Hints of yaoi in this chapter...
Two days later...
"Good Morning, Grell Sutcliffe," William T. Spears greeted monotonously as he approached his subordinate. Still quite a few feet away he didn't notice the preoccupied look on his face, and grimaced somewhat when the red reaper did not respond. He had a solemn look on his face as he stared down at his nails, they had been freshly filed and polished, and to William T. Spears this was entirely unprofessional. As the Prison Director he always put on a rather professional facade. His hair was combed back, his skin clean, glasses clean, scythe at his side, and a decent suit that gave the physical vibe of 'lets get down to business.' Grell always added his own personal taste to this professional facade, much like the other reapers managing the Labyrinth. William did not mind this as long as Grell got his work done, and he often did. His lack of proper decorum though often irritated him, and today was one of those days.
"Grell Sutcliffe," he repeated again, slamming the profile of Sebastian Michaelis down on the desk, earning Grell's attention. Grell looked...Different today. He wasn't wearing make-up, not even lipstick! His false eyelashes hadn't even been placed on his eyelids. His hair lacked style and his thin face held a deep sense of fatigue, "Are you well?"
"Oh..." Grell yawned, stretching, "Just tired. I woke up late, hence why I'm not wearing make-up and look awful...What is it William?"
He even sounded tired. William sighed and pushed his glasses up, "Sebastian Michaelis is being executed in an hour, I came to supervise,"
"Supervise?" Grell's heart jumped in his chest, "You never supervise executions..."
Grell frowned, "Afraid I won't reap him right?"
"Didn't you read his profile?" William asked, Grell leaned back in his chair, fiddling with a pencil between his fingers.
"Nope," Grell shrugged, smiling ever-so slightly, "Such a handsome man-his worst crime is never looking at me the way he looked at all the women he seduced,"
William rolled his eyes, opening the profile, "You know very well you must recite their crimes before the execution,"
"What the hell should that matter? What are they, five? They know what they did?" he twirled the tip of the pencil into his fingertip, a small dot of graphite left in its wake. William sighed, rubbing his temples, obviously his subordinate was under the weather.
"He is condemned for the crime of taking Ciel Phantomhive's soul. The details are vague but he was also involved in the mysterious disappearance of Jim Macken's soul and aiding a fallen angel in human sacrifice," William once again pushed his glasses up.
"Got it," Grell mumbled, breathing in deeply, "Can you go now? I had a rather rough night,"
"It's not my fault if you lie awake in a cottage doing...unprofessional...things," William stumbled a bit over his words, "You will still perform this execution, and fill out the paper work on time,"
"Like I've ever backed down from an execution," Grell rolled his eyes, rubbing his temples, "Oh, my head hurts,"
He turned to the hallway, glaring through the door, "I told Eric to return with my coffee ten minutes ago..."
William shook his head, "One hour, I suggest you get into the proper uniform. If that demon's blood is cursed and you're not properly shielded, there's no telling what could happen,"
With that he left. William was quite annoying sometimes. Why in all the vast power of the Catacombs did he have to watch this demon die? And why was he still delved into the investigation? The case of Sebastian Michaelis had been settled long ago, ironically with not much evidence or clear leads. In the end, the reapers knew that Ciel Phantomhive's soul had been devoured by his demon butler and the soul of Jim Macken had been involved. They found a few leads into that blond's soul, but they lead to dead ends. Perhaps out of sheer curiosity William wanted to see Sebastian's Cinematic Record.
"Here you go," Eric Slingby placed a cup of coffee, extra cream, on the table.
"What took you so long?" Grell snapped.
"Wow, don't get your panties in a bunch," the blond scolded somewhat lazily. Grell sighed and took the cup of coffee, swilling it down in a few large gulps, "Wow, don't drown,"
"Shut up Eric," Grell wiped his mouth, "What were you doing that took you almost fifteen minutes to get me some coffee? It takes five minutes, tops!"
"Alan needed my help," Eric told him. Grell sighed and sat back in his chair, blushing somewhat.
"Ah, true love," he cooed, so reminded of the silver-haired reaper that visited him that night, "How it makes time lapse-especially in the throes of passion,"
He turned back to Eric, giving him the profile on their soon-to-be executed inmate, "Give this to Alan, he should be in his office. Tell him this demon's being executed today, he'll know where to put it. Have Ronald meet me, in his execution attire. You too, since the Thorns of Death Alan too weak to do the job right,"
Eric grimaced at him somewhat but nodded, walking out of the room. Grell felt some twinge of sympathy for Alan, it must've been a terrible disease. He was a rather sensible fellow who was mild-mannered, and organized. He was the heart of paper-work around here, always making sure that no flawed paperwork made it to William. He knew that Eric and Alan had a 'thing' for each other. They never really expressed it but it was there, they were close. So much closer than Grell could see, yet they dared not express it. Speaking of expression, he popped open the pocket-watch he had confiscated from Sebastian Michaelis upon his arrest, and checked the time. Fifty-three minutes left to the execution, maybe he should do his make-up? He always wore his finest cosmetics on an execution day! Especially his eye make-up, he always took so much pride in how precise he set his color and lining, darkening his eyes was all too easy.
He decided against it though considering the events to come, despite his often use of clay and honey facial scrubs he knew his medical staff wasn't going to wash his face properly. His pride was his skin, after all, the only thing he held dearer that the eyes he so prided upon! He wasn't going to let blemishes ruin it. He stood up and turned to the small wardrobe in his office, opening it to a suit of black padding was revealed. This suit of armor had been developed about twenty years ago some time after the Catacombs had been delved into and renovated for the purpose of this prison. The last place a demon wanted to end up was in the Labyrinth, so demons under the press of execution often performed counter-curses.
Demons could not use their magic in the Labyrinth, but their blood provided a blank, neutral space for curses. They were cast just before entering the Catacombs to assure that it was its strongest. When the blood of a demon splattered on a shinigami it could result in such a curse. That had been Alan's case, twenty-one years ago he had been in charge of executions. His sympathy for souls had been his weakness and when he executed his first demon the immortal's blood splattered on his unprotected skin. Nothing happened at first but slowly he grew ill, the Thorns had taken hold. Every soul he reaped resulted in another Thorn, and slowly they'd strangle the life out of him. He had to stop, hence he now had a desk job. That was the curse the demon left him with, his final redemption. The trick to the whole charade was that the blood only had one moment to activate the curse, before the soul was drained completely. Unfortunately for Alan, that moment hadn't passed swiftly enough to render the curse powerless.
Grell's fingertips gently grazed the black suit, he removed a small vile from his pocket. One drop was left, he had to wear the suit or William would be suspicious. Undertaker instructed him to make the dysfunction of the suit look like an accident. Even a single tear could open him up to the demon's cursed blood! He materialized his death scythe and gently nicked the clothe of the chest, he was wearing a black undershirt so William wouldn't notice. He then set his scythe down and opened the vile, dripping the clear liquid on metal blades. Undertaker had told him this formula was made from a demon's blank blood, that he had used a reaper's ability with Cinematic Records to manipulate it. They would see a soul be drained; memories Sebastian had forgotten. They were ripping out parts of his memory and emotion, but not his soul. This potion basically instructed his death scythe to rip, not reap. Temporarily paralyzed he'd be misconstrued for the dead. In his body...He wasn't quite sure. Sebastian's blood would awaken that reaction; a demon's twisted magic and a reaper's sway over Cinematic Records...How the mortician did it was beyond him!
In the back of his mind, he felt that this was a ruse. That he was being tricked. These doubts were being overpowered by the blush on his cheeks, by memory of the few previous nights that lingered in his heart. They hadn't made love, but Grell had never been touched so lovingly, or so softly. The mortician was a beautiful man, his hair was long and sleek and his eyes-oh his eyes! His eyes needn't any make-up to make them beautiful. They possessed an eerie truth and unlimited energy-the very thought of him was eccentric enough to drive Grell into the torture chamber for some chastisement. And when he kissed him, slid those fingers up down his body, and gently caressed him the red reaper knew he had found hope within these hopeless walls. He could not be redeemed through the blood of a demon, but a God most certainly.
"Sutcliffe-senpai?" Ronald knocked on his office's door, "Sen-pai?"
"I'll be out in a minute Ronald!" Grell called, pausing momentarily, "I spilled some coffee and I'm cleaning it up. Wouldn't want to get my suit stained, now would I~? A lady must look her best for the man she's about to destory!"
"It'll have to be washed in a while anyways Sutcliffe-senpai," Ronald sighed, leaning on the door and scolding his superior playfully, "Aw, are you doing your make-up? I told you, I canceled,"
"Ronny!" Grell growled behind the door, "Don't you dare insult a lady, I am not in the mood!"
"Sorry Sutcliffe-senpai," Ronald cracked his neck, "Spears-senpai is just being 'punctual.' Five minutes until we have to bring Sebastian Michaelis to the Execution Plot,"
"I know dammit!" Grell growled, pulling the suit over his almost bare skin (safe for the garments that covered his loins and torso.) He adjusted the padding and then tied up his custom made shoes. That at least he could keep on. With a sigh he turned to the mirror, he had to fix his hair in a bun and pin it down. There was a mask on this suit and part of it covered the back of head. He had to cover his hair, only his eyes could show. He hoped they wouldn't show the plot boiling in his soul.
Damn, there was no time left for him to shroud them with make-up.