Disclaimer: D. Gray Man is the property of Hoshino Katsura-sama.
In the beginning, God made man.
And at first, man was indeed devout.
But time passed, and overtaken by Greed, man sought to surpass God.
Creatures of tragedy and horror...
How fitting is your name: "Akuma".
Tick-tock, do hear that sound? The whirling hum to the insides of my lovely clockwork man.
Copper will be his hair and gold his eyes. Fine quartz for the nails and carved ivory of teeth.
Lily white is the skin - from that dear woman who used to weep: come now, my sweet, won't you say something?
"An invite from the Count of St. Germain himself? So lu~cky!"
"That's only because my father works for him, Lavi."
'Old friends', or something along those lines. He hadn't really been listening to the whole story.
"But still, Allen! The reclusive relic collector himself! Imagine all the treasures that must be in his archive..." Whispered his best friend dreamily.
He is imagining, all right.
Imaging all the creepy photographs posted on the papers of the 'mansion on top of the hill' as the horsebus is taking them there so to speak. Truthfully, he would be glad to swap with his bookworm friend at a moment's heartbeat had this not been his ailing father's specific request. Substitute valet to the Count... Now, one might wonder, just how terrible could that be...?
"He is supposedly mad." Deadpanned his other friend, Yuu Kanda, unhelpfully. "Very."
And those blue eyes then turned to bore into his own before the corner of the Japanese man's mouth upturned into the slightest of smirks.
"Maybe Beansprout will come back to us in pieces."
"Now now..." Soothed Lavi, sensing another fight impending. "Crowley lived in a creepy house too and he turned out to be quite nice."
That was true. Their friend the baron, third of the line, did turn out to be quite meek and faint of heart.
Allen sighs, eyes dropping to the piece of paper in his hand.
Mana D. Campbell, huh.
Fourteen weeks. That's all he had to last until his old man's leg heals. It can't be that bad ... probably?
Thirty minutes later, the trio found themselves at the gate - staring up at the crooked mansion on a crooked hill with the distant silhouette of a crooked tree.
Lavi placed a strong (was that supposed to be comforting?) hand on his shoulder. And then, to his dismay:
"...good luck."
A/N: New story after being bothered by plot bunnies for so long.