It was a cold, dreary eve in the city Even though it was the middle of The Season, a sudden, cold shower had shocked the city-dwellers and visitors from the countryside. On the paved streets, horses clopped and splashed through the rain, soaking both animals and drivers while the carriage's inhabitants stayed toasty and dry inside. Few were walking at this time, as most had chosen to stay inside where it was dry and simply left errands for the next day.
However, this was on the pleasant side of London. On the other side, though things were similar in some ways, they were different in most others. The pavement here, even though it was being washed by the rain, still had the appearance of being grimy and rough. There was trash, in the sense of both people and litter, scattered all over. Some waited under the eaves of buildings, either showing leg and waiting for customers or acting as potential customers themselves, searching for the right one to provide 'service'. Others waited outside doors and knocked secret codes into the wood with their fists to be let into the dens filled with brain-numbing smoke.
In the darkest alley on the street, where not even the prostitutes or the stray dogs payed any mind to what it contained, two small bodies huddled together in the shadows.
They were obviously children, perhaps only about three years old each. They were both soaked to the bone; filthy, matted hair that might have been blonde at one point was now sooty and dripping large drops of water onto their foreheads. Their clothes, ragged and filthy as their hair, were held together by mere threads and hung loosely on their bony frames. Their eyes, once bright blue, were tired and dull. The childrens' heads leaned against each other.
"Brother, I'm cold," the girl mumbled. Her brother nodded weakly, shifting both of their heads as he did so.
"Me too," he responded simply. The language that slipped off of their tongues wasn't English. Even if anyone had bothered to pass by the dark alley, they wouldn't have been able to understand them, anyways. "Are you hungry?" he finally managed to ask. He could feel the girl, his twin, nod. Memories of eating well were far off, replaced by the current gnawings of empty stomachs.
"At least... at least we still have each other," the girl whispered quietly. The boy responded with a quiet 'mhm' and nothing more. Somehow, their malnourished hands found each other and held on as tightly as they could. Then they closed their eyes and tried to sleep, knowing very well that it may have been the last time they closed their eyes.
"Weell weeell, looky what we have were. Two little street rats huddled together in the rain." The two opened their eyes again when they heard someone speaking, as they hadn't fallen asleep quite yet. A very tall man was standing over them, looking down at them from under an umbrella that looked as if it had been blown up and pushed back down time and time again. Silvery hair fell down his face in long bangs, hiding his eyes in shadow, while the rest of it fell in messy locks down past his waist. A hand covered his mouth slightly, half-concealing a toothy grin. Long, black fingernails lingered over a scar that crossed his face and disappeared behind the shadows of his bangs. A long, black robe hid most of him, but not how tall and lanky he was, as it hung loosely on him.
"You know, you're really not like rats," the man went on in a childish sort of voice. "No, more like mice." His grin grew wider. "Yes, that's it. Teensie little street meecies in the rain." The children stared at him blankly. The man seemed to notice and tilted his head. "Oh, little meecies from across the water, can't understand a word I say, am I right?" He only received more blank stares. The children couldn't understand this strange man who spoke in a language that was foreign to their ears. "Well then, can you understand me now?" The children were surprised by the sudden switch to their native tongue. They stared at the man more, now straining to listen, even despite the hunger dulling their senses. "I thought so. Little French meecies you are. Looking fit to die soon, too, in your condition."
He leaned forward, seeming to examine them. He let out something between a low giggle and a high chuckle. "Ooh, now I look at you, you're little twinsie meecies. How amusingly sweet." The strange man had reverted back to the tongue that was strange to the children, or twins, as the man had pointed out. The silver-haired man made a 'hmm' noise as he spun his umbrella between his fingers. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. He had also begun talking to himself in his strange tongue, so it was all the twins could do to watch his unfamiliarly moving lips.
"Hm, well, let's see now. I don't really have to do anything for the two of you. It wouldn't be no trouble to my sleep if I left you both here to die. Nope, not at all. I see dead street meecies all the time in my little business, what's a couple more to a man like meself?" He watchen them a bit more, then broke into a strange, half-crazed grin. "My my, look at me. Here I am, asking myself why," his grin grew wider. "Well, now I respond to me, why not?"
The twins had been sitting silently, watching his lips move, though they couldn't comprehend a single thing he said. The only sounds they made were some muffled squeaks of shock as they felt themselves being picked up off the ground. The feel of something soft and smooth, most likely fabric, pressed into their faces. It took them a moment to figure out that they were being pressed against the side of the strange man's robe. He held them up with one arm, using his other to hold his beat-up umbrella.
"Well then, off we go, little meecies." With that, he left the alley and started down the street, still carrying the little twins in his arm. If they had any energy, they might have squirmed in his hold or, if not, at least asked where he was taking them. However, the both of them were so tired and hungry they could hardly even think. Not to mention it was surprisingly warm being pressed against him.
There, on that rainy night, being carried away from a grimy alley by a black-clad, silver-haired man they didn't know, the twins fell into a light slumber.
–
They awoke some time later, in a place that was unfamiliar to them. Here it was warm and dry, if not a little dark. The two looked down and found that even their pitiful excuses for clothes were dry, meaning that they had been there a while, wherever they were.
"Ooh, the little meecies are awake." The twins looked up when they saw the strange, silver-haired man enter the room. However, even though they saw him first, they focused immediately on the plate he was carrying. The plate was of an ordinary size and make, but it was stacked with thick slices of fresh, warm bread. The smell and sight alone made the childrens' mouths water and their stomachs growl with emptiness. "Hungry little meecies, aren't we?" He placed the plate down on a portion of the flat surface in front of them and motioned at it with an open hand. "Well, dig in."
Almost immediately, the children stared at him once more. Expressions of distrust were evident on their faces, distrust bred by being on the street for the period they had. The man chuckled again, seeming amused by something.
"What? You think I'm trying to poison you? Such silly little meecies." When the two continued to stare at them, he shrugged. He reached out a hand in their direction, making them shrink away. However, he only took a slice of bread from the plate and pulled his arm away again. He brought the bread up to his mouth and bit a large chunk out of it, then chewed it slowly before swallowing it with a large 'gulp'. He motioned to the plate again, smacking his lips loudly for emphasis.
After seeing this, the children looked at each other, then slowly reached out and took pieces of the bread themselves, still keeping wary eyes on the silver-haired man. On a silent count, they both took a bite at the same time. Their eyes flew open when the food his their tongues. The bread was fluffy and warm, one side generously slathered with butter that was slowly softening from the bread's warmth.
In no time at all, the twins' suspicions were forgotten in light of the food. They took the bread from the plate as quickly as their little hands could grab the thick slices. The strange man who was feeding them still sat across from them, quiet and hardly moving, seeming to observe them as they ate so voraciously. He had a porcelain cookie jar in his lap, from which he was removing and eating what looked suspiciously like dog biscuits. Finally, when the plate was only half-empty, the man took the plate from the children, wagging a finger at them when they reached out their hands again.
"Ah ah ah, later. Little meecies who eat too much will only get sick." He stood with the plate and left the room through the door he had entered. This gave the twins a chance to look around the room. It wasn't a large room, but it wasn't small either. There were numerous long, rectangular boxes with crosses engraved in the wood scattered about in random places. They were sitting on one such box at the moment, the boy was tracing the cross engraved in the surface next to him. In one corner of the room, a desk sat with completely filled bookshelves behind it. In another corner, a long, lumpy form was covered with a red-stained white cloth. There were other strange objects in the room, from mirrors and plants to things they couldn't even describe. They didn't have time to think about that, through, as the man returned at that moment. He walked back over to them and sat two cups down in front of them.
"Drunk up now, it's nice and warm," he said as he sat back with his own cup. Since they had stopped being suspicious about him poisoning them, they drank it. It turned out to be warm milk, which they enjoyed immensely. The cups they drank from were squat and fat and had black lines and squiggly things going up the sides. A small triangular shape poked out from the rim of each cup.
"Well, I suppose now's a good a time as ever for introductions," the man said. "People call me many things, but you may call me Undertaker." Undertaker placed down his strange cup and folded his hands so he could rest his head atop them. "So, what names shall I call you two by?" The twins looked at each other briefly, then turned and shrugged at the Undertaker.
"We don't know our names," the boy said simply. His sister nodded in agreement.
"We had names at one point, I think, but we've forgotten them." The Undertaker stroked his bangs thoughtfully.
"Well, that's a bit of a problem then, isn't it? Can't go on calling you meecies forever, no matter how fun it is. Got to have proper names, you do." He grinned and did the peculiar little giggle of his again as he snapped his fingers. "Well then, we'll just have to make you new names, won't we?" He tilted his head as he tapped his chin with one of his long nails. Finally, he tilted his head right-side-up and grinned. "I've got it now," he said as he waved a finger in the air. "Very well, you," he pointed at the girl, "will be Fionna and you," he pointed at her brother, "will be Finnian. How's that sound?" The twins looked at each other, then back at the Undertaker and shrugged.
"It sounds okay, I guess," the boy said. "But can we really make new names for ourselves, Mr. Undertaker?" The Undertaker waved his hand dismissively as he continued to grin.
"Of course you can. You got no names for yourselves, so I don't see why you can't make up new ones." Suddenly, the girl, whom the Undertaker had dubbed Fionna, yawned softly, not bothering to cover her mouth. As the contagiousness of a yawn catches quickly, the newly named Finnian yawned just after she did. Their eyes dropped slightly; the twins felt warm, full, and sleepy. The Undertaker clicked his tongue and wagged a finger at the twins. "We can save the rest of our talking for the morning." With this, he got up from his seat and went to the twins. They were so tired they hardly did anything when he picked them up and carried them into another room. The next thing either of them knew, they were lying side-by-side on a cushioned, velvety surface. The Undertaker looked down at them, grinning still.
"Sleep tight now, little ones," he whispered. Not a moment after, the two were already sound asleep.