A/N: DOUBLE UPDATE. If you're like me, whenever a story updates I usually press the little arrow beside the title to go to the most recently published chapter. Well you need to go back one more chapter or you are probably lost right now. So go back a page and continue reading Nobility.

"Delores is dead."

Lilith didn't deign a response. She didn't care, nor did she comprehend if this name had any significant value. She stood before a man who was thick; thick in frame, thick in eyebrows, thick beard, etc. He was clean shaven like all men in this country, his hair was black that was parted at the side, slicked backed, and short. His eyes were at a permanent squint as he leveled his gaze to her. He had stereotypical appearance of an Italian man and most likely had just a generic name to him.

She did not know his name, she couldn't bother. She could barely remember her own servants' names, she couldn't bother to remember every informants' name either.

"Vira."

Ah, yes. She went by the persona Vira. A poor woman who, lucratively, had many important contacts. Typically, viewed as a radical "feminist" due to her "libertarian" personality. Or in this decade, a woman that can't keep her mouth shut and obsessively makes her opinions known. Assumed to be an immigrant from England because she didn't "understand" the Italian language.

The women's suffrage movement doesn't happen until another 30 or so years from now. So the term feminist is wrong, and that would actually be an insult to the women in the future if she would call this persona a feminist. She would be near the age of 50 by the time the movement comes. Lilith is definitely not staying that long in this inane universe. She rather jump off a cliff.

Lilith, however, did know Italian, to a certain extent. In addition to a few other languages. Yet, for some reason she couldn't write, or understand the language in written form. She was fluent in speaking and understanding, but illiterate in writing. Her reading was abysmal, but she had some skill. Besides she is not a noble right now.

"Vira, you owe me."

She shivered, but not because of the cold. She has been consciously translating the words being spoken. The man before her, spoke in heavy slang with his Italian accent sometimes slipping in some phrases that were clearly not English. No matter she could still comprehend, it was a necessity in her line of work. Yet, she could feel contempt rolling over the both of them. For her ire, his inability to learn proper English despite it being 8 months since their meeting. For him, most probably due to her entire being.

She helped him keep his business afloat, why would she owe him? Because of one person? That was foolish, she obviously had done more for him to make up for one whore.

"No, I own you."

A blunt pain reached from her cheek to her eye, she didn't even register when he approached her. She was knocked down, her body flung to the side like a ragdoll due to the hit. Saliva pile in her mouth as she tried to stand, before giant hands dragged her to the wall, keeping her standing. One hand covered her mouth while the other supported her weight by pinning them above her head. He was obviously bigger than her in size; both width and length.

"You got lucky, bitch."

The man gazed at the sickly woman, she was deathly pale with her skin clinging onto the skeletal frame. The bags underneath her eyes made her look 20 years older. She was overconfident, dumb, and ugly. Yet, it was this sack of bones that made his brothel the main hub for Italian nobility. His business borderlined bankruptcy; disparity became a friend to him. However, he didn't think that this infertile woman could help. This woman was poor, unhinged, and god forbid filled with diseases! However, this woman managed to bring his brothel to the highest level it can possibly serve and stock him with a few girls to start off with. He would only admit that this street bum never wronged him. When his business was able to support itself, he was thinking of tying up loose strings; bite the hand that fed him as soon as she became un-useful. But every time he hired someone to get rid of this roach, she would disappear and appear months after.

Nothing lined up. No way Vira was more influential than him. It was impossible.

"Saving your shit trade is not luck" she mumbled.

See, damn ghost couldn't keep its mouth shut, even with his palm on her mouth.

"I don't care who you fucked." He growled. His hand trailed off her mouth and he smeared the dirt on her face further down her body. Despite the woman's dangly figure, he could feel more meat than he initially gave her credit for. His one hand skimmed the dress Vira owned. He had to control himself from gagging or reeling back in disgust by a damp spot on her clothing, the black grime crawling on her fingers, or just the general odor of her person. His mind gave possible explanations for the wet spot (urine, jizz, or sewer water), the grime (mold, dirt, old blood), and the smell.

He can't say he is the epitome of good health or a serious practitioner in hygiene. However, to the very least, he is mindfully conscious of the body. Something this woman needs.

"But if we slap some makeup on you and miraculously get you clean, I guess you would be decent."

Because despite his abhorrent attitude towards her, he knows a good catch when he sees it. Men like the blondes, and ones with vivant eyes sell out fast. In addition, she was penniless, giving a roof over her head would make him seem like a charitable man.

And Dolores is dead. Damn cunt probably knew there was going to be showdown between two rival families in the Dinero territory. Meet up at the café Vira said. It was safe she said. Dolores was his top seller! She was the least used in his brothel. Now what is he supposed to sell to the nobles! Angelica? Shephira? At this rate he might have to track how many times a woman is requested to keep business running. Why do nobles always want those with the least requests? If they want a virgin, they'll fuck their wives. Heaven knows those women never get any action in their lives.

Lilith was still out of it. After being punched in the face, falling to the stone streets, then dragged and threaten against the wall. She can't really comprehend much. Although she was able to understand that she was being threatened and the mans hands were to close to her body. Did her looks not frighten him of getting malaria or some disease?

She had to admit, even with all her knowledge and daily exercise, she was still weak compared to men. Especially working-class men. For all the books she read with a female lead, to the documentation of strong independent women, and even the horribly written women she seen pubescent girls fantasize to be, no one could've said she wasn't strong enough. They talk grandeur of their accomplishments, skim past their harsh obstacles, forgo the thought process going on at the time and focus on the building up the pride of being woman.

Have a cunt's arse in the middle of Thames.

She would throw a gasket if she wasn't disassociated right now. Other characters would "shake it off" and "punch the disrespectful chav" or a bibliography of an independent woman role model would write "He may have hit me, but I had hit him where it mattered most: dignity." Those responses should have a cunt in the Moulin Rouge. She was undoubtedly furious. Not once, had a man hit her so recklessly, given, in this persona, she was an uncouth, loud mouth bitch, but usually a man thinks twice before hitting a woman. Usually a flinch satisfied a man's pleasure for superiority, knowing a woman fears them made their hat taller apparently. Men are behemoths for gaining power through abuse, but the tactic worked, or at least it did. Chav he was, didn't allow her to recoil to show submissiveness. It felt like he was going to hit her no matter what she said, like the hand was already reeled back before the meet up.

Her skin quaked in both his touch and the air. Trepidation crawled her entire being. The movements of his hands were being carefully documented and all she wanted to do was forget where his hands were trailing. Her heart seemed to beat loud, yet she felt like an unbearable ring overlapped both of their ears. She hoped her heart beat wasn't noticeable, and on the off chance it was, she prayed the man wouldn't take it as a sign of attraction. Her eyes seemed to engrave every detail around her, but not on her. His eyes didn't seem to reach the very core of her sole, but just the physical appearance on the surface. For once, she hated the leer; if only because he was able to touch what even the highest echelon couldn't.

The man stopped, and he released her. Lilith, or in this case Vira, heard a bellowing and throaty laugh as she slid to the ground with her back to the wall and her butt sitting on the cold stone floor. Lilith didn't care, her head was down, and she was mentally tried to command her body to stop herself potentially hyperventilating.

"You sure are cocky aren't you!"

He mocked. His insults continued.

"Why would anyone want a hideous bum like you. Even if we groomed you, your beauty would barely surpass the widowed middle-aged women."

He continued his rant in the dead of night. No one truly roam the streets of Italy at night. Only minor subordinates wandered the night and only around the main/branch houses of the dominating family. He found it hilarious that Vira thought she was worth being sold. Even if the nobles and mafia are preferring blondes with green or blue eyes, she was far out of even the most hideous subordinates league. If he made her a call girl he would face a major expense with her freeloading in his brothel.

His brothel had vivacious redheads, classy brunettes, and sly blondes. All of them had a certain flamboyant flair, but all of them can execute their job perfectly. All of them dry their regulars' wallets to its leather binding. They do, after all, work based on commission. Only recently, was he requested by new nobles or mafia members for new or more girls. Certainly, they have their favorites in his brothel, although, those they usually request was already booked or with another client. Dolores was a classy brunette with an innocent vibe the men got hooked on. When they learned she was rarely used, her requests tripled in a week. The option of "denial" was advertised for her image that made even more men want her. Things men want, but can't get was a trend recently.

He believed that trend first appeared in England. Something about a widowed noblewoman beauty? Or a metaphor based on the war in Egypt or India trying to break away. He heard information through the grape vine, never by original source. He also doesn't bother confirming the information if the information was not of immediate use for him.

He started walking away from the gangly street rat, leaving for his brothel.

"Find me another girl for my business and I'll call it even. You have till end of this month."

He heard her scurry away. He can always expect to see results when it comes to Vira though. He turned the corner and accidentally bumped into a man.

"Ay!" the brothel owner yelled.

He turned to face the other person when he saw him run toward the direction where Vira went. He judged the character to be rich as he wore very expensive and ornate clothing. His blonde hair was tied up into a ponytail and he seemed middle aged like himself. The brothel owner scratched his neck before leaving, ignoring the confrontation with the other man.

"Mistress, should we be weary of the man."

"No need, he is pleasant company."

Bart nodded, not truly believing that they should trust the man. It was of surprised that their mistress was the one to not only find the Italian representative, but hashed out a more detailed plan for the respective countries. Truly their mistress was capable. The initial meeting was to create a fluid, but skeletal agreement for the two countries that would be refined as the years goes on. That plan fell through when the merchant didn't even know what their contact looked like.

He and Sir Clyde searched for hours: gathering intel, profiling, then interviewing perspective candidates that had the background for international affairs. They repeated the same process for the following days until their departure. It wasn't until this morning, when their mistress was not in her room, but at a small café around the corner of the inn they were staying at, they saw her dining with some Italian man.

Sir Clyde was the one to break the news that they couldn't find the Italian dignitary. Her response was as expected, but then the man she was conversing with revealed he was the dignitary. She dismissed both her servants, and now they were traveling back to England. The merchant, Sir Francis, was recalled back to England a day before because of some scandal.

Lilith leaned against the carriage window, daydreaming. The beauty of nature replaced the Italian landscape. She wasn't going to take a carriage the entire trip to England. When they reach a port town in France they will travel by steamboat.

The day after her encounter with that despicable man she encountered "Leon" again. The damn brothel owner left a bruise on her face. It didn't appear over night, but it was forming and she can feel the swelling on her face. She didn't fully prepare for her encounter to be physical, so she only had some rub to calm down the swelling and some typical powders. It was fine for the remaining days she stayed in Italy, but now the bruise was noticeably forming. Even with the rub and powders. She hid them by wearing a hat with a cover in the front.

Leon seemed equally surprised when they encountered each other once more. They both talked in their respective alias and decided to spend another day together. There was less sharp wit and circular reasoning and more discussions and opinions. They both were pleasantly surprised with each other's company. Lilith made it clear in her body language that she would not tolerate any physical contact that day, for obvious reasons privy to only herself. She was still shaken with what happened the night before. He, being the intellectual that he was, understood the missive and act like a gentleman in her presence.

That was the (supposedly) correct domino to fall as it set a chain reaction. For the remaining of her vacation days they went on a series of mini "dates". Talking within the subjects of mathematics, science, and politics. They were all lengthy discussions with an abundant amount of information. Little did either of them knew, they were looking for each other.

On the final day of her vacation, she met up with "Leon" for breakfast before she would leave for her home country. When her servants provided the information that they could not locate the Italian representative they were looking for, she was disappointed. She held her own servants to a high standard and seeing them bear no fruit was dissatisfying. She began to mentally provide several reasons why this mission was a failure to the queen when her company decided to intrude.

…

"Excuse me, but since you've decided to have this conversation in front of me, I can't help, but to intrude."

Lilith looked toward the handsome man across form her. He had a cup of expresso before of him as she had a cappuccino considering it was still morning. She had a pleasant time with Leon the past few days. He was charming, witty, smart, and had a wicked sense of humor. She will admit she became enraptured by the man, but knew she could never indulge on her whims with him. She will never see the man after this trip and she had her head filled with more important matters at hand. She will always know him as Leon and he will always know her as Luche.

"By chance, you wouldn't happen to be Marchessa Laughleft?"

Or that was supposed to be the plan. He wasn't even a character to the books she read, how did she get screwed over again?

"No use on keeping a ruse. How do you know my name? I am certain we have never met before this week."

He smirked once more and cupped his expresso in his hands. He swiveled the cup before taking a sip. He seemed to be waiting for her to have an epiphany of sort. This couldn't be a butterfly affect due to her existence, correct? She didn't believe so. At most, she barely dipped her hand in plot. She was mostly a side thought to any of the main characters. She hypothesized it was possible he heard her name through a rumor, but why would an Italian man –

"Lord Sinclair?"

His expresso had rested on the table when she blurted out her hesitant answer. From Clyde's and Bart's information gathering they were able to deduce the man who she and Sir Francis were suppose to meet was a man named Sinclair. All the while, his smirk was plastered on his face. She would've honestly questioned by replying with 'Sir' instead of 'Lord'. But that was before she found out "Leon's", or in proper terms Sinclair's, family worked for nobility whose hand determines the "worlds" she can and cannot see. To be honest, she thought the worlds he was talking about was of demons and humans, but she scrapped that idea and assumed he meant the surface world and the underworld.

"Clyde, Bartholomew, prepare the carriage according to plan."

The two servants bowed and left the two nobilities alone. Although his family served nobility, they apparently acted independently with no repercussions. His family was loyal to the top echelon, but not in servitude. They had no power in nobility, but had a special role in it. It was confusing, he was treated as nobility, but wasn't. That was assuming the information he spoke as Leon was applicable to Sinclair.

It was her turn to take a sip of her coffee and nibble on her breakfast. Even discovering each other's real status, they both were at ease.

"I must admit, when I approached you I did not assume you were one of the people I was supposed to meet up with. I heard I my contact was an English merchant with company. Never knew his company was the beauty wandering around the plaza."

If she were any other woman, she would be blush and act bashful of his words. Lilith was not any other woman, at least in front of him.

"I must question, how did you know I was a marchioness of England if your only information was of meeting a male merchant."

Her role was to be an observer and possibly be arm candy to Sir Francis. Most men outside of the upper nobility are disregarding of women. So, her role, though prominent, was to work behind the scenes.

"It was the morning we bumped into each other. Previously, I was informed that the company was of English nobility, a marchessa that was bestowed the name of Snow white. Pieces started to fall."

"Fall, but not complete."

Both smiled in their own way. Lord Sinclair grinned with heavy amusement in his eyes, while Lilith smiled with no teeth and her head tilted to the side. They both took a sip of their respective drinks.

"Right you are, marchessa."

…

After they clarified who they were and re-introduced themselves they started to detail the agreement between England and Italy. During their "dates" they breeched the topic of politics with what if scenarios and so appetence opinions. They both, so happen to, talk about the trade agreement between the two allied countries during their discussion. Once they combed through what was realistically appealing to both, they enjoyed their remaining time together at the café. She was scheduled to leave in the afternoon.

Lilith sighed. Even after everything turned out okay, she knew she wasn't going to see him again. Politics was not his forte he once spoke. He may be good at it, but it wasn't a subject he desired. She understood, and she wasn't planning to meet up with him after this encounter anyway. Getting attached to people was messy, and she was still planning to get back to her time, somehow.

She will admit, this vacation was one she'd like to remember. It was, comparatively, the most easy-going after all.

A/N: To inform you, if I do a double update, usually I would have two AN. The one up top warning you to go back a page, then the one at the bottom with my usual rant at the end of each chapter.

So this chapter has a lot of perspective switching which, thank god, for third person allows me to utilize that to the point of abuse. Anyway, this is one of the references i usually tie into my stories. Because this is my first story I decided to lay the reference on thick. I might just add more references later, but at a more subtle discretion. I mean I practically gave you the answer at the end of this chapter. If you wish to participate or not in this little mini game is up to you. For this mini game list the character I am referring to, the (In this case) anime, and a trait of the anime or character in the comments section.

No this is not a crossover. A) because timelines don't match. B) I don't like crossovers.