"The rain came." Finny said out loud, stopping his last minute chores, as the rain pelted the windows, harder and faster than it had been in the last few days. Mouser looked up form the paperwork, snuffing a butt out into the ashtray, eyes narrowing for a moment. That could pose some issues with the party plans. Tanaka echoed the feeling.
"Isn't it 'cause the young master is doing something unusual?" Bard piped in with a chuckle, stirring the soup slowly. Mouser snorted, blowing smoke harshly, closing the book and standing. If that was the reason for the rain soon enough frogs would be accompanying the water.
"Bard! That's rude." Meyrin scolded, carrying the plates, piling them onto the tables with the items that needed to be taken to the rooms that would host the party.
"The party won't be cancelled because of the rain." Sebastian came down, announcing how things were developing. "Don't idle." He instructed, looking around, seemingly satisfied with the progress. There was a flurry of activity, everyone doing what they had been ordered to do, returning to the kitchen for the final briefing. "It'll be time to meet the guests soon." Sebastian restarted the conversation, clapping his hands, looking around, checking if anything was missing to be taken up. "When you're called into the dining hall come out in order according to your position try not to mix things up. Please wait in the entrance hall first. Understood?"
"Ho!" Tanaka said, the exclamation short and to the point. The old man would stand at the entrance, allowing passage and announcing the guests by profession, name and importance.
"Yeah, yeah." Bard acquiesced grumpily. He would take the food to the rooms as it was needed or requested.
"Yes." Meyrin shouted, stiffening in attention. She would walk around with trays, food and drink.
"Yes, yes!" Finny stated happily. Poor boy had to be the one to walk in the rain with umbrellas to defend the guest. Also take the carriages that would stay to the stables and tend to the horses.
"Aye, aye." Mouser whispered with a sigh. She would help Sebastian and Meyrin with serving the guests and had to support the boyo when business matters arose.
The guests were starting their mingling and talking in the entrance hall, waiting for the host and others of the same ilk. The murmur of voices was loud enough to reach the upper corridors. Mouser looked down, sitting on the staircase railing, observing and waiting, unseen, not bothering with deciphering their words. Greedy souls, weak souls, sweet souls, twisted souls, petty souls… missing souls. Her eyes narrowed. Mouser adjusted her position slightly. Not all guests where there.
"Your eyes." Sebastian chastised gently, standing next to her, adjusting the silver comb that kept her chignon in place, looking down as well afterwards with a critical glance, his hands on the rail, enfolding her. Mouser snorted and broke her questing, willing her eyes back to brown and sweet.
"Are we ready to start?" The thief asked perkily, turning her back onto the new people, looking up at Sebastian's face. The butler nodded slowly.
"The Young Master is just finishing the last minute details and will be here shortly." He stated, both looking down at the unassuming wordsmith being mercilessly teased by Lau. Mouser smiled softly, slipping down, standing and taking a deep breath. It was going to be a long night. Thankfully sleep was just an appreciated commodity nowadays and someone had made sure she was too full of energy to be slothful.
"Why don't you leave your teasing of the guests at that?" A voice cut through the Chinese man's words making Arthur look up, eyes widening in surprise as he saw a small kid, barely a teenager flanked by a pair of dark clad figures, shattering his imaginings of a stormy and intimidating figure.
"A child?" he babbled, stumbling on the words, still shocked.
"Yes. That tiny little child is Earl Phantomhive." The Chinese said merrily without a hint of repentance.
"Little was unnecessary!" The young Earl shouted, aggravated. There was an amused glance exchanged between the pair at his back before they watched the room once more. Arthur shivered. There was something predatory about those two, something that went suddenly away and made him feel a bit silly for thinking such things.
"See? He's angry." The Chinese chuckled as the Earl snorted, turning on the staircase, examining the guests that started to notice his presence, drawing himself taller and clearing his voice, speaking clearly, with strength, enunciation and the education good money and title always carried.
"Thank you for accepting my invitation today. I am the head of the Phantomhive household, Ciel Phantomhive. After the dinner party starts I'll once again call upon each of you in order to exchange greetings." There was a small warm smile directed towards the group. It was well received with murmurs of polite thanks. "This includes both my regular business partners and the ones I'm meeting for the first time." He made a slight pause as he walked down the last steps, looking around, seemingly making a head count. "But it seems we are missing one honoured guest. He is not here yet?"
"With this foul weather his arrival may have been delayed." The male, clearly the butler spoke, bowing slightly, advising in a low tone, enough to be heard but not loud or overpowering.
"Well…" The Earl considered the course of action for a moment, staring at the storm. "We cannot just keep everyone waiting in the hall like this."
"Young Master." The maid that had been tending to their needs and carrying bags with a young strong boy returned, a bit flustered. The old man that greeted them at the door was opening them once more. "The guests are arriving." She announced after a short polite bow.
A pair was entering the manor now. A portly, serious looking man and a young white haired smiling gentleman.
"Pleased to meet you" the older one stated stiffly, walking towards the Earl, extending his hand in a greeting. "I'm Georg Von Siemens. I am grateful for your invitation." He paused for a moment as the handshake concluded, looking around, assessing the crowd. "I am deeply sorry to have delayed you."
"Not at all." Ciel Phantomhive smiled slightly, nodding in understanding. "You came from afar. We'll exchange pleasantries after the party has started. This way please." He gestured and walked towards one of the great wooden doors. The dark clad female glanced after him, waiting for a moment, and gave the butler a sheet of paper, accompanying the young lord. Arthur stared a bit. Miss Diaz was finely dressed in a gown that was befitting of her status as an opera singer and social butterfly, a bit showy, a bit revealing and enticing. The Chinese girl was showing her legs fully, shamelessly. The maid's ankles were in display along with a good bit of leg but that could be overlooked because of the profession that demanded swiftness of movement. That one had everything covered but the traditional male attire only highlighted the fact that she had a nicely curved derriere under the bouncing bow of the back lacing of the waistcoat.
"Well then." The butler cleared his voice, turning to the guests, glancing at the paper on his hand. "I will call the names. Please proceed to the dining room in that order." He requested simply, starting the social gathering rituals.
Flattery and empty conversation. Old businesses, old acquaintances, fears and rivals. Lau was working the room with both the aura of the gang leader and opium dealer Mouser had known for years and the in-the-clouds persona he showed to the world. More often than not they mixed and matched so it was hard where the act was. The business rival, Mr Phelps proved once more his nervous nature by shivering like a leaf. RanMao used her charm onto the sober German much to the man's distress. The opera singer dazzled everyone with a smile and a bow. And the poor author in the end was simply ignored by the crowd and took refuge on the chairs placed around the room.
Mouser sighed and watched. Meyrin was carrying glasses with surprising deftness, Sebastian was doing the same. And she was holding onto the notepad and a growing list of requests and business meeting dates and all the little social things the boyo was deflecting and dodging.
Excluded Arthur watched the push and pull of the situation.
"Would you like a glass?" The butler walked by him, presenting the tray with a vague smile.
"Thanks…" The wordsmith accepted, dejected, looking up, suddenly startled. Wow… what beauty and ambience he has. He could appear in a book by Oscar Wilde… I see… when you become high class your servants also become high class. Really… Arthur sighed. Why am I here again… I want to go home…
"Is it all right if I sit next to you?" Someone asked.
"Of course…" Arthur said softly, still dismayed, jumping up startled when he noticed who asked. "Earl!" The young boy sat down, smiling slightly. By his side the black clad woman leaned discreetly against the wall, working on the ledgers that she carried. Her smile was not as faint or as seemingly benign as her counterpart's and held a mocking shade. Mischief.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" The Earl asked, seemingly amused by his startled embarrassment and lack of knowledge about what should be done with his arms and feet. "Please sit down Mr Wordsmith."
"I'm really not at a level where I can be called wordsmith yet." Arthur said, sighing, sitting down. "Please call me Arthur."
"I want to call you this, so isn't it all right?" the Earl replied, smiling. "Do you dislike it Mr Wordsmith?" he pressed, leaving no room to wiggle out. Arthur sighed, shaking his head.
"No… umm…" The writer hesitated a moment in the comfortable silence. The young woman had put the notebook away, pressed against her chest, leaning to hear something the Earl was telling her, consulting the notes and sighing, adding to them. "It may be rude to ask but why did you invite me?"
"Because I have read your work." Ciel Phantomhive admitted without embarrassment or pause, frowning when he saw the look of utter shock on the man's face. "What's wrong?"
"So… it was even read by people of your status…" Arthur babbled.
"It has nothing to do with social status."
"It is an enjoyable piece of writing." The woman spoke up, her voice low. Arthur looked at her. She smiled, a different expression that she had been wearing so far, tilting her head. "The Young Master still keeps the Christmas publication. You should be quite flattered. He does not praise easily or undeservedly."
Arthur blushed a bit, shaking his head.
"Besides my business partners are often normal people. Commoners as they say." The Earl continued, waving his disregard for status like a banner. "The main character of your work is very charming and witty. A new kind of character that hasn't been seen before." He returned to the published work easily, waiting for the creator's opinion.
"Really?" Arthur blushed further, surprised. Then he sighed and reclined a bit on the chair, looking wistful. "But it seems it was not very popular. I have no intention of writing him again."
The room was broken into groups now. The drunks, the ones that hunted food at the buffet, the death glarer's and the ones that held conversations. Mouser took note of each with slight unease. She could sympathize with the Wordsmith discomfort. Everyone had a secondary motive to be there except, perhaps, the poor man that was being targeted by the boyo's attention. Money was the most obvious one. Sebastian seemed to be taking note of the glares as well and possible motives for them.
"You'd think that the people of such an advanced country would acknowledge freshness of writing." The boyo was saying, critically.
"On the contrary, it was just a pretentious bit of writing done outside of my own speciality." The wordsmith was still trying to deflect the praise. Most likely ever since he had been published others had been poking at his work with those same words. "I'm swept aside by specialists in the field of writing, saying that my content is too light or that the way I use their tools is wrong." There it was. The public was merciless and would turn as soon as there was a juicy piece of gossip to justify it. Authors had been ruined by badly written pieces of criticism simply because it had originated from someone with title and wealth.
"It's fine if they're the ones saying it." The boyo pointed out. "Your target audience was the common people, right? So long as the people enjoy it it's fine." And that showed that he had not invested that much time looking into the literary world. Mouser snorted silently and took note of the missing number of booze bottles.
"I really wanted to write a historical novel but I've been turned down by countless companies saying that it wouldn't sell." Arthur had finally been coaxed into talking about his work, adjusting himself on the seat, turning towards the boyo, gesturing in explanation.
"Isn't it better to make those kinds of things after you've become famous?" The boyo asked, considering. "Since increasing your status means having money, reputation and contacts. If you've got the authority you're praised into the high heavens even though the writing might be rubbish... which is often the case…"
"Right! Exactly!" The conversation was interrupted by the heartfelt exclamation of the theatre producer. Mouser winced, the loudness of his voice slightly unexpected in that corner of the dinner party. He also had the scent of the beginning of getting well and good rat arsed. "I really can't stand for it! Even in our line of work the stubborn old causing problems have taken over." Theatre… well… he had several points there but that had a fishing hook coating. "I really can't allow it. Even an amateur can read a script out loud. Don't you think so?"
"Certainly." Ciel squeaked out, as startled as she and the Wordsmith had been. "The backgrounds and outfits used in your stage have been really exquisitely made." He salvaged the moment, using the last play he had seen or just quoting the critics. Mouser was unsure.
"Naturally someone like you who is leading the edge of fashion understands the difference." Keane continued, gesturing with the flute. "The work on the charity play was new and refreshing and it was praised not because it was the Earl's doing but because it had impact and was thought out." Mouser pressed her lips together and looked up. The boyo was fidgeting. "I'd love to have an understanding with the Earl someday. How about it?" He threw an arm around Ciel, smiling. "Patronage…"
"Well… tomorrow we could talk… Evelyn?" The boyo called, evading. The director's attention was drawn to her as the thief started to jot down an appointment and for a moment he blanched.
"Excuse me Miss…" He started, picking up Mouser's face suddenly between his palms, examining it. "Uncanny… I must ask… Is your name Crows?"
Mouser stepped back coldly, sighing, then returning to her default smirk.
"Well… yes. Evelyn Crown, Mr Keane." She curtsied with the introduction. "I believe all that surprise is because of Sophie Crows portrait, correct?"
"Yes, yes…" Keane started, recovered, his enthusiasm mounting.
"I told you to please stop it!" Miss Diaz scream cut through the room harshly, breaking the happy drunk mood that seemed to have been adopted by half of the guests. She was backing away from the German, gripping the lacy fabric of the dress's décolletage. The man was clearly drunk, already having lost all the solemnity and showing the altered state in the rumpled state of his clothing "To have you all over me with your disgusting hands…" She was complaining, clearly distressed, backing away. Mouser turned slightly, glancing around the room. Nobody looked like they were going to get in the way of the scene. From what was known about society most parties were attended in hopes there would be a scene to gossip about. "I can't take it anymore!"
"Whaa?" The man slurred as Mr Phelps squeaked close to a panic. "It's your fault for wearing those clothes." Mouser's eyes narrowed slightly, moving a bit. "You really want to be touched. Don't pretend you're sweet and innocent now." The boyo stood and began to walk, glancing at the thief that was twitching in annoyance. She scoffed, lowering her head slightly, understanding.
"Insolent jerk!" Irene shrieked, raising dainty lady hand and delivering the ultimate girly defence in the form of an open handed slap. It had much more impact than it would have had otherwise because the burly man was heavily sloshed. "Have some shame!" So he fell down still gripping the beer cup and the woman chastised him.
"Why you… like I'll let you talk to me like that!" the man wobbled to his feet, his arm drawn back, throwing the remnants of the beer towards the opera singer, suddenly, and to everyone's shock, intercepted by the small frame of the young lord. There were gasps, there were little sounds of disapproval. Arthur noticed the little chuckle the Phantomhive secretary allowed out while almost everyone else was watching, growing silent in shock as the Earl shook his head slightly, getting rid of some of the moisture clinging to his hair, one hard-looking eye opened not quite in anger but rather strict.
"This is a dining hall." He scolded the adults without a flinch as Miss Crows walked out of the dining hall, leisurely. "In any case that will be enough from both of you." He tapped his cane, making sure his point was properly conveyed.
Keane on the other hand was too incensed to leave it at the warning.
"You old pervert!" the director shouted, crossing the room, grabbing the nearest thing, a bottle. "Don't touch my woman so easily!" He threw the heavy object, enraged. A quick black shadow moved before the bottle made contact, gripping it, hopping onto a ladder. The butler… Arthur watched wide eyed. The secretary walked back into the room, carrying a plump towel, arching an eyebrow as the butler displayed finesse and skill, pouring wine into the pyramid of cups in a delicate waterfall, straightening with a theatrical flourish, making sure all attentions were on him as he presented the composition.
"It's a fantastic wine from the village of Purcari, in South-eastern Moldova." He showed the bottle, stepping down, placing it onto the table. "Ladies and Gentlemen please enjoy." He said, bowing smoothly, the incident thoroughly forgotten as the guests rushed towards the new attraction.
"Um… than…" Irene was trying to say as butler and master walked towards the secretary who extended the towel without comment.
"Are you all right young master?" The butler was confirming, patting the young man dry.
"Yes." The Earl dismissed the event, scoffing, making sure the party was still occurring without any other issues.
"You should change your clothes as well. It's not very befitting of an Earl to smell like a cheap tavern." The secretary said, picking up the ledger again. The earl shook his head.
"So when a solemn man gets some alcohol into him that's what he becomes? From the looks of it he's a repeat offender." The young man started to speak once more, this time in French. Arthur frowned, impressed. Miss Crows grimaced, looking away with a clear grumble, legs drawing a bit tightly together.
"Even so showing how little self-constraint one has… I wonder if he's just an immense fool or whether he knows no shame at all." The butler answered promptly. Finishing the straightening of the dishevelled clothes.
"Seems like the incurable type that would make a doctor hopeless." The young Earl joked with a straight face. Arthur couldn't help but to chuckle. The earl smiled, making a smooth shushing motion. Both the butler and the secretary glanced at each other, seemingly amused.
The party flowed smoothly after that incident until about eleven.
"Oh… has master Siemens fallen asleep already?" The Earl interrupted his conversation about the merits of the new kind of literature Arthur had produced glancing at the man that had fallen into a drunken stupor gripping a poor distressed Meyrin. RanMao didn't seem to mind but she was always hard to read. Ciel stood up and sighed, clearing his voice. "Sebastian. Take his Lordship to his room." He turned his attentions to the guests, smiling courteously. "I will retire also. I'm very sorry but for a child such as myself it's bed time already."
"You really do resemble her." Irene was saying. Mouser sighed with a nod. She had been dragged by singer and producer along to the billiard room and attended to the people there with her, mostly by pouring drinks and chatting with the lone woman seated on the armchair, serving as a sort of chaperone.
"So I have been told." The thief admitted. "Personally I would have no idea."
"There was a lot of talk about her and rumours." Yes. The lightskirt. And a bastard child to boot. And not surviving.
Mouser felt like she could not bear her ill will.
After all for an opera singer to carry out the pregnancy and, as much she had looked, never asking anything from the sire's family was odd. Most of the pregnancies amongst mistresses were baby-traps. Extortion.
All in all, with the documents, proof and rumours, it had seemed like her mother was going to keep and raise the child. Also there was the very well documented scene at the opera house where Sophie told Mouser's sire to take a long walk out a short pier, breaking the liaison when her belly was barely showing. Telling him she needed no money and no man. Witnesses said he had offered an outrageous amount of money for her to… take care of the issue. But whatever her plans death had cancelled it all. Hate or love the dead was a waste of time and mind.
"But her singing was beautiful. Do you sing Miss Crows?"
"No. I do believe the so praised voice my mother possessed was not in the blood." It had been though. She could sing. Never had reason to do it freely but she had been able to. And she had started to smoke to see if she could destroy every hint of it. Having nearly been taken to another kind of slavery in the opera house by the one-time lover of the headmistress was more than enough.
She had considered it.
It was on the same level of the perhaps that led orphanage kids to run off with the circus.
Then she asked Jack's opinion.
Mouser served a bit more tea to the opera singer, leaning when passing the saucer. The woman stared at her chest for a moment. Mouser followed her glance and chuckled, picking up the silver chain and the white gold ring shaped like a feather curling around ones' finger, slipping it back into the shirt. The actress said nothing of it, sipping the Ceylon blend tea.
Faced with the situation of that company the young thief had decided she was better off in the orphanage buying her peace with murder and trinkets. If a man was in charge a man was the problem. So she arranged for a permanent separation of said lover. He did say he was fond of castrati…
"Miss Crows…" the woman started meekly, dragging Mouser's attention away from the little spark of memory.
"Yes?" the thief asked politely, regaining her helpful look.
Irene was watching the game forlornly as the men moved around the table and analysed the cue and balls.
"I regret that I wasn't able to apologise to his lordship or thank the butler…"
"If you are unable to do so tomorrow I would be happy to pass on your sentiments." Mouser answered formally before frowning as shouts echoed through the corridors, making everyone in the room look spooked and agree to check. She glanced at the clock before going along.
"What's with all this racket?" Grey asked, heading the group that came from the billiard room, crossing paths with ones that had been drinking, finding Sebastian and Meyrin in the corridor, standing in front of Siemen's door, the maid looking spooked and worried and Sebastian sighing, resigned, giving her a pitcher of water.
"Let's break the door." The butler said carefully. He seemed to feel that something beyond it was suspicious. He kicked the door open easily, cracking the latch lock, revealing the interior of the room, lit only by the flickering flames of the fireplace. The portly man was on the armchair, blood staining his shirt.
Meyrin shrieked, shocked. Keane, looking shocked, embrace Irene who looked about ready to pass out. Lau and RanMao were calm as ever. Grey had a detached expression, the first serious one he cracked from the moment Mouser had seen him.
"Mr Phelps!" Mr Woodley shouted when the young man was the one to faint. Shouts started to echo.
"Excuse me!" Arthur gasped, crossing the room in easy, wide steps, being the only doctor. "He's dead!" he stated after checking the vitals.
Sebastian looked thoughtful. Mouser snorted and stared at the corpse. Troublesome.