A/N: Okay, we know this is late. Really late. Sorry x1000. ;) But... we managed to come up with something anyway. Enjoy! Read and review!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Undertaker stepped out from behind the shrubbery, his tone musical as he sauntered over to me. His signature leer was not any less disconcerting than the time Sebastian stood in my room while I slept, supposedly not watching me. Guarding his coveted meal from predators.
After I figured this out, of course, I made him stand outside my door.
"Well, well, look at what we have here… The Earl is burning his fiancée's present! How amusing!"
"Who invited you—I mean oh, uh, welcome Undertaker."
An odd tingly sensation crawled up my spine. I think it was fear, however it also may have been a caterpillar.
Whatever the hell it was, I did not like it.
"Surely, you won't tell anyone, yes?" I said feverishly, trying not to seem desperate but failing miserably. Morbid thoughts of Mother-in-law-from-hell creeping though my bedroom window in the middle of the night with a rifle had set in. Or worse…wait, what would be worse than murder.
More dancing with Lizzy.
Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.
"Why, of course not, my dear Earl!" the gray-haired shinigami replied sweetly, the end of his cracked lips curving into some twisted parody of a smile. "If you can show me a first-rate laugh, that is."
He clasped his hand over my mouth and I tried not to gag at the taste of his flesh. Yuck.
"No, you must be the one to do it this time. An Earl cannot rely on his butler for eternity, can he?"
Psh. What does he know? Of course I can. That's who I am.
Without Sebastian, I am a master without a servant, a king without a pawn, a boy without a demon…erm, a door without a doorknob, a piece of toast without lightly spread jam—
No, that did not make sense! I was losing it!
"I am not a piece of toast!" I shouted angrily to the heavens. They were mocking me—I know it!
Good God, I really am becoming paranoid.
My random outburst caused the Undertaker to stare down at me, and I knew his eyes were wide from beneath his crooked hat.
"You're going have to do better than that to make me laugh, Earl, although, I appreciate the effort."
He thumped me on the back. "Good try, lad. Good try."
I blinked. Was I funny? No one ever laughed when I was trying to be. Like all those times I would make a joke and everyone would just gawk at me as if I had said something obscene or disturbing.
Then again, they were all just a bunch of idiots.
I cannot blame them for not understanding my sophisticated sense of humor.
I rolled up my sleeves. Thankfully, no one was around to watch me about to make fool of myself.
I made the Undertaker laugh, no, cackle with hysterics. …Do not ask me what I had to do. I do not wish to recall it. It joins the vault with all my other repressed memories, like one when I was kidnapped by that Druitt creep in a dress and was almost—
Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.
"Well, Earl," The Undertaker, finally recovering from his obnoxious guffawing and wiping a tear from his concealed his eyes. "Are you ready for an adventure?"
"No. I want this party to end, a strawberry parfait, a warm bath, and to retire to bed."
"Pfft, your preference is hardly important. Now, come along, boy! Yup! Yup!"
The Undertaker slapped my butt and pushed me along with his cane. I have never felt so violated. Well, there was that one time Lizzy—erm, never mind. Forget it.
Happy thoughts, Ciel. Happy thoughts.
Lizzy going mute. Aunt Frances spontaneously combusting. Sebastian getting struck with a chainsaw. Shooting Trancy in the face with my revolver.
I have never felt more utterly confused in my life.
Shoot me now.
On second thought, give me the bloody gun. I'll do it myself.
I was at the fair with the Undertaker posing as my father. I am still not entirely sure how people see any resemblance between us, but I probably shouldn't bother asking. He had a painfully tight grip on my shoulder; I could feel his fingernails digging into my skin, but my fidgeting only made it worse, I daresay.
And if things could get any less comfortable, I was tricked into wearing a sailor boy outfit. The Undertaker claimed it was only to disguise myself, as my eye patch completed the outfit, but I have my own suspicions.
Despite it all, only one thought was going through my mind.
WHY AM I HERE?
As I was silently pleading for some sort of miraculous escape plan to come to me, an ugly looking man in suspenders was moving towards me at an alarmingly quick pace.
"Would you like some cotton candy, little girl—"
I kicked him in the shin, Undertaker cackled with glee, losing his grip, and I took the opportunity to run.
And I ran. Let me tell you. I ran faster than I have run in my entire miserable twelve years of life. I even managed to pass a toddler riding her tricycle.
Alright, I'm lying. She passed me quite a while ago. Technically, she ran me over, but that's not important. As of this moment, I am currently hiding behind a bush. There is a dog here hiding with me. It is an ugly, sniveling, pathetic creature with only three legs.
I have named it Sebastian.
Speaking of which—
"WHERE ARE YOU?" I again screamed into the heavens, but by this point, it was apparent that no one up there had any interest in me. Oh wait, my deal with that bastard meant…
Damn it. Maybe I was more suited for hell.
Then again, I'm sure that's where most of my acquaintances will inevitably end up: Trancy, Druitt, Lao, Trancy again etc.
Should I be comforted?
Should I be repulsed?
Should I seek forgiveness for my sins?
Nah…Who am I kidding? That requires a ridiculously high amount effort for someone like me.
I mean, let's be honest.
I am far too amazing to apologize to anyone.
Anyway, Sebastian better hurry up and rescue me already. I bet he hasn't even cleaned the pastry table. It has become so tedious waiting around for him all of the time. Besides, the sky is darkening, my stomach is growling, and now I smell strongly of urine.
It's the dog, Sebastian II. Not me. I swear on Sebastian I's grave.
Yes, yes, I know he's not dead. Can you blame someone for thinking preliminarily? I am only stating the inevitable.
Oh, not again. Stupid dog.