Author's Note: This is my first fanfic, so, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.
Shout-outs to: , Amberallentx, Fiane-Mia, icecreamlover1, and ReaperOfLostSouls. Thanks for following my story, guys!
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji, or any of it's characters. Kuroshitsuji is property of Yana Toboso. The only thing I own, is my OC Euphemia.
BTW: The italicized quotations are my OC's personal thoughts; they aren't said aloud.
I followed Mr. Undertaker out of the front room, and behind the curtain that separated the shop from his personal dwelling. Noticing along the way, that beyond the curtain that concealed his living quarters from view, there was an equal amount, if not more dust and cobwebs adorning every surface, nook, and cranny that I could see. But, not wanting to jinx my luck by saying anything about the grime, I said nothing about it. I wasn't about to throw away my chance of getting a hot meal by being rude, regardless of the circumstances.
I was guided to the kitchen, where he pulled out a chair at the table for me and ushered me to sit while he served the food.
"I do hope you don't mind what I've prepared." He said whilst tending to the pot on the wood stove. "Soup was all I could make, tonight. And since you've not eaten in a while, its best you don't eat somethin' too heavy, else you might make yourself sick." He took two beakers from a cupboard and set them on the kitchen table, one for me, and one for him. "It seems as though he uses beakers for cups, how clever." He then went to the icebox and pulled out a bottle of milk, and poured some into each of the two beakers on the table.
"I'm terribly grateful for the food. I'd be happy eating nearly anything, at this point." I replied as he served the soup into two bowls, and set one in front on me. Setting the other at his place at the table, then sitting down.
I said a silent prayer before grabbing my spoon to eat. I dipped my spoon into my bowl of soup, and then brought it to my mouth. I blew on the spoonful of soup to cool it, and then finally gave it a taste. It had to be some of the best soup I had ever tasted, though, that reaction may be due to the fact that I hadn't eaten a decent meal in a long while. Regardless, the food was great, and the expression on my face must have given that away, as Mr. Undertaker seemed to have noticed, because he then said, "I take it you like the soup, m'lady?" I nodded in reply, and took a sip from my glass -well, beaker- of milk, and continued eating my soup.
We ate the rest of the meal in not-unpleasant silence.
I offered to wash the dishes after we finished the meal, but Mr. Undertaker insisted that he be the one to wash them, as I was the guest. So, I sat at the kitchen table and looked around at my surroundings.
There weren't electric lights in the kitchen, or for that matter, any in the front where the shop was, either. Instead, there were oil lamps and candles. There was an oil lamp hanging from a hook in the ceiling, casting a warm glow over everything in the kitchen. Despite there not seeming to be any electricity, there was, in fact, running water. The floor was wooden, and creaked in places.
After getting bored of looking around the kitchen, I decided to observe the silver-haired mortician. At a glance, one might assume him to be an old man, judging by the silver hair, but by looking more intently, I noticed that his face -what little of it I could see- appeared to be rather youthful, and not old at all. At most, he appeared to be around the age of thirty or so.
I also noticed that he had a few noticeable scars; one circling his left pinkie finger, one wrapping around his throat, and one on his face, starting on the right side of his face, crossing over the bridge of his nose, and disappearing under his fringe. "Gosh, what in the world happened to him to cause such scars?" I suppose I had been engrossed in his appearance for a while, because he turned slightly from his spot at the kitchen sink, he had a toothy ear-to-ear grin nearly splitting his face in two, as he said:
"Like what you see~ m'dear? Hee hee heee~~"
"Oh!"I gasped. Darn! He caught me staring at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare." My cheeks turned pink with embarrassment, and since I am quite pale, my blush was surely noticed.
"Hee hee heee~ Whatever you say Miss Euphemia~" He snickered.
"I'm being honest!" I exclaimed, a little too loudly. "I was just observing you, is all. You seem to be rather interesting, I find."
"Is that so?~" He crooned. "And what about me do you find so very interesting, might I ask?" He questioned me, with an eerie smile on his face.
"Well, your hair, for one, interests me. The colour of it, I mean. Its silver, one would think such a hair colour would belong to an elderly person, but you don't look that old to me." I explained.
"Are you so sure about that? Looks can be deceiving, my dear girl. Hee hee heee~~"
"I suppose you could be right. Anyways, why are you so cheerful and giggly? Being a mortician seems to be such a grim profession, is it not?" Whatever I said must have tickled his funny bone, because as soon as I finished speaking, he proceeded to chuckle and guffaw into his oversized sleeves. His amusement soon turned into him laughing and drooling, while holding his stomach.
His manic laughter was beginning to concern me, but just as I was about to say something, I was cut off by him instead.
"Ahee~ hee heee~~ Grim~ Ahaa haa~ Profession~~ Oh, Miss Euphemia, ahaa~haa haa~ you're a riot, you are." He continued to laugh, but eventually it died down to broken giggles. I found myself giggling a bit as well, though, my giggles were of the nervous variety.
"Ahee hee~ I think I might just keep you, little miss. Hee heee~"
"...Keep...me? What do you mean by that?"
"I mean exactly what I said. Keep you." He sniggered into his sleeve.
"I'm afraid I do not quite understand what you are getting at, Mr Undertaker. Could you please explain?" I was terribly confused at what he said, what on earth does he mean by keep me?
"Oh, my dear girl, I meant you could stay here, of course."
"I could stay here? But I have no money to pay you."
"Don't you worry 'bout that, m'dear. Hmm... Are you very squeamish, Euphemia?"
"Squeamish? No, not really. I've seen some pretty gory stuff in the past, and it doesn't bother me very much. Why do you ask?"
"Well, if you'd like to, I could take you on as my apprentice. You could earn your keep as my assistant."
"Well, its either be his apprentice and assistant, or back to the gutter for me." I thought to myself. "I never thought of working in the funerary business before, but this offer is too good to pass up." After weighing the options in my mind, I came to a conclusion, and said: "I would be honored if you would have me be your apprentice, Mr. Undertaker. And I'd be glad to be your assistant."
"Wonderful, m'dear, but you can drop the formalities, just call me Undertaker from now on, no need for the whole Mister part, alrighty?" He said this with a beaming grin on his face. "Its getting quite late, and you must be tired, correct?" He asked. I nodded yes. "Then follow me upstairs, you can use the bedroom, as I prefer to sleep in a coffin."
"You sleep in a coffin?" I asked. "How macabre." I thought.
"Yes, I find my preferred coffin to be much cozier than a bed." He explained, as we ascended the stairs. "Here's the bedroom, and the next door down the hall is the bathroom. I will go fetch you some nightclothes, I'll be not but a moment, m'dear." And with that, he disappeared back downstairs, leaving me in the hall outside the bedroom.
I realized, as a shiver ran down my spine, that the clothes he gave to me earlier, may very well have once belonged to a corpse in the past. But I pushed that thought out of my head as Undertaker reappeared at the top of the stairs, holding a folded nightgown in his hands.
"This should suffice, for tonight." He said, holding out the nightgown for me to take, which I gladly accepted. "I'll take you out tomorrow to get you some clothes of your own, and don't worry about paying me back, that's why you'll be working as my assistant."
"Thank-you, Undertaker. I'll be looking forward to tomorrow, for sure." I said with a faint smile.
"Well, m'dear, I have some "guests" to work on, in the morgue. I shall bid you good-night." He turned and made his way back downstairs.
"Good-night, Undertaker." I replied. I walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.