faced, blue-ish black haired boy... So foolish. But, at the same time as she couldn't deny that there was some naivety... She couldn't deny that the small boy, even younger than her bright, energetic younger brother, Joe, had no innocence left in his body. Joe's forest green eyes, shining with a strange mixture of mischievousness, knowledge and ambition, was a stark contrast to the young Earl, who bore hopeless, empty eyes of a deep blue. Put them side by side, and you had two opposites of a spectrum. Joe, lively and hopeful for his future, well fed despite living in an impoverished place, not skinny only because of the woman's constant work and well built from a lifetime of working in labour, and though built a bit lanky, he was strong, despite being just a boy and dressed in the rags of the poor. Then, put Ciel Phantomhive beside him, and its like a strong oak sapling that would grow might, tall and strong next to a withering bud of a dying plant. So small, thin legs holding up an equally thin body dressed in the finery of the nobles. Though he was a noble, the young earl seemed to be malnourished, or he wasn't able to gain weight. He looked fragile, but it was to be expected – a life of lavish foods and expensive clothes, with people doing everything and anything... Of course he was weak, he never needed to exert force or strength. Short, thin, a round, childish face with a large, beautifully colour cobalt eye, the other covered by an eye patch. For what reason he would need a patch, she didn't know, but it was there, and she couldn't help but wonder how it found it's way there on his face.
She shook her head, looking to the side, sitting in the front seat of Phantomhive's carriage with his butler, having opted to sit up front in case of any surprises from the Ferro's. She was not without precautions against the Watchdog's servant; she had her rifle securely in her lap, her knuckles white with how tight she held it in her grasp. Usually, she would be relaxed in a situation like this, knowing full well that her draw was quicker than her opponents, but with the Watchdog, you can never be too sure.
The dirty streets of the East End rolled by, illuminated by only the too dim moonlight, since only the occasional streetlight actually worked. In the richly decorated and built carriage, they stood out like a sore thumb, and the woman's skin crawled as she spotted an old man and a young girl looking at them from in an alley. The man stopped looking after maybe two seconds, leaning forward to the girl like a predator who finally had caught his prey. His target, a young, pretty blonde girl looking barely older than sixteen, leaned her head back, keeping her eyes locked on the woman, hollow, grey eyes gazing through her and piercing her to her core as the man began to drag her away. Swallowing her disgust at the vile man, the woman broke the eye contact, sighing and leaning to rest her forehead on her tightfisted hands as they passed the alley.
She felt eyes on her back, and she peeked to the side, to catch the butler staring at her, like a collector examining a fine antique. She lifted her head, eyes narrowed as she gazed back, her brows drawing together as she eyed the butler. He was handsome, undeniably, with shiny, raven locks of hair just barely reaching the middle of his neck, and reddish-brown, almost burgundy eyes, but it was hard to see clearly in the dim light of broken street lights. In fact, it was hard to see much of anything about the details of his face. All she could see was that his features were long and angular and defined – opposite to the round, childishness of his master. They had talked little, besides the woman offering him directions.
He smirked when he saw her looking, and when she shot her eyes briefly to his exposed, white teeth, she spotted two very sharp canines. She didn't know why, but something about this butler had her so on edge it was taking all her willpower not to try to escape. How had she not noticed the atmosphere he was giving off? And something about him was too... familiar. Like she had seen him before, but she knew for a fact that she had never seen him before. She had had somewhat of a staring contest with the butler back in the tavern, and his expression had been very similar to her's. What his reason was for staring, it was starting to wear on her nerves.
She curled her lips into a sneer, her eyes narrowed into slits. "Take a picture, butler, it'll last longer."
He seemed unabashed that he had been caught, and he finally stopped staring at her and looked back to the road, a velvety, low chuckle rumbling in his throat. She shivered for some reason, not knowing if it was from pleasure or nervousness, and scooted away a little bit, scowling.
After a pregnant pause, she pushed for conversation. Maybe he was better in conversation, rather than suffocating silence. "You don't talk much." Excellent start. She wanted to throw herself into the Thames. Conversation was not a talent of her's, and she was very bad at it by every measure.
But still, he looked back to her, the smirk ever present, and she stared into his eyes, then found that his eyes were not a reddish brown colour, as she had guessed from what she had seen in the dark, but were a bloody crimson. When he spoke, the woman felt her eyes widen, and she instinctively loosened her grip on her rifle in shock. "I did not see you make much of an effort, Miss Cunningham."
Oh, hot damn. Though she rarely admitted it, she had a very acute weakness to men with good voices. Voices like the butler's, of smooth silky velvet, so clear in its tenor, with such noble pattern of speech that she usually couldn't stand... But ooh, he pulled it off so well that she barely even noticed.
Realizing that he was waiting for her reply, she shook her head and cleared her throat. "I... uh..." She cleared her throat again, "Didn't know if you even talked, to be honest. You were real quiet in the bar. And up in the room. And the walk to the carriage and the entire ride so far. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, Mr…um..." She hesitated a bit, scratching the back of her neck. "If ya said it, I never caught your name."
He smiled at her. "I'll tell you my name, if you tell me yours.", but it was how he said it, not what he said, that made a chill run down her spine. The menacing undertone beneath the seemingly idle chatter was impossible to miss.
She froze, but composed herself fast enough she didn't think the butler spotted the change. "I told ya before, but my name is Siobhan Cunnin–"
"You're lying." He said simply, and she looked up only to see him watching her out of the corner of his eye. He had an amused smile on his face.
She bristled, then her words rushed out in an irritated hiss as she dropped her somewhat weak attempt at professional facade. "So what if I am? It's not safe for people of the East End to go and tell strangers their real fuckin' name. It'll come and bite you in the ass eventually, so I like to avoid it. If you're with the Watchdog, you should be more familiar with the ways of the East End." She paused a second. "Take a left there."
He chuckled, low and smooth as he made the turn. "But you forget an important fact, Miss Cunningham." He put emphasis on her alias, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "What use would I have in telling someone your real name?"
"You can do a lot of damage usin' only a name, butler. Think about the names of your master. Say 'Ciel Phantomhive' or 'Watchdog' in any tavern 'round here loud enough, and it'll go quiet as a grave so fast you won't even be able to say a damn word."
The butler shrugged. "I am aware of the influence of the young master. However, this isn't about the names of my Lord, but rather on yours. Though it was a good example, you used a notable figure of power. You are a commoner living in the East End. If I may be frank, you hold no power."
Ouch. That one hurt, and by the way the butler's expression shifted, it was evident on her face. Her face burned in embarrassment, but she held his gaze. "You'd be surprised. After all, most people in the East End participate in questionably legal things. Some have more guts to go big, and havin' the real name of a dangerous criminal floating around it bad for their business, whatever it is. The Watchdog'll come after 'em."
The butler looked to her, raising an eyebrow. "You're from the East End as well, Miss. Have you had any dealings in illegal activities?"
"Don't see how that's any of your business, black." She snarled, letting go of her rifle to cross her arms around her chest.
"But it is. After all, if you are a criminal, convicted or otherwise, that would make you a threat to the master." He paused, his shit eating grin widening at her expression. "Then, I would have to remove you from the investigation."
"I never said I was a criminal." She protested.
He narrowed his eyes at her."You never said you weren't, either." He replied.
She let a sound of frustration that had been bubbling in her throat escape into a groan of indignation. "I don't like to lie, butler."
"How funny that you say that, since all you've said to me or the young master so far have been lies."
"Not everything!" She hissed, jerking up to glare heatedly at him. At his look, she faltered a bit. "Just a bit. But I know where the Ferro's make their drugs, and that should be enough."
"And how would you know that?"
She looked away, feeling her heart speed up a bit, knowing she was caught. "Everyone knows where they work."
"Oh, is that right? Everyone we questioned didn't seem to know."
She completely turned away from the butler, shrugging. "Maybe they were out of the loop. Happens."
She was spun around harshly by a hand at her shoulder. She shouted in protest as two fingers locked tightly and painfully to her chin, forcing her to look up at the butler. "Lying will do you no good. Now, tell me; are you, or are you not a criminal."
She directly at him, refusing to avoid his gaze. "I was."
He gripped her chin a bit harder, and she bared her teeth. "What did you do?"
"I ran drugs back and forth from the production to the dealers. Happy?" She tried to jerk her head away, but he held strong.
"For who?" He demanded, and his eyes hardened, which was very unlike the expression he had shown his master.
She pulled her rifle off her lap, and pressed it under his jaw. His brows drew together in a scowl when the cold steel connected with his skin warm skin, but he didn't jerk away or flinch, his lips only curled a bit in a snarl. "I worked for the Ferro's. My grandpa couldn't work the debt off alone, so I worked for them to help 'im. The minute the debt was paid off, I quit doing shit for them. Now let go of me before I blow your brains out the top of your fucking head."
In spite of the threat, the butler smiled. "This behaviour isn't something that would be called safe for the young master."
"I..." He had her there. Threatening to blow off someone's head was not something most sane or harmless people said. She bit her lip, trying to think. "If... If tell you my real name, will you let me come along? And not mention my actions of questionable legality to the Watchdog. I'd like to stay out of jail, thank you very much."
The butler cracked a smile – not a smirk, a genuine smile – but it was gone before she could really take a look, replaced with that smirk of his. "I don't see how that is a fair deal. And why should I trust the word of someone who worked, and could still be working, for the Ferros'?"
"Uh…" Very good point. She pursed her lips, then let out a sigh. If she really wanted to go, she needed to come out clean. She looked the butler in the eyes, then spoke in a harsh tone of defeat. "I don't have anything else to offer. But, what I do know is that the Ferro's went after my old man because of fuckin' cowards went after a sixty year old man instead of goin' after me, and it caused a lot trouble for my old man and my brother. Azzurro took a few men, then attacked my gramps, which I told ya earlier. I don't know if you understand - frankly, I don't know if you understand. I need to kill Azzurro. He crossed me like a god damn coward, and he's goin' to die for it. And I promised my brother I would be the one to splatter his fuckin' head across the walls or I would die tryin'."
The butler looked at her with a suspicious expression, but it slowly shifted to surprised, like he had been shocked she was telling the truth. She sucked in a breath through her clenched teeth. The woman hadn't realized she had locked her jaw; perhaps she had to keep from saying too much.
The butler hummed a bit, in a sound that was almost approving. "Now that you're telling the truth, I will accept your offer. However, I have a condition." He paused, looking at her, waiting for her approval to continue. She nodded slowly. "You will tell the master your real name. But if you lie once more… Well, you know what will happen. "
She sighed in relief, then her breath caught on the inhale when she realized that she would have to tell him her name. Few people from out of the East End understood the fear of letting people know of their real name. Aliases were useful; once it had outlived its purpose, the false names was scrapped and the person could simply pick up and vanish. Pack up their things and move, and not a single person could track them. They were reusable, sure, but if needed, they could be tossed aside and another name could be used. Damian Williams could be exchanged for Jonathan Chambers. Siobhan Cunningham for Emma Ross. Each as changeable and disposable as the next, and real enough that any of her appearances within the name's rightful gender could be used.
But now, the only permanent name she had was about to be exposed to a man she had known for less than two hours. It was almost nerve wracking knowing something as simple as a name could do so much damage. She hesitated. Something as simple as a name would roll off the tongue of the average person, a simple comment that imprinted on the mind of another as their title. It was a reflexive action; instinctual. Someone asked your name, and you gave it. Simple. But for her, it was complicated beyond measure. Her name was known between two people; her Grandpa and her brother. That was all. Anyone else was dead.
She didn't speak for ten breaths. It shouldn't be, but it was difficult for her to say it. "Take a right here." The butler looked at her in annoyance, and she shrugged and fell silent once more, gathering her courage. When she finally spoke, in a whisper so quiet it was barely a breath. "My name is Annie. Annie Blackwood."
"There," he said, looking to the road as he turned, as per her instructions. "was that so hard?"
She was quiet a moment, before she regained her bravado and smirked a bit."It was agonizing. But, I told you my name, so it's only right that you should tell me yours."
He smirked. "That's only if you introduce yourself properly."
"Why do you insist on torturing me?" She complained.
"Because it's entertaining."
She groaned, leaning back in her seat for a moment until she finally gave up. "Fine." She placed a sardonic smile on her face, using a voice to match as she held out her hand for him to shake. "Hi, my name is Annie Blackwood. What's your name?"
He took her hand as they passed under a working street light. The light illuminated the two of them, and she could finally see his face.
He was like a god personified. His face was angular and well defined, with stunning yet piercing eyes, framed with dark eyelashes that caught the light, the colour of blood. His hair was a shiny raven black, styled a bit longer and while looking slightly overgrown, it was neat. He had a long, oval shaped face. She blinked, then swallowed, then tried not to think about how easy on the eyes he was.
He smiled pleasantly as he firmly, but not too roughly, shook her hand. "My name is Sebastian Michaelis." She was about to say something, or maybe just sigh and look at him for the rest of the trip, but then, as they passed from the light of the street lamp, she saw something that made her blood freeze in her veins and her heart drop to her stomach. His grinned, spreading his lips wide to show his sharp canines. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Her heart pounded in her ears and her eyes were wide, feeling like she wouldn't be able to look away from those eyes, but she forced herself to look away, something clawing into her stomach, spreading and numbing her like an illness. She tried to think, clear her thoughts, but she was internally in chaos. His eyes hadn't... She was hallucinating. Completely, one hundred percent. There was no way, it just wasn't possible...
There was no way that his eyes had been glowing like fire from the depths of hell.
So, how was it? I would love to hear what people think. Review and constructive criticism are appreciated and welcomed. If there are any grammar mistakes, let me know and I'll fix them. My first language in terms of reading and writing isn't English, so I have trouble with grammar sometimes. Sorry in advance. ^_^|ll