When she had arrived at the Manor, the young master had given her a new life in the form of two lenses, connected by a thin frame.
They blurred her vision, and with it, the lines of reality. She no longer was a ruthless sniper—instead, she could pretend to be a bubbly (albeit clumsy) maid with an irritatingly shrill voice.
And even when the glasses were placed atop her head, she knew her joyful self was only a flick of the wrist away. She could come back to it as soon as the job was done.
Yet that day, as she and Finny neared the gates of the manor, her glasses were nowhere to be seen.
The act was over, and her mask had been left behind.
What need did she have for it now?
As she put an arm around a weeping Finny, Mey-Rin took note of the falling tears. They rolled down her cheeks, silently, just as the two rolled out of their old home.
They would meet up with the remaining servants when this last job would be completed. She would find a new mask then.
Another one. This was to be the fourteenth.
The others would understand.
All of them were Phantomhive servants, and all of them wore masks.
Some whose were more pronounced than others'.
Quickly making his way to the window, Snake observed two distinct figures—that of a young woman and a boy—heading toward the gates.
Mey-Rin and Finny.
Leaving so willingly, after having been ordered to do so only once.
"That's it," hissed Goethe from his perch on Snake's shoulder. "They know you're getting rid of them."
Snake continued to watch as the figures left the manor's grounds, Mey-Rin's arm coiling around Finny's shaking shoulders. He could see her own posture sag as they passed by the entrance, and her step slow drastically, almost coming to a halt.
He pressed his forehead against the glass, mouthing a silent good-bye to his fellow servants.
Trailing his fingers across the window sill, he listened to his reptilian friend as he chastised him—and occasionally stopped to huff or flick his tail. Snake wasn't bothered by his vehement rants, though; he knew Goethe could be a bit difficult to deal with at times, not unlike Ciel.
Speaking of the young master…
Snake still had to prepare for their leaving (he knew, from prior outings with the Phantomhive household, that the chauffeurs could easily become vexed if they waited for even a few minutes), since he had neglected to do so last night. Indeed, Snake had been busy trying to find patterns in the Undertaker's choice of location, although he ended up unable to pinpoint an exact place.
The only thing he succeeded in finding out was that, more often than not, the Undertaker ended up conducting his misdeeds in areas brimming with people. London, of course, was the main candidate, but even so, that didn't help much; it was a gargantuan city, and as such, overflowing with individuals.
Within an hour, Ciel and Snake had readied themselves for their permanent departure, having come up with outfits that hopefully looked like street garb, filled their pockets with the essentials (bringing even the smallest of suitcases could arouse a lot of suspicion) and gotten themselves a coach. Whilst performing all those tasks, Snake still found time to remind Ciel that the Dispatch would keep its eyes peeled and that (considering the many eyes the reaper organization had) a lot of eyes would be trying to track him down. Each time, Ciel's response had been a half-hearted nod and a blank stare.
"Clearly," Bronte told the footman, "something is bothering him."
"And clearly, you are very perceptive," he said, smiling. Bronte didn't respond, but Snake noticed the subtle straightening of her back, and the happy gleam shining in her eyes. He laughed as a scowling Emily demanded an explanation for the lack of praise for her.
Not even in the coach was the footman's grin replaced with a concerned countenance, for he knew that if Ciel wished to tell him what the reason for his distracted demeanor was, he would. He couldn't possibly press him for such information.
Plus, the chauffeur had given him a strange—almost frightened—look, and he didn't want to appear any more bizarre by frowning.
In the end, he needn't have worried.
"Do you miss them?"
"The other servants, you mean?" When his master gave no response, Snake nodded. "Yeah. Of course I do."
"Alright," he paused. "I think I do too. Who knew I'd miss those imbeciles?" Ciel let out a forced chuckle, lowering his head so he was staring straight at his hands. His fidgeting hands.
"And I…did the right thing, sending them away, didn't I?"
This is what's been bothering you, huh?
"We couldn't have them to with us, and leaving them at the Manor would've left them at the mercy of the Dispatch. That being the case, I guess you did make the right choice."
The young earl nodded, clearing his throat. Snake waited for him to say something, but when he didn't, he assumed he wanted him to change the subject.
So he did. Or rather, he let Oscar do it for him.
"We're heading to London now, so I've been wondering: are we going to have any time to go shop—" Snake didn't finish translating the sentence.
Really, when had his snakes become so keen on embarrassing him?
A/N: Okay, so for this to work in later chapters, the events in this story would have to take place after the Weston College Arc, which means that the Emerald Witch Arc (and all the ones following it) never really happened here. I should have probably mentioned this at the very beginning though, so…um…oops?