There's a hole in the world like a great black pit,
And the vermin of the world inhabit it,
And its morals aren't worth what a pig could spit,
And it goes by the name of London.
At the top of the hole sit the privileged few,
Making mock of the vermin in the lower zoo,
Turning beauty into filth and greed...
- Sweeney Todd
London 1885
There are two sides to every city, just as there is two sides to every coin.
The first is always the most seen, the happy, clean elite, those few people who are born with the silver spoon already in place in their mouths. Those who occupy the highest offices, strolling around the streets as though they owned them, and most indeed did. Those who have never seen a day without food, never gone cold, or hungry. The people that everyone "wishes to be."
But then there are the others, the lower classes. People cannot all be born equal, for who would the rich have to look down on, and who would the poor have to look up to? The poor, a people relegated to crawling the back-alleys of the city at night like rats, forced to become hard, and cruel, and ruthless in order to survive. They raised the children on pennies, having as many as they could, as most would not survive. Drug-addled, crazed, violent, knowing the only way they could live was to crawl their way to the top, to do whatever it took.
And the rich envy these people. They too are cruel and ruthless, but because of societal pressures must be quiet in their undertakings. It is impossible to be in a street, and not see someone with some deep dark secret, a murdered child, or secret affair. But the rich in London were even more ruthless than most. They craved depravity, needed it more than anything in the world, more than their many possessions could ever buy. They needed to release themselves.
And they did so the one place they could.
It was a dingy little room, tucked away in a squalid back-alley just off of the bustling city streets; the sort of place no one would even think of entering if they didn't have to. A river of festering sewage ran along the open gutter, putrid stench of feces mixing in with the miasma of cum and blood. A few children played along the road, eyes bright with mirth or fever, the uneducated wouldn't know the difference. Their clothes hung off their emaciated frames, bare feet encrusted with filth; shoes were a luxury for the people of the underworlds. Huddles of clothes gave rattling breaths, the sound of Death's eager hand encroaching, drawing the last struggles of life out from the despair. The area was a dank, fetid slum, home only to the lowest vagrants in the city, but hidden away behind an inconspicuous wooden door, lay the world that so entranced the rich man.
Inside, the room was bare, save for a small wooden table, and a pair of rickety chairs, in which two men sat. The taller of the two, a french man, smirked, and took a drag of the cigarette held delicately between long, yellowed fingers. Sitting across from him, Kiku Honda choked back a cough, as the smoke rose into the already musty air, attempting to cover his mouth as discretely as possible as his dark eyes watered. Lips pursed in what could generously be called a smile, the Frenchman gave him a long hard stare, bright eyes dancing over Kiku's small body, before stubbing his cigarette out on the desk, and flicking the butt lazily across the room.
"So," he drawled, bringing his claw-like hands together, eyes still roaming around Kiku's frame, like a tiger surveying his prey. "I understand that you are the one I've been waiting for all day."
Kiku fought for his face to remain passive."I presume so, sir," he replied, wisely deciding to say as little as possible to the imposing figure in front of him.
The man snickered, lazily lighting another cigarette from the candle on his desk, casting light over his surprisingly young face, and leaving the rest of the room in shadows. It dawned on Kiku that the room was almost too atmospheric, as though someone had taken great pains to ensure the room was as intimidating as possible. Even the Frenchman seemed styled in order to fit the room, a battered yet clean waistcoat pulled over his over-large shirt, which could possibly once have been called blue, but was now more of a washed out grey colour. There was some sort of birdlike quality to the man, bright blue eyes small, yet sharp, standing out from his narrow face. He seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to look down his thin, sharp nose at people who were sitting at the same height as him."Kiku Honda? Yes, yes I would think you are. You're just as... exotic as I imagined."
A small shiver made it's way down Kiku's spine, as though someone had just poured freezing water down his shirt. It was like he couldn't control his own actions, hearing the leer that made its way into the man's voice. The oiliness of his voice just got under his skin, as though he was being violated. "Um... thank you, sir," he said, as diplomatically as possible. It wouldn't do to upset his new boss on his first day.
"From the east, are you?" The Frenchman asked, resting his sharp chin on his clasped hands.
"Yes, sir. I'm Japanese. I came to London a few years ago."
"My, my." The man was practically salivating now, the want in his voice was obvious. "Very exotic. It's as though I'm collecting a set."
There was silence. Kiku wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He half expected the man to start laughing, but the almost lustful look on his thin face gave away his seriousness. It disturbed Kiku to think that he was now just a possession of this man... that this man thought of him as an object, just another addition to his collection.
"So," the man said, seemingly oblivious to the emotion in the room. "What made you decide to become a prostitute?"
Kiku froze. Why on earth did the Frenchman want to know this, of all things? Surely it wouldn't affect the man's business? He had only just met this man, and, even if he was going to be his new boss, it probably wasn't the best idea to tell the truth in this situation. Kiku took a moment to compose himself before replying. "I apologise for my rudeness, sir, but I believe that is none of your business."
"Yes, yes, I suppose you're right," the Frenchman purred, running a hand through his flaxen hair. "I assume you are prepared for your stay here, at least?" He indicated the small bundle that contained all of Kiku's meager possessions.
"Yes, sir." His voice wavered slightly as he spoke.
The Frenchman smiled, obviously noticing the waver, and filing it away for future reference. It wouldn't do to show weakness around here, Kiku noted, especially not around this man. He wasn't a bird, he realised, he was a cat, lazy and sultry until he sprung. "You... understand what you're getting yourself into?"
A blink. Kiku didn't quite understand what the man meant. "Of course I do, sir."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry, my dear," he said, although the tone of his voice told the smaller man that he should be very much worried. "It gives you wrinkles, and then you'll no longer be attractive, and then your life will be just worthless, won't it? You'll be fine; the men will eat you up." He chuckled slightly at his own joke.
He continued. "You will have your own room, of course, to hold your meetings in, and you will naturally be paid enough for food. Any transgressions will of course be punished in any way I see fit." He gave an almost feral grin. "You are permitted to leave during the day for a few hours, but we have eyes everywhere so I wouldn't recommend straying too far. I will of course have one of the elder boys... mentor you for a few weeks, I think, so you can find your feet."
Kiku nodded silently. Outwardly, he appeared placid, but inside his mind was reeling. What was he getting himself into? Why on earth had he decided that this was the best option for him? He had never felt so out of his depth in his life.
The Frenchman's demeanour changed all of a sudden. His sharp faced softened, and he smiled almost warmly, showing off rows of teeth the same colour as his fingernails. Even his cruel, blue eyes became slightly warmer; he appeared almost human to Kiku.
"There's no need to be afraid, dear. I'm not going to bite." Kiku very much doubted that. "We'll take care of you, believe me. We're all just one big happy..."
A shout interrupted him from behind a large curtain off to the side of the room, garbled words, in an accent he couldn't quite place. The Frenchman started, already halfway out of his seat, before his whole body seemed to relax, sagging slightly in what could either have been relief or happiness. As he rose from behind the desk, Kiku was startled to see how much taller the man was than him, though he was lanky rather than lean, unnatural in a way that spoke of malnourishment. The man crossed the room over to the curtain,a spring barely visible in his step, before he paused, seemingly remembering Kiku's presence, and turned back.
"I'll see that someone takes you down then, and gets you settled. Ah- Arthur!"
Kiku wheeled around, and came face to face with another man, who had just entered. He was of average height, possibly shorter than the Frenchman, but taller than Kiku's own small frame, although it may have been the way be carried himself that gave that impression. His sandy blond hair was windswept and untidy, green eyes hardened, yet inquisitive. Despite his lowly status, he dressed well, in a neat yet practical suit, waistcoat undone, and revealing his sunken chest, and he stood proud and regal in front of them, although the set of his shoulders displayed the weariness he was desperately trying to hide.
"Yes, Mr Francis?" he said, green eyes flashing angrily below his strangely large eyebrows.
As quick as the smile had arrived, it disappeared. 'Mr Francis'' face grew stony, as his eyes bore into Arthur's. A tense silence stretched throughout the room, as all three men remained still, attempting to stare each other down, the only noise being quite clattering from whoever was behind the curtain. When the Frenchman finally spoke it was flippant, as though his interest was no longer held by Arthur. As if he just didn't care. "Fresh meat here. See that he gets settled in. Hand him off to Yao, I'm sure he will have lots of fun."
Arthur's scowl deepened at the terse words, as he looked Kiku up and down, as though sizing him up, taking in his rather ragged dress. His eyes hovered a fraction of a second too long over Kiku's shoes, widening by a barely noticeable amount, before snapping back towards Francis.
"Of course, Mr Francis," he said, and Kiku could just make out the unconcealed malice dripping off his words. Mr Francis seemed to notice too, for he simply nodded shortly, before disappearing behind the curtain. There was silence in the room for a moment, before his head popped out once again.
"Oh yes, how rude, I almost forgot to introduce myself. My name is Francis Bonnefoy, but you may call me Mr Francis. I do hope we may become... better acquainted soon, hmm?" He gave a short laugh, before heading back into the room behind the curtain, not even giving Kiku the chance to reply.
Beside him, Arthur swore under his breath, hands fisted deep in his pockets. Slowly, and looking like this was the last thing he wanted to do, he turned to Kiku. "C'mon then," he said morosely, and gestured towards the darkened corner of the room. Kiku squinted, wondering exactly what he was meant to be looking at, before a glint of metal caught his eye, and he noticed the bare outlines of a wooden trapdoor in the gloom. Though the rest of the floor was grimy, and dust covered, this trapdoor was oddly clean, as though it was used regularly.
Pulling himself together, Kiku followed Arthur's retreating back, as Arthur wrenched open the trapdoor with a surprisingly strong arm, revealing a vast, dark chasm below. A single, ropey looking ladder descended into the chasm, disappearing into the black depths.
Kiku stared at the ladder, barely able to take his eyes off of it. "We're going down there?"
He could feel Arthur's eyes boring into the side of his head. "No, we're not, I'm just airing out the hinges- of course we're going down there. What one earth did you expect, Her Majesty's fucking Opera House?"
Arthur started climbing carefully down the ladder, muttering angrily to himself as he descended; it creaked quietly as he descended. Deciding it would probably be best not to reply, Kiku hurried after him, leaving enough distance, in case the thin ladder could not take the strain of their combined weight. He had no sooner put one foot on the rungs, when he heard Francis calling his name.
"Kiku?"
Kiku looked up at the voice, startled. Francis had pulled back the curtain once again, leaning in the doorway. Kiku stood where he was, still hearing Arthur's cursing below him, getting steadily quieter as it echoed. Smirking to himself, Francis' eyes glinted in the candlelight, as he purred softly.
"Welcome to the underworld."
There's a hole in the world like a great black pit,
and it's filled with people who are filled with shit,
And the vermin of the world inhabit it.