A/N: Okay, so. I've been on a Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler kick for the last couple days, and this fic seems to be the result of the plot bunnies that attacked me because of it. XD
I feel the need to give a general disclaimer/warning(?), because while I love Black Butler and all its characters and plot points, there are portions of it I haven't read yet (I have a bad tendency to skip around on the manga chapters, and read only what arc interests me at the time). As a result, there might be some...I dunno, plot errors or something? Basically, I might get some details wrong here or there. I know most of you won't mind this because, y'know, fanfiction. And I'm gonna do research for the bits of the story I don't know yet, so hopefully any mistakes I make won't be too terribly obvious? In any case, this fic is hopefully going to be a good one, although updates might be slow because I have a pretty full plate right now and need to focus on school and work and stuff.
Okay, I'll shut up now. Enjoy the chapter. XD
Chapter 1: Initium
Linda watched the Cinematic Record play with the studied patience of someone who's seen it all before, not batting an eye at the scenes that played out across the reel depicting the soon-to-be-dead man's life.
It was, in her personal opinion, not much of a life.
He'd accomplished nothing of value, and had been selfish to boot. And he'd had a nasty tendency to kick at stray cats and throw rocks at birds. And he'd fed a lovely grass snake to his vicious hunting hawk. He was also obese, smelly, and had a thick mustache that held crumbs from whatever his last meal had been.
She cut through his Record with the sharp edge of her gunblade with no second thoughts at all. This was a man who no one would miss or mourn. So she made sure he was well and gone, then finished filling out his entry in her notebook.
Glancing at the remainder of her soul collection list, she sighed. Ever since she'd been demoted the last time (it had been, if she recalled, the third time in as many decades, for pretty much the same reason), she'd been stuck on Evasion Retrieval, which was basically exactly what it sounded like. Through one way or another, certain humans had managed to evade being reaped. Death couldn't be dodged forever, though; eventually a reaper would catch up to them and set things right. That was her job, currently. Track down the evasive souls and reap them. Put an end to their overdue stories.
It was actually something she'd grown more fond of over time. After being demoted for what was probably going to be the last time (and not in a good way), she'd been bitter and angry and not feeling like herself. Tracking down those runaway souls, though...that had perked her up a bit. Thrill of the chase, and all that. It had been so long since she'd been active in the field that the reentry learning curve had been a little rough, but she'd bounced back like a champ and turned herself into the most effective Evasion Retrieval reaper Dispatch had seen in over a hundred years. Since she was rocking her mid-eighties, looked about twenty-five, and had been in possession of an I-know-it-all attitude, that commendation hadn't seemed all that impressive to her at the time, but she'd grown to appreciate that, too. It hadn't earned her back her old position, but the praise had been nice. Made her feel like she was doing something right.
Of course, being eighty-six and still being a reaper meant that she was likely still not doing something right according to the grand cosmic scheme of things. If she had, after all, she'd have already moved on. But her atonement, it seemed, was not yet at an end.
Sighing again, she moved on to the next name on her list.
"Miguel Santiago Ramirez," she murmured, tapping her finger on his entry. He was some sort of Spanish cartel hitman, apparently, and was overdue for death by about four years. He'd originally been meant to die in some sort of drug deal shoot out in Paris, but had somehow skipped out and avoided his demise. And had continued to avoid death for over four years, despite pursuit from several other reapers.
He was, if she had her way, going to be dead within the week.
Snapping her notebook closed, she tucked it into a hidden pocket in her dress and vanished her gunblade with a thought. Tugging a ribbon out of another hidden pocket, she tied back her long hair and twisted it into a bun. Then she summoned a long hooded coat out of thin air and shrugged it on. Ramirez was, according to the information on the latest sightings of him, somewhere in England. Since England had the most dreary, damp, and depressing weather she'd ever encountered in her eighty-odd years as a reaper, she felt obligated to dress accordingly. The coat was well-lined and would keep her insulated against the damp chill. And the hood would hide her strangely colored hair in the event she had to assume a visible-to-mortals form for the hunt.
She probably ought to have stopped off in Headquarters before bouncing off to England, but she wasn't much for reporting in at the best of times. And right now all she wanted was to catch up with her quota and take a few days off.
So when she transported herself to England and crashed immediately into a Dispatch supervisor named Martin Raffin, she was less than thrilled.
Well, damn, she thought irritably. Guess I'm in trouble again. Although truth be told, she couldn't call to mind anything she'd done recently that might qualify. Since her most recent demotion, she'd been careful to avoid causing or getting pulled into trouble. Well, serious trouble. There had been that one retrieval case, with the ferret and the vodka but that had been a very unique situation. And the other time with the sea captain and his crew of crossdressers but again, special circumstances. Or maybe the supervisor was here about the hubbub in India? Because if she'd known that the gem-studded palace by the riverside had been worth so much she wouldn't have demolished it in pursuit of her target. Honest.
To her surprise, however, it turned out to be none of these things.
"I have a new task for you," Raffin said without preamble. "It is outside your current range of duties, but given your past assignments it was decided that you would be the best qualified."
Linda blinked at him. "Best qualified for what?" she asked warily.
"Probation," Raffin replied.
A long moment of silence.
"...do I look like a parole officer to you?" she asked at last, keeping her tone light. "Because as far I know I'm not dressed like a jailer. I could change, though," she added saucily, "if you're into that sort of thing."
He gave a little huff. "Impudent," he said disapprovingly. "And unprofessional."
She rolled her eyes. "You don't say." She wagged a finger at him. "Honestly, if you came all this way just to give me vague cryptic assignments you can scoot yourself right off back to Headquarters."
Raffin looked annoyed. "What did I say that was so vague?" he asked in exasperation.
"It's not what you said," she chided. "It's what you didn't say. Who's on probation," she continued, ticking off the questions on her fingers as she went. "Why are they on probation. What does their probation entail. And why, exactly, am I being given this assignment."
Raffin looked at her long and hard before relenting. "Dispatch is doing a trial run for a new program. A sort of...second chance, for souls who want to return for unfinished business or to make amends."
Linda wrinkled her nose. "We all have unfinished business or amends to make. What makes these souls so special?"
Raffin shrugged. "Who knows. I heard several rumors about preferential treatment because of distant ties to the reaper community, but you know how the gossip is."
"Of course I know how the gossip is," she replied cheekily. "I start most of it."
This time is was Raffin who rolled his eyes, and Linda barely restrained a chuckle at the sight. "In any case," he continued, "there are a handful of these trials being conducted. You've been selected along with three others to supervise the souls that are being returned to life for the duration of the trial. Each of you has been assigned a group to watch over and assist."
It was, she had to admit, an intriguing prospect. Hell, more than intriguing. Still, she had to at least put up a token objection, otherwise her contrarian reputation would go to waste. "And again, why me?"
She patted the pocket where she had her notebook. "I have important work to do, you know?"
Raffin arched an eyebrow. "More important than being part of a vital test group that could potentially impact the future of the entire reaper system?"
She made a show of thinking it over, but in the end she was already sold on it. "Mmm...well, alright then." She heaved a put-upon sigh. "If you really think it's important."
Raffin gave a smirk that let her know that he knew she was faking. "Thank you for your service," he said dryly. "It's much appreciated."
"It's always nice to feel appreciated," she mused, cracking her knuckles absently. "Now, who are these souls I'm supposed to be watching over?"
"They're performers of some sort," Raffin told her. "The top tier of some traveling circus, according to the file. A Pierrot, a tightrope walker, an animal tamer, a fire-breather, that sort of thing. Noah's Ark Circus, I believe it was called."
"A circus troupe, huh?" She gave a wide smile. "Well, that sounds pretty fun."
"Be careful," Raffin cautioned. "I don't have access to the details, since portions of the files are sealed, but something seems to have happened with this group that...marked them."
"Marked them?" she echoed, letting him hear the puzzlement in her voice.
"Stained them," he elaborated. "Something happened to stain their souls. Whatever it was, it could impact how they react to the second chance they're being given. I doubt they could do anything that would seriously endanger you, but still...proceed carefully."
She flashed him a bright smile. "Who, me?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "I'm always careful."
"Get going," Raffin said, handing her a file and waving her off, "Ethelinda Baines. Your assignment starts now."
She took the file, gave a mocking salute, and vaulted off the building they were standing on, anticipation rising in her like wildfire. This assignment was going to be all sorts of interesting, of that she was certain.