The day was shining a wonderful color of a bright and exuberant yellow and the birds were chirping delightedly as they flitted about on a suited man's shoulder. Ah, it was that time of year again. Planning for the next season, reading the scripts for the next season, falling on the job for the next season, making your boss angry- Hold the phone, last time I checked, people were not supposed to get injured on the job. I mean, wouldn't it be silly if you tripped over your feet just ten minutes into practice? No, wait. This is Black Butler, whom am I kidding? Those three always gets hurt.
As it was back in the day-which wasn't far off-to the present-which is obviously right now-to the very near future-if Ciel approved-the clumsy maid will always manage to hurt herself. Whether or not it was for the purpose to make the script seem even more convincing or it was poor coordination, no one really knew. Then again, she always seemed to kill herself whenever handsome were around (Sebastian) but we all digress.
"You really need to watch your step, Mey-Rin." Man, that guy is such a looker; no wonder people can't stop fanning themselves over this guy. He is the one, the only-
"Bardroy! Says the person who blows up the kitchen." As she hauled herself off the wet pavement-courtesy of the triplet troublemakers-she gave a glare to the native American before her. Why oh why did he have to witness her failing at life. Bad enough that he could tease her onscreen, but couldn't he be a little more-
"Says the person who's sentimental about glasses. Glasses of all things!"
That's it. He struck a nerve at the resident gunner who could take down anyone she desired. Only… She forgot to put her precious guns under skirt! How was she supposed to get rid of her colleague without it! Well, it looked like she was about to make do with verbal battle and hope to crush him there.
"Oh yeah! What about your flamethrower! At least I don't kiss it good night!" Her lips jutted out in a triumphant manner as she watched her peer's face sink into the depths of despair. Never fear, folks, the depths of despair can be easily navigated if one had a special weapon. Nope, it ain't the Sheila Bard's talking about; sarcasm is the name of the game.
"Don't you dare talk about my dearest Sheila that way!" Go Bard! I'm rooting for you and your ever so witty personality! Woot! Woot! Man, I am so glad that he is not campaigning to be president right now.
"Oh please. Even my previous relationships with other men are better than your love story." Oh, snap! She got you there, Bard! How can you defend yourself against an opponent this powerful! Will you surrender like a gutsy Italian or will you crush the British spirit that is Mey-Rin? Honestly, it feels like I'm narrating a scene in this historical show.
"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. When you dated Sebastian, he just used you-" Did I ever tell you that telling a woman about her past boyfriends is a way to warrant an unnecessarily violent death? No? Well, just don't. Women are of another species closely related to that of a demon. Their eyes turn red when they get really angry.
For example, if a girl realized that she couldn't make a sale at the nearest mall, her eyes will turn red. If a girl realizes that you have cheated on her, she will have her eyes turn red, crush you with the eyes of loathing and disgust, and later kill you in your sleep. Now, tell her about a past boyfriend and she will torture you by dissecting your spleen and making you eat it all the while making you watch in morbid fascination as you glance at the contents of your stomach slowly getting digested-
"He was going through a difficult time in his life. He is a sweet angel!" Uh, guys. Forget what I said. That was advice reserved for women who were ex-assassins and encountered death on a daily basis. Last time I checked, this maid was a sweet little girl who couldn't hurt a fly.
"Ronald nearly killed you in the process of 'hanging out.' I mean, who mows roofs on a date!" I take that as an insult to my ideas of a date. So what if scared off some potential girlfriends with by teaching them the ways of the undertaker? All those prissy teenaged girls are shallow, selfish, and they don't know how to get a laugh out of me.
"How would you know? You never tried it!" Ah, the sweet anger of a late teenaged woman. I would go after her, but she already knows what death looks like. Plus, she never made me laugh on purpose.
"You mowed a roof with the psycho! You told me you spectated the event!" Hey, Bardroy! Ever try nailing yourself inside a coffin without any assistance from the outside? Trust me, it'll be worth your while.
"Well, Finny lent me his mower-" Ah, a threesome is it now?
"You put a little kid in danger of plummeting to his death!" No, my mistake. Innuendos aren't encoded into their naiveté.
"Last time I checked, mowing roofs never killed anyone!" She has a point; lambs can't shear themselves if they were on top of it. Come to think of it, isn't coffin surfing no different than roof mowing? Maybe I should challenge little Knox to a duel of adventure. Splendid! Maybe I'll get a laugh or two along the way.
"At least with a flamethrower, you know which side will emit flames!" That's no fun for smart people. Now, if they were stupid they would point it at themselves, push the button, and PRESTO! You got yourself Roast Human. My specialty sold in all mortuaries near you.
"Mowers are safe and cuddly compared to Sheila!" What? I thought flamethrowers weren't made out of wool. Maybe I should cuddle with 'Sheila' in my coffin to see whether or not it was true.
"How dare you insult my gal pal! She was always there for me, and I for her. No one will get between our friendship!" I once was in a relationship with a zombie. She kept cheating with human men AND women. If she really wanted a soul that badly, she should have been born a demon. I had a hard time getting her back into her coffin.
"Am I to assume that you are slacking off of your duties because of a girl named Sheila?" Speak of the devil; funny Sebastian is here to help with the entertainment!
"S-s-sebast-t-t-ian!" Not too soon either, these two were about to kill each other when I didn't even laugh! The thought of it sickens me!
"For the last time, my good man, Sheila's my flamethrower and best man at my wedding!" Atta boy, Bard. Always stick up for your best friend even if she is a bit fiery around the edges.
"Hehehe…does anyone have a napkin? It appears that I am dripping my vegetable paste all over my front." How charming, they are all moving away from me as if I was a murderer! Goodness! It makes my heart shiver at all the blood I could see if they kept this up!
"You do realize," said the oh so mighty butler-he did have a sense of humor after all," that you could have had a V8."