Written for Idonquixote on this website, because they simply are an amazing person and I really enjoy whenever we talk.
/!\ Important notes before reading:
1) Beware the madness and mentions of violence/drug use
2) If the story appears to be a succession of strange ramblings, then thanks for noticing because that's what I wanted it to be considering that I see Red as mad, desperate and probably dissociating (which doesn't mean I don't like her, otherwise I wouldn't write about her)
3) Also Madam Red in this story refers to Grell as 'he/him' and I made that narrative choice because Grell pretended to be a butler and not a maid in canon until their true identity was revealed, so I assumed Red inwardly saw Grell as a guy.
If you can't agree with/can't respect that choice, please don't read.
DISCLAIMER: All characters in this story belong to Yana Toboso
We will be waiting for the night
She imagines the laugh of happy children on a sunny summer day…
"What are girls made of? Sugar and spice and everything nice.~~"
...before remembering that there will never be any children around her. Not anymore.
"What are girls made of? Sugar and spice and everything nice.~~"
And red. Yes… Red, red, with the blood flowing out of their body when they are killed.
But blood can be pretty sometimes, she finds, especially when it is used to paint a surreal scene of murder in some dark backstreet of London. The taste of iron is the only thing she does not like because it is too strong and bitter, she thinks as her lips form a smile in spite of it, so opposed to the sugary smell that children carry with them everywhere they go, as if to remind her that she should not have stabbed that prostitute as much as she did.
However, it is too late to go back, that she is sure of as she watches Grell smile at her, pointed teeth showing behind the dark red of his own lips and she wonders if he is going to say that they should go back now. To where there are no children anymore. There will never be.
"Can you believe that stupid stereotype that says that women are more likely to faint at the sight of blood?" Grell asks her, very matter-of-factly, his eyes rolling in annoyance as he keeps on smiling at her, "As if we women do not see more blood than those gents do. Men really only have their hotness to make up for their stupidity, I swear."
She notices again that rambling away after they are done with their victim is something that Grell likes to do. She does not know if that is to ease away the awkwardness that killing theoretically might raise in him, but she could not be less bothered by it. She usually prefers not to say a word, relishing in the after of her madness, seeing as it is the only time she is allowed to let loose on her fury. The only time the rest of the world is asleep and she does not have to pretend.
Nothing can spoil the moment, nothing should and nothing will.
"We ought to go home," Grell ends up saying when he notices her staring at the body without blinking, "who knows who could pass by at such a late hour?"
Possibly no one, she thinks, it is not like she is stupid enough to go crazy just anywhere but she knows he is right: lingering on the crime scene rarely ever is a good idea. Besides, she reeks of iron because of all the blood and the smell could definitely attract some… dogs.
"We ought to go home, Madam Red," Grell repeats, as he checks some strands of his long red hair, his foot tapping on the ground with a slow rhythm, which she recognizes as a sign of impatience.
Right. Home.
"Go back then," she says, feeling Grell's strange eyes shifting to her bloody silhouette and inwardly hoping that she will not have to argue. "I still have somewhere I need to go to this evening."
He used to protest whenever she started doing this after one particularly messed up evening (something about partners in crime being tied together like a butler and his lady were, until the end of nights), but now all he does is staring and, as always, she can feel the disapproval and the annoyance emanating from the phosphorescent gaze he likes to transfix her with.
One day, surely, he will protest again. Probably more vehemently than he cares to do now. He is a good actor after all, his shy and clumsy act to the criticizing eye of the world nothing but the antithesis of who he really is. That is what their life is made to be: at day, she is the lady and his mistress whom he shall serve with devotion but at night, when it is cold and dark, he goes back to how he first appeared to her. He is a Death God and she is nothing but a killer. She kills their victim, but she is just a murderess who could die at any time when he is Death and relishes in her sins.
So one day, surely, he will stop pretending seeing her as his equal when he decides that she shall not kill again.
Not that she cares, most of the time. And right now, there is no need to contemplate her possible death, as she has somewhere else to be at.
"Go home," she says again, her voice echoing through the back alley but there is still no one else there to hear her. No children at this time of the night. Or day. Or at home.
Hah. Home…
Where he is dead. Where everyone is dead, really.
.
They say passion can burn men and women alive, though for Ann it never was passion but rather jealousy. And jealousy can eat the heart and soul of men and women, alive or dead.
Really, how many times did she want, imagine, dream and hope that she could be Rachel?
However, even though Rachel is finally gone, it is impossible to replace her because her sister took everything away with her, not only the man she still loves with all her heart and soul, but also the children.
Ah… Rachel always had it easy, did she not? Whereas sometimes Ann is not sure of the fact she is still supposed to be a living person. Maybe it would make things easier to know for sure where she is standing, but things were never so simple for her in the first place. She lost a part of her every time someone she loved died after all, while Rachel is dead and unable to feel anything anymore.
Speaking of which, for someone who is supposedly dead, Grell seems more alive than she is most of the time. That's why she busies him with the task of being her one and only servant; that makes for company and sometimes she thinks that he is all she has left.
"If you were not my one and only muse," he pesters often as a result, "I would not force myself to wear such horrid clothes."
She is grateful to him in these moments because he keeps her in check by acting like he cares about what she does, which is a lot compared to the almost nothing she has left.
Where did the children go? She wonders as her mind wanders again, the killer that she is strolling through a very silent neighborhood of London, still focused on going where she always goes at the darkest hour. That is right, it almost could be a song: out of the two who could have been her own had she been Rachel, one is dead and the other changed too much. As for the other two blond little angels, one is almost a man and the gentle little pretty dove hardly comes by anymore.
It must be her mother's fault. Lady Frances always was too astute.
Just like it was Rachel's fault. It is always the mother's fault.
Now I am lonely because of her. And the truth is that loneliness is as terrible as sorrow, she thinks as she walks through what definitely seems to be a deadly silent city, no echo of happy children's cries anywhere ever again, because both leave crazy ideas in their trail when they linger.
.
.
Just like the end of some unfortunate events, their beginning was the result of a miscalculation on her part, during one of these rare nights that she did not have Grell by her side as she got rid of one more of those ungrateful women.
Killing on his turf was… frankly something that she should have had enough intelligence to avoid, but on that night, her thirst had been too overwhelming and fate had decided that she were to be discovered by his kitty pet, the girl's amber eyes ignoring the bloody corpse at her feet, rather staring at her the same way Grell would sometimes. As if the sordid murder of a fellow human being did not even deserve a flutter of the eyelids.
Lau did not even bother to feign looking surprised either when his kitty pet brought her to him, all dirty and still wearing her bloody dark coat, as always reeking of iron, the taste or smell of anything sugary washed away by her sins and far far away in her madness.
Similarly, she did not bother trying to settle for a lie as an explanation: some nights were not suitable enough for her to pretend when she was so tired of it, and he had probably suspected her well before this instant anyway. That is why, as he had looked at her that first night, she instantly understood that he saw who she really was: not Lady Angelina, not even Madam Red, but rather 'Jack the Ripper'.
…Or maybe he had never suspected her before seeing her like that. Hard to say with him.
"Oh, Angel! Why, I did not expect you tonight."
In any case, it had been as if it was the first time a fellow human being had met the real her properly.
"I guess it was another lucky night for harvesting, then?"
And, in her eyes for some reasons that made him really look really attractive, his Asian origins and the fact that he was not... him a lost protest at the back of her deranged mind. Love and a wanton desire of flesh are nothing alike anyway.
…Or maybe she likes how cunning he is, for that would be a common point with him, the man her sister stole from her.
"Who knows how long until our little Watchdog finds out about your hunting grounds though, hmm? So it is better that you fully enjoy it while you still can."
Tonight though, unlike months ago, she is not brought in by his pet with gorgeous eyes but rather invites herself to his dark and hidden den, the dull feeling of apprehension lost ever since her first visits and his ever still cheerful banter absolutely misplaced considering their situation.
"I still think it is completely unfitting that they would give the name of a man to such a pretty killing Lady. Don't you think so, Ran Mao?"
One could call this a good deal that they have between them, as she now makes a habit of bringing him the uteruses that she collects, when she does not want to go back to what she used to call home. It is a way for her to get rid of them without leaving any proof behind and he sells these miserable organs devoid of their function for pure profit, which is simply him being his resourceful self as always (as there is obviously nothing else to gain from keeping the secret of what she is truly capable of).
And there is a certain sort of madness there again as she always lets a tear or two fall when she gives them to him, each time the reminder that children are forever gone because her uterus was once removed as well and will never carry any. So much for broken dreams when Lau is the one making money.
.
.
.
Sometimes she goes home right after leaving with him the proof of her nocturnal madness, but some other times she is tempted to stay. It is not like his company is soothing (though she does seek him for it to some extent), but the opium he offers sure is.
Often, he likes to joke that she is his favorite customer, which is strange really because he lets her smoke for free, as compensation for the uteruses that she brings and that he sells, so she wonders if the term 'customer' can really apply to her.
Sometimes Lau smokes with her, some other times he just watches her losing herself further, Ran Mao always playing the part of the silent witness. Her amber eyes stare but never judge and despite it all, the girl's silence and opium itself, Angel never forgets her presence, no matter if Ran Mao never uttered a single word in her direction.
She always loses her mind to opium when she smokes, she always sighs because she feels falsely at peace ('for once', she always thinks) and it is something that is priceless for her. Maybe that is what Lau means whenever he says that she is his favorite customer.
She thinks about Rachel as she smokes and she remembers her sister's kindness and lovely smile. Her ever so gentle sister… Why did she have to make Angel so unhappy? Why did she have to steal the only man Angel ever loved?
She thinks about the children too. Why did they all have to become so estranged to her? Why did they not have any more time to play with her, as they used to? When was the last time she saw a smile on Ciel's face or that she saw Lizzie at all? Why did Rachel have to take that away with her too?
She thinks about her dead baby. She always wanted a girl, because Rachel never had one. A girl as bright and cheerful as little Lizzie, a girl who would have replaced all the jealousy consummating her with motherly love. Why could her always fragile older sister give birth to two sons when Angel had to lose her only baby?
And ultimately…
"My poor husband…" she cries out loud without tears to the high ceiling, "I do not think I ever thought about him whenever I laid in his arms."
"Now that is rather unfortunate," a playful voice rises from the room's foggy atmosphere. "Poor man, I cannot help but imagine how entranced by you he must have been if he knew of your idyllic and imaginary passion for your brother-in-law and still loved you."
Lau knows what she is thinking about. Of course he does. Or maybe she is the one who told him once before?
She certainly cannot recall doing so, however, even with the sweet fog that opium lays all around her, she is sure that she does not want Lau to know that, at this time of the night, she cannot remember what the man she loved so much looked like and that as a result she cannot reach her memories of him.
In fact, this is why she loves Lau's opium so much and why she keeps on coming back, but even a mad woman still has her pride and thus Lau cannot know about that.
.
.
As Ann rides off on imaginary dark clouds this night again, Angel throws one last look down and the abyss that greets her in Ran Mao's eyes is bottomless and beyond scary.
"Wait," she asks Lau in a slurred whisper, "did your girl not have amber eyes earlier?"
And Lau's laugh is low and deep as he exhales some smoke from his own pipe (for he chose to smoke with her tonight), while the girl at his side does not stop staring with her terribly empty gaze. "What are you saying, Angel? You chose your path long ago, why would you still be able to see the warm light of amber after everything you have done?"
She feels a warm hand lay on her forehead and does not understand because she is supposed to be where no one can reach her. Soon the sky above her turns into a mocking pair of slit eyes.
"I wonder…" Lau's voice resonates all around her, the taunting tone anchoring her and forbidding her from flying to the sky, "Do you think the son of man you fell so helplessly in love with would spare you, should he know of your sins?"
"For you to speak about my sins, since when have you been Christian?" She tries to spit back but only manages to mumble.
"Oh, but without speaking of gods, the law is made by men and no matter where you escape to, no one will absolve you of all your wicked and jealous crimes, you know."
She frowns at this. "This is… really bad philosophy."
"So is Jack the Ripper's, my beautiful Lady clad in blood's red. You are a fascinating one. You try so hard to be beautiful, proper and noble when in reality you are nothing but a nasty bloodhound, following a long forgotten trail to reach your lost dreams. You know that is why you always come to see me, despite your denial. Because I am a dream maker."
She would slap him harshly (for how dare he speak to her like this), but he is everywhere and nowhere at the same time and she cannot reach him. She cannot reach anything or anyone anymore, and yet Lau's presence is all around her, as is the weight of Ran Mao's eyes staring.
"Angel, floating high is nice," Lau's voice lulls her from far away. "You can watch over the world and unless someone looks up to the sky, they cannot see you. However, you will never get to fly away if you do not get rid of the shackles tying you down to your Earth. Dreaming and living will become the same only then, when you stop having expectations and fears."
This is nonsense…
"Yes it is." A voice answers her thought, but it is not Lau's and Ran Mao never speaks. "But remember Ann, you are all mad here. That is why you lost everything."
And for a brief second, Angel thinks she recognizes Rachel's voice along what seems to be the very sweet and sugary smell of desperation.
.
Lau contemplates waking Madam Red up once dawn is around the corner, but it is definitely calmer when she sleeps instead of crying and besides, it seems that Ran Mao enjoys watching whenever the Lady dreams.
Sighing, he puts his pipe down and gets up to go pat his loyal kitty pet on the head. "Say, Ran Mao," and the girl's amber eyes silently stare at him and his thoughtful smile instead, "would it be very cruel of us to ask our dear Lady doctor to take care of one of our girls' abortion?"
But Ran Mao just stares some more, before jerking her head away to resume her previous activity of watching over the dreams of the insane but beautiful Madam Red.
Your amusement will disappear if she dies too quickly, he hears in his head and he knows she is right.
Really, he hopes that the little Watchdog will not discover his aunt too soon.
Thank you for reading, I hope it wasn't too off-putting and weirdly written.
1) About Ran Mao's changing eye color: it actually comes from the fact that different official artworks by Yana have her with either amber or black eyes, so I wanted to play on this a little, especially since I always had this little theory that Ran Mao might be yet another supernatural being.
2) It's hard to do Lau's character some justice through writing, so I apologize if I completely failed, but the thing is, I doubt he is really the clueless character he pretends to be, so here you go for a more perverse and manipulative Chinaman.
3) Simple headcanon of mine, but I always thought that Frances noticed when Red started to emotionally falter and realized that she might be the one behind "Jack the Ripper", which is why she forbade Lizzie to visit Red around the start of Kuroshitsuji.
4) If you can, feel free to leave a comment, it's always helpful for improvement! :)