It had been a long time ago, when he was a reaper. No, he wasn't just a reaper, he was the Reaper, capital R and all. The original. Well, nearly. He'd been Death's first apprentice, and back then it had been a heck of a good job, with benefits and done with style. Then he'd taken on an apprentice of his own, who in turn had taken on another, who had taken on another, and another, and another... until the whole 'death god' franchise was born. Style went out the window really, and nobody used proper scythes any more. It was a true disappointment to him.
He took his scythe, and his robes, and he had left the parasite domain where time didn't exactly flow in the same way as it did in the real world. London was where he went, and once there he found himself unable – and honestly, unwilling – to deny that death was a solid business, even if he wasn't a reaper any more. Making wooden boxes wasn't that hard. Making them comfortable was slightly more difficult, not that he'd ever had a customer complain to him about it. Then of course there was that post-mortem stuff that happened to the body. Not something he'd actually had much to do with before. Removing entrails and vital organs and putting them in pretty glass jars became his art as much as the coffins.
Cooking, he found, was quite fun as well.
The very best entertainment though, came from the Phantomhive family. The Earl came to him first when he wanted information, and it was always fun trying to get the man to tell him a good joke, to find a way to make him laugh, in exchange. He was quite sorry to hear about the fire that took his life, and the life of his lady wife. When the son appeared on his doorstep, the undertaker smiled to himself from under his crooked hat as he stroked the boy's soft, round cheek with his own long and black fingernails.
"Welcome Earl," he said, bowing the child in. "My condolences regarding your parents. Your father was a most entertaining man."
"Thank you," the boy said, though he sounded slightly unsure.
"I believe you have an aunt alive though, are you in her care now?"
"No," he answered, and a shadow appeared behind him with glowing red eyes and a smile that had a definite edge to it that the undertaker recognised.
"He is in my care," the shadowy figure said.
"My butler, Sebastian," the young earl said. "Sebastian, this is the Undertaker."
The Sebastian gave a slight and silent bow.
"I am delighted to make your acquaintance," said the undertaker, aware that the butler was much more than he appeared, but frankly not caring at this moment. "So Earl, what brings you to my shop?"