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First Impressions	By : Lykomancer Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 2176 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler is not mine. The characters are not mine. This is a fanwork, and I make no profit from it.

Chapter List
- 1-First Impressions
- 1
“What did you say!? How dare you! How dare you say such things of a lady! Eh?!”

Undertaker assumed the snarled questions fell somewhere in the sphere of the hypothetical since the infuriated “lady” in question seemed more intent on throttling the life out of him than in letting him gain the breath to speak. He wasn’t particularly concerned about breathing, of course, though she didn’t know that, and perhaps he could concede that he’d not been exactly polite in his initial assessment of her body— yes, maybe even rude...though he would also admit that he’d never intended her to overhear his first and rather unimpressed opinion of her.

(And considering her usage of feminine pronouns despite the obviously male body, he guessed that he actually could have outraged her quite a bit further, and only chance had kept him from topping his first inadvertent faux pas with yet another; if she insisted that she was female regardless of all evidence indicating otherwise, then so be it. Undertaker was not particularly judgmental of others' idiosyncrasies.)

His hat succumbed to gravity and floated to the floor as the livid red-head shoved her way out of the coffin, cool fingers still clamped firmly around his throat. Stars danced across his field of vision.

Of course, none of his past clients had ever taken issue with the things he said of them, complimentary or otherwise, as they were quite past the point of caring what anyone thought of them. Corpses were most excellent company, being both infinitely patient and exceedingly forgiving. It was usually impossible to make social gaffes among the dead.

Today must be the exception that proved the rule.

“A beautiful harbinger of death such as myself— ‘not even average’!? Do you even know who I am? I’ve met demons more gentlemanly than you, you mannerless, classless...”

Harbinger of death?

Gentlemanly demons?

Oh. The pieces clicked into place immediately. It was only a few months past that the young Earl and company had stopped in to inquire about some particularly brutal murders...

Oh, yes, that explained a bit.

Quite a lot actually.

And in a demented sort of way, it was almost rather…

Humorous.

Undertaker choked out a guttural giggle.

“You think this is funny!?” Pointed teeth snapped shut on that last word like they wanted to rip out its jugular. “What. Are. You. Laughing at!?” Each word was punctuated with another violent shake.

As a matter of fact...

The world faded away.

Some while later, it started to fade back in.

Undertaker was perplexed for a moment as to why he felt chilled, as though his shop had suddenly acquired a cool breeze that seemed to cut right through his robes.

Robes?

He opened his eyes and peered out from under his long fringe of hair.

It seemed that his strange and interesting guest had, for some reason entirely all her own, stripped off all his clothes while he was blacked out— right down to his boots— and left him in one of his finer coffins.

Nude.

Ah.

Well, that was rather unexpected.

Not problematic exactly, but definitely unexpected.

He doubted somehow that, since he had insulted her so grievously, she would have just strangled him into brief unconsciousness and stolen his clothes before leaving him resting oh-so comfortably. No, that seemed anti-climactic, and more likely, she was just out of sight and possibly planning something...probably something the lines of “revenge”, or better, “punishment”. That could be very interesting, especially if she kept surprising him with her unpredictable patterns of behavior.

“You—“ Undertaker’s voice creaked higher than usual, and he had to cough before continuing. His throat burned pleasantly. “You left me some very beautiful bodies this last winter. Very beautiful, indeed. Such lovely cuts they had! Yes, yes. So cruel, so precise...!” He paused, lips stretching in a wide smile. “Jack the Ripper. Or should I say Grell Sutcliff?”

Grell peered around the edge of the coffin, her absinthe-colored eyes flashing, anger still visibly smoldering in their depths. “Hmph! It’s too late for flattery now. You need to learn a lesson against speaking so carelessly to a death god and a lady.” She ducked down out of view and a metallic boom rang through the store as she moved some object closer.

Very, very interesting.

Undertaker grinned. Ah, the delight of uncertainty! The pleasure of novelty! A chill ran down his spine, either from the cold temperature of the room or else from the sweet, sweet thrill of anticipation. He couldn’t wait to reach the punchline of this particular absurd joke the universe was playing on him. He was willing to bet it was going to knock him dead.

“Huh,” Grell said as she straightened back up. “At least you have the decency to lie there and not try anything stupid. Not like you could get very far like that, anyway, without a single stitch left on." She flicked loose strands of scarlet hair back over her shoulder in an absent, yet still somehow haughty, gesture.

Is that why she'd stripped him? To prevent him from running out in the street? The idea was just too much. Undertaker cackled wildly, unable to bite back the laughter that'd been threatening to bubble up any longer. He writhed against the red satin lining of the coffin in helpless hilarity.

Grell narrowed her eyes briefly, mouth dropping open as if to speak again...then her own lips twitched as she looked at him, her gaze lingering a moment at his groin. One fine brow arched upward. “Oh? You like this?” she exclaimed, tone colored with equal measure of disdain and amusement. “My, my! Rude and perverted.”

A faint pink stained her cheeks, belying her sharp words, and with seeming reluctance she pulled her attention back up to his grinning face. “And unkempt,” she added in a dark purr, drawing a finger along the length of Undertaker’s braid, her knuckle lightly brushing against his cheek. “Such a vile, shameless man! Besides, didn’t I already tell you it was too late for flattery?”

“Mmm.” Undertaker hummed a cheerful note of agreement, still chuckling. It seemed she didn’t entirely mind that he wasn’t resisting his so-called punishment. “That you did.”

Grell’s hand twisted fiercely in his silver mane, her mock coyness evaporating in a heartbeat. She leaned in close.

“Now then… You're going to take this, and you're going to like it.”

Undertaker managed to wrangle in his good humor long enough to answer politely. "As the lady insists."
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First Impressions