A/N: I do not own anything about D. Gray-man. This story is based soley on a fictional timeline after the anime's completion.
I do, of course, own Taylor.
Sitting in the dingy, dimly lit hall that lead to the main room of the Branch headquarters, Taylor fought a very strong urge to hum a song to ease her fears. Singing always calmed her, comforted her. But now...it seemed that fear was better for her. It gave her an edge, strength, clarity. Yes, fear was good...for now.
"Bring her in" The dead tone of the Branch Leader's voice doubled that edge. There in the leader's chair, confident and stern, sat the Boss. He had a smug look on his face, like a cat that had just eaten a very big canary.
"You rang?" She couldn't quite keep the impudence from her voice, but for some reason it was overlooked.
"You're not gonna be singing anymore. Not after today. Not for the syndicate." Terror lashed at Taylor, leaving gashes of anguish and torment across her flesh. "As it stands," The Leader continued, "You have a new master."
"A...a what?"
"That would be me." The voiced was feminine and it seemed to purr. If the songstress weren't already terrified, she would have turned to see this new master. But she couldn't even force herself to move.
Instead she argued. "But you said! You said you would tell me what you knew about me, about my past, about who I was. You said if I stayed, did as you asked..."
The Boss himself was laughing at that as he managed to say, "Like we knew anything..."
At last, fear subsided, lending all its strength to anger, a pure rage that held no pause as Taylor launched herself forward at the man who had held her life with a lie.
As she jumped at him though, a sharp pain whipped around her leg, pulling her to the ground. "Enough." Her new master ordered. She sounded amused. Amused at Taylors angst, at her pain.
It certainly wouldn't be the last time.
"Now tell me, pet, how do you feel about travel?" Without waiting for a response her master continued. "I need you to move around. We'll start you in Wicklow. Do you know where that is?"
"No ma'am." Taylor replied quickly. If she wasn't quick she would be whipped. Her back still felt raw from her first week outside the syndicate. From when she learned not to run.
"Useless girl... just follow the coast. You'll have a horse. You need to hurry between cities. Stay there for a week, and I will send you a message on your next location. Don't talk to anyone other than thank you." She looked back to catch a quick nod from the songstress. "I have new clothes for you. They are already packed. Go, you have 15 minutes to be 3 miles away from here. The horse is in the stable around the corner."
The dismissal marked her timer, and Taylor knew better than to be caught closer than the set mark. Her master grabbed her by the arm and yanked viciously. "One more thing...stay at the dock for each city. Do not disobey me."
Tired, hungry, and lamenting the loss of feeling in her backside, Taylor tethered the shaggy mare, which had a surprisingly smooth gait, to a stall in the local stable and made her way towards a ramshackle inn.
Making haste, Taylor signed in and placed her luggage in the cramped room that would be her home for the week. She wasn't expecting much, so the space that could barely hold the bed and wash bin was like a heaven. For God's sake there was a wash bin. In her room.
Using it quickly, the songstress opened the suitcase that held her new clothes. She was star stuck. The first dress was the most beautiful she ever touched. Made of thick cotton, the skirt flared out like a rusted bell. The bodice was red brocade with russet and green paisley stitched into the fabric. Without thinking to look twice at the other likewise beautiful collection, Taylor shrugged into it, tying the bodice tight.
Stares she had never received followed her on the way to the docks, which were much...more than the ones back home. Larger, more crowded, fancier. Everything was bright and clean. Looking around she found a bench near the middle of the busiest area. Placing her pail on the ground at her feet, she began to sing the first thing that came to mind.
With a collective stretch six members of the Black Order made their way off a passenger liner into the bright sunny dock of Wicklow. "Well," one said, he had white hair and what looked like an inked tattoo around his left eye. "At least Kanda didn't pull Mugen this time." There was a smirk on his young face. He was goading someone.
"You wanna go, Beansprout?" His target, a beautiful man with long hair so dark it seemed blue, and eyes to match shot back without hesitation.
"Now now," a pretty girl with indecently short hair and an even shorter skirt bravely stepped between them. "There are a lot of people around. Relax, breathe."
Meanwhile, an older man with white striped black hair and what looked like fangs was standing rigid, eyes darting here and there as if the crowds scared him. An even older man with kohl rimmed eyes stared right at her. His eyes seemed to bore into her soul, but she returned the gaze as evenly as she could. A muffled voice came from a blur of a man she had not noticed and the old man turned to look, leaving her eyes to their own.
"Gramps, what's with the look?" Lavi hadn't noticed the fuzzed shape of the singer standing by a bench in the middle of the dock, even though he had been searching the area for the source of the most beautiful voice. It was full of a melancholic sort of timbre. Rich with loss and at the same time, discovery.
Later. Bookman communicated through a link the Bookman Clan possessed amongst each other. Lavi nodded, preparing to grill his mentor at another time.
"We should get going." Lenalee prodded.
As they walked past her, the blur tossed a coin in her collection pail and for one second she saw him, almost like a flash of a dream, bright red hair, a green bandana holding it in place, and plain black eye patch. It's different.
The thought flashed so fast through Taylor's mind that she barely caught it, unable to understand.
And then they were gone, melding in with the crowd heading towards the square. She wanted to follow, but the singers back twitched with a nasty reminder of her master's whip. It was nice to see him.
But the thought to her only meant that she had seen past the blur.
The flow of tips was greater and the night lighting on the dock much better then home. And since Taylor was standing both feet on the ground instead of some stupid grated milk crate, she stayed far longer than she had intended.
But the night came to a close in an anticlimactic way, considering it was her first day in Wicklow, and the girl practically skipped back to the hotel, glad for the lack of pain in her feet.
Taking a quick bath in warm water...warm, of all the luxuries, and changing into her night gown, Taylor crawled into the bed, which had good springs and no vermin. She drifted to sleep with a smile on her face.
