The Scarlet Shinigami:

A Parody of Black Butler and the Scarlet Letter

Hailey Caddell

Grell Sutcliff gazed down his nose at the London crowd before him, the low afternoon sun hitting his waist-length scarlet hair and casting a halo around his head. It reflected in his vivid red glasses, obscuring his pond moss eyes. They were sneering, leering, and jeering at him, but he didn't give a flying modified chainsaw what they thought. He sauntered forward in his embroidered red dress, brandishing haughtily the large A, trimmed in gold as an offset, for it was as red as his bloody dress. A child followed closely in his wake, clad in a deep depressing blue with a scowl to match. He was marked in his own right, his right eye hazed purple, clashing against his natural blue.

"Kill me now," he groaned.

"Oh come now, Ciel," Grell grinned, showing of his triangular, pearlescent teeth, "put on a pretty smile for the crowd."

His mug remained grim. No way would this little egg budge.

A cadaverous man approached clad in the cloak of night looking about half off his rocker, teetering as he walked with a wide, psychotic smile. His eyes were obscured by his wan hair, so how he could see where he was going was lost on me.

Grell whipped around, the dramatic whirlwind of his skirts knocking the boy Ciel backward, but no one paid much attention to him. He was boring and depressing, leave him to his corner.

"Reaper Sutcliff," the ashen man addressed him, "You were brought here today to repent and be tried for your crimes. What do you have to say for yourself."

He huffed and put his hands on his hips, "That hitting on every available, good-looking, experienced man I come into contact with is no reason to be labeled an "adulterer" or whatever and wearing this ludicrous A, though choosing red was ingenious, 'cause red is the color of fiery passion and I am flaming."
The cinereal man chortled, "And the child? Of what union was this whelp-" he gestured to the irritated boy, "-begot?"

Grell gasped, appalled. "You dare ask a lady how her child was begot and whose get it is!" He huffed angrily and strutted over to the taller man and whipped his bangs out of his face so that he could see his eyes. He then made a noise, caught somewhere in the margin of yelp and moan, "Oh, but I'll tell you anything, handsome."

The man doubled over laughing, explosively psychotic -ly guffawing his guts out. An unobtrusive man appeared at the cinereal one's side and helped him to a nearby chair

"Undertaker," the unobtrusive on addressed him, "it seems as though you've found true laughter, charming."

The man stood erect, his messy black hair falling immaculately in a parting of twelve o'clock curtains, his lips tilted up in a smirk to draw you into his red eyes. His robes were dark as well, a carbon copy of the very night itself, but clashed by the white gloves on his hands.

Grell gazed upon this man and died, tenfold. Good thing Reapers are immortal, ne?

"Bassy…" he gasped breathlessly, falling to his knees. Were there a Nobel Prize for submission it would be presented to the red fiend right here and now.

A murmur rippled through the forgotten crowd, the good Reverend Michaelis, so pious and pure, he who hath taken this sin to heart. He was soft-spoken and ethereal, however, it was rumored that the devil hath marked him.

"Mr. Sutcliff, hath you aught to say for thine self?" he spoke as though rehearsed.

"Never doubt an actress, Bassy. None, none do I say for myself or mine child."

"Good." Sebastian – the reverend Michaelis – shuffled the ignored whelp forward to present to the background crowd that honestly no one cared about. He projected his voice: "For his indiscretions, the Reaper Grell Sutcliff hath agreed to bear his shame in the form of the Scarlet Letter." Sebastian's voice fell below the line of audible, "Though let's face it, he wears it as badge and pride."

A rippling murmur surged through the crowd, so it was a wonder how amongst the heathens the Reaper Sutcliff managed to pick out his past acquaintance, William T. Spears. The feeling that ran through him was no where near fear, and his cheeks managed to burn darker than they already were, flush with the dress. For all the world, he looked like a squished tomato.

"Wiiiii~lliam!" He cried into the air like Juliet whining for her Romeo. "Oh William! William! Come to me you cold hearted man! Those cold eyes sure keep me warm on a winter's night, ooh!"

This alleged "William" ducked his head and disappeared amongst the crowd, wanting nothing to do with this grand spectacle otherwise known as Grell, yelling only a "BURN THE WITCH!" at him.

Ciel, having been pushed to the background and minor, wedged his way up to the front.

"Are you all blithering MAD?" He yelled, balling his fists, "He clearly is a man and could not give birth to me! And adulteration? He's flirtatious, not promiscuous! I'm only 12 and I understand this better than you idiots!"

He was ignored.

The Undertaker, having had his time out and clamed down, rejoined the discussion, shuffling Ciel aside, his ranting gone unheard.

"Doth thou wish to reveal the father of thine child?" The Undertaker said calmly, however that psychotic smile still bit at his lips.

Grell, legs quivering, looked at the handsome grey man before him, and having promised to tell him anything, blurted: "Bassy is my baby daddy!"

All eyes turned to the good Reverend Michaelis.

"Come now," he said in a voice of silken ribbons, "I am a holy man restricted to celibacy."

It wasn't convincing.

Grell grasped his assumed lover's hand, ripping from his fingers the glove that covered them. "Look! The father bears the same mark as my child! Look ere his right eye and this man's left hand!"

Thusly they looked, and it was proven that the boy and the man both had the same mark, a devilish contract. The boy squirmed, "This proves nothing!"

"I admit to being this illegitimate child's father, and this adulterer his mother." The good reverend bowed.

"THEY'RE TWO MEN YOU BLITHERING FOOLS!" Ciel yelled, refusing his new parents.

Once more, for the umpteenth time, was ignored.

Then the good reverend Michaelis swept the sinner off his feet and carried Grell away, leaving their illegitimate child to his ranting.

Ciel woke in his study, the vermillion curtains drawing shut and blocking the huge victorian style windows. He was lying cheek down on a drool-warped edition of Nathaniel Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter. He picked the source of his nightmares up and cast it across the study.

"Sebastian! Dispose of this devil book! That's an order!"

Sebastian entered the study, Grell tailing behind him. Ciel couldn't help his scream.

END