Hello, and welcome to my second Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji fanfic. This is part of what is promising to be a very long series, so if there's any plot holes, it's probably because I haven't explained it yet, as well as the fact I am focusing on character and not plot. My plan is to run this particular character through as many fandoms as I can, so forgive me if the method is a bit, well, skewed. If you're here from my Trekker fanfic, then you may ignore the unbolded portion below and simply continue reading. For those of you who have not, this is in fact a continuation/sequel to another work of mine in the Hetalia fandom. It can be read alone, but I will reference a lot of things from that fic, so here's a premise of what happened:

Aryana Thompson is a 17-year-old female from Virginia, USA. Due to a "spell" that a casual internet friend gave her to try, she was sucked out of our world and placed in the Hetalia one. (Cliché I know, but that's only the premise.) As she enters the world and associates with the characters, they are attacked by the "2ps" ("Second Players"), a fanon, darker version of the Hetalia characters. After much fighting, hardship, and near-death experiences, they defeat the 2ps and send them to a world they can't escape from. During her stay in the Hetalia world, Aryana (who prefers Arya) learned fluent German and a somewhat basic grasp of Italian, although she did learn a lot of curse words from her teacher, as well as gun safety (she's not a very good shot), an informal strategy education, and a brief apprenticeship in magical theory. She was sent back to her world by her teacher (England), however he messed up on his spell and sent her to the Black Butler world instead.

Also, while I haven't rated this fic "M", the continuing themes of a decent amount of violence and a potentially large amount of swear words will be carried over to this story. So if you don't like that, please back out now.

November 15, 2015

Arya's POV:

FWOOM.

For the third time in my life, everything flipped upside down as I felt myself tumbling helplessly through a continuous, blindingly bright stream of light, my hands wrapping tightly around the straps of my waterproof bag as I felt it being tugged away by centrifugal force, squeezing my eyes shut as the light grew brighter and brighter and the chaotic tumbling sensation grew and grew until–

SPLASH!

I shrieked, although it was immediately muffled, as I plunged into water so ice-cold it seemed like fire stabbing into my limbs, thrashing to the surface of the dark, foul-tasting water. "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?" I screamed into the night sky, seeing snowflakes float down and land in the surface of the –river. I was in a river.

My mind went into overdrive even as my eyes flicked this way and that, taking in the small knots of people dressed in very odd but very familiar clothing walking to and fro, regaining my sense as I swam to shore. There were no rivers near my house. There were no rivers anywhere near my house. I felt my body rack itself with shivers as I finally got to shore and stood, wrapping my arms around myself as my teeth chattered and danced. Whatever river I had fallen into, it was so cold there had been literally chunks of ice floating about inside of it. "E-excuse me, b-but c-could y-you t-tell m-me w-what c-city t-this i-is?" I asked a nearby man who was mucking around with some kind of net, and without looking up, he grunted "London."

Right, so I was in London. Okay, maybe England messed up on the location a little bit. No big deal. I could call my parents and figure something out. It wasn't this cold nor this far along into winter at England's house, so I definitely wasn't in Hetalia anymore, at the very least. I looked a little closer at the man fiddling with the nets, and noticed with a deep and growing sense of foreboding that he was dressed way out of date, as had been all of the people that I'd seen from the river. "What's with the getup? I mean, what year do you think it is?" I asked him suspiciously, the little voice in the back of my head trying desperately to allay my suspicious. Maybe I'd been dropped into the middle of some LARP thing or a movie set. Maybe today was some sort of holiday in England where everybody dressed like they were from an older time. The man finally put down his net and gave me a disgruntled look.

"Look bird, what year do you think it is? It's 1888, as everyone knows."

1888.

1888.

1888.

"ENGLAND YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU GOT IT WRONG! AGAIN!"

The man jerked away as I furiously shouted into the night sky, and I turned red with embarrassment, quickly turning and walking quickly towards the packed-together buildings and streetlamps. Given by the fact that I was in London, it had probably been the Thames I'd fallen into, and I made a face, quickly trying to find a path to climb back up to street level. My feet crunched on the frost-encrusted pebbles and driftwood, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I shivered harder. My brand-new black trenchcoat that I had gotten just a few weeks ago was soaked in filthy water –apparently all of the history books that said the Thames was horribly polluted at this point in history were right– and I desperately hoped it wasn't ruined. It'd been a birthday present from a very good friend.

Right, there's a ladder.

I grabbed the first rung and heaved myself up, the icy metal biting into my bare, soaked hands as I shivered harder. Before I did anything else in this utter and complete catastrophe, I needed to change clothes to prevent my death via hypothermia. Not to mention the fact that beneath the trenchcoat, I was wearing riveted jeans and a long-sleeve shirt with random swirly red designs –not exactly the most subtle or the most time-fitting outfit for 1888. I made a face as I swung myself over the edge, shaking my head rapidly to fling the ice-cold water droplets away from my shoulder-length blonde hair.

Luckily, it seemed that this was a fairly unpopulated bit of town, and I knocked carefully on a door of a broken-down shed, waiting for several seconds. No answer. I ducked inside and set my bag on the ground, opening it up and peering inside. Complete and utter blackness; it looked like the infinite expansion spell had a few odd side effects. I closed my eyes and reached inside, feeling around until I encountered a thick, heavy fabric, pulling it out to reveal a tan-colored winter button-up coat in the Russian style. I quickly undid my trenchcoat and set it on the ground, pulling off my soaked long-sleeve shirt and jeans and trading them in for a clean button-down white shirt and black slacks ensemble. I quickly stuffed my wet clothes in the bag and zipped it up, buttoning up my winter coat and sighing in relief as I was wrapped in insulating warmth.

I swung the bag onto my back and stepped out of the shed, shivering a little at the cold wash of air as it hit my ears. Right, I thought as I shuffled through one of the extra pockets of the bag. Now that I won't freeze to death, I need to seriously chew England out for this stupid mistake. I thought with an ominous smirk, pulling out my phone and dialing. It only rang twice before my former mentor picked up, sounding surprised. "That was quite fast. Is something wrong?" he asked in concern, and I smiled sweetly, even though he couldn't see it, as I walked towards the seemingly brighter-lit areas of the London suburbs. "Oh no, not really. You just kinda sorta dropped me IN THE MIDDLE OF 19TH CENTURY LONDON!" I shrieked into the cellphone, and I heard him splutter. "W-what?! Are you sure!?" he stammered in surprise, and I spared an irritated glare at a passing man who gave me an odd, suspicious glance.

"I'm pretty damn sure. For the love of God, all the buildings are less than three stories high and everyone is dressed like they're from the movie Sleepy Hollow."

"Beg pardon?"

"It's a movie about the legend of Ichabod Crane, set in the late 1700s and early 1800s. Really cool and gruesome and violent."

"I'm sure. Do you know where you are in London?"

I blinked and turned in a circle, taking in the street around me. It was late evening or early night, so a lot of the streetlamps were lit –actually, physically lit, since electricity was not quite yet invented or popularized if it was– and there weren't many people on the street or in the shops. Those who were out walking around all gave me strange looks, and the women with children took their offspring by the shoulder and pulled them away from me. I returned the strange looks with one of my own, before I realized that handheld phones hadn't been and wouldn't be invented for more than a hundred years and that to them, I was holding a strange glowing box to my ear, talking to thin air, and responding to nothing.

The past is so weird.

"I dunno, I can't find a street sign. Why?" I asked him, and there was a long pause. "…I don't want to alarm you, but if you're in the East End, you might have problems. Its-" he began, but I interrupted him. "I know, the East End is bad. I've read a bit on Jack the Ripper." I told him flippantly, briefly pausing to swing my back onto the ground and reach inside for a pocketknife, before straightening up and putting it in my pocket. Best to be safe, after all. "Dude, I fought psychopaths and lived with a cannibal for almost a month. A bunch of cockney muggers is nothing." I told him confidently, but paused and stiffened as I heard a shout from behind me. "Oy! You!"

I turned around, seeing a thickset man in what appeared to be a policeman's uniform marching towards me purposefully, and I gulped. "Sorry Britain, gotta go." I told him quickly and clicked the phone off, stuffing it in my bag and zipping it closed as I tried my best to appear angelically innocent. "Yes sir?" I asked politely as he came to within a few feet of me, and he narrowed his eyes, tapping what looked like a nightstick against one hand. "You attached to any household?" he asked me interrogatively, and I blinked twice. "Um…nooo?" I responded hesitantly, drawing the "no" out as long as I could and trailing off in a question. He looked even more foreboding than before. "Is that satchel your property?" he asked in a quick shift of topic, and I narrowed my eyes and nodded. "Yeah, it's mine. Bought and owned by me for like four years." I said defensively, tightening my grip on the straps, and I yelped as he grabbed me by the ear. "Right, I don't like your look, vagrant." he said sternly, and I squeaked in protest. "Hey! I'm not a vagrant!" I said indignantly, and the policeman gave me a withering look. "Are you attached to any household?" he repeated, and I mutely shook my head. The policeman gave me a triumphant look as I was thrown into a cart. "Then you're a vagrant." he said simply, and I hit the floor facefirst with a thud.

"It's something, it's always something…" I muttered, rubbing my head as I looked up at the rough wood of the cart.

1.30 PM, USA Central Time