Note to the ever-so-silent Readers: My goodness, you lot are quiet as church mice! I am going to assume that you are all just so mesmerised with the story and its beauty that you simply have no words to express your feelings of love to me. I jest, I jest. :P
Honestly, though, I wanted to get a dialogue going! This may be a story of fictional characters (that I didn't even create, as you know) in a fictional setting, but this phenomenon happens all the time. The idea of turning someone's plight into entertainment. The general public seems to be obsessed with anything macabre or unsettling. It's evidenced heavily by the fact that it's perfectly acceptable to stalk celebrities and taunt them for all of their woes and the fervour with which people religiously watch televised court cases- the more gruesome, the better (Jodi Arias, anyone?). As always, I am humbled by the followers/readers that I have, but I was hoping to start a conversation with this one. It's my hope that in later chapters, after our favourite Young Master and his lovely Butler have a bit of a heart to heart on the subject, you all can throw in your two cents, too. To be clear, though- I will never be that person who quits writing a story just because it doesn't have too many reviews/follows/favourites. Though those things are wonderful (and make me a bit giddy, if I'm being truthful), I write because I love to do it. And I can never walk away from something once I start it. So I'm not threatening to cut you all off or something, I only want to hear your opinions on the matter. With that said, massive squeezy-hugs to those who did make themselves known to me in some way. Especially promocat- you are on top of things, miss! *huggles*
Oh my god. Ranting much, Silvia? Sorry, haha! Also, at this point, I don't have anymore chapters already written but I'll try to post once a week. Okay, go!
That time of night the only types of people occupying the street were belligerent drunks, strung out cocaine shooters and painted street walkers, bearing more breast and leg than a Christmas turkey. They called out to Sebastian, questioning his romantic availability and teased Ciel for his tarted up face (though the Butler had tried his best to remove as much of the damn maquillage as possible). Sebastian had also leant his Master the traveling coat so he was spared walking about looking like... well, looking like Narcissus.
The offices of the Yard were full of uniformed men and shackled suspects. Lord Randall was shuffling through a thick stack of papers when he looked up at the two who had just entered the building. He groaned angrily as he saw the swaggering Earl and his smarmy Butler approach. He noticed that the boy's face was smeared with what appeared to be make up, wore about his right eye a ridiculous flower patch and he was without his signature top hat and cane. But he did not much care what kind of hijinks the two got up to in their spare time.
"Good evening, my Lord," Randall said with airs. "No doubt you are here to inform yourself on the whereabouts of Her Majesty's great nephew. And while we appreciate all you do for us, you can rest assured that we are making great progress in the way of his discovery and do not require your skill set at this time."
"Is that so?" Ciel smiled. "Then I suppose after all your tireless searching and outstanding leads you will be quite chagrined to hear that I have already found Richard." Lord Randall dropped his jaw, as did several others around him. Sebastian handed over Green's business card and the record book. "He is imprisoned at that address and being used as a sick new form of entertainment for the elite, portraying the Greek myth of Narcissus," Ciel said. "You know, it only took me one attempt to find him. You should all at least try to keep up."
Lord Randall's squat face reddened grossly. One could imagine that if he were a cartoon in Punch there would be steam spouting from his ears. "Thank you very much, Earl Phantomhive," the man said through his teeth. "Always a pleasure to work with you."
"Likewise." Ciel nodded his head. Lord Randall turned to an officer with a tall, rounded hat that had been standing just behind him and started pelting him with orders. Ciel said discreetly to Sebastian, "Let's tail them. I want to be sure that Green is apprehended and Richard is found."
"Yes, sir."
The duo followed closely on rooftop, skipping like stones, the sirens and clattering hooves below jumping up into the sky. Ciel wished that the Yard had been more quiet about their pursuit, but Green did not seem like the type who would mind having an audience for his final performance. It looked so far that he would have quite the crowd. Every passerby took the Yard's measure. Some children had even woken from sleep and followed after in their pajamas and bare feet. With blaring horns, the officers lambasted the building. As they watched from the rooftop, Sebastian put his hand on Ciel's shoulder.
"There is a problem, my Lord," he said. His face was pinched at the centre with concern. "I do not sense any children inside."
"What do you mean?" Ciel was struck with panic. They couldn't have possibly left already. How can an entire acting company pick up everything and relocate in under an hour?
Sebastian shook his head. "They are gone. All but one."
The officers below filtered out of the building. Though Ciel could not see him, he was sure that Lord Randall was scoffing at his failure. He made sweeping gestures with his arms while shouting something that Ciel could not discern. The officers who had invaded the building set off in different directions, most likely to search the area.
"Sebastian," Ciel commanded, "get us into that building and lead me to the one who was left behind."
"Yes, my Lord." Sebastian held the Young Master securely before he bounded through the air to the roof of the warehouse.
The roof had a small structure that opened with an iron door. They let themselves inside and walked down the set of stairs to a shuttered lift. The two rode it for longer than Ciel had when he was taken to the dressing rooms. It must have been heading underground. The lift continually creaked and jolted, threatening its occupants with the prospect of giving out at any moment. When it finally did thud down on the ground of their destination, the Butler pulled open the shutters to reveal absolute darkness. It smelt of mouldy earth and slippery stone, and their footsteps echoed a thousand times over the first step they made. Sebastian could hear the scuttling sounds of insects that dwelled within the abyss.
"A lantern may have been helpful," Ciel said.
"I will guide you to him," said Sebastian. He placed his hands on Ciel's shoulders and steered him steadily through the dark. The ground was dotted all over with puddles and mud. That part of the building must have been uninhabited for so long that most of the floor had crumbled into dust. Ciel stepped on something that simultaneously squished and crunched underneath his insubstantial joke of a shoe. He gagged faintly. "We're almost there," Sebastian encouraged. "Just a few more steps." Ciel's outstretched hands were met with a softened piece of wood. It was damp and eaten away from moisture. He felt for the handle but handle there was none. Only a hole in the wood where one should have been. Sebastian pushed the door open and nudged Ciel inside.
"... Hello?" Ciel called, feeling a bit silly talking to the air.
"Eh? Who's there?" The voice that responded was very groggy but familiar.
"Abrahm?"
"...! Simon? Simon, is that you?"
Ciel moved forward as quickly as he could in the dark. Though there were zero sources of natural light, his eye had adjusted enough that he could make out a small body chained to the wall with manacles. Ciel knelt before him.
"Abrahm? What the hell did they do to you?"
"You came back for me, Simon!" Abrahm was having trouble holding up his head and he slurred his words together.
"... Yes," Ciel said. "Now, let's get you out of here. We can talk more upstairs." Ciel turned his words to Sebastian. "Let's bring him to Randall."
The Butler snapped the iron cuffs off of Abrahm's wrists. He needed to be helped up from the ground and steadied once on his feet as he swayed back and forth like a reed in a storm. Ciel and Sebastian lead him out of what would have been his grave to the lift, supporting him between each other. They did not ride for very long until they stopped at a level filled with officers. All around were abandoned cages, the insides still fitted with mirrors and flowers. The ground was littered with cigarette stubs and empty wine glasses. It looked like no time at all had been wasted in jumping ship. After bringing him out of the lift, Ciel could see that Abrahm had a split lip and spots of blood all over the front of his meager stage costume. He had been given a black eye, a welt on his cheek and bruises all over his skin. His eyes fought to stay focused and open. Ciel and Sebastian lead him carefully into the crowd but Abrahm's knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor.
"I can't go any further," he said. His chest heaved with effort.
"You don't have to," Ciel said. He again kneeled down in front of him when Lord Randall came stomping over.
"What on Earth are you two doing here?" he asked abruptly. "And who is he?"
"This is Abrahm Myles," Ciel said loudly. "One of the victims of the Stage Prowler. It might be wise to listen to what he has to say." Lord Randall was no doubt offended by the young Earl's tone, but put his professionalism before his distaste. He kneeled beside the Earl to listen to the bruised boy. "Abrahm," Ciel continued, "tell us, who did this to you? Was it the theatre master?"
Abrahm nodded slowly. When he spoke, his breathing dragged as though he had just run cross country. "He thought that you were conspiring with me. You asked a lot of questions... you were... too difficult. You didn't want to act like the rest of us did." Ciel thought he had pulled off the guise of the enthusiastic amateur quite well, but he supposed there was no fooling experts. Abrahm took another breath. "Because I was singing when I wasn't supposed to be, he thought I was covering your escape. He interrogated me about who you are. We came from the same theatre... shared the same room... When I said I never met you before, he didn't believe me. So he left me for dead. Gave me somethin' through a syringe to stop me from screamin.'"
"He could have killed you," Ciel said.
Abrahm laughed shortly. "I wouldn't be the first."
"What do you mean?"
"What do you think happens when a boy gets too old to be Narcissus? Unless he's traded into some other ring, or sold to an 'art' enthusiast, he's silenced. He can't just be released. He would blab."
Lord Randall joined the dialogue. "How do you know about all of this?"
Abrahm shrugged. "People talk. I've overheard some of the master's conversations with his partners. Apparently every two years or so there's, what the boys started calling, a 'round up.' He and his partners travel to a handful cities, snatching up whoever strikes their fancy. Eventually they make a 'residency' in some abandoned building once they have ten or more boys. He actually meant to stay in London for quite a while, where the real money is, but then you showed up." He looked at Ciel with a covert smile. "He was none too happy 'bout that. But, somehow, I know that the master will manage to lure more people in. Such an idiot," he said under his breath. Ciel wasn't sure if he was commenting on Green's shamelessness or his own gullible nature.
"So it is a troupe of sorts?" asked Randall.
"Right," Abrahm answered. "Richard and I are from London. There are some from Bristol, some from Trent, some from York... all over, really."
"Did you happen to catch where they were headed to?" Ciel asked urgently. As interesting as it all was, he had already figured out the details from Green's record book. They were wasting time.
Abrahm's head and neck drooped in thought. "... I'm pretty sure he said something about Manchester. Apparently, he helped someone set up an exhibit there recently."
"Sounds about right," Sebastian said to Ciel. They nodded at each other and Ciel stood up. Abrahm grabbed Ciel's coat sleeve.
"Your name isn't Simon, is it?"
Ciel shook his head. "No."
"Then who are you?"
"My name is Earl Ciel Phantomhive, the Watchdog of Her Majesty, the Queen. It is my duty to sniff out and eradicate all those who threaten the security of the Kingdom by abusing their powers in the Underground System. You know Richard as an actor, like yourself, but he is also Her Majesty's great nephew. I have been ordered to retrieve him."
Abrahm's eyes widened at Ciel's words. "Whoa. Like a penny dreadful* anti-hero." He then looked to Sebastian and smiled. "And who is this fine gentleman?"
Sebastian bowed. "I am the Earl's butler, Sebastian."
Abrahm flushed. "Nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine," Sebastian smiled.
Ciel cleared his throat. "And this is Lord Randall." He gestured to the man who had stood up beside him. "You will be put into his care while I track down Richard. No time to waste, Sebastian." Ciel and Sebastian were moving to exit the building when they were called back by both Randall and Abrahm at once.
"And just where do you think you're going?" said Randall.
"I want to go with you!" Abrahm pleaded. He babbled on before Randall could get another word in. "I've survived with the master for months! I know what you're going up against!"
"That may be so," answered Ciel, "but frankly, in your present state, you would only slow us down." Abrahm dropped his foggy head in defeat.
"And what about all of us?" Lord Randall gestured towards the officers. "Are we just supposed to wait until you two come back?"
"Yes," Ciel simply said. Randall looked unconvinced. "It was my assigned mission to find Richard and apprehend the Stage Prowler," Ciel explained. "I have not finished either task yet. And honestly, you and your men would be a hindrance as well. You made quite a show of investigating the building. Sebastian and I set out to use more subtle methods."
"I do not care to hear about your 'methods,'" Randall sneered. He pulled Abrahm up by his arm and steadied him by the shoulders. "Send a line when you have Richard." He lead Abrahm away sullenly, but the boy turned back to Ciel for one last word.
"Don't get yourselves killed! That man will do anything to protect his secrets."
Ciel and Sebastian gave identical smirks. "It looks like the theatre master has met his match then," Ciel said. "So will we."
*And once again, we turn to Wikipedia! A penny dreadful was "a type of British fiction publication in the 19th century that usually featured lurid serial stories appearing in parts over a number of weeks, each part costing one (old) penny. ... The penny dreadfuls were printed on cheap pulp paper and were aimed primarily at working class adolescents." The joke is, of course, that if it were not 2013 and manga wasn't so expensive, Ciel would be a penny dreadful anti-hero.