Yt a/n: Yoroshiku Onegaishimasu! You probably don't know me, but I'm Yat of Tomatosoup Inc. and Rejected-Frogotten Love, and an avid Inuyasha and Pandora Hearts writer (though I do write for other fandoms.) This is – unfortunately- my first EVER Ghost Hunt fic., which I'm proud to say I'm writing with my hilarious/awesome friend, FoMaL! I hope you enjoy our fic. of an AU Victorian England and the way we portrait the characters… Thanks for reading, and sorry for rambling ^^;
FoMaL a/n: Hello, hi or whatever~! I'm sure you also don't know me because of this… short of name… *sighs* But I'm Fairy of Music and Literature! *wave* Anyhow… I think this is the 11th work I will be doing for this manga and I'm really excited to do it! Mostly because this will be my first work together with a friend! So… wish us luck! T^T By the way, the genius over there (yeah, Yat, you!) didn't explain a small but important thing. We take turns to write the chapters. The first one writes it the genius and the next one I will be the one to write it… You don't know how nervous I'm to do it! *biting nails* Anyhow, sorry for talking too much and enjoy the chap~! Bye!
Disclaimer: If you're reading this, I'm sure it's because you love this manga. And I'm also sure that you already know who is the owner of it, so that we don't need to say (ONCE AGAIN *roll eyes*) that we don't own it. If we really owned it, Mai would have kissed Naru in the first page. *sighs* even so, we will say it. We. Don't. Own. This. Manga. Enjoy! ^.^
Chapter One:
Under the Cover of Darkness
In Which the Story Begins (FoMaL: Duh!)
It was a night of obsidian darkness. The night sky was obscured by the ever present London fog that was the bane of the lives of the living with its walls of opaque mist that hid all from view.
It was under this cover of darkness, and fear that a single cloaked woman made her way through the dim streets of the city, silent except for the occasional rustle of fabric as the stale wind caught in her shroud's folds.
She was in a hurry. It was obvious from her stride that she had somewhere to be, and something to do, her shadowed face set in determination, and her steps a confident staccato of monotonous sound.
The single chime of a distant clock reverberated down the alleyway, almost drowned out by the whispers and mutterings of the cities dark inhabitants as they continued their nightly routines of indecency.
No respectful woman would be caught dead in the backstreets of London at this hour at night.
But she was hardly known to be respectable, and certainly not dead.
Her red cloak billowed out behind her as she passed the grousers and drunkards that were gathered about a brothel, jeering at anyone who passed, eyes sweeping the nighttimes inhabitants for vulnerable prey.
She was hardly vulnerable. She was known quite well in this part of town, and some had learned the hard way she'd rather go it alone. Rumors took care of the rest.
"…lady!"
Snapping out of the turmoil of her inner thoughts, the young woman surveyed her surroundings skeptically, eyes narrowed, until they rested upon a figure leaning against a lamppost on the dark street corner up ahead. Not bothering to gather her skirts, she hastened down the pathway, ignoring the slime and filth that now stained her petticoats as she approached the figure with a raised eyebrow.
"Good marrow, my lady." The man greeted her with a mocking sweep of his hand.
"Same to you, Young Master." She responded curtly, voice stern, but face stretched into a weary smile.
His light brown hair was tied behind him with a coarse looking rope, and his black breeches and white threadbare tunic were tainted with the remnants of mud and water, but despite all this, his almond colored eyes glittered with good humor as he glanced down at the short girl with a grin.
"What pickings have you had today, my lady?" He asked, offering her his arm, which she took without haste, as they began down another side street, heading towards the brick wall that loomed up ahead.
Always the gentleman…
She sighed, which caused her companion to come to a sudden stop.
"What's wrong?" He asked abruptly, as he unhooked his arm from hers, grabbing her by the shoulders, peering into her face beyond the hood of her cloak, "Is it the job you were offered?'
She shushed him harshly, grabbing onto his hand as she dragged him further into the darkness of the ally, till they were resting against the rough contours of brick, ushering him to come closer as she glanced nervously about.
"I didn't catch his name." She hissed into his ear as he bent down to listen, "But he was bloody rich… probably a Haymarket Hector or something of the sort…"
She remembered the warmth that the fireplace has provided as she had stepped into that gloriously warm room, that gratifying tingling that her fingers received as she had reached towards it hesitantly, before seating herself on the plush sofa, letting her hood down as she tried to pat her brown hair in place, and arranged her skirts in an acceptable fashion.
Not that she had cared what the man thought of her. He was just another customer.
Arich customer at that.
The doors had opened, and a tall figure had entered the room, staying to the shadows as he paced to the other side of the room, face hidden in the darkness the whole time he spoke, the fire flickering over his broad shoulders, and muscular form. She had thought she could make out a moustache, and perhaps a glimmer of blue eyes… but the shadows were such a disconcerting monster, that she couldn't have been able to tell for sure.
"You must understand." The man had said, in a deep gravelly, tone, "That this task must be completed within a month's time."
She had gaped at the time, and stumbled over her words to protest, but he had gestured to her to be silent, and so she did what he told her.
"You remember the price I told you. You need this job."
That had shut her up. She had sat dutifully still like a doll as he watched her, her mouth pulled into a straight line, eyes focused on those shadows that he lurked within.
"I am a very influential man." He had stated in an almost warning tone as he sat in an arm chair opposite her, "I know everything there is about you."
That had caught her attention immediately.
"Lady of the Black Court: professional thief, skilled in combat, talented with knives. Age: 16. Formerly the daughter of a wealthy family. Your parents died when you were eight, and you were sent to live with your governess who-"
She had glared at him coldly, straightening her back as she rose to her feet, looking down at him, with a smirk.
"I know my own history." She had replied coolly, gazing at her graying gloves in disinterest, rolling a thread between her fingers, "Now tell me what you want of me."
She hadn't quite seen his face still, but the smile was there.
It had been evident.
His voice brought her back to reality, her heart thumping loudly in her chest as she took a deep breath, trying to erase that haunting smile from her mind.
"What did he want then? To whore you out? Not a big surprise, a pretty little twist like you." He patted her fondly on her head, with a laugh.
"That's not it." She responded darkly, the uncertainty that echoed in her voice scaring herself.
Since when had she been so weak? So vulnerable?
It didn't matter. She needed this job. She wanted that money.
She needed it.
The laughter had died in her friend's eyes again as he watched her a moment with a frown etched on his face, looking completely disgruntled.
"This is serious isn't it?" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, as he watched her worriedly, "What did he want?"
She inhaled deeply as she looked down at the mucky ground, clenching her fist, and gritting her teeth.
"He wants him dead."
Her statement was met with silence, and she refused to meet her ally's eyes as she spoke, voice bitter and cold.
"He wants the heir to the throne murdered… and he wants me to do it."
"You want this as badly as I do."
She did.
A/N Section~
In case you didn't know:
London Fog- This used to be a big problem for the people in London, and was the result of the fog from the Thames River mixing with the smog from coal fire.
Grouser – according to 'Slang through the Ages' by Jonathon Green, a Grouser was a 19C word for a promiscuous man.
Haymarket Hector – according to the online 'Victorian Slang Glossary', it is a word used for a pimp, or 'whore minder'.
Twist – according to the above source, it was a word that meant 'girl'.
Yt a/n: So that was it. The first chapter. Sorry for how dark it was ^^' But I wanted to write about this dark side of London just a little… Since I'm pretty positive you all know that was indeed Mai in this chapter, along with Bou-san, I thought I'd offer an explanation for the way I used their names.
Bou-san often calls Mai 'Jou-chan', which in my opinion sounded enough like "Ojou-san" for me to make the change to thus. Ojou-san means 'Lady' or something along those lines, so I thought it would be fitting for him to call her as such in English context.
Bou-san is always referred to as… well, Bou-san. But I thought that the name Bot-chan sounded close enough, thus changing the meaning to 'Young Master'.
So there's the reasoning… -_-
Just as a side note, if you want historically correct stuff this isn't really the story to read. I'm just using what little knowledge I have –which was bestowed upon me by many books and the lovely internet- and I am not an expert. Besides, this is AU, so I figure it's not TOO severe. Thanks for reading~ Review please! I'm sure FoMaL would appreciate it a lot too~ (SORRY FOR RAMBLING SO MUCH *bows repeatedly*)
FoMaL a/n: Except for the many words I had to look at the translator… *looks at Yat* It was really good and dark… full of mystery… I was shocked when I read this, really. And I have to tell Yat, that she did a great job! *thumbs up* But yeah, I really love reviews… they gave me the strange I need to write! … well, not really. My secret is the sugar~! X9 But anyhow… hope to see you in the next chapter!