"Looks like I overdid it a smidgen."
... is what Grell says, as if after a harmless mistake.
Sebastian pensively surveys his surroundings for a moment before turning towards the Reaper whose 'smidgen' of an overstep has landed him here.
"And where, pray tell, did your incompetence take us?"
"Incompetence?", is the giggling reply, "Au Contraire, mon petit chouchou, we're here because I was just too good at my job."
Sebastian, seeing that he is apparently alone (present company excluded), makes no pretension of patience, and taps his foot in a manner most unbeftting of a gentleman.
"And 'here' is?"
"Purgatory, I suppose," Grell says, sighing and flipping open a leatherbound notebook with mild disinterest, "This place is always troublesome. The paperwork required to get us through here is just the absolute worst. If there's a backup of souls, getting out is going to take foreeeever."
It certainly isn't what Sebastian ever expected Purgatory to look like, although all he knew of the place up until this point has been hearsay. Somehow he had assumed it would look more like Hell, rather than a cozy, if unsettlingly quiet, garden full of lavender blossoms.
There are probably no cats in Purgatory either, he supposes wistfully.
"That is rather odd," he says, looking into the colorless void that passes for sky above them.
"What is odd?" Grell looks up from the notebook.
"Being that you are, after all, you, I might have expected you to be a bit more enthused about the prospect of us spending eternity alone together."
Sebastian does not expect the dismissive laugh.
"Oh, Sebby, you sweet, egotistical monster, don't flatter yourself. God knows I wouldn't say no to a roll in the hay, but husband material you are not. So I'm going to have to say no to the eternity proposal." Grell winks with an unseemly grin that bares far too many far too sharp teeth, "I'm an old-fashioned kind of girl, you know. I can't just settle down with a rogue type like yourself."
Just the sight of those unsettlingly sharp teeth sends a foreboding chill through Sebastian.
"That was certainly not a proposal." he says, with no intention of pressing the subject.
As if as an afterthought, he adds, "You look different."
"Ah, you've really only seen me in disguise, haven't you? Those servants' rags do have their own sharp appeal, but if given the choice, I prefer to 'dress to kill'."
"In a skirt?"
"But of course, my dear," Grell airily primps the red lace jabot and high waisted riding skirt, "This is after all, the lady's variation of the Reaper uniform."
That's right. Creatures of Heaven and Earth have those tedious codes of gender they abide by. Play by those rules as he might, Sebastian fears that he will never actually understand them. Not that he particularly cares.
"Furthermore, if we are no longer in the human realm, why do I still have this body?"
Grell looks at him sideways as if he's stupid.
"Because that was the form I killed you in, of course."
"And I swore to my master I wouldn't die without his command... what a graceless death indeed," Sebastian thoughtfully pats himself, noting that everything is intact, down to the last silver button on his now pierced and bloodied tailcoat. Everything except the mark of contract on his hand.
"And with what shape of scythe? It certainly did not feel like that ostentatious tool you used the last time we met."
Grell beams proudly, stretching that cheshire grin far too wide for even a Devil to palate.
"A pitchfork."
It would seem natural for someone like Grell to revel in the poetic irony.
"You are tasteless to the very end."
Grell dramatically pantomimes a bullet through the heart.
"Oh how you do wound me, dear Sebby." A pause, a lascivous grin, "Oh wait, I was the one who wounded you." She skips a few steps closer to him, her skewed coat fluttering behind her as she does, "So, did it feel good, me tearing you up from the inside?"
"If you don't refrain from saying such vulgar things, I may have to return the favor to see how you like it."
"No can do, my darling dear," Says Grell putting a gloved finger to her lips as she leans in close to his face, "In this place, you cannot lay a finger on me, nor I you, no matter how we may burn for it. Such a shame, isn't it?"
"Quite."
Grell spins on a spiked heel and hops over to a wrought iron bench alongside the garden's path, adding extra flair even to the act of sitting down.
"Seeing as it's a special case, you being a Devil and all, we're probably going to have to wait for an Angel or a higher ranking Reaper to show up and pass judgement. It's not as though we could simply send you to Hell..." She crosses her legs and flips open the notebook again, "I hope it's not Gabby. That man is a prick of the highest order, and not in the good way."
"Gabby..." Sebastian repeats blankly, nearly impressed at Grell's profane lack of respect for one of Heaven's own, as he looks down to where a blossom is brushing his newly unmarked left hand.
Lavender blossoms had grown in the herb garden back at Phantomhive manor, and he had sometimes employed them for their medicinal use, preparing hot herbal baths and soothing tisanes for the young Master. Back then their smell, supposedly pleasing to humans, had been yet another incomprehensibly disgusting fragrance to him. But right now, they almost seem-
"So, since we have a fair bit of time to kill, how's about we play a game, Sebby? I promise, I'll be nice."
"No thank you."
"Awww, but what else am I going to do? I didn't even bring a book or anything."
"You are the Reaper, perhaps you should have thought of that before you collected a life you didn't know what to do with." Sebastian finds a boulder just off the garden path at a considerable distance from Grell's bench and seats himself, "I am under no obligation to entertain you. Most especially right after you've just killed me."
"Come now, even Devils must need entertainment sometimes," Grell produces a pen from her waistcoat pocket and starts scribbling intently, "I know, let's play hangman!"
"I decline."
"You suuuure? It could be fuuuuuun!"
"No."
"Here, I already have a puzzle worked out. There's the gallows and everything." Grell proudly displays a surprisingly adept sketch of a miniature gallows and nine letter spaces.
"Is that how you play it?"
"What, you've never done it before?"
"I have indeed, but the rules I am familiar with involve drawing the gallows during the game."
"Maybe that boytoy of yours was just terrible at it and relaxed the rules. I play a little rougher."
In spite of himself, Sebastian lets out a deep sigh. So long as there is nothing better to do in purgatory.
"English language, 26 letter roman alphabet, correct?"
"Indeed."
"Category?"
"Lit-er-a-ture."
"A."
"Ooh, Sebby got one on the first try!" Grell marks down the letter and holds up the page for Sebastian to see, "Next guess?"
"B."
"Missed. You lose your poor little hangman's head for that." Grell sketches away with far too much effort than would be appropriate for the circumstances.
"C."
"Say now, don't just go in alphabetical order like that. It's boring."
"Are you criticizing my strategy?"
"Of course I am, because it's stupid. You'll never win like that." Grell still grudgingly draws the stick figure's torso and marks the missed letters in the margins.
"And who says I'm playing to win? D."
Grell grumbles and draws a leg.
"What's the point if you're not even trying?"
"Who knows? What function does a trivial 'pastime' like this serve to ancient beings such as ourselves? In the vast expanse of our lifetimes, a short wait can't amount to much, however it is passed. E."
"I don't know about you, but I just do what's fun. After a few centuries, that's all you have left."
"Is that so?"
"Not that I'd expect you to relate, being heartless as you are."
"I thought that was a point of attraction for you."
Grell only smirks this time, fluttering her eyelids in a bewilderingly understated display.
"I like my men stoic, not stone cold. Which isn't to say that you aren't fascinating, in a bestial kind of way. You dress up like a perfect gentleman and yet deep down, you're still just an incomprehensible creature."
Grell puts a sensual emphasis on that last epithet, and the tone is more honest than any of her word's could be, lacing lust with disdain. There is none of the aggressive, gaudy performance from their first and only real fight; just a muted, somehow even restrained fascination.
Sebastian, if only out of boredom, is rather intrigued himself.
"And what do you base that judgement on?"
"Not so long ago, I reaped the soul of a girl you knew as 'Beast'. She had a fascinating... or should I say, 'scandalous' cinematic record."
"That woman? I barely knew her at all."
"Oh, but you 'knew' her in the biblical sense."
Sebastian can't help but smile slyly.
"Are you jealous?"
"For what you did to her?" Grell raises an eyebrow, "Not in the least." Grell looks back to the notebook, "Are you going to guess again or what?"
"Y," says Sebastian.
"Why what?"
"No, I guess the letter Y. But now that you mention it..."
"Ah, good job, Sebby, you actually got one this time. See, going out of order has its perks!" Grell holds up the sheet to display the second letter space filled with a Y, "And if you are asking, it should be obvious that I don't envy that girl having her life ruined by you in a few moments of pleasure, just so you could gain a paltry bit of information. Truly, you are the worst, breaking ladies' hearts like you do."
"Certainly you jest. I can think of no beings in recent memory who have intentionally caused more suffering to women than you yourself have."
"True!" Grell waves emphatically, "But there is one key difference between you and me. You see, even when I used my darling Madame, it was only because I truly, sincerely loved her. And even when I decorated those whores for eternal rest, I truly, sincerely hated them. But you, my frigid beauty, you have ruined lives and felt nothing for them."
"O."
"Oh?"
"The letter O."
"Ohhh! Another point for you, then. That makes three letters out of ten, all vowels so far. But your little hanging man isn't faring too well. How will this puzzle turn out, I wonder~?"
"How indeed."
"There you go again, so cold. Do you even care how the game turns out at all?"
"That is not for you to know."
"That may be for the best. I probably don't want to know."
"L."
"Another gain for Sebby, things are looking up. 'Lovely' indeed."
"When you say you don't want to know, are you afraid to discover that I had no 'Love' for that girl or for yourself, or even for your silly games? Surely you can't be naive enough to hope for it."
"Sebby, Sebby, Sebby, I'm not stupid. Devils are incapable of love, even the littlest reapers at school know that much. However..."
"However...?"
"I would have envied that girl's lot in a heartbeat if only you had despised her while using her," Grell pushes the pen against her lips, clicking it against those serrated teeth, "After all, the greatest sin to a lover is not hate, but indifference. And I cannot abide by letting that sort of sin go unpunished, not even for you, my sweet."
Sebastian does not reject the claim.
"So you fear that I might feel nothing for you."
"Something like that."
"Well then, in the spirit of post-mortem honesty, I must confess..."
Grell looks up, startled.
"I find you truly... sincerely... " Sebastian smiles sweetly, "Irritating."
"... really?"
"I don't lie."
Grell starts with a slow, relieved chuckle, which escalates into a rapturous laughter that even the Undertaker wouldn't hope to imitate.
"Oh, Sebby, how generous of you. Truly I shall always treasure your memory and those kind words you've bestowed upon my humble self."
"And for generosity, the letter G, please."
"So you are good at this game! Or maybe you just have the Devil's luck."
"Actually, I've known the answer all along. Pygmalion."
Grell claps her hands to her cheeks in shock.
"Whaaaat? Don't tell me you're one of those clairvoyant types too. Peeking into a lady's private thoughts is the most unbecoming of-"
"Not at all. The paper you were using as a bookmark is a ticket stub from a performance of 'Pygmalion and Galatea'. Perhaps if you intend to win, you should choose words not so easily guessed."
Grell glares daggers at him.
"If you knew all along, then why did you pretend to play?"
"Who knows? After all, what is the function of such pastimes, to beings like ourselves?"
"Mysterious Devil. I'll figure you out, yet."
"I sincerely doubt it."
Grell flips the journal back a few pages, pouting.
"On that note, Sebby..." She says, offhandedly, "Your cinematic record, the full one, is quite a work of art."
There are a few abstract sketches littering the open notebook page amongst work notes and scribbled bits of vulgarity.
"Oh?"
"It might take a more advanced scholar to properly interpret it, but, I can't say I'm not drawn by its obscurity. I've never seen anything like it. But... going back a few years, it starts to change," She drags the pen roughly over the page, splitting the nib and making ink bleed across the images, "Almost as if someone or something came along and-"
A harsh breeze interrupts her musing.
"Ah, they came sooner than I expec-"
She looks up and immediately perks up at the sight of the cloaked figure.
"Azrael, baaaaby~!"
Grell is immediately her old self- her old, insufferable, irritating self, clinging to the arm of, if the name she called him by is to be believed, a legendary archangel, and chattering incessantly about soul collections and theatre dates and apple pie. The angel is taciturn, long-suffering and silent in a way that only heaven's most beholden hosts can be. He looks up.
Their eyes meet, a devil facing down his judge and executioner, and Sebastian only smiles wryly as if to say 'you poor sod'.
"Guess we'll get this show started now!" Grell says, clapping her hands together and skipping back toward Sebastian.
"Oh, and by the way, about that no-touching-in-purgatory rule I mentioned earlier!" She leans close, with heavy lidded eyes and a lecherous grin.
She taps his nose with a single finger and retreats with an energetic bound,
"I lied!"