Hello everyone!
Recently, as in 'less than a week ago', I decided to start reading this manga after I heard a lot of great things about it and— well, I LOVE IT! *-* So much so, that in only four days I read all the 43 chapters uploaded on the Net. XD
This is how I imagined Sebastian and Ciel's encounter might have happened… now, I'm not really a newbie at writing fanfiction, but this is my first time writing something for this fandom, so if you find the characters OOC feel free to tell me but please keep that in mind. :P
Reviews are greatly appreciated!
Ja ne,
Temari 88 XD
The Finest Meal
by Temari 88
"Please… someone, anyone… help me…!"
The 'call' – if he could actually refer to it as such – could not have come at a better time. In a way. On the other hand, that had possibly been also the worst time for such a plea to reach his ears.
He had been aimlessly roaming the Earth, flying over villages, cities, countries and states over the blink of an eye – it was nothing extraordinary for people like him, passing from India to Japan to Europe – trying to find who he had been looking for; he couldn't pick just anyone: he was who he was and he had abandoned the 'old' ways a long while ago. But the huger was starting to let itself known, it wasn't overly strong – he could forgo 'eating' if the need arose but the more he postponed his meal the more annoying it all became – so he could let himself watch and listen and smell carefully.
He hadn't had any luck while floating over some pretty big city in China, so he had decided to change location – London had sounded good in his mind, with its streets bristling with activity, the hundreds of different scents… it never ceased to spike his interest and hope to find something that'd attract him. It had actually been awhile since the last time he had visited England (at the very least fifty years, which was almost eternity for those down there but nothing more than few days for his 'people') because since that last time, nothing had seemed interesting over there…
"Please… someone, anyone… help me…!"
Somehow, that whispered plea had found its way to him. It was beyond strange – it wasn't like he never heard desperate cries for help when he went out for his 'strolls', but always before they had simply sounded very distant, even to his ears, and vague… this time, though, he found his head immediately turning toward the direction he knew the voice had come from and wondered. He tilted his head to the right—he could still hear the faint echo of that voice. His arms, that had been crossed until a moment before, unfolded from in front of his chest so now one was resting on his hip while the other was busy holding his chin in hand.
He came to the conclusion that he could indulge in curiosity, for the present, and instantly vanished from his spot on top of the Big Ben, to reappear a heartbeat later in front of a decent sized mansion that was most likely home to some rich, stinking family of nobles. He raised a slender eyebrow at that and hummed in contemplation; he was about to turn his back on the building (his curiosity seemed to melt away at the sight… a boring sight)—his keen ears suddenly picked up a very interesting sound, or several sounds of the same kind: screams. Terrified, high-pitched, desperate screams. He felt his lips stretch at that, his curiosity now back led him into the mansion.
"Aaaaahh! NOO!"
He stopped at this particular scream. The voice. It was the same as before… he felt a sudden pull towards this person—he teleported only to find himself in what looked like an underground 'arena', with tiers of seats all facing an altar of some sort. His nose was instantly invaded by the sweet, heavy smell of the blood littering most of the place as he counted no less than fifteen bodies lying in obviously unnatural positions, a pool of crimson under each and every one of them. He hummed in approval at the scene, his lids lowering as he inhaled slowly the sickly stench of death lingering in the air.
A chocking sound caught his attention and, as he turned towards the source, he noticed a man backing up until he found himself with his back to the marble altar covered in blood and some more solid substance he was quite sure could be intestines or some other organ part. The man was bloody as well, holding with a hand his other wrist where the newly formed stump was steadily oozing dark red all over his tailored robes; the man was staring at the small person standing in front of him in fright—a rather pathetic sight to behold, especially when it was a child hovering over him with a dagger pointed in between the man's eyes.
"No, please, don't kill me…! What is it that you want? I'll give it to you, just let me go!"
He shook his head lightly at the display. That man was too pathetic to continue living, really, if he was willing to beg to a child to spare him. He made his way down to the center of the arena and stopped right at the child's side—it was a boy. He could see the flicker of hesitation as the boy's blue eyes stared at the man before him; he grinned and bended low until he was levelled to whisper into the youngster's ear, telling him everything he felt the child wanted – needed – to hear, giving him the assurance he needed to complete his revenge, to eradicate the man who had dared torture him—him, the heir of the Queen's personal watchdog family.
He rejoiced in seeing the resolve in the child's right eye shine in a cold light. He grinned as he saw the small hand around the dagger's handle clench so tight in determination, the knuckles turned white under the sheen of crimson covering them and the skin was taut. He almost licked his lips when the blade penetrated in the man's chest, piercing his clothes, his skin, his flesh… deep, deeper, until the dagger reached the heart, stopping its furious beating abruptly as a chocked out cough brought with it a rivulet of red dripping from the man's lips and his last, oh so painful, breath escaped to join the suffocating air heavy with a stagnant coppery smell.
He loved it.
He turned his attention to the child at his left and wrinkled his nose a bit – the stench of vomit was far from pleasant. The boy had collapsed on the dirty floor, the adrenaline now out of his system had left his body stiff and unresponsive to his wishes and only after more than five minutes one of his tiny hands, slowly, rose to his face to wipe his mouth, spreading the blots of blood further across his pale visage. When the blue eyes – one of which was obviously blind due to some injury – fixed on him, he stood there watching the child impassively, considering silently the figure kneeling at his feet; at last, he lowered himself and took one of the boy's hands (the one that had not held the dagger) with his own—so small, it was, that simply bending his fingers he could enclose it within his steely grip.
"I think this is the first time this has happened to me, being summoned that is."
His piercing eyes firmly looking into the blue one; the child was staring at him with his empty gaze and it made him smile – a cruel, amused twisting of the lips. Without speaking, he pressed down on the back of the small hand with a sharp, black-painted nail and drew a perfectly straight line breaking the fragile skin and drawing the boy's blood from within; then he lifted the tiny limb, touching the bleeding hand to his own left one, smearing the red substance on his skin and releasing the wrist in his grip. Without breaking eye contact, he bit down on his right thumb - his canines cutting through his flesh easily – pulled back the boy's bangs to expose the blind eye and passed the finger over the closed eyelid, leaving a diagonal line of his own blood.
Two seconds later, a circle with a pentagon and other symbols inside materialized on both his left hand and the right eye of the child.
The contract had been signed.
"Now, I will help you reach your goal. For my service, I will have your soul."
The boy slowly lifted a hand to his eye while watching him. There was wonder, deep in that blue, cold ocean… and comprehension and, finally, determination. Yes, he could understand what had pulled him to this pitiful creature—staying by this child might provide him a good interval, a break, from his aimless wandering… not to mention, this soul – childish, dark, desperate, angry, cold – had a wonderful sensation to it. It could easily become the best meal he had ever had in his whole life. And it did not matter for how long he would have to wait, it did not matter what he would do in the meantime, it did not matter how hungry he would become while waiting…
"You will become my power. You will follow my every order. Until I have crushed everyone that dares stand in the way to my goal, you will be mine."
He will follow this small human wherever he went. He will be his shadow, always revolving around him; he will be his servant, always ready to do anything he will ask; he will be his confidant, always there to listen and give advice; he will be his sword, always jumping into action when the Master won't be capable of delivering the punishment himself; he will be his nightmare, always stirring in him unpleasant feelings he will be unable to disperse—
He will stay by his side, until the end.
And when the end arrives, he will be his death-bringer. He will be finally able to sate his hunger with the finest soul he is certain he will ever, ever taste… and he will savour it, committing to memory the delicious flavour—
"… Yes, my Lord."