Grell fixed his ruby veil and made sure his lipstick was perfect. After preparing all day, his Rosen Bride costume was absolutely perfect.
However, he had to admit that Hannah's was much, much cuter.
It had been Rose's idea, and she, as always, had amazing taste. Hannah, for the Halloween evening, was dressed as the lovely Marilynn Monroe*, curled hair and all. "I feel stupid, Rose…" She growled, flailing her arms like a chicken because off the high heeled shoes she wore.
Rose chuckled, and set her right again. She was dressed as- ironically- a devil woman; black jumpsuit, red plastic horns and tail, ruby red stiletto heels and long, fake red eyelashes. Fixing her horns straight, she slipped off the pumps and gave her wedges instead. "Better?" She asked. Hannah began to walk carefully, smiling widely.
"Mmhm!"
Grell clapped. "You look so cute~! Oh, Aimé is going to think you're the bee's knees!" He squealed.
He was greeted with a long silence and two very annoyed faces. Hannah threw one of her shoes at him, grunting, "Don't EVER say, 'bee's knees' again. EVER."
While Grell was nursing his wounded forehead and Rose laughed quietly at his misfortune, Hannah recalled the date she'd had with Aimé only two weeks before. Rose had been wrong; he'd had proven to be the very definition of a gentleman.
"Young miss, I greatly protest that outfit. Grell bought it for you, which was rather nice, but it's a bit…"
Hannah smirked darkly. "Exactly. A bit too risqué for my age. But it's a part of my plan."
Hannah, for that night only, wore a black lace dress with spaghetti straps, a large, emerald green bow sash, and a frilled end. The collar was cut into a rather deep v neck, showing a bit of Hannah's black bra. The dress ended a few centimeters up from her knees, which showed her thin, pale legs. If she appeared to be a bit unsteady- or, drunk, as Grell put it- it was because she wore 5 inch pump heels. On her hands she wore black laced fingerless gloves, and her nails were painted to match the green sash. On her head, to top it all off, was an emerald hair bow with black Australian jewels that shaped a skull and crossbones at the knot.
Oh yes, Grell was going to pay for buying her such a questionable article.
Rose sighed. "Fine then. But I will be here when- not if, when- he proves to be just like every other man we've met- pathetic, disgusting, and only desiring to defile you with his filth ridden hands and disease filled mouth." She spat.
Hannah chuckled with amusement. "So jealous…" She mumbled. Rose scoffed, which sounded somewhat like a laugh. "Serve us our dinner five minutes after our conversation starts." The smaller girl added, and the larger nodded and faded into the shadow.
Aimé wore a purple dress shirt with a black swallow tailcoat and black slacks; he, it seemed, was dressing in his finest as well. His butler-a tall, strong shouldered, and extremely dark skinned middle aged man- held his top hat in his hands.
Really now, who wears those anymore…? Hannah thought, smirking as a couple from across the room gawked at her lewdness. Aimé glanced up when his butler made a choked gasp and he himself couldn't help but copy him.
He stood almost immediately, and pulled her chair out for Hannah himself. This rather surprised her- only a true gentleman stood when a lady entered the room, and then he pulled out her seat himself. He didn't seem to be fazed at her outfit; in fact, he never even gave her the full body scan that was typical of a man to do. He hadn't when he met her either; he examined her, yes, but not checked her out. He only stared at her eyes, with a kind of awe glinting in them.
"Hannah, you came. I thought you would stand me up." Aimé declared when Hannah sat. Hannah let out a snort, and, for effect, winked seductively at his butler. The man turned his head in disgust, and left in quite a hurry when Aimé ordered him to. Aimé sat across from her, his eyes and hair shimmering in the single candlelight.
"I was considering it." Hannah mumbled loud enough for the boy to hear. Aimé didn't seem to be bothered by this either, for he let out a small laugh.
"You aren't fooling me, Hannah. I know what you're doing." Aimé stated, smirking slightly. Hannah raised an eyebrow, and chewed the inside of her cheek; a habit she'd obtained.
"Really…?" She trailed off. "And what am I doing?"
"You're trying to see if I'll behave like a pig and only pay attention to your body."
"…At least I can tell you're only slightly more intelligent than a rock."
"Ha! Truly funny. But I find it funnier that you actually believe I will behave in such a way."
"You wouldn't be the first."
"Well, little lady… Allow me to clear the lies from the air for you. I am not extremely attracted to you because of your body. In fact, I've barely noticed your unusually lewd dress."
Hannah let a blush creep across her face. He's extremely attracted to me? She wondered. She grit her teeth, and feigned a look of indifference.
Aimé continued, "When I saw you after so long, the first thing I thought was, 'Wow… Now that is a girl who possesses grace. I must know her name, even if it kills me!' And then I met you, and the second thing I thought was, 'Ah… I see. Her maid is a psychopath. I didn't know my death would be literal.'"
Hannah giggled. "I see. Is death not always literal?" She asked.
Aimé smirked a bit. "Touché. Are you the type that takes death seriously?" He returned.
Hannah frowned sadly. She glanced toward the window, her eyes a shade darker. "Yes... To me, death is everywhere. My sister died during the Depression, my guardian died… by the hands of another during a duel, and I myself was almost killed." She explained montonely, flinching at the memories.
The boy's eyes softened to a gentle grey. "You don't deserve that. Nobody you love- especially a family member- should die." He said quietly. He took a chance, and reached over to take Hannah's hand.
The girl snatched it away in a heartbeat. "I love nothing." She snapped. "And nothing loves me."
The room was silent. It seemed as though the few people there were observing their conversation now, as well as Rose.
Any other man would have flinched and thought her a prude brat, and left. Any normal girl wouldn't have said that to begin with; after all, girls that age believe love was everywhere.
But Hannah wasn't a normal girl.
But, then again, Aimé wasn't a normal boy.
"I don't mind."
Hannah let her mouth drop open in surprise. Aimé merely smiled pleasantly, and held out his hand in a gentle manner. "I don't mind that you don't love anything. A girl's love is a confusing thing if false and thrown around lightly. This is why I'm going to make sure I get you to truly love me; for you, Hannah, are beautiful, intelligent, witty, and, above all, an independent and demanding girl. You only expect the best for you, and anything else is not worth your time. And, that alone excites and entertains me to no end. So I'm going to be the best; and that will be the Ashby's man."
Hannah let a dark blush creep across her face. Her heart began to beat faster, and her mind went into overtime working out his words. He wants to be my-? She realized. She looked down quickly, and chewed her cheek with vicious force. Aimé's hand was in her peripheral vision and she only blushed harder. He was still waiting for her to take it.
So, what did the Hannah Ashby, the infamous teenager, known all over the globe to be cold hearted and loveless, do?
She took it. She reached over, and laced her hand with his.
Aimé's look of relief was phenomenal. "Give me what I need; not what I want. Ok?" Hannah asked, looking up once more. She decided she'd give but one chance. He seemed to be alright; for a man, that is. Aimé, with a small, joyous smile, nodded quickly. He stood, removed his coat, and draped it around her shoulders with care.
"Of course, ma petite."
Rose felt Grell lay his head on her shoulder. "Ah, young love… How beautiful." He cooed. He looked up to see the defeated look upon Rose's face. "What's wrong? Depressed because you demons don't believe in love?" he asked.
Rose glared at him. "A bit. But the real reason is..." She trailed off. Grell pouted, and waited eagerly for the answer. Rose hid her eyes with her hair, and clenched her jaw.
"It has been ten minutes since they began to talk. I am five minutes late in serving their food."
"Happy Halloween, ma petite." Aimé said seductively as he trapped her in his ebony cloak. "As Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, you are my beautiful Christine, no?"
Hannah yelped as he dipped her, and smirked cheekily. Hannah sighed, annoyed, and turned his face away. "Go away." She groaned. "I'm Marilynn Monroe."
Aimé laughed, and set her back up. "Then tonight, we shall be the Phantom of le Inciendo De La Tarde and his lovely Marilynn." He called, bowing like a gentleman.
"That will be enough." Rose growled, gripping her pitchfork with more fever.
Aimé snorted. "How typical…" he mumbled under his breath. Hannah raised an eyebrow, but didn't question it. She didn't get the chance to; Aimé had pulled out a black mask to hide her face. "Just in case, ma petite." He purred.
Grell, if you were wondering (or even cared) had already begun to flirt his way through EVERY man in the ballroom, while Hannah was still blushing over one particular's attention. Slipping on the mask he gave her, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her out into the dance floor.
She turned her head, and smirked at Rose. "Sing like you did at Ciel's party, Rose! I'm sure these people would love it!"
Rose bowed, causing a few men to whistle. "Yes, My Duchess." She agreed. She walked gracefully over to the band, and began to converse with them.
Aimé raised an eyebrow. "Your servant is multi talented, I see." He mentioned, twirling a curl of Hannah's hair.
Hannah giggled. "You have no idea."
Suddenly Rose's voice filled the air, in a sorrowful yet haunting tone, and Aimé quickly laced Hannah's hand with his, his other hand resting feather gently on the small of her back. Sparks ran down Hannah's spine, and she laid her head on his shoulder with great reluctance; the only reason she did was because she'd seen the other dancers do so.
This is so… Nice… She thought, her other hand clutching his suit as they danced slowly. How can another person- let alone a boy- make me feel so special…?
Aimé stopped for a moment. He smirked. "Be right back." He stated. Before Hannah could even respond, a kiss was pressed against her cheek, making her eyes widen to plates. She touched her cheek, her blush eminent to even a blind man.
Aimé stood next to Rose and smirked. "I have an idea… If you would sing with me." He offered. Rose scoffed, but nodded.
"I believe I'm aware with what you're choice is…"
"Then we're on the same page."
At that, Grell joined Hannah after being turned down for the 25th time. "Dance with me now, Hannah?" He joked. Hannah rolled her eyes, and motioned for him to watch.
Grell's smile widened. "Oh, I have got to see this…"
"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came…
That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name.
And do I dream of him? For now I find… The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind…!"
Hannah smirked at Rose's sinful voice; however, she felt chills roll down her spine as a deep, warm voice- a male's- appeared next to her. It was Aimé's. He took Hannah's hand, his voice heard clearly without a microphone. His eyes glowed silver, and it made the girl's breath catch in her throat. What he sang was in fact similar to the theme of Phantom of The Opera, but his words didn't exactly match. However, his words made a deeper impression than the actual ones.
"Sing once again with me, our strange duet!
Your power over me grows stronger yet…!
With your spirit and my voice, in your blue eyes divine… As the Phantom of the Opera I swear…
Your heart is mine."
Another couple of weeks had passed in Hollywood with, surprisingly, no issues. Ciel did not show his face, nor did Michaelis.
Grell would awake late in the afternoon after judging souls all night, and often joined Hannah whenever he could. Other times, he would be off on his own, searching for dates, which were surprisingly numerous. Hannah somewhat envied his ability to get so much attention; however, she had a certain boy which had caught her eye.
After all; no woman, not even Hannah Ashby, could resist a man who can sing.
"Good morning, young Miss. I hope you realize today is special." Rose called as she turned the lamp light on in Hannah's room. Hannah groaned, and threw a pillow at her, in which she dodged by bending over backwards like a gymnast. Instead, it smacked Grell in the face, ruining his makeup.
"You little brat!"
SMACK!
"THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU DO IT AGAIN!"
Rose smiled a bit as she heard Hannah's muffled giggle. "Young Miss…?" Rose asked, smoothing out her mistress's dark brown locks.
Hannah looked up from her pillow, her eyes sleepy. She let out a soft cry as Grell sat on her bed and pulled her into a sitting position. "I made it myself! A lady has to have baking skills, doesn't she?"
Hannah smiled tiredly. "Thank you, Grell. I honestly thought we would go without celebrating this…"
Rose laughed. "Never. It's a special day for you."
Hannah nodded. She scooped up chocolate icing from the small cake Rose held, savoring the sweet taste.
Yes… After all, it is my birthday.
Hannah gasped as arms wrapped around her gently. She recognized the cologne, and she let out a small giggle. "Aimé. Good morning." She greeted.
The boy laughed, and kissed the back of her neck. "It is a good morning now. Happy birthday, ma petite." He mumbled. The girl turned a bit, and allowed the boy to rest one hand on her hip and the other on her cheek. Stroking gently, he added, "I've got something special planned, you know."
Hannah gave a look of mock surprise. "Really?"
"Yes, really."
"What did you get? A doll?"
"…Damn. I need to make a call…"
"Wait- What? I thought I said I hated-!"
"I'm kidding, ma petite! Just kidding! No, I got you something better… Breakfast."
Aimé suddenly swept her off her feet, and to her dislike, carried her into the dining room of the hotel. Rose let out a growl of anger, and followed suite, Grell tailing behind like a slow school girl.
Laid out for the two was an exquisite table filled with French, English, and American breakfast foods- even scones. Hannah cooed in awe, her mouth already watering. "I remembered you had a really big appetite the night we had our first date- and all the other times I've seen food go up into your room- and I figured you'd like it. Do you?"
Hannah let a smile form on her mouth. "I…I love it." She mumbled, a little awestruck.
Aimé grinned, and kissed her cheek. "Only for you. I can't imagine what kind of life I had before you showed up, it must have been dreadful." He joked, pulling out her seat for her. She sat down daintily, crossing her legs like a lady.
"I don't believe we've formally introduced; I'm Hannah's butler, Grell Sutcliffe." Grell greeted, nodding. Aimé nodded back, his eyebrow raised. "You wouldn't happen to have any older brothers, would you-?"
"GRELL! BEAT IT!"
"Yes, ma'am! Sorry!"
The boy laughed, sitting down himself. "He's-?"
"Extremely so." Hannah interrupted.
"Oh… You seem to hire only the ones people have thrown out- the Irish weirdo, the black woman, the little cooking prodigy… I'm not sure what's wrong with Rose yet, but I'm looking- Oh! And, of course, Mister Sutcliffe, the, er, 'fruit of the loom'."
Hannah shrugged before grabbing a crescent. "I prefer gay men over straight ones for servants; they won't rape you in the middle of the night."
"Touché. I don't really mind; I'm French, we go both ways on a slow day."
"Good to know… Now, I spot a parfait, I won't stop until I devour it like a greedy child."
Rose flinched. "Young Miss, I must protest this… We don't know what's in the food."
Aimé rolled his eyes. "Relax, Miss Soloton. If I wanted to drug Hannah, I would have done it a long time ago, now wouldn't I?"
"Are you trying to get me to kill you, child?"
"Depends. I'll have to check with my mood when I find it. It's probably shoved up your ass, like the thirty foot pole that's already there."
"I'm glad it is; now I have something to impale you on-!"
"Rose! Enough! It's fine!"
Grell covered his mouth before he let out a laugh. Rose sighed. "My apologies, young Miss. Please, enjoy your breakfast with Aimé." She stated thinly, bowing. I detest that boy with a passion…
Hannah nodded. "Good." She turned to the elder boy, and grinned. "So, did you make any of this?"
He smirked, and shook his head. "I cannot make such things yet. But I can make lovely pasta."
"Ah! I love pasta!"
"Excellent, then. I shall make you lunch one day, eh?"
"I suppose so. Thank you."
"Anything for ma petite… Anything."
"Hannah, cutie, you have got to meet a friend of mine! I told him you were turning fifteen, and he got you something special~!" Grell cried in a singsong tone.
Hannah, wearing brown cotton trousers, black combat boots, white blouse, a green neckerchief around her neck and an authentic leather airman's jacket, grunted. "Where do you get the money to buy me these clothes, Grell? Honestly…"
"Well… Let's just say that the dead don't need their many things."
"Figures. You English crooks…"
"So cruel, young Miss!"
"Fuck off!"
Rose smiled deviously at Grell. "My young miss has never lost a fight of words." She declared proudly. Grell stuck his tongue out in a childish manner.
Hannah held onto her tan hat as Rose pulled back the top of the emerald green Mustang Convertible. They were driving through the desert to a small town just outside of L.A. named Vivan. The dry wind cut through her and blew the hair not covered by her hat around in a wild passion, while Grell's, considering it was in a high ponytail, only flailed in the wind like a vibrant red flag.
Grell pushed up his glasses. "If I were you, I'd be trying to think of funny jokes." He suggested as he toyed with the radio knob.
Hannah raised an eyebrow, and flinched a bit as Rose jumped back into her seat. "Why would that be, Grell? Is this man a comedian?" The younger girl asked.
Grell let out a short laugh, and grinned so wide all his teeth showed. "Not a comedian… but he loves a good joke."
Rose felt her blood turn cold.
"Oh, for the love for all… Please tell me you aren't speaking of-!"
"Undertaker~! Under- Huh? UNDERTAKER! WAKE UP!"
Grell kicked the black coffin roughly, his face in a pout. Hannah resisted the urge to laugh, and Rose appeared to be resisting the urge to cry.
"Who is Undertaker? Is that his real name?" Hannah questioned. Grell nodded, and sat on the coffin he was kicking.
"Undertaker used to be a Death God too… Until he retired, that is. But he used to be the best! And so very handsome, too…" Grell explained with a dreamy look upon his face. Then, however, he pouted again. "Damn guy helped Ciel discover Madam Red's and my identity as Jack the Ripper. I don't really hold a grudge, but you know… He owes me an apolo- HOLY SHIT!"
At that moment, the lid to the coffin flew off, sending Grell with it. Out of said coffin rose what Hannah, at first, believed to be a corpse. Because of this, she let out a loud shriek, and flew behind Rose, who laughed weakly.
The man- not corpse- before them had long, slivery hair that hid his eyes, a long scar that was just barely visible from under his hair on his chin, and a large Cheshire cat smile. He wore only a black bathrobe, oddly, with sleeves that were much to long for him.
The man, presumably Undertaker, waved a bit from his sitting position inside the coffin. "Hellohellohello!" He called rapidly; his long black nails a blur as his hand waved faster.
Grell raised an eyebrow once he'd lifted the lid off his person. "Are you alright, Undertaker? A bit too jittery, are you?"
Undertaker huffed. "Coffee is very bad for you. Why, I've been awake for three weeks straight! Isn't that lovely?"
Hannah peeked behind Rose to offer a strange look. What a weirdo… This guy was a Death God? She though incredulously. "Uh, Mr. Undertaker, sir…?" She called, stepping forward.
Undertaker held his hand up. "Hold it, Poppet! First, I demand my payment."
Poppet?
Grell nodded. "Undertaker is a collector when it comes to jokes and laughter; I know for a fact I can't make him laugh enough. I always end up gossiping anyways…" He trailed off.
Undertaker had suddenly turned his attention to Rose. His face was serious, which, for Grell, was rather freaky.
"You…" Undertaker growled. Rose flinched, and looked down. "I remember you…! Rose Faustus, was it? You cost me a soul, young lady."
Rose let out a nervous laugh. "Please, call me Rose Soloton. And I was but a child; you couldn't possibly hold that against me. Besides, you scared me enough when I was younger…"
Suddenly, Undertaker let out a long, rolling laugh, which almost made Rose bolt for the door. "Eternal Rose, afraid of me! HILARIOUS! Oh, my, I think I might die…! Woo, the only thing funnier was Sebastian showing me those baby pictures of you!"
Hannah's ears perked up, and she looked at her maid's look of absolute horror with amusement. "So THAT'S how he always got you to laugh, Undertaker… He just showed you baby pictures." Grell mumbled. Rose grit her teeth and kicked Grell roughly, her eyes a bright red.
"OW! BITCH!"
She was about to punch him when a thought entered her mind, which made her smile evilly. "Oh, if Sebastian has those pictures… I still have mine." She purred, dropping Grell with a loud thud. She picked Hannah up and carried her outside. "I'm sorry, young Miss, but I cannot allow you to see this. You either, Grell."
Hannah and Grell groaned and complained until Rose shut the door. They were met with strange looks by the other townsfolk, and feigned indifference.
That is, until a deafening, howling laughter was heard inside, which literally shook the entire building.
Hannah's mouth dropped open, and Grell almost ran her over to get back inside. Hannah, however, used her hidden talents as a ninja, and promptly jumped over him like a gazelle.
"What happened?" Hannah exclaimed when she ran back in, gawking at Undertaker, who was passed out on the floor from laughing to hard with a wide grin on his face. Grell quickly followed, and let out a soft gasp.
"Oh dear. Is he dead?" he asked. Rose smiled innocently, and held up a few photos. The actual pictures were on the other side, however; they were currently staring at the backs.
"No." Rose said pleasantly. "But If Sebastian had my baby pictures, and then I have his adolescent pictures."
Hannah huffed. "You demons hit below the belt. Do you really not like each other that much?"
"Well, in honestly, there are- were- only myself, Sebastian, Claude, Hanna, and, now, Ciel."
"Why are there so few of you?"
"Because I killed Hanna, and Sebastian killed Claude."
"…Not exactly my question, but alright."
Grell helped Undertaker up, and set him back on his coffin. Undertaker took a shaky breath, and smiled politely.
"Alright then. Let me see her." He ordered. Hannah stepped forward, her eyes suspicious of the strange Englishman. Undertaker pulled her closer by the hem of her jacket, and pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. "Ah…" He cooed. "Her skin is unnaturally warm. A temperature of at least 99.9 naturally, I'd say. Yet she doesn't seem ill… Strange. Your eyes are a very lovely blue; Ciel's was a similar shade, but not as sharp. Your hair is very fine too…" He touched Hannah's hair, which made Rose take a warning step. Grell took hold of her shoulder, and gave a look of assurance.
Undertaker continued. "This brown is very rare; a chocolate shade, or a dark oak. And your skin is quite clear and soft… Tell me, are you a living doll?"
Hannah scoffed. "No! Of course not! I live, and age, you moron!"
Undertaker frowned deeper. "Your attitude is rather sour, yet you contain a sweet center, I can feel it. And, somehow, people are attracted and follow you blindly because of this. Why…? A mystery. But its obvious Grell is an example; he has never followed the orders of a young lady, especially not one that is cruel. You, my dear, have to makings of being a very successful leader."
Hannah shuddered as one of Undertaker's nails pressed into her neck. He leaned in very carefully, and mumbled in a tone only she heard.
"Be warned, however, young Duchess. There are things watching you. Waiting to slice your throat… I'd be very sad if you wound up here, sleeping in my favorite coffin."
Rose grabbed Undertaker, forgetting her unease of him. "That's enough of your examining. Give her the present, and we'll be leaving." She snapped.
Undertaker let out a chuckle. "Of course! The gift. How rude of me!" He exclaimed. He turned swiftly and fled to the back room. Hannah was half expecting a portion of a dead body; a heart, or a brain. It wasn't that she didn't find that interesting; she just doubted that Rose would let her keep such a disease filled object.
To her surprise and slight disappointment, the retired reaper brought an average sized briefcase. She examined it carefully, and took it, mumbling a monotone thank you. She let out a small cry as she heard something thump inside the case. With a smile, she set in on Undertaker's coffin and clicked it open.
Rose smiled darkly, and Grell's eyes widened to plates. "Undertaker… You sure you should give her that?" He asked warily. Undertaker chuckled, and nodded quickly.
Hannah pulled out the sliver object, and her eyes widened with the utmost glee. It was a gun; a Beau Saint's Revolver, to be exact. It was a one of a kind object; a revolutionary thing. It was shaped like the very gun that shaped the West, the original revolver, but made from a metal that belonged to a rock from the sky. It would never rust, or be scratched, and if sharpened, could cut through steel. On the side was the Ashby crest; something Undertaker had done as an afterthought. The bullets were sharper than regular ones, and made from the exact same material. The thing would cost a fortune, an arm, a leg, and then some; that is, unless you were a Death God.
"I love it. Thank you, Mr. Undertaker."
Said reaper nodded, and patted the Duchess's head. "Now, if you excuse me… I'm going back to bed. It's my day off today…" He mumbled, before collapsing inside his coffin.
Grell giggled. "Same old Undertaker. At least now he's too old to be too rambunctious."
Back at the hotel, Hannah was greeted with a rather large and extravagant party at the pool. It became obvious why Rose and Grell were so eager to get her out of the hotel; Aimé was planning a surprise.
He ran over to her when he saw his new object of his affection, and held her close. Hannah blushed shyly, but let him hold her. "Happy birthday, ma petite." He breathed, before kissing her nose. Hannah jumped back, and covered her nose as if he had struck it.
Grell giggled, pushing her forward. "Go on, Hannah. He won't bite." Grell assured her. Hannah trusted his word, and gingerly walked over.
Aimé smiled gently. "Ma petite, would you like to hold onto my arm?" He asked, holding out his arm like an escort. Hannah looked away. However, after a swift moment, she gave in, and held onto his arm with a vice like grip.
He smells of the same cologne… It makes me happy. She thought. She swallowed as she was greeted by people who had no idea she was Hannah Ashby; Aimé introduced her as Hannah, just Hannah. So to the people of the hotel, along with some stars she recognized but never knew the names of, she was just the new object of the Opera singer's son's love. And to them, that was fine.
As long as they got cake.
Hannah giggled as Grell shooed the band Aimé had picked away. "I'll do it myself, damnit! You cannot trust men to sing…!"
The cake, which was currently being devoured by their guests (Hannah refused to have anyone sing to her), was created by Rose- her young Miss's favorite creation by her, by far. It was a triple layer chocolate cake with strawberry whipped cream frosting, chocolate cookie crumbles littering it, and, written in green butter cream frosting, were the words, "Happy Birthday, Hannah" in elegant letters. Decorated around the edges were chocolate chip cookies shaped like camellias, and on the top next to the words was a large chocolate rose. "Not even the cake makers in my country could pull this delicacy off… Exquisite!" Aimé cried. "The chocolate and the strawberry icing go with each other perfectly, as though it was strawberries dipped in Dutch chocolate! And the delectable cookies, shaped so uniquely… Ah, true craftsmanship!"
Hannah raised an eyebrow. "A bit over enthused, Ai?" She asked, using Aimé's nickname. He wiggled his eyebrows, and went to indulge himself with another piece.
Meanwhile, Hannah missed her mouth due to a child hitting her arm on accident, and got chocolate icing on her nose. She blushed darkly, and tried to hide her face. Aimé, however, halted from retrieving his second piece, ran over, took her chin, and tilted it up. He smiled slightly, his eyes a burning silver. It made Hannah's heart flutter, and all thought left her mind.
"Allow me, ma petite…" He purred. He gently bit her nose, and licked up the icing as though she was a treat. Hannah felt her face heat up dangerously, and once she was free, abandoned the boy to open the presents she'd been given as though she was running from a killer. Aimé snickered, and licked his lips free of the excess icing.
"So cute…"
Rose sauntered to the boy, who had a satisfied smirk on his face. The maid leaned in, and mumbled darkly, "You think you can take her from me…? Eh… Angel?"
The "angel" let his hair hide his eyes. He grinned, and turned his head sharply, his bright silver eyes burning Rose's now red ones.
"Former. I'm a former Angel… I've fallen. In both ways." Aimé purred. "Your charge is something special… Demon."
"Hm… She's mine, you damned harpy. That Seal under her ear proves it."
"When she is dead, yes. But now? Well… That's her decision. I only want to exist as a human, Rose. God has given up on this angel… Lucky me."
"…I'm beginning to like you a bit more. But understand this…" Rose hissed. She yanked on his purple tie, and muttered in a deadly tone, "If you hurt her, I'll kill you. Slowly… And painfully. With my bare hand-"
"ROSE! I got a puppy!" Hannah screamed, her eyes wide and gleeful. Rose instantly let Aimé go, and smiled happily.
"How wonderful, young miss!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Aimé smiled as well, and fixed his eyes on Rose. They both had a miniature stare down, each thinking nearly the same thing.
I despise demons.
I despise angels.
The sound of Grell's singing filled the air. He knew a bit of opera, and was very talented; as always, only the best for the Duchess.
Hannah held her new dog's leash tightly and listened. "I think I'll name it Mo, Rose." Hannah stated, glancing down at the Chihuahua-Terrier mix. Its light brown fur shone in the setting sun, and it barked at its new master in approval.
Rose nodded. "That's a fine name, young Miss." She answered.
Aimé came over with more presents, smiling cheekily. Most were from him; others, from the guests around her. A small pile was from the servants of Ashby Manor, and Maria, picked up by Rose from the post office, and nowhere else.
The presents went as followed: a dog, new clothes, a scale model of Amelia Earhart's plane, a paint set, A LOT of jewelry, and quite a bit of money. From the servants: from Joanna, a book of different flowers; from Alex, a chess game; and from Maria, shockingly, a king's fur lined- possibly minx, or a white fox's fur- cloak. Instead of red velvet, however, it was an emerald green. And, ironically, from Grell, she was given a matching silver crown with emerald jewels.
Now you truly look like a queen, young Miss.
Aimé walked over to the young girl, and held out a soft grey plush toy rabbit. It wore an eye patch, and a black top hat with a green ribbon. "It's the very last 'Funtom' Peter Rabbit. I thought you'd like it… Ma petite." He cooed. Hannah held the thing gently, and smiled shyly. She knew very well that it was a copy; she saw the last Funtom Peter Rabbit. It was in a museum in London. But it didn't bother her; she hated the idea of holding something made by him.
"Thank you, Aimé. I lo- I like it." She said quickly. Aimé smiled wider, and laughed lowly.
"How cute… Oh? What's this…?" Aimé wondered aloud. He pointed to the small pouch in the back of the toy, and gingerly pulled out a letter. "It's for you, ma petite." He added curiously, handing it to her. "I swear, I didn't put it there. Honest."
Hannah frowned a bit. She opened the letter, and froze. In very neat calligraphy were the words she'd hoped to not have heard in a long while.
"'Mine is the last present. Enjoy while you can. Love… Ciel.'" Hannah read aloud. Aimé froze too. Though Hannah didn't know it, Aimé was well aware of the Phatomhive's true identity.
Rose held said last present grimly. It was a black and white striped box with an emerald green bow, tied perfectly. She lifted up the box's lid, and let out a loud hiss.
Hannah walked over hurriedly, followed by the elder boy. "What?" Hannah asked, snatching the box from her maid. When she opened it herself, she copied Rose and hissed as well.
In it was an original Phantomhive lollipop. And, to Hannah's horror…
Her ring.
She'd forgotten to wear her ring that day- for the first time since she got it, she'd forgotten it. And if he'd put it in her present...
"He's here."
"…Damnit."
Meanwhile, the Earl moved his black king closer to the enemy's white queen.
"Sebastian…?"
"Yes, young master?"
"Be ready to do as I command. It's already started in Europe… On December 7th, this year… You know what I'm asking. Do it."
"…Yes, My Lord."
Happy Birthday again, Hana. And for you people who know history… Be ready. ;)
*Marilynn Monroe was actually famous in the fifties, but I the read the Kuroshitsuji manga- THEY HAVE CELL PHONES! DX don't get on my ass when they have freaking cell phones! Just saying…
