Grell exited the maze of London's streets, the setting sun lighting up the town behind him in a blazing inferno, and began making his way to the outskirts where the old Mandalay estate lay, fuming. Earlier in the day, he had shown up at work late, and Will had hurled his death scythe mercilessly at him as he walked in. Grell's precious red jacket from Madam Red had been torn apart. Will had adamantly refused to replace it before shoving Grell's assignment into his hands and walking out. The very nerve of him!

Grell's current task was to reap and collect the soul of old Mandalay. Mandalay had gone crazy after his wife had drowned in the ocean on a cruise and was put into an asylum by his children. His soul was meant to be taken many years later, but the circumstances had changed when he had escaped from the asylum the night before. He had made his way through London towards the Mandalay estate, slowly, but surely, screaming for his wife. By morning he had already made it out of London, and due to Grell's usual tardiness and general incompetence at performing his job, he was not stopped before he reached the estate.

As Grell approached the old mansion that was only a shadow of its former grandeur, a distinct sound began to reach his ears. It appeared to be a voice that was slowly dying out. The words were slightly incoherent and came out jaggedly at irregular intervals, but Grell could still make out the sweet, tender tone of the notes. Even so, the song still seemed to have a sorrowful tinge that haunted him. He stopped on the rough, dirt path for a moment, transfixed.

"—fair lady. London Bridge is falling down… falling… down… fal… ling down…"

Suddenly, Grell had an inexplicable urge to find out who was singing. He tore through the mansion, peering hurriedly into all the rooms, and, finding that each one was empty, rushed on. At last, he came to the stairwell leading to the attic. Here, Grell could hear the words most clearly, but the voice was weaker that when he had first heard it outside. He raced up the stairwell, reached a small landing, flung open the wooden door before him, and stepped in.
He slowly closed the door behind him.

It was dark; and very so. The darkness even prevented Grell from seeing his hand inches from his face, so he fumbled blindly into the darkness.

"Mr. Mandalay? No use hiding, I shall find you anyways. Might as well step out near the door, where I can see you." Grell sniffed, leaning heavily against his chainsaw. "Come now, Mr. Mandalay, I am a very busy woman."

"…is…falling…down…" came a whisper. Grell jumped and gave a very dignified shriek, leaping back and frantically feeling for the door. His hand firmly grasped the handle and he tugged on it frantically. The door was shut tightly, and Grell gave an angry snarl as he continued to beat on the door. He heard a strange rustle behind him, such as a person moving, and he slammed his entire body against the door a final time.

"No! Don't eat me!" he begged, his hands rising to cover his face. In reality, he had no idea where is attacker was, or even if there was an attacker, but it was his natural reaction after so many years spent with William to quickly protect his (beautiful) face if he was threatened.

"My fair lady," came a whispered reply. Grell could feel the words gently trail off, as if someone had fallen asleep singing. Grell slowly lowered his hands.

"Mr. Mandalay?"
"You know of my master?"

Grell jumped as he felt the voice speak behind his back. He reached behind him, stopping when his hands stroked something smooth and cold.

"You certainly aren't Mr. Mandalay," he muttered, his fingers lightly trailing across smooth clothes and cold skin. He turned to face the figure. "Regardless of who you are, let me out of this room, this instant!" Grell demanded, his hand lashing out and grabbing the man's throat. He squeezed mercilessly, choking the man and digging into him with sharp nails.

He was surprised to feel, under his fingers, not soft, warm flesh, but cold, hard porcelain.

"You know of my m-master," the voice came again, soft and fluttering, trailing off into a deep sigh. "My master is not well."

"Obviously, genius, I was sent here to kill him," Grell snapped. "Who are you?"

"I am Drocell Keinz," the broken figure before Grell croaked out.
Drocell, hmm? Very well, Mr. Keinz. Where is Mr. Mandalay?" Drocell was silent, and Grell tapped his foot impatiently. "Get on with it, you useless idiot, and turn on the lights. Spit it out, or I shall have to use force."

Drocell wordlessly lit a candle, and Grell squinted through the dim light to better see Drocell's face.

He was a young man, perhaps his mid twenties. His head hung down, his eyes cast on the floor, and he glanced at Grell every so often through his pale blond eyelashes. "I…I should not tell a stranger where my master is," Drocell murmured, his white gloved hands fidgeting with the candle he held. Grell placed his hand on his hip, waiting for Drocell to continue. Drocell hunched his shoulders shyly. "No strangers…they might hurt him. He is not well."

"Drocell," Grell said, his patience wearing thin. He lifted the chainsaw and placed it delicately under Drocell's chin. "I will not hesitate to kill you and find your master myself. Tell me where he is."

"My life has no meaning. Kill me, if you'd like. I will not betray my master. I am his butler; forever by his side. Your threats are pitiful and meaningless," Drocell said blatantly. Grell felt Drocell push lightly on the chainsaw, moving it away from his neck.

"Excuse me?" Grell gaped, his hand going to his mouth. The very nerve of this man; to insult him while he had his very life in his hands. Drocell was either stupid or suicidal. "Say that to my face! You disgusting-" Grell's rage got the better of him. He brought the weapon high over his head, swinging it down over Drocell. He expected Drocell to succumb to the violence, to finally break down and reveal his master's whereabouts, to run away, to react, but Grell was shocked to find Drocell staring fearlessly at Grell, his pale blue eyes meeting Grell's vibrant green ones.

"I have already told you, I'm not afraid of death."

Grell huffed, lowering the weapon, gritting his teeth. "You're a brazen little fellow, aren't you? Not afraid of a Grim Reaper? You care about your master more than yourself." Grell flashed a sharp-toothed smile at Drocell, who quietly looked at the floor. He took Drocell's chin in his hand and forced his head upwards, his eyes meeting his. "Tell you what; if you tell me where your master is, his death will be quick and painless. If I have to torture you to get an answer or kill you and find him myself, he will suffer for your foolish folly. What do you say, Drocell Keinz? Will you cooperate with me?"

"You will make my master suffer?" Drocell said, his quiet voice rising in small crescendo as panic flashed in his dull eyes. "You will kill him either way?"

"His death is inevitable. If I do not kill him myself, his soul could be lost or stolen by a stray demon."

"He…" Drocell hung his head. "Is there anything I can do to save him?" he breathed.

"Hah! You're rather cute, I like you. So loyal; you're a brave little puppet to your master, indeed you are." Grell said affectionately, ruffling Drocell's pale orange hair. Drocell trembled. "No, there is nothing you can do. He's going to die. You can, however, decide if you want to die with him. Come now, just tell me; I would hate to have to slice through your pretty body and leave your corpse here."

"I will tell you where my master is if you promise to end his suffering as painlessly as possible," Drocell murmured, bowing his head. "But…if I may ask, Mr. Grim Reaper, I would like to make a request."

"Ooh, 'Mr. Grim Reaper'? I rather like that name; fits me well," Grell grinned, pleased at Drocell's respectful title. "But I would not mind you calling me 'Grell,' either. Yes, I will end him quietly and painlessly if you tell me where he is and you unlock this door. Let me hear your request before I agree to anything."

"If…if I tell you where he is, I want you to kill me, too." Drocell said shyly, his hands grasping at his blue coat. "I don't want to live without him, and I don't want to live with the guilt of knowing a betrayed him. Please, Mr. Grell, if you would be so kind…" Drocell raised his head, studying Grell's shocked expression carefully. "Kill me with my master."

"Er…I…I don't see why not…" Grell coughed, turning his head. He faced the painting on the wall, pretending to look at it, while out of the corner of his eye, he studied Drocell closely, taking in the miserable look on his face. "I…I could kill you if you'd like. You are not human, are you? I'm not supposed to kill humans that are not on the To-Die List—not that it hasn't stopped me before—but since you are obviously not human, there is no restriction." Grell said gently, drawing his thumb across Drocell's cheek, feeling the cold, hard porcelain underneath. Drocell batted his hand away.

"I do not like to be touched."

"What are you?"

"I…I am…I don't know," Drocell admitted, hanging his head in shame. "What are you waiting for, Mr. Grell? Kill me now, and I want you to make me suffer. Then, kill my master, as you must, and make it painless."

For a moment, Grell was silent, stunned by the complete and utter selflessness of the being that currently stood before him. Then, he recovered himself enough to muster up a typical Grell response.

"Well, I'm not making any promises until you show me where you're hiding Mandalay," Grell huffed.

Drocell stared at him with his glassy, sorrowful eyes. "Come this way." he finally replied. He took a step forward with a horrible creaking sound as his broken joints struggled to work properly. Drocell paused, as if that single step has drained him of all his energy. Then, he shuffled awkwardly on, stopping every few steps to rest. Grell had half a mind to just pick up the poor man.

After quite some time, Grell found himself in what appeared to be the kitchen. Here, the fading remnants of the sun's rays filtered through the windows shattered from weather and old age and lit up the room. For the first time, Grell got a clear look at Drocell. He had a blue fleur-de-lis under his right eye and wore a top hat decorated with a scarlet ribbon (that Grell was rather partial to) and grey feathers. His assemblage reminded Grell vaguely of a toy soldier or puppet.

"He is here," Drocell said, pulling open the door to the pantry and stepping in. Grell entered and saw an old, balding man that he presumed was Mandalay sprawled over some bags of flour, snoring in ignorant bliss, unaware that he and his soul would soon be departing from the world. The senile lunatic had quite a wide girth and fairly toppled over himself when Grell nudged him slightly with the handle of his death scythe, but the poor fool remained in his dreamland and did not wake.

Grell sniffed with disdain. "Hmm, it looks like I'll be putting him out of his misery. No use in beating around the bush." He raised his chainsaw over his head, preparing to finish the job in one quick, painless motion, but then things got a hell of a lot more complicated.