AN: I do not own D. Gray-Man . It belongs to the brilliant Katsura Hoshino.
Why Is It Always the Hammer? – Chapter 1
"What the hell…? Where am I?" Allen muttered to himself. The last thing he remembered was backing away from his master, who had been approaching him with a menacing hammer in his hand and a strange look on his face. Now all he could see was darkness, which was understandable, seeing as his head was stuffed into a coarsely woven sack, an old potato sack, from the putrid smell emitting from it. Allen could hear muffled cursing around him as some unknown person moved about around the… cart? Yes, it was probably a cart, judging from the small bumps running through the floor.
Allen shifted uncomfortably, trying to balance himself, when he realized his wrists and ankles had been bound with some kind of heavy rope. Seized by a sudden uncontrollable panic, he began thrashing about the cart, twisting his hands in a futile attempt to free them.
"Oy, oy. Can't have none of that, now can we? You might damage the other goods." A rough voice, the same one that had been cursing earlier, moved beside him, and a calloused hand pushed him down. "Just sit still and relax. We're not far from our destination now."
"Wha- what's going on? Where are you taking me?" Allen stuttered.
"You'll see." The voice went quiet after that, but Allen was still bursting with questions. Master didn't leave, did he? Oh god, I hope he hasn't left me behind to pay his debts again. Agh, why can't that man just take care of himself? Wait… But I've never being tied up like this before. A new experience, huh? He laughed darkly in his mind. I guess I'll just have to wait and see. After all, nothing could be worse than nearly getting killed by angry debt collectors.
A large jolt nearly toppled Allen over as the cart stopped. "Hey! Jim! Go tell the handlers that I've got a new batch for them! And tell Trixy that I've got a special one for her!" the rough voice shouted.
"Yes, sir!" The new voice sounded young, maybe even as young as Allen. It trailed off as its owner ran to fetch "the handlers." Allen wondered what the man with the rough voice had been transporting. Dogs, maybe? Some kind of animal?
A few minutes later, he heard more new voices coming from the direction of the first. A hand pulled the sack from his head, and he squinted at the sudden flare of light, looking about in confusion. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the "other goods" that the man with the rough voice had talked about. Several other, younger children were scattered around him on the cart. They were dressed in nightgowns and had apparently been taken from their homes as they slept.
"Look alive, kids! We're here!" called the man with the rough voice. Allen barely gave him a glance, more preoccupied with assessing the building he and the other children had been taken to. It was two stories high and looked almost like a motel. Glamorous decorations were suspended from the walls, and bright lights made the building stand out from the gloomy homes around it. A sign hanging beside the door read "Madame Gerald's Brothel."
Allen's jaw almost dropped in astonishment. He was being sold as a prostitute? No way, no way! Master may be cruel sometimes, but he would never do this to me. He wants me to become an exorcist, right? And I can't do that if I'm stuck in a- in a brothel!
"This the one you're talking about?" A rich, sonorous voice brought his attention back to the people around him. Nudging him with a booted toe was a slender, black-haired lady. She looked down at him in contempt. "Doesn't look like much, does he?"
"Just wash him up a bit, and he'll look fine." There was the man with the rough voice again. "Besides, that's not why I wanted to give him to you."
"Then why else would I want a kid like him?"
"Look at him more closely."
The slender lady bent down and peer at Allen closely. He glared back at her, frightened but unwilling to back down. She smirked approvingly at his unwavering stare. "So, kid," she said softly, gripping his chin and turning his head from side to side, "What's so special about you?"
Allen gritted his teeth as the lady inspected his body. "Too thin, too short, too young. Honestly, Simon. Just tell it to me straight. Why did you want me to take him?"
The man grinned eagerly. "You haven't seen him in full light, yet. Here," he said, grunting as he jumped down from the cart, "Give me a hand here." Together, the two lifted Allen down from the cart, Simon taking his legs and the lady taking his shoulders.
"Where're you taking me?" Allen squirmed anxiously in their grasp.
"Shut up, brat," the lady ordered, "There's only one rule here. Follow instructions. Do that and you'll be fine."
"But-"
"Shut. Up."
Allen fell silent and rested limply in their arms as they passed through the doorway and entered the brothel. Simon stopped by a room numbered "9" and looked questioningly at his companion. "Your room okay?"
The lady shrugged and muttered, "Sure." She shifted her grip on Allen's shoulders to one hand and with the other pulled a key from a pocket. "Come on in."
Allen stared at the lavish room they had entered. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, and a thick carpet covered the floor. In one corner, he could see a bathroom, probably just as extravagant as the rest of the place, but most of his attention was focused on the huge bed that dominated the room. It must have been a king sized bed, or maybe even bigger. Soft, white pillows were placed at its head, and downy blankets covered it.
"Done staring?" the lady asked dryly, "You know, kid, if I take you on, this room ain't going to be any kind of heaven for you." Allen swallowed convulsively. He knew well enough what might happen to him in this room. The lady turned to Simon. "Well? What're you going to show me?"
Simon gestured towards the bathroom. "Why don't we let him clean up a bit, put on some fresh clothes?"
The lady sighed impatiently, "Sure, sure." She turned to Allen. "Hurry it up, kid. I didn't wake up at 1:00 in the morning just to drag you around. You'd better be worth my time."
Allen frowned at her. "How can a clean myself up if I'm all tied up like this?" He held up his bound wrists.
"Simon, take care of those, will you?" the lady said. A flash of silver startled Allen, and he felt the ropes around his wrists and ankles suddenly loosen and fall off. He looked up to see Simon holding a long dagger, gleaming silver and wickedly sharp.
"I ain't just a lowlife delivery boy, kid," the man grumbled, "Now hurry up and clean yourself up. There are some clothes in the bathroom. Try them on and see which ones fit." Allen nodded quickly and scrambled to the bathroom. He carefully shut the door and leaned against it with a sigh.
Damn it, damn it, damn it. How do I get out of here? He glanced hurriedly around the bathroom. Lavish as he expected, it consisted of a vast marble bath, complete with silver faucets and surrounded by an opaque screen, a more modest toilet in the corner, and a matching marble sink, also with silver faucets. A pile of clothes was stacked on a table by the sink. Think, think, think.
A loud knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. "Hey, kid. If I don't hear the water running in thirty seconds, I'm coming in and not leaving until you're squeaky clean, you hear?" It was the slender lady.
"Y-yeah! I'm going in!" Allen called back quickly. He hastily stripped, tossing his clothes in a pile by the sink, then turned the faucets of the bath. Well, I guess I'm not going anywhere any time soon. I guess I'd better just do what they tell me for now, and wait for an opportunity later. He sighed. If I don't find an opportunity… Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. I just hope they don't expect a kid to have… sex. Oh god, oh god, oh god. What the hell did Master do?
Allen quickly scrubbed himself with soap, rubbing his wrists and ankles more gently, as they were still sore from the chafing they had taken from the heavy ropes. Stepping out of the bath, he let the water drain as he stepped towards the pile of clothes that had been set on the table by the sink. He gave a groan of dismay as he looked them over. Well, this is a brothel. What was I expecting? Jeans and a t-shirt? The pile was mostly made up of flimsy, sheer nightclothes, obviously meant for making love. Another shout from the room outside made Allen hurriedly choose the most modest piece of clothing he could find and throw it on. Then, he slowly grasped the doorknob and opened the door.
The slender lady was waiting outside, her arms crossed, toe tapping impatiently. But when Allen warily stepped out of the bathroom, a delighted grin spread across her face. "He's perfect," she breathed.
Simon smiled. "Isn't he?" Clean and in the bright light of the room, Allen's hair shone softly, the white locks framing his face delicate and silky. His gray eyes seemed deeper, inscribed with a knowing kind of sadness. A vivid scar ran down his left cheek, beginning at a perfect pentacle inscribed above his eye. The flowing clothes revealed the taut muscles that had been hidden by his long, raggedy cloak before. The thing that caught the lady's attention most, though, was the disfigured arm that hung at the boy's left side. It was blood red, with black fingernails, veins prominent on the sunken flesh.
"He's… exotic. And beautiful," the lady murmured.
Allen shifted uncomfortably, noticing the hungry light that had appeared in her eyes. "What- what do you mean?" he stammered, "I thought you didn't want me."
The lady turned to Simon, ignoring Allen's uneasiness. "500 pounds. Paid in hard cash, right here and now."
"Come on, Trixy," the man complained, "I picked him special, just for you. I'd say he's worth at least 800 pounds."
The lady shook her head. "I'll pay 700 for him, and that's all."
"Wait, what do you mean you'll pay for me?" Allen demanded, "I don't belong here. I've got to get back to Master. I-"
Sudden pressure at his neck cut him off. "Well, you've got a new master now," the lady murmured, "And remember, Simon's not the only one who's good with blades. Do we have an understanding?" Allen gulped nervously and slowly nodded, careful of the gleaming blade at his neck. "Good." She turned to Simon. "700. Take it or leave it, but I'm taking him."
Simon raised his hands in defeat. "Hey, can't argue with a lady with a blade. I'll take it."
The lady walked over to a small cabinet by the wall and took out another key from her pocket. "I thought you would. Here." She tossed a leather pouch to him.
Catching it, Simon grinned and nodded at Allen. "See you around, kid. Don't let her break you too fast." Laughing quietly to himself, he opened the door and let himself out.