Enter, the Company


~O~

Theatres are curious places, magician's trick-boxes where the golden memories of dramtic triumphs linger like nostalgic ghosts, and where the unexplainable, the fantastic, the tragic, the comic and the absurd are routine occurences on and off the stage. Murders, mayhem, politcal intrigue, lucrative business, secret assignations, and of course, dinner.

-E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly-

~O~


It was decided that the party would be held on a Friday, to allow the guests enough time to rest and recuperate from their hangovers, embarrassment over drunken shenanigans, and scandals before the beginning of the week. In an unfortunate turn of events, the heavy storm clouds that had loomed over the English countryside chose that afternoon to open up and empty themselves upon the earth in a torrent of raindrops as big as pebbles.

"Ah," Finny murmured quietly, staring out of the kitchen window. The sound of the rain falling almost drowned him out entirely. "The rain finally came."

Charlotte chopped mechanically, her mind elsewhere. Carrots cut into perfectly even circles were swept into the bowl at her side, and then she reached for a green pepper. Steam rose from the pot that Bard was stirring, and the blonde turned to grin at the occupants of the room.

"Isn't this because the young master is doing something unusual?" He asked cheekily. His teasing earned him a sharp reprimand from Mey-Rin, who Charlotte had noticed was very protective of Ciel, but not as much as Finny. "Alright, alright! You didn't have to hit me!"

"If only the weather was so convenient," Charlotte commented drolly, only partly listening. "Ah~, il pleut des cordes. I wonder how this will affect the party…"

"The party won't be cancelled because of a little rain. Don't idle!" Sebastian appeared in the kitchen doorway. His hands connected sharply, a move that caused spines to snap straight and sent them scurrying to order. Charlotte blinked slowly, catlike, startled entirely out of her reverie as he continued. "It will be time to meet the guests soon. When you are called into the dining hall, come out in order according to your position. Do try not to mix anything up, understood?"

"Yes sir!" The three chorused obediently.

"Mmhmm," Charlotte hummed noncommittally.

Sebastian glanced at her, but decided not to call her out on it. "Then please wait in the entrance hall first while the guests are arriving. Until then, you may tidy yourselves up."

As soon as he left, Charlotte dropped the knife and the green pepper. She stretched her arms up, spinning her joints several times because she knew it scared the other servants, and strolled out of the kitchen and towards the servants' quarters. As she walked, Charlotte recalled a time when she would have been the one preparing to attend the ball in dresses of silk and chiffon, instead of cotton work-wear that smelled like dried spice and marinade. Even if she had disliked the strict and oppressive rules of her old life, she had loved attending those lavish parties.

She stopped by the little sink in her and Mey-Rin's shared bedroom, and splashed a little water on her face. Droplets dripped from her forehead and into her eyes, and she reached blindly for the little pink washcloth hanging beside the sink. When she was sure she was clean as she could be, Charlotte rooted around in her bag until she found a pair of white kid-gloves. She pulled them on, hiding the joints of her fingers, and the ring on her left hand.

Oh la la~ Charlotte eyed the people in the front room with glittering eyes. Everyone in the room was the dazzling, charismatic type that would have been at home in the ballrooms of Paris. The English and their delicate sensibilities, she sniffed. Honestly the list of those it was improper to talk to was as extensive and sporadic as the trends back home. Still Charlotte was pleased to note that she could name everyone present by face and newspaper article.

Carl Woodley, the president of a diamond polishing business. His hair was slicked back with copious amounts of pomade, and he wore the sly-smug expression of a man who knew he held all of life's cards and could deal them as he pleased. He wore large gold rings on all his fingers, thumbs included, each one inlaid with a tiny diamond.

Irene Diaz, a renowned opera singer and actress with hair that was almost as light as Charlotte's, and violet-blue eyes. Accompanying her was her current lover and theatre producer, Grimsby Keane. Having only seen his sharp features in print, Charlotte was mildly surprised to realise that his hair was ginger as opposed to mouse-brown.

Lau; to the general public he was a Chinese nobleman, and the British branch manager of the Shanghai trading company Kong Rose. To the undercity however, he ran opium dens and brothels, and was rumoured to be a part of the Chinese syndicate. Attached to his arm was his little sister (by title only), Ran-Mao. She was dressed in a revealing qipao, with flower clips adorning her hair, and a black feather boa around her arms.

Patrick Phelps, one of the less eye-catching individuals for sure. He stood shyly in the middle of the room, and was much younger than the other attendees. Charlotte knew him as the supervision executive of Blue Star Line – a shipbuilding and shippingcompany. For someone in such a position of leadership, he certainly didn't act it.

The seventh person though, Charlotte cocked her head as she noticed the man standing away from the others. She knew who he was, his picture had been pasted next to his story in Beeton magazine's Christmas annual: Arthur Conan Doyle. His story had been one of the most interesting things she'd read in a while, but he wasn't exactly popular.

He looked incredibly out of place. His suit was faded and brown, and was probably the only formalwear he owned. The black elbow patches had likely been stitched there due to necessity rather than style. His hair might have been combed earlier, but his anxious fidgeting had caused strands to come loose. Rather than exuding the confidence of his peers, his entire demeanour screamed nervousness. Why is he here?

In the room, Arthur Conan Doyle was wondering the exact same thing. What exactly was he doing inside this opulent manor, surrounded by individuals so stunning that he could hardly stand to look at them for too long? He should be at home moaning over his manuscript, or in his office scribbling out prescriptions. He definitely shouldn't be here.

Someone bumped into him and he half-turned to move out of the way, apology at the ready, when he made the unfortunate mistake of looking down.

"Ah, excuse me," an accented voice apologised cheerfully while Arthur scrambled to regain control over his faculties while avoiding looking anywhere at the scantily dressed girl in front of him. he focused on the man instead, who was scolding her lightly. "Ran-Mao, you shouldn't space out. Where's your apology?"

"D-Don't bother!" He stammered out. He had very little experience with foreigners, and he didn't want to offend either of them. His presence was already a social faux-pas, there was no need to make it worse. "A-Are you also actors?"

"How kind of you to think so, but no," the Chinese man chuckled. "I am but a humble branch manager working at a trading company. My name is Lau, and this here is my little sister, Ran Mao. Who might you be?"

Arthur shifted in place uncertainly, unsure how he was to answer in a way that wouldn't make him sound utterly pathetic by comparison. "I'm an eye specialist," he revealed shyly. "And I'm also a bit of a writer..."

"Ooh, a wordsmith eh? That's amazing!" Arthur flushed in surprise. It was rare that his hobby was complimented rather than criticized. He wasn't sure he deserved whatever admiration Lau had somehow deemed him worthy of.

"No such thing!" He hastened to say. "I'm nothing special at all! To be honest, I have never even met the earl before, so I don't really know why I was invited to this lavish banquet."

Lau shrugged as though that was of no real consequence, and poked Ran-Mao's cheek affectionately. "Who knows?" He chirped. "I don't really know what that moody guy is thinking. Still," his voice changed to something that was just a tad bit less jovial. "Without a doubt, something interesting will happen. Probably."

Arthur stared at the man silently, unsure what to make of that. The urge to go home that been sitting in his stomach began to pace up and down.

"Besides," Lau's voice switched back to its originally airy tone. "The earl hates the staunch social life, and is famous for being a rare character that hardly ever shows himself to the public. I think that this is the first time that he has ever invited people into his home. Aren't you lucky…"

Curious in spite of himself, Arthur had to ask. "What kind of person is he?"

"Hmmm," Lau put a finger to his chin in thought. "Well basically he's either sullen or angry, and extremely proud. It's also said that he wears an eye-patch like a pirate, and that it has some story behind it."

Arthur panicked internally. What kind of man was this? An eye-patch? His mind conjured up the visage of a gruff old man with thick eyebrows perpetually furrowed in anger, and a moustache.

"Why don't you leave your teasing of the guests at that?" A voice spoke from the top of the staircase, and Arthur's earlier panic was replaced by shock. "Thank you for accepting my invitation today. I am the head of the house, Ciel Phantomhive."

A child?! He gaped at the figure making his way down. This short, slender waif-like bot with huge eyes could only have been 12 or 13 at the most! How could this be the earl Phantomhive? He has an eye-patch though, a part of him pointed out, and Arthur wondered what the story behind it could be.

Standing behind the earl was a tall, impeccably dressed butler. "Hmm?" The earl glanced around the room, scanning the present company. "It seems that the guest of honour hasn't arrived yet."

"With this foul weather, his arrival would have been delayed," the butler replied.

The earl sighed, a bit put out by the perceived delay to the festivities. "Well it's not like we can keep everyone waiting in the hall like this-"

At that moment, there was a knock at the door, which almost went unheard due to the storm outside. "Ah. That must be him," the butler went to open the door.

The guest in question was a tall, robust man with ash-blond hair, a stern visage, and lips that looked unaccustomed to smiling. His sideburns were thick, as were his eyebrows which were drawn in downwards in a permanent expression of irritation. He looked very much like Arthur's imaginary caricature of the earl.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," he introduced himself in a gruff voice tinged by a German accent. "I am Georg von Siemens. I am grateful for your invitation, Lord Phantomhive."

Behind the wall, Charlotte let herself grin. The guest of honour had arrived and the banquet could finally start! She couldn't wait for the night to turn interesting. The two noblemen shook hands. "I am deeply sorry to have delayed you," Lord Siemens apologised.

"Of course not," Ciel brushed his apology away courteously. "You have come from afar. Let us exchange greetings once the party has started. For now, please chat freely at the buffet."

Charlotte copied Mey-Rin, and inclined her head deferentially when Lord Siemens and Grey walked by her, giggling all the while. This servant-game was fun in its own little way. With two trays balanced in either hand, Charlotte twirled through the ballroom, getting up close looks at each of the guests as she stopped to offer them bites of whatever delicious thing Sebastian had whipped up.

A conversation between Woodley, Siemens and Grey told her that Siemens was the director of the Bamberger Bank in Germany, Earl Grey tea was named after Charles Grey's family, and Woodely's faux modesty (referring to a multi-million diamond polishing company as "a humble business" while simultaneously flashing more than a year's wage worth in jewellery) was annoying as hell.

There was also some talk about ship-building and bank loans, but that was boring and she drifted off.

"Earl, would you mind introducing me as well?" Lau asked. He had been sitting back and watching the Europeans talk business. Charlotte could appreciate a man who was calculating.

Ciel nodded, gesturing for him to come closer and turning their attention to him. "This is Mr. Lau. He is the English brand manager for the Shanghai trading company, Kong Rose."

"Kong…Rose?" Phelp's eyes widened and his face paled. He looked like he wanted to take several steps back, but something in Lau's sharp eyes made him freeze. His mouth snapped shut and he dropped his eyes, focusing on the floor pattern instead. Lau ran the black market docks, Charlotte thought, so it made sense that Phelps would know who he was.

"Nice to meet you all," Lau greeted amiably. "My name is Lau."

"To have a branch in England, you must certainly have a large network," Siemens commented, and then he yelped when Ran-Mao left Lau's side and plastered herself to him, squeezing certain parts of her anatomy against his upper arm. "What the-?!"

"Oh my," Lau said blithely, not moving to do anything about it. "I'm so sorry; she's such a pampered child. Even though we do have a wide network, we haven't bothered Germany yet. Please teach us things for future reference."

Charlotte watched with interest as Siemens finally managed to pry the small girl away from him, and he held her at arm's length. "Fine, so would you please let go?" His face was bright red from embarrassment. He coughed and composed himself once again, eying Ran-Mao warily as if she was about to jump him again. "If you've got an interest in Germany, then ask me again tomorrow. I also have some interest in the state of affairs in Asia."

"Ah~, it looks like he doesn't like us," Lau smiled beatifically after the man.

"He doesn't look like he likes anyone," Charlotte commented from unoccupied side, before blinking innocently up at him. "Drink, sir?"

Lau stared down at her, only mildly surprised by the sudden presence, and cocked his head to the side. "Who are you?"

"Oi," Ciel marched over to them before she could answer. "What do you think you're doing Lau? And Charlotte, you are not to speak with the guests unless spoken to."

"I was only offering him a drink, young master," she replied demurely.

"Is she a new servant, earl?" Lau asked, grinning now. "I had no idea you'd hired anyone!"

"Pardon us," a new voice said. Charlotte used that moment to admire the stylish cut of Irene's dress, before slipping away.

She spotted the out-of-place writer a few minutes later. He was sitting further away from the festivities after being snubbed by Sebastian, which Charlotte thought had been pointlessly rude. Yes she was lying, mischievous girl with slightly sadistic tendencies, but at least she wasn't a total dick about it.

His eyes remained trained on the carpet as she made her way towards him, and he only looked up when she was directly in front of him. "Bonjour, monsieur! Would you like a glass?"

Arthur blinked several times, shocked that he was being spoken to again, if only by a servant. His eyes snapped up to the woman's face, and widened marginally as he stared into blue eyes that would not look out of place in the most expensive of dolls. They were half lowered in amusement above a dainty nose and a pink mouth. Arthur fumbled for a moment before he finally managed to stutter out a thank you and take a glass of wine that he wasn't sure if he was actually going to drink at this point.

The servant-girl smirked, winked, and swept away in a flurry of skirt and blonde hair. There was something off about the way she moved, but he hardly had time to think about it when someone stopped by his seat and asked, "Would you mind if I sit next to you?"

"No, please, go right ahead – EARL?!"

The boy blinked up at him, and Arthur realised that he had leaped to his feet. "Are you enjoying yourself?" He asked as though nothing odd had occurred.

"Y-Yes…"

The earl smiled wider, and waved to the chair beside him. "Please sit down, professor."

Arthur quickly sat down, hoping no one had heard or seen him react in such an indecorous manner. At least the earl looked amused by him. "Ah. No, no, I'm not really in a position to be called a professor just yet."

He arched an eyebrow imperiously. "But that is what I would prefer to call you, so it's fine isn't it? Unless it somehow displeases you…?"

"Oh…well…not, I suppose not," he chuckled nervously and looked down at his wineglass. Maybe he should drink it, just for courage's sake. How exactly did one speak to a child in such a position? Were the earl one of his many nieces and nephews, he could have laughed with them over games and newspaper cartoons, but the earl looked like someone who would be bored by such infantile banality. He took a fortifying sip. "I don't mean to be rude earl, but why did you invite someone like me to this party?"

"The other day I read one of your works," he replied. "It was the novel published in Beeton's Christmas Annual."

Arthur's mind flashed back to the story, his only published work to date. A Study in Scarlet had featured a new character he had created; a detective by the name of Sherlock Holmes, and his loyal assistant John Watson. Unfortunately the English public had turned up their noses at it, and Beeton's was the only magazine willing to publish it, likely only as page-filler.

"You read such a minor magazine? Even with your high social standing?" He blurted.

The earl shrugged. "Rank and social status have nothing to do with it. Besides, most of my customers are commoners." He laughed a little. "I even read Punch. The protagonist of your story was very witty and charming."

"What, really?!" Again, Arthur found himself leaping to his feet. He quickly sat down again, and took a large sip of wine to give his hands something to do. The writer smiled self-depreciatingly. "But you know that novel was really unpopular. I don't really have plans to continue it." He wasn't looking, and so he didn't see the displeased expression on Ciel's face, but he did hear the sigh.

"I can't believe they don't appreciate the novelty of your work," he muttered. "It's hard to believe that they're citizens of an advanced nation."

Arthur wasn't sure if it was his words or the wine that were making him feel so warm. "I want to write a historical novel, but it's already been rejected by several publishing firms because it won't sell."

"Well you should make a name for yourself first," the earl grinned satirically. "Then it won't matter what you write. Plenty of authors are lauded as authorities even though the bulk of their writing is trash."

"Exactly! That's exactly right!" A very drunk, very unstable Grimsby slurred loudly. "It's simply unforgiveable is what it is! Obstinate old fools love to throw their money around in our industry! If acting was just reading lines, then amateur on the street could do it! Don't you agree?"

Ciel quickly schooled his features so that none of his irritation showed. He had been having a perfectly civil conversation with someone he admired in his own way, and didn't appreciate the drunken disruption. "Uh, yes…the set and costume designs in your productions are phenomenal."

It was so easy to stroke people's egos. Grimsby spun around to face him with a large smile. "Oh, you appreciate my work? Wonderful! Just once, I would like to work with such a discerning producer! What do you say?"

"Um, sure…"

"I told you to stop touching me!" Irene's voice cut through the room, drawing everyone's attention to her and von Siemens. She was backing away from him, her arms up around her torso in a defensive posture. He was leering at her with a sick grin on his red face, and was holding an apathetic Charlotte's arm with one hand. Phelps was standing there, looking worried but ultimately being useless. "To have you all over me with your disgusting hands; I can't take it anymore! Just leave me alone!"

"It's your fault for wearing those clothes," he retorted, slurring even more now. "You English women are all the same! You really want to be touched, don't you?" He leered at her with a sickening grin. "Don't pretend to act so sweet and innocent now..."

He reached for her, and the crack of her hand making contact with his face sent him staggering backwards. "Insolent jerk!" She screamed. "Harassing servants and guests alike, have some shame!"

"Why you," he snarled, rubbing his stinging cheek. "Like I'll let you say that to me!"

Charlotte saw him reach for the glass of champagne on the nearby table. The smell of alcohol was almost impossible to get out of clothes, and she wasn't sure what sort of fabric Ms. Diaz was wearing, but it was probably expensive. As Siemens turned to fling the contents of the glass, Charlotte bumped his arm, knocking the glass to the ground and shattering it.

Silence filled the room, and Charlotte hummed softly, "Oh my…"

Siemens turned to her with a snarl. "You clumsy-!"

"von Siemens, Ms. Diaz!" Ciel snapped. "This is a banquet! That is enough from the both of you for today. Charlotte, clean up this mess and-"

"You old pervert!" Grimsby yelled from across the room; talk about a delayed reaction. "Don't you dare touch my woman!" He grabbed a bottle of high, premium-quality wine from a bucket of ice, and threw it at Siemens with enough accuracy and force that von Siemens would most likely have been severely concussed, comatose, or dead.

Charlotte watched the incoming projectile with interest, and blinked in surprise when Sebastian leaped overhead, intercepted the bottle, uncorked it, landed on a heretofore unseen stepladder, and then proceeded to pour the sparkling liquid into an equally heretofore unseen tower of wineglasses.

He smiled down at the gathering. "This is a fantastic wine from the village of Purcari in south-eastern Moldova," he said to them. "Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy it."

Charlotte sniffed the air, taking in the gentle scent of wildflowers. She glanced down at the glass pieces on the floor and the slowly spreading puddle. "It seems you have a penchant for trouble," Sebastian commented while she mopped.

"I feel like you said something similar not too long ago," she replied. "Look, you have an admirer tonight. Why don't you leave me alone?"

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at Ms. Irene Diaz, who was watching him back. She smiled tentatively, and he gave her a practiced one in return before turning back to Charlotte. "Is that jealousy I hear?"

She stopped working, and stared up at him with an expression that told him that she had absolutely no idea what to do with his question. Then she scoffed, shook her head, and kept mopping. When she was done, she dumped the glass pieces in the dustbin at the edge of the room, and made her way back to Ciel and Sebastian. She was surprised to realise that they were speaking in near flawless French.

"So once that solemn man gets some alcohol into him, this is how he becomes? From the looks of it, he's a repeat offender."

"Even so," Sebastian replied. "Showing how little self-constraint one has...I wonder whether he's just an immense fool, or if he really knows no shame at all."

"Oh my goodness, are we speaking French now?" She chirruped, surprising them. "I didn't know either of you spoke French! But really, what a shameless old letch."

"I wasn't aware that you spoke French either," Ciel narrowed his eyes at her. Charlotte batted her lashes innocently, and he sighed. "But you're not wrong. He's definitely the incurable type of drunk. Any doctor would deem him a hopeless case."

Someone chuckled, and Charlotte turned to see Arthur snickering to himself. Smirking, Ciel pretended to shush him, like they were two friends sharing a secret. Charlotte laughed louder and walked away, already looking forward to the rest of the night.