Chapter 2.

Just an ordinary day, that was truly all it was. Yet another assignment that would mean nothing- utter emptiness in fact. It wasn't exactly the kind of emotion-filled job where you went home feeling proud of a greats day work—not unless you really were a sick sadist at heart, and there were days like that from time to time when Alfred peeled off the usual latex gloves to discover blood had even managed to slyly slither underneath them, other times the simple thought of a bloody kill was enough to make Matthews stomach turn and vice versa of course.

Matthew's shy nature was erratically deceased, something that blew over quick once he'd took on the job as a 'kill-joy' assassin, he learned to become affiliated with people, socialize with them; flirting, coaxing and plain luring them in. Yeah, sometimes it was harder said than done but they'd grown used to waving off people they had met along the way, they could hear that someone they saw every single day had dropped dead and shrug it off without a care in the world.

After all that hardship they didn't care—Why should they care? No one cared about them, not anymore.

A sullen, black phorse rolled down the twisting dark road, letting the two blonde's step out. Heavy steps on the damp concrete as thunder cried out in the dinge of the grey sky above them, it was almost hard to call it a sky because it looked nothing like the sky they knew in New York, but, this was England where their agency had moved.

Alfred loomed over the black vehicle peering inside. "Thanks for the lift, Fennyson." He mumbled, before taking placid steps towards the rear end of the roaring beast they arrived in, it's back end still hot and clammy from the trip, water dripping off it exterior and onto the man's leather boots. Matthew dodged tactfully as a trunk came flying in his direction, he ought to have learned his brother would carelessly hurl his baggage straight at him; it was just like him. "Hey, Al. Watch it—for Christ's sake." He scoffed out of disgust, blowing bangs of hair out of his face only for the reckless wind to blow it back. The younger of the siblings smirked, "Didn't you learn that it was bad to use the lord's name in vain. The Braithwaites would slap your wrists for that. Plus, I'm just keepin' you in check." He retorted, accent thick with audible difference to that of Matthew's who continued to retaliate, "They—are dead."

"Think they went through the pearly whites?"

"No, of course no—"

"So, you don't believe.."

"Al, we're not here to talk about death."

"We're here to make death happen."

"God, shut up."

"God appreciates that offer, but no."

"So you're God now, Al, just because you get to decide when a small handful of people die?"

Alfred was silenced, turning his back on the Canadian as he took a sharp turn down the road. He didn't think he was God. He didn't dare question his existence either, if he did exist then he wouldn't end up in Heaven only good people ended up there, people like their mother.

The rest of the trip was primarily silent for the two, mainly because all noises were cut short as they ventured into the countryside, each stride cut roughly as sort as the silence was before the two picked up speed, being late was not acceptable. Masters did not tend to appreciate tardiness.

It took twenty minutes if not more for them to land at the doorstep of the estate, there was no number as promised but there was that strange name their assignment told them about, "Kornblume rose.." The Canadian whispered, the German sounded completely different in his national dialect. "Sounds Dutch or som-" Alfred added only to be cut short by his brother, "German." He muttered before rattling the heavy metal knocker against the door, the cold apperceived trough his glove sending a rough tingle down his spine.

A dark spectre moved swiftly towards the door, before slowly inching it open and a pair of deep-set, crimson peepers looked them over. "So, this is what he hired—Psh." The albino sneered, his tone very nasal and with a rough, brittle quality which is accent only added more to.

"Oi, Kirkland! Your lunch arrived," He joked, neglecting the arrivals for quite some time, disappearing inside the manor, muffled chatter becoming distinct but not coherent enough to be made out.

[[ So, there's finally a bit of speech in this section, I'm sorry the story is going a little slow but once I get into the main storyline things will—hopefully – get better. Thank you for reading and all the nice comments, in advance. ]]