Hello. You're back - that's nice. Thanks for the reviews. As to the question, what made me dub Sebastian a "devil" - well, that's what the official translation of the manga in my home country did. A "devil", that's even how he refers to himself. It's what gave me the idea for this fanfic in the first place. (If anyone missed the point that English is not my native language, I'd be thrilled ;) )

Disclaimer: I do not own Sebastian, Ciel, the "Ferro clan" or any other characters featured in or related to "Kuroshitsuji" ("Black Butler") and I do not make money from this.

Chapter 2: Dive Bar Games

"It worked. It really worked!"

The words trickled into Sebastian's returning consciousness. His head ached and he wished Bard would pipe down. There was no reason for a chef to perform a happy dance over something as common as a well-prepared breakfast.

"Just put it down somewhere," he said. "I'll serve it right away."

"He's willing to serve! Did you hear?"

Slowly, Sebastian realized that something was wrong: The voice, the smells, the feel of his bed – this was not Phantomhive. He was grabbed by a big hand and shaken rather rudely. "Hey! You there! Demon! You hear me?"

Sebastian nodded and wondered why he was being so compliant. He found himself in the company of four men, sailors by their attire. He sat on the ground in some corner of a dusky alley, his back leaned against a cold brick wall. The rancid stench of fish told him he was near the port.

The smell was really bad.

Fortunately, things like that did not affect him.

They never did.

For hea- headache's sake, he wished someone would put the bag back over his head.

Meanwhile, the voice rattled off a list of commands: Don't move, don't talk, don't try anything funny, don't bite, maim, charm or magic or whatever it is that you'd like to do right now.

Sebastian wanted to throw up apple pie and mirabelle liqueuer, and it went without saying that he didn't need to be told to contain himself.

His sad condition obviously did not escape his captors' attention.

"Are you alright?" A stocky seaman with sunburnt cheeks and bad teeth, and apparently the owner of The Voice, leaned forward to get a closer look. He took off his cap and scratched his head. His hair was thinning, and because it was blonde to the point of actually being colourless, his red scalp was shining through.

Sebastian was not sure how he felt. Reaching for his brow, he found a palm-sized sensitive spot and probed it with his fingers.

"I put my mark on you," said the stocky sailor, as it seemed not without pride. "My name's Thomas. The crew calls me ‚Tuna Tom'. Your name's Samiel. At least that's how I named you. Guess that makes me your master."

"Mark?" Sebastian asked, slowly turning his head to look at his captor.

Tuna Tom produced an item that looked like the ivory hilt of a dagger. He was smart enough to keep his distance, but despite the relative darkness Sebastian had no trouble seeing what he needed to see: It really was the hilt of a dagger. Probably the weapon had come in handy when the tool had been assembled. A silver plate had been fastened where the blade should have been. Engraved in the smooth surface was a complicated pattern of lines, weaving and intertwining like two vines.

Sebastian knew the symbol. It was an ancient seal, powerful enough to rule most demons known to the magicians of ancient Babylon who had first come up with the design.

Now, Sebastian could make sense of the sensitive area on his brow and the painful assault: His captor had used the tool on him. The pattern had been burned into his forehead. It sat there like a big, black spider, waiting for his new master to give him orders. These it would enhance - and relentlessly punish any attempt to put up resistance.

"I don't understand," Sebastian said, forming his wordly cautiously so as to avoid the nausea. "What is this all about?"

Tom waved a newspaper, "You're the demon that took out the Ferro Family."

"I am merely a butler."

"Aye, that's what you said then," Tom said, sounding content. "I happen to know one of the lads who survived. He says you introduced yourself before you started going up walls and flinging forks into people's eyes. He says, you said you were the butler of the Phantomhive family. So, when we went looking for someone fitting the 'out-of-this-world' demon bill, we didn't have to look very far."

Touché!

Making a mental note to watch where he flaunted his position at future encounters, Sebastian tried another approach, "Where did you get that seal?"

"A gift from the mermaids, it seems," Tuna Tom said. "We found it in a treasure box during our last journey." He cleared his throat. "I've already given you your standing orders. But as there's a chance you didn't latch on, I'll repeat them: You will not hurt me. In any way. You will not just stand there and look on as I get hurt by someone. Or something. In that case, you are bound to do your best to help me. You will not get in contact with your former master. Or any of the household. Don't speak to any of them or write letters or whatever. You will, er, not try to run off. If I give you an order, you won't dawdle. Er. I believe that's it. For the beginning."

No point in trying to resist just now. The man was a simpleton. Unfortunately, the tool he had so naively used had been devised by masters of their profession. A knife in the hand of a toddler was still a knife and potentially deadly as such. Sebastian knew that if he simply walked away, the ancient sigil on his brow would spring to life. And he did not want to show his new "master" just how powerful that bloody thing really was.

And of course, there was this minor affair of a lesson to be taught and a little revenge for personal inconvenience to be wreaked.

"What do we do now, Tom?" one of the sailors asked.

"We-e-ell...," Tom stroked his shaven chin. Since he had not really expected the magic to work, he was faced with a challenge. "Let's see what he can do, how about that? Samiel? You know how to handle a knife? A real knife, not the butter scrapers you used on Azzorro Vener's people?"

Sebastian felt not inclined to answer, but he had no choice. "As the butler to the Phantom- no, as a serf to - oh well. Yes. Yes, I know how to handle a real knife."

"You see that dive over there?"

"I see it. "

"You go in there and find a man called Sharktooth Rob. At this time of day he's always there, sitting at one of the tables back in the shadows. They say there's nothing can surprise him. Nothing new for him between the sky and the sea and the ground of the sea and maybe even below that. He's seen it all, in his days. And there's no one handles a knife expertlier than old Rob. You don't have to kill him, for starters. Just scare the old crock shitless. If you can, take the gold ring from his left hand. That's the one he took from me last time. Oh, and while you're at it anyways, give him my kind regards. That will faze him, wish I could see it."

On his way across the street Sebastian tested the consequences of resisting the command. He felt a pressure building up behind his forehead, and when he actually strayed from the direct way, a searing pain shot through his head. For two seconds he reeled, trying to remember his name. 'Samiel' came to mind easily, but 'Sebastian' was battling him desperately. As soon as he resumed walking towards the assigned location, the confusion passed, and he was able to settle for 'Sebastian' once more. With 'Samiel' lurking nearby, waiting for a slip and his chance to take over.

So, this was how it was going to be. From butler to bully. It was funny, the directions life among humans could take.

Sebastian opened the pub's door and entered.

The inn was a dark, smokey place, filled with voices, smells and bulky bodies. Men were playing cards, they were rolling dices, they were drinking, singing and calling profanities to the barmaids who talked back in even worse language.

Naturally, Sebastian's entry did not pass unnoticed. The noise subsided somewhat, as more and more guests became aware of the arrival. Inevitably, someone tried to trip him. Just as inevitably, Sebastian gracefully avoided the obstacle. A barmaid stood in his way, smiling and purring an obscene invitation.

The butler simply smiled amiably, his crimson eyes meeting hers. She fell silent immediately. She would sit in the filthy kitchen afterwards and tell the other girls that for the tiniest fraction of a moment, she had actually seen the things he suggested as an agreeable way of putting her flippant offer into practice.

Bad things? they would ask.

Interesting things, she answered. Fanciful things. Very imaginative.

So what's so bad about it, then? The barmaids were past giggling over such matters. But they could still be inquisitive like girls.

You don't understand! He didn't give me the idea! He gave me the picture! Straight into my brains! I saw myself wearing high heels and – oh, stop laughing Josy, I tell you he's a ghost or something!

At that, they all fell silent.

Because their comrade was right, and there was something uncanny about this butler.

Sebastian had walked straight to the table where he'd spotted his assigned victim. The old sailor awaited him. Somehow, it felt as if everyone in the crammed room had known where the butler was headed. It felt, as if the living legend seated in the shadows had commanded them to let him pass, like stepping through a curtain that parted before him.

Sharktooth Rob had thin, white hair that fell openly to his shoulders. His beard was no more than stubble, growing from darkened and leathery skin. His blue eyes had retained their keen gaze, even after a lifetime of staring at the sparkling sea. A large knife lay before him on the table that was perforated by the marks of earlier games of wielding the blade.

"I was ordered to deliver kind regards," Sebastian said without introduction.

"From whom?"

"I was not ordered to reveal that information," Sebastian said truthfully. "However, I was told that you have seen it all, the things between sky and sea and the ground of the sea and maybe even below that..."

"And what if?" Sharktooth Rob grinned. Despite his nickname, his gums were almost toothless, black and eaten by scurvy.

"What would it cost me to make you tell me one or two of your stories?"

Sharktooth Rob looked at the surrounding crowd and rolled his eyes. "Your soul?" he suggested, dragging out the word to make it sound hollow and ironical.

"I'm game." Sebastian slipped onto the chair, maybe a trifle too eagerly. He knew that the sensation was deceiving, but for the first time in two years he almost felt – free. Free to do as his whim commanded him. Free to play, and taunt, and twist words and conditions like brambles, looking for the berries.

He reminded himself that he was not doing this for his own pleasure altogether. "Or, well, how about this pocket watch? It's Sterling silver and very reliable. I would put it at stake, if you considered doing the same with the golden ring I see on your finger."

"You are serious, aren't you?" Sharktooth Rob asked.

"Do I look like I jest?" the butler retorted. "Spin a yarn for me, Sharktooth. Put your ring on the table beside my watch. Let's play."

Never taking his eyes off his contender, Sharktooth Rob pulled off the ring and placed it on the table. "Do you know how my game is played, boy?"

Slowly, so as not to alarm the man, Sebastian took the knife and placed his left hand on the table. He drove the knifepoint into the table, first to the right of his wrist, then to the left. Next, he ticked off the spaces between his spread fingers, one at a time, from the left to the right and back again.

Sharktooth Rob laughed with delight. "Not bad for a penguin. My turn. Then we'll have a drink. Then I'll tell you a story or two. Then we play again. The winner gets his prize."

"And the loser?" Sebastian asked.

"Tastes the sharktooth." Rob took the knife and turned it, making the light gleam on the blade. "I already did once or twice, so I'll use my left hand to do the stabbing. Would be unfair to have only three fingers on the table."

"That's very considerate of you. But I would like to point out that, if anything, it would be unfair of me to leave unmentioned the fact that - " Sebastian fell silent and watched, as Rob ticked off the spaces between the fingers of his right hand. He went slowly at first, but he quickly picked up speed. The onlookers cheered.

Well, if a somewhat long-winded explanation was not appreciated, then so be it.

When Rob put down the knife, Sebastian took it and imitated the old sailor's performance. The onlookers were increasingly enthralled.

"You're the bloodiest crazed landlubber I've met in a long time!" Sharktooth Rob said, as the knife hammered down like a flock of woodpeckers busily at work in a forest of dead trees. "Alright, that's it for round one. Let's have a drink and a tale."

Sebastian picked up the glass that had been put before him. He was at least so decent to grimace a little when the rum burnt its way down his throat. A dozen bystanders sighed as one, their hopes of seeing the strange butler choke and getting at least some kind of laugh at his expense deceived.

Behind the men surrounding their table Sebastian saw Tom and his little gang enter the inn. They had probably started wondering what kept him so long. They looked puzzled as they settled at a table in some distance, watching in consternation. He could have told them that he was still busy pursueing his assignment.

But he did not want to abandon the great, scary story Sharktooth Rob had started to tell. It was about a sailor hearing the voice of his wife speak to him from the snot of a speared dolphin and drowning at the desperate attempt to save the creature's orphaned cub. "And the men who witnessed this are good and honest men, indeed. And they report that the last thing heard of the poor wretch was his heartfelt cry: ‚He's got my boy's eeyyyyees-' But then again, it was a stormy night, and what seemed like a doomed man's voice may have been only the howl of the storm in the rigging..." Sharktooth Rob's voice trailed off. He rolled his eyes, looking at each face in the crowd. He looked at his opponent who countered his gaze with a level glance of his own. "Now, that was my story. Are you ready for round two?"

Tom and his gang did not seem as if they were going to come over and claim their servant. One of the girls was at their table, a blonde-haired, heavily made-up whore whose blouse covered her upper endowments only scantily. Tom seemed engaged in heated argument with her. Well, not all could be as obedient and reliable as a demon spell-bound and committed to his job.

Silently, Sebastian counted the stabs of the knife as he picked up on his game again. His mind was on lessons to be taught and revenge to be wreaked.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, all good butlers go to heaven...

+++End of Chapter 2+++

Well, enough storytelling for tonight. I'm sorry, Ciel was was not in it, but he'll soon find out about his butler's disappearance. And just in case you're wondering what the hell Sebastian's up to - I guess, there'll be an answer for that, too.