Happy 2016 everybody~! And thanks for correcting my/your mistake, Ariaprincess. (Whoever ya wanan lay blame on. Doesn't matter to me.) Um, right, so, and anyways. (Spoken in the fashion of Kohta Hirano). I think I've finally gotten into the appropriate frame of mind for a Victorian-era writing style, so here's to hoping I can keep it going long enough for the interesting things to start happening. The reference Arya makes about herself being poisoned is an allusion to when Oliver (the evil cannibal (who is also a sorcerer/magician) that imprisoned her for several months and was the villain of the prequel to this story) spontaneously decided to be a bastard and dosed her food. And drink. (It was never specified which.) Anyway, Arya's been poisoned before. And been in a car crash. And beaten half to death on multiple occasions. And stabbed. She hasn't been shot yet, but to be honest, 's probably only a matter of time.

January 7, 2016

Arya's POV:

I had taken the precaution of completely closing my curtains before I went to bed last night –or rather, earlier this morning– and was thusly awoken not by a bright stream of sunlight stabbing into my eyes, but by Mey-rin ripping them open with a cheerful "Rise and shine, Miss Arya!"

I flinched and yanked the thick cotton blankets up over my head, groaning. I didn't want to check my watch, or any of the other clocks, because right now I just wanted to reject life in general. "Mey-rin, I went to sleep at like Nothing o'clock in the morning. I dunno what time it is right now and I don't want to know. Please tell me I don't have to get up. I beg of you." I whimpered through the quilted fabric, and I felt her tug at one end.

"I'm afraid you do, miss. Some tea will wake you right up, yes it will." she said encouragingly, and I suppressed the temporary, slightly murderous urge to throw her out of a window.

"Right…" I groaned, slowly pulling the blankets down from around my ears. Mey-rin's cheerful face greeted my blurry eyes, and she held up a package.

"You clothes have arrived from the tailor, yes they have."

Curiosity finally gave me enough motivation to sluggishly roll out of bed and start getting ready for the day, watching Mey-rin as she scampered out of the room, presumably to get the aforementioned tea she offered me. I took the morning pitcher of water on my nightstand, leaned out of the window, and dumped it over my head, gasping as the water quickly grew icy in the freezing air of early winter.

I rapidly shook my head, flinging water droplets everywhere, before I leaned back inside, setting the pitcher back down and grabbing the washcloth next to it, vigorously toweling my hair dry. The icy shock had helped me wake up slightly, and I blinked at the large series of packages stacked neatly by the large oak chest at the foot of my bed. There were about ten or eleven of them, and they were all wrapped in brown paper. One had a note attached to the front, and I pulled it off curiously.

Miss Aryana Thompson;

This is your wardrobe as ordered and paid for by Funtom Co. I labeled them all separately so you don't have to worry about our form of dress code: you seemed to struggle a bit with that. I also noticed your penchant for wearing those intriguing bloomers and corset, so I designed your wardrobe with that in mind.

I turned red, but, I mean, I guess it was her job. I certainly knew that modern-day undergarments would seem exceedingly odd to the people of Victorian England.

Please use it to your best advantage! Now you should be able to return that dress you borrowed to the maid, and please feel free to give me a call whenever you're in London.

Cheerio~

Nina Hopkins

I stared at the paper with a blank face for a few seconds, then shrugged and started inspecting the packages. Most of them were labeled "day-to-day" and "business", but there was one, slightly heavier, package that said "formal" and another, labeled "horseback riding".

I found the package that contained my magic cloak, and hurriedly opened it up, taking the black fabric and snapping it out, then swinging it over my shoulders and tying it off. I didn't have a mirror, but as I paced around the room and swished the cloak a couple of times, it seemed to fit wonderfully. I'd never had clothing that was tailored specifically to myself, and I had to say, I was liking it so far.

I pulled the hood up over my head, and it seemed to fit just as well as the rest of the costume, and I undid the strap and pulled the cloak off with a pleased smile, stuffing it into my apocalypse bag and turning to the other packages. I eventually selected one of the "business" packages, opening it up to reveal a dark navy blue-ish dress, holding it out in front of me as I made an uncertain face. I wasn't used to dresses with so much ruffles, but…

Well, when in Rome.

I shucked my combat pajamas and pulled the dress on, blinking as I slowly twisted and turned. The fabric was surprisingly comfortable, and now that it was on me…I felt kinda pretty. I subconsciously brushed a hand down the front, enjoying the feel of the fabric.

I could literally count on one hand the amount of females, including the ones I'd met here, that I'd spent any amount of time within the last six or seven months. All that testosterone kinda rubbed off: I hadn't spent any time on feeling pretty in ages. Still, no time like the present. I spun in place a few times and then giggled self-consciously.

Guess I'll have to work in my exercises before I get dressed for the day.

"Ah! That looks lovely on you, yes it does!" Mey-rin chimed in from the doorway, and I jumped, then turned around.

"Um, if you say so. Here's your uniform back." I said sheepishly, handing her my borrowed dress back as she traded it for a cup of tea. I took the mug of steaming liquid and downed half of it without thinking, then gasped and nearly choked as the sweet-tasting drink scorched my tongue and burned its way down my throat. Mey-rin paused, looking concerned, and I waved her away, taking in a few more breathes before reminding myself to always check any drink someone gave me before swallowing it.

Not a bad policy to have, actually. I mean, I've already been poisoned with my breakfast once.

I followed my memory and wandered back to the dining room, doing a quiet fist pump and suppressed cheer of "yes!" when I heard and saw the others already there. The townhouse was far larger than any other building I had ever lived in, or even visited as a living space. Britain's house had been a manor in its own right, but it was rather –small. Not only small, but it was mostly gardens, offices, and a library: it didn't feel like a living place so much as a public building.

Ciel looked up and then down as I entered; apparently, although I was blatantly suspicious to him, I was also apparently rather nonthreatening. Soma gave me a preoccupied but friendly nod, and Lau seemed as inscrutable as ever. I sat down at what I assumed to be my designated spot, taking the tea I was offered and tasting it hesitantly, then swallowing once I was convinced I wouldn't scald my tongue –again. I then watched Sebastian offer Soma some curry, which the prince tested cautiously.

"YUCK!"

The other three men turned towards Soma as he made a disgusted face. "Was it not to your taste?" Sebastian asked neutrally, and Soma flinched.

"Gyah! I-it's not that….it's just very different from the curry that I always eat in India, so, well…and this is good in its own way…um…" he stammered, slowly coming to a halt. Sebastian smirked slightly, understanding Soma's worry.

"It is fine. Please continue." he said with a slight bow as Soma let out a sigh of relief and looked back down at the curry.

"First, the flavor is weak, and it has no aroma. Not to mention it's gritty, so the texture is rough on the tongue. This doesn't count as curry." he said firmly, and Sebastian put a hand to his chin.

"How odd. Even after I used the best curry powder available…" he said to himself, and Soma blinked.

"Curry powder? What is that?" he asked in surprise, and I shrugged as I gulped down a mouthful of eggs.

"Curry, which Anglo-Indians have brought back from their homeland, has taken firm root in British cuisine. But as the blending of spices is difficult for amateurs, spices are ground and blended together, then sold as prepackaged curry power." Sebastian explained absently, and Soma frowned and shook his head.

"I've never seen anything like that in India, and Agni didn't use it either. At least, as far as I know…" he admitted, then sighed. "Yes, spices determine the color and heat of curry, but what is most important is their flavor. When they aren't freshly ground, their aroma evaporates. At my palace, I have masalchi dedicated to that task alone." Soma said firmly, and I looked at him curiously.

"What's a masal-chi?"" I asked, and he blinked at me.

"A kitchen helper. They usually do all the dirty work." he said, and I "ah"ed and returned to eating my breakfast.

"So in other words, using something like curry powder, in which the spices have been ground up prior to being packaged and sold, is out of the question." Sebastian commented, returning to the conversation, and Soma nodded several times.

"Yes. And depending on what he put into it, the soup of Agni's curry would look and taste different. I think he chose and blended the spices to complement the ingredients." he mused aloud, and Sebastian looked at his pocketwatch.

"Then we must first track down fresh spices of the best quality. In that, West has the advantage, His company controls the distribution, so he can secure the best of the bunch for himself. he said disparagingly, and closed the watch. "I fear we are running short on time, unless we can find ourselves some traders…"

He trailed off, before we all looked expectantly at Lau, who just so happened to be the manager of a trading company.

8.28 PM, USA Central Time