"You may enter." The monk-like cultist that stood guard at the gates of the old, burned-down and badly rebuilt monetary smiled kindly, bowing his head at the four newcomers that had asked permission to join the ranks. "May your soul be purified." He finished as some sort of goodbye as they entered and the gate was closed.
"Isn't an infiltration supposed to be difficult?" the boyo grumbled as they walked down the half-dirt-half-cobbled path. Mouser sniggered, adjusting her cap, making the shadow cover her eyes and half her face. Inside the guards were gone, lax in their duties. But that meant very little.
"Not always." She pointed out, hands inside the pockets, playing with the small handle of a derringer. "Sometimes it's the easiest part of the job." A small group carrying produce stopped and greeted them with bright smiles and a bow, moving on then in a smooth, peaceful rhythm.
"Impeccable smiles, all of them, aren't they…" Ciel stated, eye narrowed.
"Rather instructive for you, Young Master." Sebastian took the chance to poke fun at the lack of social varnish the boyo showed, carefully keeping both Mouser and the boyo between him and Grell. One never knew if a blow or a hug would be coming from the red way.
"Don't be ridiculous." As expected the Earl of Phantomhive prickled.
"I've seen him plaster a few nice ones lately thanks to Joker." Mouser ruffled his hair with a chuckle.
"These are fake smiles." The boyo pointed out, trying to steer the conversation.
"Not fake per se boyo..." Mouser agreed to take the bait, to stop the derailing. "They are… blissfully empty. Like when mother's tell a lady 'be nice, be good, smile always'. It's just the mask you slap on before going out the door." They also told that to whores and to the orphans when they had to be presented to customers, potential adopters and the benefactors. But the boyo might not be able to relate as well to that comparison.
The chapel was small but carefully restored, the large wooden pews still pointing towards the apse where the services would be conducted. The usual symbolism was gone, replaced by the images of angels. Angels in flight, angels with open wings, angels with closed wings. Chubby angels. Avenging angels. Blondes, blondes everywhere. Quite… well it was a tacky paradise of blooming winged people that looked girlier than Grell.
Mouser lit a cigarette looking up at the stained glass the boyo was staring at, unimpressed.
A simple symbol was depicted there. Two parallel circles, equidistant, connected by a curved line underneath.
"What is that?" The boyo asked quietly. Sebastian looked up was well.
"An old alchemical symbol." The demon elucidated after some thought. "It means to purify." Which meant it was applied to 'things', materials. It was telling.
"Layin' it kinda thick ain't they…" the thief grumbled and popped down on one of the pews, placing her boots on the one in front of her, lounging. After a moment the killed the butt of the cigarette against the old wood as a trio of boys in different "religious" outfits, mostly white with red sashes came running, playing.
"Good evening." One of them called when he noticed that they were not alone, stopping what seemed to be a game of tag. They looked young. No more than six, seven. Nine at most.
"Today was a wonderful day again, don't you think?" one of them said, hopping around merrily.
"Oh, they are so cute." Grell observed, chuckling. "I have no interest in kids though." Grell added with nonchalance and a small smile. Mouser scoffed a bit, changing her position, looking up. The place looked in a rather good condition for such a recent cult.
"Good evening Mr Unclean." One of the kids greeted as their running came to a stop near the red clad Grim Reaper. "You really are dirty through and through." Mouser held back her laughter, pressing lips together, a slightly chocked hacking sound escaping despite her efforts.
"What?!" Grell did not manage to keep any composure, voice dropping to a growl. The kids didn't understand the sudden change.
"What happened Mr Unclean?" another one asked with big innocent eyes. "Are you not feeling well?" A plausible explanation. Grell was having none of it though. A closed fist slammed in annoyance against the hat and the head underneath, creating a frumpy shape and a crying kid.
"Brat!" Grell growled, deeply annoyed. "Leave the Unclean out of it!"
"I was touched by an Unclean!" The kid was shouting and crying in a panic.
Mouser's eyes narrowed. So they were indoctrinating them young. No news there.
"You must be cleansed! You must be cleansed!" The others were shouting, sharing the fear, starting to run back towards the side doors.
"Why you little…" Still infuriated Grell gave chase.
"Ah we're being chased by an Unclean!" that was not helping their situation but it was clear the Grim Reaper was also not taking the chase that seriously.
Mouser adjusted her position a bit as a woman in the cult's clothing came out of the door, allowing the children to scurry in, contemplating them with a little simple chuckle and a perfectly sweet smile.
"After a certain age all people are considered impure." She said softly as Grell stopped on her tracks, straightening and gaining a more mature look as she examined the new arrival.
"Not me. I was tainted even before I was born." Mouser smiled from her place, tilting her head sweetly, lounging lazily.
"Mouser…" Sebastian called, benignly, patting her head as he approached the new target.
"I just had to say it." The thief pouted, smirking as the woman looked confused for the barest of moments. "I am ever so devastated about that." She batted eyelashes and lit another cigarette nonchalantly.
"Judging by your clothes you are all recent converts." She came to that conclusion, the only one that made sense to her and nodded reassuringly. "Don't worry. Once initiated you will be purified by the teachings of the founder."
"This place…" the boyo whispered in distaste.
"They assume you can't live with your own taint." Mouser smirked. "Forgetting is not the same as overcoming." And overcoming did not mean 'purify'. You could jump that fence in two ways.
"Impure? That is strange to hear." Sebastian began talking, smoothly, softly, approaching thoughtfully. "Such a beautiful lady such as yourself could not possibly be tainted."
"Poppet." Mouser called with a small smirk, waving her hand, trailing smoke. "Sit here and enjoy the show."
Grell looked from the unfolding scene to the thief, arching one eyebrow as Sebastian approached.
"I know close to nothing about this religious society." Sebastian was saying, approaching the confused young lady after the flattery, leaning, using his height and presence. "Could you please explain it to me in detail?"
"Of course… but then what are you…" in a smooth movement he slammed his hand down on the door, near her head, distracting her from the line of thought that should not be pursued, smiling, showing the white palm of the glove.
"A bug." He blew it away with a smile before leaning down, invading her space, the blush covering her cheeks and eyes widening, letting out a trembling sigh as the demons smiled politely and touched her cheek, tilting her head. "You will explain it to me won't you?"
"I'll become unclean!" the nun-cultist girl was screaming to the night loudly enough to cross the stone walls. It was actually rather impressive of her.
"That's why it's called gettin' down and dirty." The thief reasoned as she flipped the page, following the plot of a murdered duchess who had given her jewels to the maid that was now fleeing, with the sparkly items and the knowledge of the evil plot, towards the house of the love of her mistress to ask him for revenge in love's name. No doubt she would arrive to her destination and fall in love with the rake... then conflict because she had loved the mistress and woe what was she doing riding the bloke.
"So he can use even that approach." The boyo glanced back, unamused. And slightly appalled it would seem.
"You didn't think he got to me by saying tally-ho and hop to it?" Mouser asked. Oh, there it was. Humping the lover already. This what… two pages after a pleasingly gory murder. Quite a fast paced little chit there…
"No. I am pretty sure he got you by offering money." The boyo retorted with a light smirk.
Mouser laughed then glanced at the shed, winking then at the boyo.
"You are the one who pays me. By that logic I should be shagging you."
This time Ciel did not avoid the sickened grimace. Mouser laughed again, returning to her book, ruffling his hair.
Meanwhile Grell was fidgeting and stomping her feet.
"She is definitely going into my doomed to die list." The Grim Reaper stated after another particularly loud cry, the annoyance clear, scribbling it down furiously on a side ledger.
"Leave her be poppet and check your Death Note." Mouser called, flipping the page. The plot was moving again. Please revenge, no revenge… oh look it was rival the fiend who killed her. Revenge it is.
"Evee?" Grell asked in a slight appreciative purr after a quick look into the pages of the black-bound book where the actual list of souls she was scheduled to collect waited.
Mouser, her head still tilted down, looked up beneath her eyebrows with a little catty grin. She had no plans to do a thing to the poor girl. But the chances of anyone escaping that cult with their lives seemed fairly faint.
"The Doomsday Book records the taint of those who lived a long life." The young woman named Matilda was saying as she combed her hair, completely tousled, still blushing. Sebastian was as impeccable as ever. And Mouser was in a slightly compromising situation, seated on Grell's lap and being petted in the Grim Reaper's small campaign to make Sebastian take notice. It was not like he was going to come to the rescue and it was not like Mouser could not free herself. But the Grim Reaper was a tad emotional, and snarly, so it was best to play the peacekeeping role. "The Founder purifies us through it, erasing the record." She continued softly, the tone of a believer dripping heavily over the words. "He also says that through it we can see the past and the future."
"Memory manipulation?" Mouser looked um under Grell's hand. The Grim Reaper pursed her lips, eyes narrowed behind the glasses and nodded. If it was indeed one of the stolen records what was going on was grave.
"The future, he says." Sebastian caught that tail, trying to drag more out of the woman.
"Yes. However the only ones who learn about that are the children chosen for the Heaven's Choir." She admitted, lowering her eyes dreamily.
"Heaven's Choir? Are they singing hymns or something?" The boyo asked, also thinking about the implications with the information he had been told so far.
"The nuances of it are probably a bit different from simple singing." The cultist blushed with a smile, looking away. "They let their beautiful voices be heard from the Founder's bedroom."
"Or something?" Mouser asked with a smirk.
"I agree. Something." Grell answered in disgust.
"Mouser." Sebastian called, turning, frowning a bit, regaining his calm façade almost immediately.
"Infiltrate the pervert's den. Got it." Mouser answered smoothly, sighting.
"Why are you sitting there?" The demon asked rather slowly.
"Poppet is trying to make you jealous and I am small enough to carry around." The thief answered as she stood and left.
The rooftops of the old place were not in the best condition but they weren't as bad as some of the London's poorer districts. It was manageable. The Founder's room was in the tower that, fittingly, dominated the area, overlooking all the little indoctrinated lambs sleeping areas, working areas and… well praying areas maybe. They didn't seem to do much else.
Mouser began to move. To reach the tower she could just hop a few roofs and climb to one of those bi windows. From there it should be rather straightforward. It was dark, quiet and most of the cultists were in bed. One could assume their Founder was doing the same. Most likely with some kiddos as company... There was a sudden smooth rustle behind her. Mouser's hands barely got to her blades, half startled, half weary, as she turned when a sharp pain struck her back, making her breath catch, stop. Scent of brunt feathers… the thief thought as her step faltered and she fell, sliding down the tiles towards the edge of the building, gritting her teeth, sharpened nails digging into the clay, stopping herself from going over the edge.
"There is very little human frailty left in you for that to kill." One, no… two familiar voices said before the blood loss caused by a razor-sharp white feather through the heart made her blackout.
