One Hell of a Mongrel

Chapter One

        The bitterly cold air stung Grell's nose and lungs as he strutted down the nearly empty streets of London, but he failed to complain. His mind was too tied up in how lovely his red attire looked in comparison to the piles of white snow that lined the cobblestone sidewalk, the full moon's rays causing the shades of scarlet to practically glow over the ice as he walked. His heels clicked against the stones with each step, breaking the suffocating silence of the night. All of the dreary mortals were tucked away out of sight, snug in their pathetic little homes, done with their day of middle class manual labor. It disappointed Grell that no one was present to see his beautiful display of red on white, but he was content in not having to smell them. He always found that the mortals who worked for their money reeked of sweat and exhaustion. A disgusting scent indeed.

        Typically, the crimson haired Reaper would be spending this kind of time outside the windows of the Phantomhive Estate, admiring his significant other, Sebastian, from afar, but tonight he had work to do. William had threatened to shave all of Grell's luscious locks if he didn't reap a soul, so, needless to say, Grell obliged, sacrificing his evening to the business of being a Shinigami. He use to genuinely enjoy his line of work, but lately he'd been dreadfully bored. There were no messes to play in, no bloody massacres or vicious murders, so he'd been evading William in hopes of not being assigned souls to reap. Death just wasn't what it use to be.

        He was nearing the scene of his assignment when he heard a familiar giggle, causing him to stop and glance into the alley from which it had emitted. A long haired coffin-maker was the sound's source, dawning a creepy grin as he waltzed out of the shadows to greet Grell.

        "Undertaker...?" Grell said, a twinge of curiousity curling the tone of his voice as the mortician's name rolled off his tongue. Undertaker's grin grew slightly as he tilted his head and nodded in an assuring way.

        "Evening, Mister Sutcliff. Out on business, eh?" he asked, a soft snicker hissing between his smiling teeth. His eyes, as always, were hidden under those long, gray bangs, but his expression was obviously one of amusement.

        Grell sighed, examining his hand as though he could see his nails through his glove, "Unfortunately, yes." He dramatically tossed his scarlet locks over his shoulder, looking at the funeral director over the rims of his glasses, "What in the world are YOU doing out so late?"

        Undertaker snickered again. Then giggled. Then laughed. Then, finally, began to cackle, sending a eery chill up Grell's spine. Undertaker abruptly stopped his laughter, leaning closer to the tranny and cooing, "Just out for a little stroll, Mister Sutcliff. Had a hunch you'd be out tonight and thought I'd surprise you...~" He suddenly erupted into cackles again, his sleeve-covered hands clutching his stomach in laughter pains. Once his comical thoughts let him fill his lungs again, he let out a breathy sigh, "I won't be your only surprise tonight, I can promise you that.."

        "What's that suppose to-," Grell began to question, but Undertaker had begun to walk off. "Hey, what other surprise is there? You shouldn't just leave a lady hanging like that!" he called, but Undertaker was already gone around the corner. Grell let out a huffy sigh, stamping his foot slightly, then shrugged. "That old man is crazy anyways. Handsome. But crazy.I'm sure it was nonsense..." He checked his pocketwatch and went on his way, making sure not to be late.