Chapter 1: The Spice of Life
I do not own Kuroshitsuji nor any of it's original characters/locations.
~This writing includes spoilers from Black Butler 2~
His butler's strides were long and graceful approaches to the long clothed table, his legs thin black branches on which the crow walked as a man. Upon the black-clad man's hand rested a large silver plate, the top of which held a tea pot and a matching fragile china tea cup, both designed with an intricate gold and blue floral pattern. The boy, dressed in a black as dark as his butler's, looked up from his morning paper, obviously bored of the trite topics depicted in it's reading. The noble child looked across the long expanse of white table at his servant as the occupied tray was brought closer. The silver serving plate was gently put down in front of the young master, and the tea pot's steaming contents poured into the beautiful tea cup. The rim of the china container was brought up to the master's mouth by his own pale fingers, when his waiting butler began to speak. "Today, sir, I have prepared for you a blend of Alexandria and Gregory Wellming, complimented by a dash of bloodied chai for a spice to their otherwise robustly calm taste", informed the tall and red-eyed servant. "Hmph, they were a rather bland couple. Request and wishes simple. I hope the chai is spicier than their ambitions", commented the black-clad earl. A sip was taken from the tea cup, causing it to be placed down in favor of the newspaper once again. "My lord, today your schedule is comprised of an appoint with a Marcellus Yemson whom wishes to acquire a contract, as well as a woman wh-", started the black butler, only to be cut off by his disinterested master, one who now clicked his darkened fingernails against the table rhythmically. "No, clear the schedule Sebastian. I am done with bland souls and sustenance that cannot hold a candle to chai.", he interrupted. "We will search for a spiced soul today, I've particularly missed the taste of curry", commanded Ciel, his steely blue gaze giving way to a commanding, supernaturally red stare towards his surprised servant. Yet, a small smile appeared on the dashing Sebastian as he responded, "I would never expect my master to put up with the least for long", the butler commented. "You know the correct answer, Michaelis", rebuked the young master as he spilt the rest of his drink on the floor.
"Yes, my lord".
"From what you told Prince Soma in your past life, master, I heard that you were not actually fond of spicy tastes. It's surprising that you would seek such out now", commented Sebastian as he closed the large door of the Phantomhive estate behind his young master. "Tastes are subject to change, of course. Such as décor", responded the glancing Ciel, his gaze wandering to his pure black mansion shortly after having danced on Sebastian's pale features. No longer were the walls of his mansion generous blues and beiges, but now blacks and subtle hints of dark, dark crimson. The earl had once thought that the color combination may have come off as depressing or disgusting in the palace's appearance, but Sebastian had done a splendid job as decorator, making the colors ooze with authority and uniformity instead of blotchy weakness. It was a good use of this abandoned residence anyways, for, indeed, the now dead and devoured noble William Terring did not now have need of his mansion. 'That man most definitely had good taste in architecture', thought the Phantomhive master as he stared at the intricate marble pillars holding up his manor, 'But that was about the only thing that was tasteful about him'. The young master swallowed spit as if to remove a dissatisfying taste out of his mouth, and then started to lead Sebastian in search of a carriage.
London's streets were packed this fall morning, especially near the gritty ghettos. Horses and their human burdens clogged the narrow English streets, with a horrible smell arising from the beast's sweaty bodies. "I wonder what the fuss is all about", said the earl, his eyes closed as if to will away the sounds and smells of busy England. "I have heard there was to be a public hanging for a supposed murderer, a Marcellus Yemson", responded the equally bored Sebastian. The Phantomhive head gazed out the window until the slow moving traffic hauled the group to the start of the Indian ghetto, a section of London that hosted poor brick buildings and air. "Oh well. Carriage driver, let us go here. We're close enough", commanded the young master as he started to step out of the brightly painted transport. Sebastian followed suit, handing payment to the driver and then stepping behind his master. "Sebastian, go examine the lot of people around the hanging. Perhaps eat the murderer's soul while you're at it, I don't care", ordered the black earl. "But do keep the tastiest morsel for me, if need be". Sebastian, nodding and placing his right hand upon his chest, jumped away to his destination with dashing efficiency, leaving the steely Ciel within the ghetto's reaches alone. The richly dressed earl walked, cane first, towards a large alley that cut its way deep into the ghetto. If Ciel remembered correctly, was this not the place that he first met prince Soma? A curry lover enticing a curry lover, he supposed.
Such ghettos were filthy; it was a place that always breed criminals and shady characters, was infected by racism, and, in short, was the garden of Eden to a demon. Ciel licked his lips as he trotted proudly through this low community's alleyways, beginning to approach a large gathering of Indians. Yet, the proud shape started to shrink, the pale skin turning darker, and his clothes become filthy. His eyes turned a shade of brown from their normal blue, and there the earl was, in the illusionary disguise as an Indian child. No one had noticed, as the earl intended. The soft patter of his childish feet pounced towards the marketplace in the middle of this gross ghetto. There, fabrics, tarps, and spices were being sold feverously. Old women sold off their recipes and ingredients, men their knives, and almost everyone bought these commodities. As he wondered throughout, his big, brown doe eyes innocent to the world, he found a host of characters. This hive of infection also breed those of kindly mothers, large burly laughing fishers, and beautiful dancing young maidens. But no one person intrigued the demonic earl tastes. Yet, spice hung heavily in the air, and then it struck Ciel. A physical body, not an ideal, had bombarded the earl at that moment. She was a skinny Indian girl, clad in tattered clothing and holding a large, ornamental box under her arm. Her face was clouded by her wealth of black straight hair, that of which had been pulled up into a makeshift ponytail. She yelled at Ciel as she trampled over him, saying, "Sorry kid!". Yet, none of her features attracted the young master more than her scent. Spice, of all kinds, rich with herbs and almost stinging to the nose. She was glorified in rich scent and flavor. Ciel was stunned by her richness, and almost forgot to take after her. A hulking man, tanned and hairy, bolted after the agile thief as well. Such a giant man cussed as, halfway through the chase, his breath gave out, whilst Ciel's ambitious pattering never halted. Bolting around crates, other children, and horses became a regular activity in this chase, with neither the earl nor the girl letting up.
Around the sharp corner of a storefront, the stamina wealthy thief ran into yet another pedestrian, causing the man and her to both cuss and turn around. While the man merely tore away from the girl and walked away, the black-haired Indian woman saw the sprinting child now behind her and was surprised if anything. From her expression, she had obviously thought that the fat man from before had taken this long journey behind her, but Ciel was the only one standing. "W-what the hell, I thought I toppled you back there, kid, what are you doing following me?", she said, standing there hiding the box blatantly behind her back. It seemed everything this woman did was unplanned and quite instinctive. "I guess you could say I have a hell of stamina", responded Ciel in his boyish voice. "and plus, I want some of that box". "Huh? No-can-do kid, I got this fair and square", countered Ciel's target. "Go back to your mom and dad, why don't ya".
"Can't"
"Why?"
"Because they're… they're dead"
At this last awkward sentence, the woman seemed to be stricken. She looked now pitifully on the demon in disguise, his large, innocent eyes and expression swaying her even more.
"So now you're trying to get a room and board too?"
"I guess so", responded Ciel, his ignorance utterly irresistible.
After a long pause, the Indian spoke. "Damn, I suppose you got me kid. Come on, I'll let you sleep at my place for tonight, but you don't touch the box, alright?", bargained the young woman.
"I guess so"
"My name's Asha, yours?"
"Ciel"
"That's quite an English name, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so"
Asha's crumbling house was merely a shack under a bridge. It was secluded, quiet, and undetectable; something she absolutely wanted in her thieving lifestyle. Tarps and rugs were hung from the walls to insulate the house in the brisk fall, but still a draft floated cruelly about. Dark had fallen over the ghettos when Asha finally started to settle her skinny body into bed with her box, keeping it closed and locked as precautions against Ciel. Her bed was merely a small tattered mattress, devoid of proper sheets with instead a large red rug taking their place. Ciel's sleeping place was simply the Windowsill. It took a while, but the exhausted Indian woman finally settled down into natural sleep, giving the small boy time to gander. Around this minuscule shack was racks of books, giving the impression that this young girl was indeed literate, for indeed did she harbor many novels. They ranged among many topics; cooking, historical war, politics, but most interestingly of all was a book on demonology that the Indian harbored among the clutter of literature. It was most definitely accurate as far as the demon could tell, and he took it upon himself for a more thorough read.
Asha was engulfed in flames, surrounded by red, and only saw in flashes. A burning town, a burning people, a burning. She gasped for air in the town square, but only the blackness of smoke filled the small Asha's precious lungs. Oh, how it was to see the world burning when the flames were only before your eyes. The young girl kept to tearing through the flames, but a cruel and taunting mistress was fire. Had they deserved their punishment? No, and the unfairness boiled up inside Asha like a blaze. She breathed heavily at the red ground, the smoke puffing out of her burning lips, and the soil responded.
"I thought so"
Asha was startled awake by this phrase, that of which had been called out by a black-clad boy at the windowsill. "I'm glad I found you before you found me, it makes things quicker", Ciel continued. Asha, glaring down to her hands, found her stolen goods replaced by one of her books on demonology. The box, it's outsides still blue and brandished by a Phantomhive seal, laid unopen in the boy's hand instead of her's. "W-what? Who-o are you? where's Ciel?", stuttered the distraught Asha, her facing turning intensely pale. "Please. You explained it in your writing, Asha", answered the smirking earl. The young woman, slowly peering at the opened book in front of her, read her written notes to self that she had concocted a month earlier. The page introduced and explained demonic contracts and their laws, but was blemished by ink scribbles saying such things as "Where? The occult?", "When?", and "With who?" in a fashion that was frantically blotched onto the yellow paper. "You have had a familiar story. You're desperate, in a pit that's sinking frequently, correct?", questioned the dark earl. Asha responded to such an inquiry with only a weak shaking 'no' of her head, her tangled black hair only adding to her distressed manner. "The pit started with fiery hell and you want it to end with such. But you miss one thing; to drag them down into it, and you keep sinking hoping you will once do" continued Ciel. "So, what is it; climb the devil's string or pull them down with it?"
This last cold phrase caught the pale Asha, and brought her back into reality. Her hair, matted horribly by sleep, was swept up into a quick ponytail as she responded. "So, you're a demon?", she questioned back to the waiting Phantomhive master. "I knew you were bright enough", he complimented the now standing young Indian. "And now? The contract?", furthered the red-eyed boy, his pupils peering into the tough flesh of Asha. "You will serve me until their deaths, then you may have it", she answered. The grinning young master held his pale hand out to greet Asha's, with the shaking of their hands burning a symbol of demonic contract into both of their palms. The box fell from the window sill, an exquisite white feather pen falling out of the blue box's inside and rapidly becoming a sinister black before the two.
"Yes, my mistress"