(Will & Grell fanfic)
Grell's a female in this one, simply because I lament the lack of female Reapers in the series (even though they do technically exist) and I don't want to create OCs.
With references to the films Moulin Rouge and The Green Hornet.
Kuroshitsuji and all its characters belongs to Yana Toboso .
He'd found her in a sleazy Parisian bordello, telling a naughty joke in French to a group of men, a glass of absinthe in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Her glossy scarlet lips curled around the delightful lilt of the language, slightly marred by her English accent. She tossed her head back, braying like a donkey when she delivered the punchline. A frown tattooing his face deepened: never before he'd seen such a creature so disgusting, so obscene.
So desirable.
She spotted him, and like a switch, all traces of mirth were gone, replaced by puzzlement.
With two fingers, he beckoned to her imperiously. He half-expected her to refuse, but she gracefully excused herself from her audience and went to him.
The first thing he did was nod at her precarious neckline and said: "Cover those up. Honestly, people'd think you work here."
"And a good evening to you too, Will dear," Grell said, his remark whizzing past her head unheeded as she draped herself on his shoulder like a mink stole. Clearly, she was used to this kind of treatment. "Of all the places in the world, what are you doing here?"
"I had a last-minute Reaping here yesterday. An…employee of this, this establishment."
She suddenly gasped, grabbing his hand so hard it hurt. "Ah, yes! One of the girls. Tuberculosis, I believe. Tragic little thing. I heard that she was caught in a love triangle. Oh, how romantic, Will!"
"Tch."
"But, the French Shinigami Branch should've handled that. Why'd they send you? Why not me, since I'm clearly in the area?"
"You," Will said, steering her away from the maddening crowd, "have the worst track record with prostitutes, remember? And, you're on vacation. One that's imposed on by the Division Director himself, nonetheless. For the life of me, I can't imagine what kind of improvement he was looking for by doing this…what with the Trancy fracas you were somehow involved in. Why, some of our team were still mopping up the mess as we speak!"
"Oh, pishtosh, Will. Jack the Ripper was sooo yesterday," Grell said, mimicking a yawn. "You need to get along with the times! Where are you taking me?"
"Out of here. What were you doing with those men?"
"Modelling!"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"You mean, they make you strip naked and then draw you?"
"Ugh, they didn't make me do anything, Will darling."
"Oh, well…if that's the c-"
"I suggested it myself!"
"Sutcliff, you are a disgrace to the entire London Shinigami Department! Honestly, for you to even consider doing something like that-"
"It's art! There's nothing shameful about art! Besides, I quite enjoy being their muse. You know, those boys're part of a new movement. I believe it's called-" she dug in her heels and stopped. William found himself swinging around up to her like a weathervane. If Grell were one, she'd be those obscenely humourous ones. Chainsaw shaped, perhaps, or…kinky undergarments. Oh, and it'll be red.
"Im-pre-ssio-nism," she recited as if it was a sacred mantra. Beaming up at him proudly, she continued: "Aren't you glad, knowing that I gave birth to a movement that will sweep up the world in a wild storm?"
"And reduce it to ruins. Hm. Yes, very fascinating, Sutcliff. More paperwork for me and you, need to get home." Lately Grell had been talking about giving birth a lot, and while he'd never admit it openly, William was worried.
"Huh, you're no fun, Will. Just because you don't want to draw me naked doesn't mean I can't let others do it. It's my body, dammit!"
She actually stamped her foot as she swore, and when she did, the heel of her dainty shoe broke, making her lose balance.
William decided that some quotas had to be met, so he smiled. There, one smile per year, all done. Maybe one more if the occasion really calls for it.
The floor said: "Well? Aren't you going to help a poor damsel in distress?"
William spun around and walked away, calling over his shoulder: "Come along, Sutcliff. You need to start packing."
…... …... …... …... …... …... …...
Grell thought of a name, and it wasn't a nice name at all.
It must've came back after reading – or attempting to read – one of those stuffy books William seemed to enjoy…'Dissertations of the Human Psyche', 'The Prince'…literature containing sticky academic terms not even a common dictionary could explain; most likely written by stuck-up prats like…well, her William.
You are what you read, after all.
She hummed to herself as she negotiated her way through the train wreck of her rented apartment. Her latest pet project was sitting quietly in the corner: an attempt at painting. You can't stay in Paris; much less Montmarte without being moved to make some form of art. She deliberately chose a room overlooking the infamous Moulin Rouge. That's how she liked things: notorious, forbidden, debauched.
Sensuous.
Hah, if only father could see her now.
Her feral grin glinted against the windmill lights.
Oh, yes…what was that name again?
The Electra Complex.
So her illness does have a definition after all.
How can someone be sexually attracted to their parents was beyond her. She certainly wasn't with her father. But, loving men resembling him, well…that's an entirely different story altogether; one that would warrant a complete book box set, a movie deal and a best-selling soundtrack. But she didn't know those things yet. The world had yet to know Hollywood. Right now, Paris was the centre of everything. The Bohemian Revolution. It sounded so romantic, but Will had scoffed and christened it 'The Bohemian Revulsion'.
She didn't mind, or at least pretended that she didn't. He's just like father - undervaluing the things she loved. Sometimes she wondered if they both did that on purpose. There were positively millions of joys in the world, and yet none of them could reach father. Maybe it's because of all that paperwork getting in the way. Or the barred windows. Or maybe, the bank really did chain their employees to their desks, timed their toilet breaks and put a dragon at the entrance so people can't punch out early. Balancing money was something father's extremely good at; quite possibly his only real talent in life. Grell, on the other hand, had the opposite of the Midas' Touch: any money that came into her hands trickle away like water. She couldn't help it if she was a wee bit generous with money. They're there for spending…right?
Meh, whatever.
She tried shaking away the ghosts of arguments she wished she had with him.
He's dead now. No point in bringing up dregs, especially when the waters were full of piranhas.
At least whenever they were having one of their office rows, Will actually listened as she made her point before he made his. Father had the force of a Titanic propeller: he'd sweep aside whatever opinions you had and expect you to follow his wake.
That's one good aspect. How's that for positive thinking, huh? Pensive is so not you, Grellie girl. Cheer up! Think red things.
She grinned again, though her heart wasn't in it. Once you open the bullpen of memories, the only way was to run along or get trampled by the ugly bits.
And boy, does she know ugly…yessir.
Father's bloody funeral statue, for starters. They'd actually made one, as if he was some Hindu deity. The bank remembered him as a diligent worker, dedicated, thorough and most of all visionary: one of the most excellent chairmen they'd ever known. All she remembered was his chilly silence, the painful words and most of all: his flaming rage, accentuated by the redness of his face…her most favourite colour of all.
If only he could see her now.
Needless to say, the moment she became a Reaper, the first thing she did was visit his grave and lop off the statue head with her chainsaw. Next she stalked the Shinigami Library for his cinematic record and settled in the viewing theatre just for the heck of it. It was the most boring movie ever made in the history of God's Creation, but thirty minutes later William found her outside, weeping like a willow.
He was baffled by her wet babblings, but from what little he could make out, she kept saying: "He cared. That stupid old man actually cared! He liked the fluffy sheep clock!"
Being the warm and loving person that he was, William curtly told her to get back to work and stop being 'a damp hen'.
Maybe that's why she kept giving him second chances. Beneath all that icy exterior lies a passionate man who truly believes that action speaks louder than words.
In his case: tiny, miniscule actions. Microscopic, even. You'll miss it if you blink. Getting him to laugh will be like discovering penicillin: momentous, historical.
Priceless.
So what if she gets hurt trying to reach out to him? Will's a slightly better person than father. Whatever nugget of emotion she'd managed to chip out of Will would be genuine, and it'd only be for her. That makes her feel like a very special girl indeed.
Of course, if she'd ever got impatient, she could always use dynamite…
She will never get things right with father – nor she wanted to…but with Will, she literally had all the time in the world to do just that.
Now, if only he could accept her rampant, psychotic, obsessive-compulsive behaviour…
…... …... …... …... …... …... …...
The minute William woke up, he knew he was missing a Grell.
He found her in the living room, clad in only his shirt. She was staring out the balcony, the chilly night raising goosebumps over her long, shapely legs.
The cold was never for Grell.
She belonged in Summer, of fire and wild impulses.
Not for the first time, he wondered why she'd even bother being with him.
She kept complaining, very loudly, that he doesn't understand her.
The actual truth was, she's right.
But one thing that he does understand was that he loved her. In his own way. This silly, frustrating, complex creature will probably be the death (no pun intended) of him one day and he's surprisingly fine with that. If that wasn't love, then he didn't know what was.
Clearing his throat, he said gruffly: "Honestly, how do you expect to bring all these stuff back? It seemed as if you've been living here for a year! It's only two weeks, Grell!"
Her face lit up as she turned to him. "That's why you're here, love. Where there's a Will, there's a way. Ahahaaa…! Get it?"
He shook his head, briskly clearing a space on the cluttered writing desk so that he could start on his report. He accidently upset a stack of amature photographs – Grell's last hobby. God knows she's had truckloads – and failed to hold back the sneer when he saw the eyes of the demon looking back at him. They were in various poses too: him fighting, cooking, trimming the hedge…hang on, there's even one with Grell…
He couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm burning these," he declared, holding the entire stack up.
Grell screeched, swooping over him like a revenge of the Furies and snatched the offending pictures from his hand. His hair was still fluttering in the breeze as she started to scream.
"Don't you bloody dare, William T. Spears! I'll…I'll claw your eyes out if you do!"
"The very fact that you're even fraternizing with that thing is against Division laws. How many times must I drill that into that thick, stupid head of yours before you finally understand?"
"Well, excuuse me if you can't appreciate Fine Art Photography!" Grell snapped to a background of William's derisive grunt. "How'd you feel if I were to get rid of your…your…" she fumbled wildly in her mind, trying to remember the things William treasure the most. "'Discussion on Aristotle's Metaphysics of Ethics' Limited Edition set, huh? The golden sealed one, signed by Chachos Whatzisname!"
"It's Professor Achakos Kliesthenes-"
"Whatever!"
William clenched his jaw, refusing to lose his temper. Really, why were they together again?
He stared at this scarlet Goddess, panting with anger, cradling her precious 'art' close to her chest. Why, less than an hour ago, she was panting from something else…
"Keep them out of my sight, then. I don't care how, or where, but make sure the next time I come over your house, I don't see them anywhere. Do you understand?"
Her shoulders dropped, tension winding loose. She nodded, her face suddenly splitting into a wide, almost maniacal grin.
"Ooh, I get it. My darling Will is jealous! How sweet…I never thought you cared that much for me."
A sloppy hug from her went unrecipocated.
"I've work to do, Grell," Will said stiffly. "You need to pack up, goodness knows how. Our train leaves at ten tomorrow, so that leaves you with roughly six hours."
"So typically Will," she sighed, slipping off him. "Thinking of work even after getting a handful of fabulous moi. This is Paris, darling. We've only got a few more moments of vacation left. Live a little!"
"London, Paris, doesn't matter. When there's work, there's work."
"Pfft, such a boring little thing," she airily said, sauntering away. Work may be foremost in William's mind, but that still didn't stop him from sparing a glance at her backside. "Fine, do your silly reports. I'll give you a moment of peace. But if you don't come here in an hour, I'll go over there and…"
William waited. "And what?"
"Hush, darling. Hurry up."
Silence reigned as William began to write. Riffling sounds coming from the other side of the room must've meant that Grell was looking through those blasted photos again.
"By the way, Will…" her voice floated over. "This may be rather presumptious of me, but…you didn't happen to come to Paris just because you miss me, do you? That Reaping job was just an excuse."
William scoffed. "You've a real talent for creating something that wasn't there before, you know that? Why don't you put that talent to good use and start turning in all those backdated reports?"
"Hn, I thought so." There was a smile in her words. "Well I miss you too, mon amour."
William's pen screeched to a halt.
"And I love you," she went on. "One day at a time."
The photos burned to ashes in the fireplace as she said those words.
THE END