SDSC Feb 3 1889 Red Valentine William Ch 1
The rating on Shinigami Dispatch Society Chronicles is M. The Red Valentine segment is T-13+ to M. Please be advised.
Author's Note: I know it's taken a long time for me to get to this. I have been working on this "chapter" for Valentine's Day for two years now. As you can probably judge by the title, it is based off the Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji Red Valentine Seiyu Special that was a live action event held with the voice actors performing a special holiday piece. I even tried to get it done for White Day (March 14th) this year. Neither of those happened. This 'chapter", when it was finished, came out to be 60 pages! I'm going to break it up so it's about 10 pages per sub-chapter.
I still don't have the best start to this time-travelling fan-fiction, but I do have things written. Given what's going on in the world, it's time to share it. May it give you something to pleasantly spend a few of your hours on. I'll keep working on the rest of it.
You'll have to read it by the dates. It's the only way I'll get the tale out, but I hope that it does please you. Feedback is welcome. My betas have been busy, so it may not be as polished as I'd like, but I did try to do at least 1 clean up pass.
My friend, StarlitScythe, is writing Undertaker's tale. So if you want REAL insight into what he thinks and feels, you will want to read her version. We are writing this entire story from different characters' POV (Point-of-View). If we are able, we will try to get up Ronald Knox's version as well as our third author dropped out. For now, please enjoy the story. There are liner notes at the end that will give insight into the research we've done and possibly help you with your own.
SDSC Sunday February 3, 1889 Red Valentine-William
The sky was clear and the shade of pale blue you only got on a winter's day. Were the air equally clear, William would have been pleased. Instead, it stank of unwashed human bodies and the acrid smell of reptile skin. How the snake handler kept them from sliding into torpor, William hardly knew. Snakes had never been high on his list of animals he liked. That some of the ones at the Noah's Ark Circus were venomous didn't improve his opinion of them.
Freckles ran past shouting at another cast member for stealing her breakfast. William pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses and sighed. He could no more turn off his ears than he could his nose. How anyone could be upset over the slop that is served here is beyond me, he thought. Usually he went over early and got a few items and just cooked them himself. Given how people were sitting around stuffing themselves, that option was no longer available.
Unfortunately, setting up the tents in a new location yesterday disrupted his sleep and made him awaken later than usual. There would be no slow-roasting of vegetables under the coals of the fire this morning. What with waking up late, he had little appetite yet anyway. He could wait for tea break later on to break his fast. Lifting his eyes, he wished he were back in his apartment in Purgatory. At least there I could properly shower all the stench of the human world off, and have tea. Lovely, glorious, hot tea, the kind that ran empires. With that at hand I could feel right with the world again, he thought, continuing his inner monologue. How can anyone survive without tea? he wondered. Here they served that coffee sludge such as Mr. Knox endorsed. Pretty much anything brown in color worked for these folks here, he suspected. Mud might be offered some morning. He wouldn't put it past them.
While his fellow cast members discussed the division of the remnants of their meal, his ears picked up a different sound-the whirring of wings. The distinct whistle was not that of some ordinary rock pigeon or common dove, but rather that of Dispatch's preferred psychopomp, the passenger pigeon. That it wasn't a native to the British Isles helped make it easier to identify. Since the entire species was slated to die at the hands of humans, the Higher Ups deemed it appropriate to keep some as messengers in Purgatory.
These creatures, being mostly spirit, were smarter and more self-aware than some of their counterparts. Weren't they created using the same method as we were? William wondered. I wish it would have made some of my coworkers smarter as well. Then maybe they could be competent enough that I wouldn't be stuck doing field work. Again. It could also be efforts by the breeding program, his brain countered, but he really didn't know. Those who handled the lofts weren't part of his domain. They fell under the mail-carrier's sphere, so he interacted with them very rarely for work purposes.
That didn't stop him from occasionally visiting the lofts on the roof of London Dispatch after an extremely long day. The sound of the birds cooing and fluttering was soothing as he sat on the bench of the rooftop garden closest to where they were kept. Thus the sound was familiar to him. "What could Upper Management want of me now?" he muttered to himself, "Am I not busy enough?" Hopefully Alan was handling things all right in his absence. A frown came to his lips. Could something have happened to Alan? What else could it possibly be? Anxious, he carefully took out his Deathscythe, an object that those here thought of as merely a very expensive and personalized set of extendable pruning shears.
"How much do they cost?" Dagger had asked him, eyes round and shining.
"More than your life is worth," William replied in his coldest tones. No one questioned him about it again. That he used them in his high wire act further cemented that the item was his and not to be touched. No one messed with a performer's tools here.
The bird circled as William turned the gripping end upward and worked the mechanism to lengthen the haft. His thoughts came back to Alan and his own worries. While William trusted the young Reaper quite well, the man was just that-young, at least by Reaper terms. William hadn't had enough time to fully prepare Alan for the duties required of a manager, but he hoped to continue the training soon. A move to management would likely stave off the Thorns of Death that were slowly getting worse with every excursion Alan made into the field. Hence why William took on the duty of investigating this Circus himself. With Grell away serving out his punishment for having an unapproved Death Scythe, someone had to handle the Circus issue and he wanted Erik to keep an eye on his younger partner so he didn't try to go out reaping anyway. William cared about all those under his jurisdiction. He wanted to see them get Promoted not Demoted. This was their last chance to affect their fates. Promotion meant they could finally go to Heaven. Even so, he didn't wish Alan to Promote in such an awful and painful way.
Rotating his scythe, he adjusted the length so that the tip was just a handbreadth higher than the walls of the tent. The pigeon circled around and after a moment of uncertain fluttering, landed cleanly on the blunt tip. William tried to watch the reactions of those around him peripherally, but his near-sightedness mostly allowed him to pick up movement at the edges. He tried not to let even his staff know how bad his vision was without his glasses. "Take care of your spectacles," was the mantra he told new trainees regularly, and with reason. Most of the troupe would probably not even see the animal at all as only those close to death or attuned to spirits would really notice.
Lowering his scythe with care, he just reached up to wrap his hand around the bird when he heard Freckles behind him. "You know, there are good eating on those things." Her voice held its usual mischievous, cheerful tone.
"It's not a turtle," he said, knowing the reference would be lost on her. The author of the book he read hadn't been born yet. It was one of the benefits of being on the Other Side.
"What does that mean? I can see that it's not a turtle. Turtles don't fly," Freckles replied, her eyes narrowing as she planted her feet and crossed her arms. William needed to get rid of her or to get away from her. How to go about it? His unnaturally green eyes met her determined blue one. All of the other headliners of this circus sported a terrible loss or some deformity that cast them outside the circle of normal society. What would they think of him when he had lost his very life? While he could sympathize with such pain as they had suffered, this was his job.
He put the emotion away.
These people were his targets. The rules didn't prohibit contact with them in advance though…so what about the truth? Upper Management hadn't come down on him for doing so when he was on his final exam, so he saw no reason to change his methods now. Who were they going to tell?
Holding her gaze with a silent glare, he retracted his scythe and put it away with his free hand. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his glasses with his empty hand and leaned down towards the young girl. "This," he said hoisting the slightly confused pigeon, "is a messenger bird. They take years to train. You don't eat them."
"Are you having a laugh on me?" Freckles asked. The girl looked very androgynous when not done up in her stage persona as Doll.
Giving a snort of disdain, he replied, "I assure you, I do not joke." To emphasize his point, he removed his glove with his teeth, and placed it back in his hand in a smooth motion. Holding the glove pressed against his palm with his last two fingers, he took out the message on the bird's foot with a practiced motion.
"Core! You weren't jokin'! I've never seen a real one before!" she cried as she craned her head sideways to get a better look at the bird. The pigeon, for its part, bobbed its head about looking back at her from the ungainly position on its back. The dull blue-grey head and rusty orange breast shone in the winter sunlight.
"As I said, I never joke." So saying, he adjusted his hold on the bird and then flung it upward, giving it enough momentum that it could spread its wings and take over powering its own flight.
"Aww! I wasn't done lookin' at it!" Freckles cried in disappointment. Heedless of her desires, William focused on the foreboding scrap of paper before him. Unrolling the message, he blinked in surprise at the contents, nearly rocking back on his feet.
Attn: Grell Sutcliff on probation raiding chocolate shops human world. Stop it.
Really? Not only was he stuck being in the field because of Grell's incompetence, NOW he had to clean up after that daft Reaper's antics as well? This was intolerable. William's hand went back to pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on, the familiar one that always came with dealing with Grell.
"So what's it say?" Freckles was prompting him. Oh yes, her. He had to deal with these people first. Thank goodness it was a Sunday.
"My former employers have had an unexpected problem arise and are asking me to deal with it," William told her.
"What d'ya mean "deal with it"? I thought you left those blokes when you left your job-whatever it was," Freckles said eying him skeptically, the mop of her brown hair covering her damaged left eye. So young to be dying, he thought. At least she was vibrant in her living. Would that be a comfort in the Afterlife she was garnering with her actions? It was a question he was denied knowing the answer to himself.
"My job was being the manager of the local Shinigami Dispatch branch. Unfortunately, one of my underlings is apparently giving my replacement difficulties. They need me to put him in line," he told her.
"What about the Circus? What about your act?" her distress was not feigned. The Noah's Ark Circus was life for these people. Unfortunately, they were death for many others, and soon it would come to call for them. He'd already had to clean up after them, unseen by human eyes, as he reaped the souls of their victims. Well, at least he handled the ones near him. He had to leave the ones that were carried off by the troupe to Carina and Eric. He cursed Grell again silently and wondered about the "extra help" Upper Management sent over to aid with their shortage of Reapers.
A brief shake of his head brought him back to the present. "I'll be back by this evening, tomorrow at the latest. You have to drum up customers anyway. So you'll go advertise while I handle my issues and return."
He turned on his heel and started walking away from her through the fairway of tents. "Wait, what do I tell the others?" she called after him.
"Say that I had to go to church," he said. The rules of Dispatch were his dogma now and given the head of their Order, it was close enough.
Reaching the city proper, William considered where to begin. People passed him on the street barely registering his presence. Some glanced at him, more for his lack of a top hat than any real recognition of him as a person. His lack of a heavy outer coat in the still chill weather registered less with those parting around him than his faux pas of not wearing a proper hat. Any hat for that matter. That was Londoners for you.
"Papers! Read all about it! Chocolate Massacre Continues! Get your papers here!" called a shrill voiced young lad. It took William a moment to spot the short boy in the press of people near the crossroads. His brown coat and pants left more than an inch of skin bared to the open wind. A growth spurt must have hit the child just after the holidays and made his formerly adequate clothing too short for his new, longer frame. William sympathized. He could recall the days when he was a boy and shooting up tall in sudden bursts that seemed to happen overnight. His mother had a hard time letting out the hem of his pants and jacket to try and get them to last out the season until his father returned from his tour with the navy and they could afford to get him new clothes.
The ragged and patched cap on the tangle of unevenly cut brown hair suggested the boy had to trade to even get the basics for the job he held. While Reapers were not allowed to directly change the fates of the living, no harm would be caused by William buying a single paper from the child. His own industry and the charity of those in the area would decide the boy's outcome. That he had such a growth spurt spoke in favor of the boy's survival. In the meantime, William would be able to find out where Grell had already struck in order to extrapolate the next likely target. While Scotland Yard might be baffled, William had been around Grell long enough to be able to predict his moves, even when his coworker thought he was being subtle.
Well, except for that whole business with Madame Red. Had William not been tied up teaching mandatory classes, classes which Grell was also supposed to be teaching and steadily ignored, not even that would have escaped his gaze. The entire business still left a bitter taste in his mouth, almost as bitter as chocolate.
Chocolate. Finding an alley that sported less filth than most, partially due to the lack of windows through most of it, William edged himself out of the press of bodies and opened the newspaper. The chocolate thefts weren't front page news. That honor went to the new city of Birmingham that had gained the status of becoming a city without having a cathedral built first. How times change, he thought. However, it was in bold type on the second page. Chocolate Massacre Continues: Who is this bold thief? the headline read.
A quick scan gave William all the information he needed. Time to catch the thief in the act.
After scouting out the most likely remaining shops, William believed the flashiest one with no less than four shop windows split up by two doorways would be Grell's next target. His coworker couldn't resist flamboyance. Having appeared to have gotten away with the crimes thus far would drive the normally bold Reaper to new heights of arrogance. William banked on it.
Taking up a spot across the way, it wasn't long after the workers went home that a dim light, like that of a storm lantern set up facing away from the street, appeared. It could be a guardsman or a lone accountant, much like he himself had been, but William doubted it. Even so, he had to be sure before he took action. The widows on either side of the large plate glass ones with their fancy script were done with smaller panes and thicker, less even glass. They would better hide his presence than the larger, clearer ones. He made the one closest to the corner his haunt. The one he chose seemed to have a slight crack on the right side of the miniature pane that made up the larger window. It would allow him to hear what was going on inside. There was some amount of shuffling and the sound of fabric brushing against itself along with some pan banging before a familiar voice reached his ears.
"This time, I think I've got it. How was I to know that you didn't make these types of chocolates with water? I've only made the drink version at my apartment. The second time I burned them. What a mess that was! Third time must be the charm, t-h-o-u-g-h. Ahh~ how could I miss with the recipes of this shop on hand? I've had to sneak out during my resting hours to make them, but it's going to be com-plete-ly worth it! Only about two more weeks to sleep and it'll be Va-lenti-ne's death! Ever since the love we shared that night, it's only been misunderstandings when I've crossed his path. But with this chocolate, there's nothing to worry about. From a merely physical relationship, we'll take it one step further. Mmm! And it's all because it's almost Valen-tine's! The day when the women can push the men down…all the way down to the floor." Grell's voice echoed out to the spot where William stood with his back to the window, making him merely a shadow among shadows. Who was he going on about now? William desperately hoped Grell wasn't doing all of this for him! He wasn't sure how Upper Management would view the matter if Grell tried to drag his name into it.
Concerned, he continued to listen. Hopefully the question would be solved soon. The uneven ground let him feel every rock and pebble through the soles of his regulation leather shoes.
"Hmmmm-n. Okay, almost finished! Only a few more and they'll be done. Just you wait, Sebas-chan. I'll take you to a romantic wor-ld like you've never experienced before!" Grell cried out loudly before beginning to hum. Okay, that was enough. It wasn't even HIM Grell was going on about this time, but that bloody demon. He couldn't decide which was worse. That there was a demon wandering about the English countryside grated on his nerves. That Grell often had romantic thoughts towards him, left him feeling out of his depth for other reasons. Even so, the demon won out as it affected William's job, and therefore his chance of redemption much more personally. For him, the young Lord Phantomhive was a ledger imbalance waiting to happen.
No matter. His job was to put a halt to Grell's plans which he was more than happy to do. No good could come of Grell getting mixed up with a demon. It was like pouring petrol on a fire to put it out. Keeping the two separated would insure his coworker had at least an even chance of saving his own soul.
Using his scythe, William quickly cut the window pane free from its moorings and shoved it hard. The glass flew inward, flipping as it went. William did not wait for it to hit. Shooting his scythe out, he anchored the gripping end against the floor briefly and sprang into the room. The ceiling didn't allow for him to vault all the way across it, so he pressed the lever on his Deathscythe and used the resulting extension to run along the wall above the countertops just as the glass hit the floor. He didn't often use such abilities, but it didn't mean he didn't have them.
Grell had relied upon natural ability for their class in practical skills. William had paid attention and actually learned the techniques. It was often the thing that gave him an edge in a fight with Grell.
Landing smoothly in a crouch, William raised the hand he had out for balance to make sure his glasses were secure as he rose to his feet. He was soon upon the red-haired Reaper who was still reacting to the sound of the breaking glass. After emitting a series of complicated noises of surprise, Grell sweetly called, "Mm, who is it?" Apparently, the perpetrator thought he could escape by playing innocent.
William stepped from the shadows.
"What are you doing there, Dispatch Officer Grell Sutcliff?" he demanded sternly, anger lacing the words as he leveled his Deathscythe at the truant.
A look of bewildered startlement crossed Grell's face. Wait, was that a hint of embarrassment? Was he actually blushing? William allowed his Shinigami eyes to brighten to counteract the dimness in the room. Yes, it was a blush. A look of guilt crossed Grell's features and he broke off eye contact while pushing his index fingertips together in a very feminine gesture.
"Uhh, I-I was just making chocolates…" Grell said trailing off. The evidence of the crime all over his regulation black gloves. The countertop was a mess. How much chocolate could you possibly need to make as small a batch as this? William wondered.
Shaking his head William said, "And you attacked sweet shops for just that reason? Really. Grim Reapers becoming directly involved in the affairs of the human world is against regulations. You're well-prepared for the consequences, I suppose?" He could feel his eyes burning with anger now. The phosphorescence created phantom will-of-the-wisps at the edges of his vision. Surely Grell could see them now, as well.
Grell's eyes came back up to him and his eyes widened. Throwing his hands up before him as if to ward off the daggers of William's gaze, Grell cried out, "Ah! Wait, Will!" and for once, William found himself actually pausing. What answer could Grell possibly give for his crimes?
The other Reaper dropped his hands and looked away. In a lower, softer tone he added, "Will…" He started and then stopped himself. Whatever Grell started to say was replaced with "…it's because you're always playing hard to get, anyway."
So it was about him after all. Tired and hungry as he already was, he didn't want to hear another word. His reputation at Dispatch was already in jeopardy with this flakey Reaper constantly mucking up. He couldn't afford to have Grell telling the Higher Up's how all of this was actually all because of him. This needed to stop. To spare them both a potentially worse punishment than was already being delivered, he lashed out with his scythe.
"AH! Stop that already...!" Grell began, but got no further as William's scythe struck close to his temple and he dropped to the floor. At first, William thought Grell was just playing with him, trying to avoid further punishment. When a toe prod failed to get a response, he started to worry.
"Dispatch Officer Grell Sutcliff, I order you to get up!" He gave Grell a good kick to the stomach, but the other Reaper gave no response. The breath whooshed out of him and a new one was never drawn.
Now William began to sweat.
That Grell wasn't breathing wasn't in itself a death sentence. Reapers had the ability to stop breathing and still function just fine. They had to go down into lightless mines and underwater for their retrievals, so such gifts existed for their sakes. However, a dead Reaper looked the same as a knocked-out one that wasn't breathing.
Surely he hadn't struck Grell hard enough to cause a Promotion?
Looking around in a panic, William felt the weight of guilt crash down on him. If he had killed Grell when all this sat upon the man's soul...oh dear. While William had no great love for Grell, he did have a deep and honest care for him and wanted him to escape the fate dealt to them all.
Although they had never addressed it directly, William had heard the rumors back in school about Grell. How he got thrown out of his ethics class for attacking another Shinigami who suicided to follow Grell into the Afterlife. Grell had flown at the other fellow in a rage, screaming about how he had ruined Grell's one chance to be made immortal in the memory of his fans. That's how he ended up getting transferred into William's class, and how they wound up getting paired together for their final exam.
Ever since William beat the hot-headed Reaper during their exam over a hundred years ago, Grell had come to hero-worship him. Why, William could never understand fully. Yet, for all his posturing, Grell seemed to be searching for someone to watch over and protect him. That was something William accepted and tried to do. He aimed to get them all out of Purgatory via Promotion. Then he didn't care what they did with their Afterlives-as long as he didn't have to deal with them anymore. He knew who he longed to meet up with again. Hopefully they would all find happiness in that Upper Realm of the heavens.
Unless he needlessly and thoughtlessly struck his compatriot down here. Some dark chill of foreboding crawled jaggedly up his back and lodged in his shoulders. No, Grell couldn't be dead. His cinematic record would play, wouldn't it?
Normally, the man would just get up, no matter how severe the blow. It was part of their natures. Far more extreme things than this failed to take out the sturdy bodies of Grim Reapers, and yet-it was a Deathscythe that delivered the blow. Could it have made the difference?
For a moment, William was tempted to try and call forth Grell's cinematic record. That quickly got quelled. William neither wanted to see what Grell's private thoughts and life contained, nor to risk having the second blow finish the job if Grell were on the brink of actually dying. Still, he had to do something about the problem!
Wracking his brain, only one answer came to mind. Undertaker. He had been their teacher for their Ethics class and knew more about dying, death, and surviving death than anyone else William knew. First, he had to clean things up here.
Gathering the chocolates together in a box lined with wax paper, he tucked the evidence into the left breast pocket of his jacket. While he couldn't restore what had been used, he speedily tidied up the space and restored the kitchen to rights to the best of his ability.
Finished at last, he turned to address the bigger problem in the room.
Leaning down, he put a shoulder under Grell's arm and hoisted the unconscious Reaper to his feet. "Ugh. You're going to owe ME an apology letter for this, Grell. Not just the Higher Ups. As if I don't have enough to deal with already. You'd better not die on me. Do you understand, Sutcliff?"
With that he teleported to the spire closest to Undertaker's shop.
Liner notes:
A special thank you to Onakugirl who allowed us to know this event existed and provided a basic translation and notes about the various segments.
We worked to figure out exactly when this would occur in the timeline. Grell/Grelle says "only about 10 more sleeps until Valentine's Day". She's giving an approximation there. We know that the main events in Circus happen on February 8-9, 1889. Grelle just gets out of punishment at that time. This gave us fits because she is still in punishment if she goes out during this period. Finally, we realized that was EXACTLY what she did. Seeing the live-action theater play "His Butler, Friendship" cemented for us that Grelle obeys her punishment when she feels like it or when someone is watching her. Otherwise, Grelle does what she wants!
William had to take over for Grell/Grelle in the field and the observation period, at least for the final exam, is 1 month ahead of the people dying. This is seen in The Story of Will the Reaper in the OVA's of the second season of the anime. Thus, we decided that cautious William likely left out from Dispatch by January 8-9, 1889. This is important given what happens with Eric and Alan during "The Most Beautiful Death in the World" the live-action stage play. The pair appeared in a panel when the German Reapers were talking in the manga, so we may assume that to be cannon. The Red Valentine mentions that "It's Sunday". So the Sunday closest to "10 days before Valentine's" turned out to be February 4, 1889. That's how we triangulated the placement of this piece into the timeline.
Although they are not in the Red Valentine piece, we will get to see Eric and Alan in later chapters of the Shinigami Dispatch Society Chronicles (SDSC).
Anyway, I believe we learn that Grelle had a month-long punishment in Circus. Since Will covered for her in the field, he had to take that entire month off to do so. Back at Dispatch, we believe that Alan has been left in charge and Eric is using the time with William AND Grelle out of the way to collect souls to save Alan. The ledgers start to show discrepancies, but it's assumed that it's because he's new to the job. Everyone offers to help and gives encouragement, especially his mentor Eric who's causing the imbalance. That means there's not enough people to really keep an eye on Grelle. Thus she is free to gallivant off and create merry havoc where she will.
We will be using both forms of Grelle's name as this particular piece will be a turning point and explain some of the history of the character. Please bear with us. We will give you insights into Grelle's history based off the clothing she's worn in the anime and things she has said that tie into the history of the times.
Birds are often psychopomps, guides for the dead. Passenger pigeons were once numerous enough to blot out the noonday sun when they flew. Huge masses of birds could be seen as psychopomps, especially if they landed and waited outside the homes of the dying. I've always had a fondness for these birds that were driven extinct by us and thought they could enjoy a new life with the Grim Reapers.
The turtle-This is a reference to Terry Pratchett's "Small Gods". While I doubt William would have chosen it of his own accord, he would definitely understand the author's dry humor and find some wisdom in the cautionary tale about godhood.
The chocolate shop mentioned was drawn from an actual chocolate shop that existed at the time. You'll figure out which one later. We learned a lot about chocolate, how popular it was, and even tried a variety that was said to be based on a Victorian Era recipe for hot chocolate. It's always best to go off of a photograph or a map where you can.
One of the foods we know they ate during Circus was potatoes. Traditionally, they could be wrapped in foil and cooked over or in a fire, but lacking even that, they can be shoved whole into the hot coals to bake . That is the method William uses in this story. It's a popular trick when camping in the woods.
If you can experience some authentic food of the periods you are writing, then do so. Take time to look up what foods were actually like in the time periods you want to write. One of the glaring examples out there is "gruel". That wasn't always some sort of lumpy cereal grain. If you are writing about an area that is having a shortage of flour, they probably aren't eating cereal grains in other formats, either. Postulate the future based on what trends there are and knowledge we have now.
I hope you enjoy our tale. Do give feedback and ask questions about the characters. We may be able to give you answers from their POV if you like. ;) (Just use the character's name in the question as if you were asking them, and we'll try to address to it through their eyes.)
May this day and every day see you well!