Lonely Shop
London, 1886
London, a lively place where people were nice, food was good, and businesses and carts succeeded. Although, on this particular street, there was a different kind of store, or should I say shop. There were food vendors, restaurants, supply shops, but surprisingly (seeing as how many people there were in London) there was but one mortician. Perhaps it was because death doesn't always go over too well in a conversation. Perhaps it was because no one wished to do the dirty-work of the dead. Perhaps it was because death could make the people of London uneasy and troubled.
Nevertheless, there was a large, dark, single-swinging door with a beautiful black frame sitting aside a coffin, two gravestones, and many spiderwebs near the end of the street on a less-inhabited part of town with a sign above it embellished with gold edging, a purple background and a skull sitting atop it that in black, large print read "Undertaker". There weren't many strangers to willingly wonder to this part of town, and there were even less to open up the shop's door, but those who did, wanted one of two things. They either wanted information to satisfy their thirst for knowledge, or something to adorn the body of the dead. Lately, this particular part of town has been dead silent, no one to speak of at all, and that made for peace and quiet, but it also made for loneliness.
This shop with the door with the fetching frame and the decorated sign isn't the whole story to it, though. There is someone inside this place, someone extraordinary in his own way. Who is this man, one who is naive may ask. Well, this man has no true name, but you may call him the Undertaker.
The Undertaker is a truly genteel and respectable man, he wouldn't do anything to displease any one person for no justified reason. He is of the sorts of people who would prefer to be alone and happy, than to be bustling and bothered. He delights in company, but he would be comfortable with a fewer quantity. He was perfectly fine to talk to if you had ever to need someone, and it was a wonder why he didn't have more people to visit. There was only one true reason why people didn't come to visit the Undertaker just to pleasure in a conversation. It was because almost all of London who had heard of the Undertaker, believed he was mad.
Although, truth-be-told, if you were ever to meet this man, you too would probably believe him to be scatty. He had that certain ambiance about him. The Undertaker wore his hair white (with a few gray streaks) and his bangs swept to opposite sides of his face covering both his eyes while the rest of his hair went soundly down to his lower back and possibly longer. He had a scar that trailed from above his left eye to his below right cheek and another that went all the way around his neck. He wore a black over-cloak with a gray sash going across with lockets going around his waist. He wore black boots with strapping going across his feet and he had the longest black nails you could imagine, topped with his trademark tipped top hat. It wasn't a wonder people though he was a loony.
Today was an odd one, though. He didn't feel as though he usually did. He wished to have company, it had been a while since he had any. It had been a long while. He felt the suffocating feeling that absolutely no one was there, he almost felt dissolved in the silence as well. He could only heard the crunch of his biscuit and the beating of his heart. He evaded coffins as he walked over to door, he could clearly hear the soft tapping of his heels against the floor. He slowly opened his shop's door as he peeked his head out of the door into the bright, sunny street and turned his head from left to right and seeing no one he thought to himself, "Hmm... Why is no one about? Perhaps it is a Sunday, possible Sunday morning? Yes, that would make sense."
He poked his head back inside his shop and walked back to sit on a coffin. He sat down and slumped his shoulders just as he heard a tapping on his door.
Undertaker gave a grin, "Please come in", and as he saw the door opening he spoke again, "What ever is it I can do for you?"
As the door of the shop opened there was a young man and another, taller, man enter the room. The younger of them had black, almost blue hair with an eyepatch accompanying a dark blue eye. He wore regal clothing, meaning he was a noble. The other man, who seemed older, had black hair going down to his chin and red eyes. He was wearing a suit and silently trailing the young boy, he is a servant.
"Well, well, look who it is, young Ciel Phantomhive, son of the late Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive and the butler, Sebastian Michaelis", Undertaker grinned, "Could I offer you a biscuit", he asked as he held out a jar.
"No, I'll have to pass. Undertaker, I am looking for information", Ciel said stoic.
"Again? I was hoping to be able to fit you for one of my coffins on this fine day. Although, if it is information you are looking for, you do know the price."
"I do. Sebastian", Ciel ordered.
"Yes, my young lord", he began, "There were three friends who died in a car accident and went to an orientation in heaven. They were all asked, 'When you are in your casket and your friends and family are mourning you, what would you like to hear them say about you?' The first man replies, 'I would like to hear them say I was a great doctor of my time and a great family man.' The second man replies, 'I would like to hear I was a wonderful husband and school teacher who made a huge difference of our children of tomorrow.' The last man replies, 'I would like to hear them say... Look, he's moving!'"
Instantly, the Undertaker blew up laughing. Ciel lazily sighed and Sebastian stood looking at Undertaker with a slight smile on his face, amused at Undertaker's reaction.
"Alright, alright, you got me", Undertaker wheezed.
He told them what they wished to know and they went off on their way.
"Perhaps Ciel Phantomhive doesn't believe he has any significance in this world besides revenge for his parents, but he did make my day more entertaining", Undertaker thought as he continued to stare at his door, "Maybe one of the grim reapers will visit me tomorrow."