#the whitechapel copycat arc

[itsmemateinnit]

Whitechapel series 4 press pack

Sally Woodward Gentle – Executive Producer

What can we expect from the new series?

In the first two series we had copycat killings, in the last series we moved onto three original gothic crimes, with the team using history to help solve the cases. This series has moved on slightly again as we go into the mystery of Whitechapel, the grim history.

In terms of the three stories, the first one centres around people who are being killed in the way women used to be tried as witches. The middle one starts off with a flayed face and in the third one we find people have been dragged into the sewers and disembowelled.

For this series each character has there own demon to face, is that something new?

The characters have always had their own arcs, but in this series there is more for them to play with. Because if Whitechapel really is a place where terrible things happen, what impact does that have on the characters in the centre of it? Are they being manipulated or is this something that’s coming out of their own psyche? So they all have quite a substantial journey to go on.

Can we touch on Chandler’s demons?

He lost his father when he was very young, and the impact of that is revealed as we go across the series. What we know about Chandler is that he’s obsessive, he’s driven but he also cares deeply. The fact that he’s never brought a suspect in alive, never been seen to give justice to the victims, is something that is really torturing him in this series.

And Miles?

As we found out in the second series his father was a criminal and it’s a path Miles could have gone down, but he is in fact a deeply moral human being with a very very good core. And as much as he rubbed up against Chandler at the beginning he loves Chandler and he loves his team. He feels Chandler’s pain as much as the rest of them, but unlike Chandler who is an atheist, Miles is Catholic and has got some faith. He’s got a sense that evil actually exists. So when you set the two against each other you’ve got quite a good clash.

Do you think the show has found its feet now in terms of the three part format?

I really like the format, over two hours you’ve got the space to tell quite a juicy story and you’ve also got space for characters. If you’re trying to tell one story in forty-six minutes you don’t have a lot of space for character, or really to be sophisticated in your storytelling. Whitechapel is so full of historical references and you’ve got twists and turns and you’ve got to introduce suspects and then catch them and you’ve got to kill a lot of people and fit in six character arcs so I think the six parts works really nicely.

Would you say Whitechapel has more of a supernatural feel to it in this series?

We don’t think there’s much that is really scary on telly at the moment so we’d like Whitechapel to be properly scary. It isn’t supernatural but what we do play with this season is the idea that if Whitechapel is the centre of all of these terrible crimes, and unsolved historical murders, what is it about this place in particular that sucks in evil spirits and evil people. We play psychologically with that in terms of our core characters’ superstitions and fears and insecurities.

Do you think this series is more psychologically scary than gory?

I think it’s both actually! I’ve got quite a high gore threshold but I think it is quite gruesome. At the same time we want the fear to impact our characters because if the characters feel scared then hopefully we’ll feel scared. I’d like it to be properly scary and I hope we achieve it.

Can we talk about Steve Pemberton writing the middle story?

Ben and Caroline have written all of the previous Whitechapel episodes and it is a tall order to write six hours so we thought it might be nice to have someone else write a story. Steve is really the natural choice for it, he loves the show and he knows the tone and what works for the characters. Plus his work on Psychoville and League of Gentleman is just genius. And he can do that black comedy, he can do the gore, so we’re thrilled that he wrote the story and we think its brilliant.

Did you think that it might affect the group dynamic, having Steve write some of the series?

We did think hard about it, whether it would affect the group dynamic, it’s potentially putting him in a hard position, writing the lines for his fellow actors. But we spoke to Steve and rest of the cast and everybody thought it was a brilliant idea because he’s so popular and he really gets it.

What was the writing process like for Steve?

Steve’s written some of Benidorm before but I don’t think he’d written a straight television hour, but we really didn’t go through many drafts because he just got it. The trickiest part was that he had to start writing the middle story before Caroline and Ben had written the first and last episodes. So he had to sort of write the story and put place holders in for the character arcs and then go back to them and join the dots. So technically that was probably the most difficult part.

Because the stories are based on real historical cases, do you think there’s a longevity in that or do you think there’s a finite amount of stories to use?

I don’t think it is finite because the crimes now are entirely original. Then we go back and look at relevant cases, and sadly there are an infinite number of crimes, and not just crimes but oddities in human nature that have gone on throughout history. Like the fear that created the hunt for witches or why people have been flayed in the past, so its not just crimes its gothic ideas and horror genres. We want to be original each time and the hardest thing is what the motivation is for the current crime in each story, more than the four or five historical cases that we then lace through each episode.

Is that what comes first then, the current crime and then finding the historical cases to fit?

We tend to think about territories that we like. For example we liked cannibalism, we nearly did that in the last series, so it tends to be territories first then Ben and Caroline think about crimes and then we also try to think about how the crimes resonate with our characters arcs because we like there to be some kind of connection in there as well.

Is there anything Whitechapel won’t do?

There are certain things we don’t do. Beyond the original Ripper case we don’t do sex crimes against women. It’s a personal choice as above everything else we’re an entertaining format, we’re not looking to make a comment on society, we’re trying to be hugely entertaining and sex crimes against women aren’t entertaining and they shouldn’t be. And we don’t kill children…to date.

What makes Whitechapel so popular?

I think it’s the combination of a lot of things. The relationship between Rupert Penry- Jones and Phil Davis - the fact that they’re two brilliant actors and friends off screen means you get this magical chemistry. I think it looks great, the stories are entertaining, people like being thrilled by the gore factor and people like to learn, its is full of interesting, slightly morbid facts, and it’s funny!

What has it been like working with a new director this series?

This is the first time we’ve had the same director doing two parts. Jon did the last story of season three, and now he’s doing the first and last part of this series, he’s brilliant, we love working with him, and he loves Whitechapel. We do encourage there to be differences between directors, there is a house style, we have our Whitechapel moments, but they interpret the material differently. Daniel (who directs story two) is new, and Australian, so he doesn’t know ITV or Steve Pemberton or his reputation so he’s reacting in a very pure way to the material which is fantastic, and he definitely gets it, especially the humour in Steve’s scripts.

What are your favourite moment of the show so far?

All I can say is zombies visit Whitechapel so…watch out. I very much like a character called Annie Chapman, who gets pulled down a manhole into the sewers after she’s delivered her meals-on-wheels. I love all the moments between Chandler and Miles. There are some fantastic moments between Kent and Mansell and brilliant Riley and Buchan scenes. And there are always brilliant sections with Claire Rushbrook playing Dr Llewellyn whose character has a stomach of steel but in reality she’s very squeamish.

Were there any challenges while filming this series?

No not really. The only challenge is making each series better than the last.

Is there pressure now to up the anti after each episode?

There’s no pressure from ITV, there’s only the pressure we put on ourselves. There is absolutely no point in just doing the same stuff, it gets boring and lazy and so you do want to keep challenging yourself, and the actors want to be challenged, they want to be doing new things. We also want to reward our loyal viewers by making it even better each time.

Does the new series work as stand alone episodes or do you need to have followed the last three series to get the most out of it?

You can absolutely join us at any point. You will be rewarded if you are a loyal viewer because we have developed those character relationships, but the stories are so strong you can drop in at any point and absolutely get it.

[thestarsofthenight]

Chapter 5: A Fine Laugh is the Best Medicine

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

Pairings: mainly Ciel Phantomhive/Elizabeth Midford

Summary: “There is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man won an election,” Francis had said, ending the Midfords four-year-long stay in the USA. Three days later, Elizabeth lives in gloomy London, wishing to be back in sunny LA, when a murder case suddenly turns her life upside down, entangling her with Ciel Phantomhive, his duty to the crown, and his school-intern detective agency…

Navigation: Chapter Index

“I love people who make me laugh. I honestly think it’s the thing I like most, to laugh. It cures a multitude of ills. It’s probably the most important thing in a person.”

― Audrey Hepburn

London, England, United Kingdom – November 2016

That was not what Elizabeth had awaited.

After seeing the look on Ciel’s face and hearing his ominous words, she had braced herself to go to a very strange place – like something resembling a witch’s house. But now, she and the others were standing in front of St Bartholomew’s Hospital – the oldest hospital in Great Britain, having been founded in 1123.

“I thought that we would go somewhere odd,” Elizabeth told Ciel while they entered the building through the back door.

“The place is not odd,” he answered her, not looking at her but keeping his eyes in front of him. “The person we are about to meet, however, is.”

They headed downstairs, and people who saw them only glanced at them before continuing to where they had to go. The hospital staff had indeed got used to seeing a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy wandering around these halls, flanked by a weirdly mixed group of adults. If anyone of them was surprised to see Elizabeth, they did a magnificent job not to show it.

Elizabeth followed Ciel and the others into Barts’ morgue – a huge room in a sickening white with the doors of the containers on the walls and tables resembling operating ones here and there. Except them, there was nobody else in the room.

“I am not in the mood for your silly games, Undertaker,” Ciel said into the room, and Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at his words.

“Hi hi. I knew that you would come~” suddenly came a voice from somewhere around the room, interrupting Elizabeth who had just wanted to ask Ciel why the person they were here to meet was called “Undertaker.”

“Welcome, Earl…” continued the eerie voice, and one of the container doors opened. “Do you want to see how it feels to sleep in a container?”

Elizabeth got goose bumps when she saw a tall man with long silvery grey hair crawling out of the container. How morbid – a living person in a place for the dead.

The man wore a black suit which was a little bit too big for him and a black hat. The bangs of his hair were so long and unruly that they covered most of his face, but she could still see a scar running over his face and the wide grin on his face when he finally stood tall and odd in front of them. A glimpse at Lau, Angelina, and Grelle told Elizabeth that the man’s entrance had scared them more than it had her: They were staring at him with open mouths and Grelle cowered on the ground, completely horrified.

The man seemed to be quite amused by their reaction.

“Like I’ve said: I didn’t come here to play today,” Ciel replied with slight annoyance in his voice.

The strange man walked towards Ciel and pressed a finger against his mouth and only now, Elizabeth could see that he had very long fingernails which had been painted black and wore a ring on his left index finger.

“You don’t need to tell me. I know why you came. With just one look I can tell what is on your mind.” He giggled, and when he saw Elizabeth, his grin widened.

“You brought an interesting girl with you, Earl,” the man said. “And since you went out of your way to visit me, I’ll certainly do everything I can to help.” He walked to the morgue’s exit. “Please take a seat first; I’ll go make tea. It is all right when you sit on the tables. They were cleaned~” With these words, the man left the room.

“And this was…?” Elizabeth said, sitting down next to Ciel. Except for Sebastian who had positioned himself behind his master, Ciel had been the only one not to hesitate to sit down on one of the tables.

“Undertaker, yes,” he replied.

“Why is a forensic pathologist called ‘Undertaker’? I mean that cannot be his real name, right?”

“Because I am primarily a mortician, dearie,” the man, Undertaker, answered Elizabeth’s question when he stepped back into the room, a tray in his hand. “What I do here, I do for fun because I cannot get enough of the beauty of death.”

He offered them bone-shaped biscuits which he had stored in a jar looking like a cinerary urn, and Earl Grey poured into beakers.

He is like a darker version of the Mad Hatter, Elizabeth thought while eating one of the biscuits which were surprisingly quite delicious.

“Now then,” Undertaker started, sitting down himself, “you wanted to know about the Copycat?”

“No, I want to talk about the other prostitute-killing maniac walking around Whitechapel – Leather Bib,” Ciel replied, resulting in Undertaker starting to giggle.

“Sarcasm surely runs in your family, doesn’t it? It is always so refreshing to have a Phantomhive around~”

“If you do not start telling me soon what you have found out, you can as well start working on my funeral.”

“It would be a pleasure to put you in one of my custom-made coffins, Earl, but after the numerous times you have come to me have you forgotten that my services have a price?”

“I see, so that’s how it is. You’re very good at making business, Undertaker,” Lau said, trying to sneak into the conversation like he usually did. “How much money do you want for your information?”

“How much money?!” Undertaker exclaimed and jumped in front of Lau, startling him. His sudden movement and change in tone made Elizabeth flinch. What a Mood Whiplash.

“I don’t want any of the Queen’s money!” Undertaker snapped at Lau before walking back to Ciel, cradling his head in his hands. “Now, then, Earl… I only have one requirement…”

It has to do something with jokes! Elizabeth thought, eagerly watching the scene before her. Ciel implied that, and having got to know Undertaker’s nature it is quite likely!

“Show me a first rate laugh. If you do, no matter what you want to know, I’ll tell you!” Undertaker said with crossed arms.

100 points to Midford House!

“Fu, Earl, if that’s the case, let me handle this,” Lau said, stepping forward. “The sleeping tiger of the Shanghai’s New Year’s party, also referred to as my soul – this should satisfy you!”

And with a triumphant smile on his face, Lau told the lamest joke in the history of jokes in an insanely confident manner. Elizabeth was not even sure if this could still count as a joke as it had been so utterly terrible.

“It looks like he won’t talk, Lau,” Angelina said after recovering from the shock after hearing Lau’s excuse of a joke. “It can’t be helped.” She stepped forward. “Then, I, Madame Red, a beauty of high society, shall make my appearance now! If I ask him, he’ll sure be sure to tell us!”

“Madame!” Grelle yelled from the back, but Angelina already started to talk. Quickly, he covered Elizabeth’s ears, apparently knowing very well what would come now, and she saw Sebastian covering Ciel’s ears as well.

What could be worse than Lau’s “joke”? Elizabeth wondered. After an hour, Undertaker had enough of Angelina’s tale and wrapped a bandage around her mouth to make her shut up. He did the same to Lau – perhaps in the fear that he could make another “joke.”

“Thank you, Mr Sutcliff,” Elizabeth said to Grelle after he removed his hands again. He politely bowed at her.

“I guess it is your turn, Lady,” Undertaker announced, an amused smile on his lips.

“Leave her out,” Ciel interfered.

“Why should I? Let the Lady have her chance – maybe she can make me laugh?” He chuckled.

I am so in trouble, Elizabeth thought. After Ciel had asked her if she knew any good jokes, she had gone through the files in her mind – and had found not a single acceptable one. All she could think of had been silly rabbit jokes.

What do you call a happy rabbit? A hop-timist!

What did the rabbit give his girlfriend? A 14 carrot ring!

What do you call a rabbit transformer? Hop-timus Prime!

And so on.

I cannot tell any of them. But everyone stared at her, and her mind was blocked, and she ultimately blurted out, not forgetting to change her voice for the rabbit parts: “Comes a rabbit to a bakery and asks the baker: ‘Do you have bee sting?’ And the baker answers: ‘Yes, I do have bee sting cake.’ ‘Have to apply ointment.’”

In the silent morgue, the only one who giggled was Grelle.

This is beyond embarrassing – hopefully, this just stays a Big Lipped Alligator Moment.

Undertaker grinned at her. “Cute but not really suitable to cause laughing. You’re the only one left, Earl – it is your turn now.”

“Damn,” Ciel mumbled, but before he could start, Sebastian stepped forward. “It can’t be helped.”

“Sebastian?!” Ciel exclaimed, puzzled, and Undertaker said: “Oh, it’s the butler’s turn now?”

“Everyone, please step outside for a moment. You absolutely must not peek inside,” Sebastian said, and they dutifully obeyed.

Elizabeth, Ciel, Angelina, Grelle, and Lau stood in front of the morgue’s entrance for only a short period before they heard Undertaker’s hysterical laughter through the thick walls.

What has Sebastian done? Elizabeth asked herself when Sebastian opened the door for them and she saw Undertaker lying on the floor, his hair now covering his entire face, and holding his body in laughter.

“I have noticed that there are not enough ‘guests,’” Undertaker said after he had calmed down from his outburst and everyone else was seated on the tables again.

“Not enough?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes, not enough. Internal organs, of course. Don’t you think that the eternally sleeping ‘guests’ that lie in coffins are so cute? My hobby is to take out the organs for research.”

Immediately, Lau, Angelina, and Grelle stared at their beakers, turning white.

“They were autoclaved,” Ciel told them, annoyed.

“Ah, of course, they were,” Lau said with a knowing nod. “It is foolish to assume they weren’t.”

“You have no idea what ‘autoclaved’ means, right?”

Lau smiled confidently at him before he raised his hands. “Not at all.”

“To recite Wikipedia: ‘An autoclave is a pressure chamber used to carry out industrial processes requiring elevated temperature and pressure different from ambient air pressure. Autoclaves are used in medical applications to perform sterilization and in the chemical industry to cure coatings and vulcanize rubber and for hydrothermal synthesis.’”

Lau nodded at Ciel’s words.

“You still have no idea, right?” Ciel said, and Lau nodded. Ciel rolled his eyes. “It is a pressure chamber often used to sterilise things – this means that whatever you put in them, afterwards it is cleaner than CPR depicted in movies or TV shows. And this means that no matter what Undertake has done to these beakers, it is safe to drink from them.”

He turned to Undertaker. “Please, just continue.”

“Hi hi, of course, Earl.

“The prostitute, Anna Walker, isn’t a whole woman anymore – because her womb is gone. Just like the other three.”

“Interesting,” Ciel said. “The canonical five victims of the Ripper were badly-hit but only the second’s, Annie Chapman’s, and the fifth’s, Mary Jane Kelly’s, uterus was at least partially removed. But everyone’s, except Elizabeth Stride’s, abdomen was mutilated.”

“Indeed. Apart from that, the Copycat murdered their four victims – Courtney Alizarin, Molly Marrow, Erika Weikopf, and Anna Walker – in the same exact manner as the original Ripper did.”

“This could indicate that Jack the Rip-off’s real objective is to remove the uteri of these women but, for some reason, they made it look like it is the work of a maniac, only wanting to re-enact this famous crime.”

“Perhaps they want to pin the murder on a very desperate Ripperologist?” Elizabeth suggested.

Ciel looked at her like he had forgotten that she was still here before he spoke. “A nice suggestion, but flawed. After all, this would mean that the Copycat does not only either hold a personal grudge against these women or even needs five uteri for some reason but also that they also hate a Ripperologist whom they may or may not know. However, until now, there weren’t any hints suggesting that one – or all – of these overenthusiastic fanboys and wannabe detectives could be the culprit. Furthermore, if the Whitechapel Copycats indeed planned to pin the murder on a Ripperologist – don’t you think that they would have done a better job with the re-enacting? The dates of the murders are wrong, the times too. No letters have been sent so far. And, of course, there’s still the aspect of all four victims missing their uterus. A real Ripperologist wouldn’t have made such mistakes. And it’s not like it’s hard to find information on Jack the Ripper on the internet.”

“There’s something which makes me wonder: the CCTV cameras,” Elizabeth began. “London is one of the metropoles with the largest CCTV network. There are thousands of them, hidden in every corner. How could none of them have filmed the crime?”

“CCTV cameras could not prevent the bombings of July 7, 2005 – they may be everywhere, but the system is not flawless. In case of the Copycat Murders, there were cameras at the crime scenes but, mysteriously, all of them malfunctioned at the time of the killing. I do not know how but they somehow managed to manipulate the system.” Ciel shook his head. “If they had used my new, improved cameras, such a thing might not have happened. I showed them to some higher-ups, but, of course, they refused my offer. I work in the dark – and do a better job than them. Of course, they would not accept it if I invaded their beloved CCTV business.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Doesn’t Funtom only sell sweets and toys?”

“Yes, it does. Designing and building electrical devices is a hobby of mine – I created my cameras during an especially boring German lesson.”

“Ciel, why am I sending you to school if you don’t learn?” Angelina said, shaking her head.

“Because you refused to let me be homeschooled so that ‘I could learn how to socialise,’” Ciel replied.

They sound like Artemis Fowl and his mother whose name is, coincidentally, Angeline.

“Can I continue my report?” Undertaker said after a while. “Yes? Very well, hi hi.

“The Copycat may not have followed the Ripper’s moves until now, but the removal of Anna Walker’s left kidney could suggest that they will follow the original crime’s procedure more closely now.”

“And why should a cut-out kidney hint such a thing?” Angelina wanted to know.

Ciel blinked at her. “Don’t you remember? I had told you quite a lot about Jack the Ripper when you came over for dinner a few years ago.”

“You did? I guess, it slipped my mind.” Angelina shrugged.

He sighed. “After Jack the Ripper killed his fourth victim, he sent his famous letter ‘From Hell.’ Many letters have been sent by people, claiming to be the Ripper, but this particular letter is one of those which could truly be from Jack the Ripper themselves. ‘From Hell’ was sent to George Lusk, the chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, on October 15, 1888, alongside half a kidney because the letter states that the Ripper ate the other half of it.”

Grelle spitted out the biscuit he had just been eating into his beaker.

“Gross, Ciel,” Lau remarked. “People are eating here.”

“We are in a morgue, sitting on operating tables, eating bone-shaped biscuits, and drinking tea out of beakers while discussing a serial murder case.” Ciel looked at Undertaker. “Please, just continue.”

“The wombs and the kidney were removed with odd precision, signifying that no regular person could have committed these murders. Besides, if we compare the double event of November 21 to the original one of September 30, 1888, it is also evident that the killer is someone experienced. After all, just like Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes, Erika Weikopf and Anna Walker died around an hour apart from another. Unlike the original victims, Weikopf and Walker were not in possession of their uteri when they were found. It is impossible for someone not familiar with the handiwork to remove them with such precision and carefulness in such a short time like our Copycat did. After all, Weikopf and Walker did not die next to each other.” Undertaker poked one of his long fingernails into Ciel’s cheek. “You should have been able to figure that out too, Earl.

“It’s very likely that the murderer is an expert – in today’s world, there are numerous people possessing this very knowledge. This information will not cut down the list of suspects. Maybe if he knew you were here, it could lure them out. They will keep committing crimes, they definitely will, unless someone stops them. Can you stop them? Aristocrat of Evil, Earl of Phantomhive?”

“The world of darkness has the world of darkness’ rules. They wouldn’t murder random people for no reason. There must be an influence manipulating them from behind,” Ciel responded to Undertaker’s words. “I won’t be scared. No matter what tricks I have to use, I will solve this crime.

“Thanks for the tea and biscuits and providing information, Undertaker. It is time for us to go now.”

  ***

  It was already quite dark when they returned to the townhouse after leaving Lau in East End, and right before they could get out of the car Ciel’s mobile phone rang. He got it out of his coat pocket, and Elizabeth leaned in a bit to take a glimpse at the message he had received:

Come to my house, ASAP! S7616.

“Aunt Anne, we cannot discuss the information we have received just now,” Ciel said to Madame Red, putting away his phone. “I have to go to McMillan’s now.”

“Can I come with you?” Elizabeth asked.

“You should take her with you,” Angelina interjected before Ciel could say anything. “She is part of your team now, and it wouldn’t be gentlemanlike at all to leave her out.”

“Wouldn’t it be more ‘gentlemanlike’ to bring her home before it gets even darker than it already is?”

Angelina just wanted to reply something when Ciel’s mobile rang again. He took it out and read the message.

Just take Lizzy with you. No time to argue with DD.

I barely knew McMillan but… What is he? A psych?

Ciel sighed and put his phone away again. “You can accompany me, Lady Midford. Good evening, Aunt Anne, Mr Sutcliff.”

  ***

  “There you are!” McMillan greeted Ciel and Elizabeth when they entered his house, closing the door behind them.

The McMillan house was an old Victorian building, flanked by similar looking edifices. The façade was greyish-white, but lovingly raised flowers left and right on the way to the entrance, a friendly doormat telling you to ring the bell and visit them as well as colourful curtains hanging in the windows let the old house shine with life.

“My parents are not at home, and Niall and Nuala are at a sleepover,” McMillan informed them while they took off their coats.

“How is the party organisation going?” Elizabeth wanted to know.

“It’s going well. Thanks for asking. And, Lizzy, how was meeting Undertaker?”

“He’s a very interesting person,” Elizabeth replied.

McMillan chuckled. “Yes, he is. And he bakes the best biscuits. I always ask him to give me the recipe, but he keeps refusing.”

Undertaker’s cookie recipe is something even McMillan does not know? What is happening to the world as we know it?

“Lizzy, you can give me your coat, I will put it away for you.”

Elizabeth handed it to him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. C?”

So cute. They call each other by the first letter of their names.

Ciel also gave him his jacket, and in the few minutes McMillan was gone to hang up the coats somewhere, Elizabeth could take in the inner beauty of the house.

Everything about it was narrow. In every corner were books, books, and more books; here and there were toys. Everything was stuffed with signs of life, and still, Elizabeth did not feel claustrophobic – the house might be narrow, but the building’s warmth made you forget how small everything was. It was such a stark contrast to the wide and cold Phantomhive townhouse – just like the vibrant McMillan was the opposite of the cynical Ciel.

They climbed the stairs to McMillan’s room after he had returned. His room was just like the others – narrow and crammed to the ceiling.

“So… why did you tell us to come, N?” Ciel wanted to know, sitting down on McMillan’s revolving chair.

“There are two things I want to talk about,” McMillan said, putting a piece of paper and a box on his desk. Elizabeth moved closer to join the boys at the table.

McMillan folded out the piece of paper and revealed that it was a map with four crosses on it which had all been connected. “The first thing is this.

“While pondering over the case, I got the sudden idea to mark on a map where the crimes happened. When I marked the places, it did not come to my mind but, naturally, I had to connect the crosses – how could I not do it after all these maths lessons with Mr Boone? He literally screams at us to do this whenever we work with graphs.

“Well, I unconsciously connected the dots, and when I looked at it again, I noticed something odd.” McMillan ran his right index finger over the red line. “Do you see that? It could be nothing more but a coincidence, but when you see the linked marks, you see that these women were killed where they were killed in order to form a certain letter: ‘J.’”

“This could be helpful to determine the last crime scene,” Ciel said, and McMillan nodded. “But the ‘J’ looks a bit strange – the upper line is a little bit too round.”

McMillan nodded again. “Yes, I noticed that too. And then I experimented a little bit and…” He turned the map upside down. Ciel’s and Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the same time.

“Apparently, our culprit does not only want to carve in stone that he is indeed a copycat of Jack the Ripper but also wants to give you a message: ‘I know that you are there, Ciel Phantomhive,’” McMillan spoke out what all of them had thought.

“A game,” Ciel said, clenching his hands. “This is a game to them.”

“The Copycat is mocking you,” Elizabeth pointed out.

“They are, but I will not lose this game – I never lose a game.”

McMillan nodded. “You should see how often Ciel beats me at chess or Uno, Lizzy. And don’t get me started at Cluedo.”

“And what is the second thing you wanted to tell us?” Ciel wanted to know, and McMillan raised the box. “This was sent to me this afternoon.”

Elizabeth and Ciel shared a quick glance – The letter and the kidney – before they turned their attention back to McMillan who opened the box.

“I know what you are thinking – it has to be the Lusk letter, how can it not be the Lusk letter? I was thinking the exact same thing when the postwoman gave me a package without a sender, but I have to disappoint you. Well, at least, sort of.” He showed them the content of the box – a picture printed on a double sheet. Ciel took it out and put it on the desk.

On the right, the picture showed the image of half a kidney; on the left, there was the photographed letter “From Hell.”

From hell.

Mr Lusk,

Sor

I send you half the Kidne I took from one woman prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise. I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer

signed

Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk

“At least, this is more readable than the original letter,” Ciel remarked.

“It is,” McMillan replied. “Whoever our killer is, he or she might have copied the real Ripper’s letter with all its terrible spelling and grammar, but they did not have the heart to mimic Jack’s terrible handwriting.”

“But where is the real letter?” Elizabeth said. “The only reason I see for the Copycat not exchanging the name of the letter’s recipient is when the recipient’s name is Mr Lusk.”

“Hm. Possible. I will ask Sebastian to find everyone in London named Lusk and ask them if they received the actual package,” said Ciel.

“Uh, is that not a quite inconvenient and time-consuming procedure?”

“Sebastian can do that,” McMillan assured her. “He is one hell of a butler.

“There’s one more thing I want to point out.” He tapped on the bottom left corner of the paper on which the letter had been written. “It’s very small, but it is still a clue – a very small clue the Copycat themselves have missed: A tiny, tiny emblem belonging to Aleistor Chamber.”

Something clicked in Elizabeth’s head. “Aleistor Chamber? The Viscount of Druitt?”

McMillan nodded.

“I have once heard my mother talking about him,” she said excitedly. “She said ‘Which moron gave the Viscount of Druitt a degree in medicine? How could we end up living in a world in which even the biggest of idiots can become physicians?’

“The Copycat cut out the wombs of these women with the precision of an expert – and Chamber has a master degree in medicine. He certainly qualifies as a suspect.”

“This is a huge mistake on the killer’s part,” Ciel said. “And we cannot be certain that this is not a red herring. But a clue is a clue, and we should follow every one we can find. I heard that Chamber’s hosting a party Sunday evening, but you need an invitation to get inside.” He looked at McMillan. “Do you think you can get us a handful of these invitations until Sunday or do I have to ask Sebastian? After all, you still have preparations to do.”

McMillan shook his head. “This is a child’s play; it won’t take too much time and is even a nice warm-up.” He grinned. “There’s nothing easier than that.”

[vvakarians]

World lore and Arc 1 Character lore from Melrose: City of Monsters! This world is a story that myself and my boyfriend @thecoffeerain

Maxime and Victor belong to my boyfriend! 

Charlie’s Twitter | Charlie’s P a t r e o n

Info under the cut!

ABOUT MELROSE: CITY OF MONSTERS

Melrose is a city just south of New York City in America, it’s a small town that is unassuming at first but is filled with dark secrets. Vampires, witches, werewolves, and humans exist together, though in a vaguely dysfunctional way. The government broke the news about vampires and werewolves only five years previous, though they’ve lived in society for far longer than that. At this point people are getting used to them living among the human population, but knowledge about magic is still kept under wraps. Vampirism, lycanthropy, and magic comes from a disease that is both highly contagious and genetic. Once you have it, you have it for life, eternal or not.This information is primarily for the first arc. MC information will be updated with each arc.

MAIN CHARACTERS OF MELROSE: CITY OF MONSTERS

Father Charles ‘Charlie’ Larousse-Robineau

Pronouns: They/them

Occupation: ‘Priest’

Bloodline: Vampire, former Human, Crowley Lineage

Maker: Belladonna Crowley, the Duchess

Origin: New Orleans, Louisiana, USA

Love Interest: Victor Talbot

Father Robineau is a charming and well traveled individual, having been born in the 1860’s to a fur merchant and his musician wife. A tragedy struck the family in the early 1880’s when Charlie’s father snapped after a fight between them, and he supposedly killed both Charlie’s younger brother Jean Marie, as well as their mother, brutally with an axe. Charlie barely got out alive, killing their father in self defense. After getting medical attention they fled to England, hoping that their extended family would take them in.When they didn’t, Charlie settled in Whitechapel, hired by a brothel to be a charlatan, medic, and overall fluffer for the girls there. It is there where they fell in love with a woman named Lilith Brown, or Lily, as she preferred. They were best friends and messed around with each other, but Lily turned their courtship down. Sad but understanding, Charlie continued to work as a charlatan, only to watch as their friends would begin dying one by one. People suspected Jack the Ripper and would lend no help to the people affected. As we know, the killer was not caught, and unfortunately one of the last to be taken would be Lily.Whether it was Jack, or a copycat, Charlie was determined to figure out who it was. Driven near mad by grief, Charlie called out to anything that would listen while attending the autopsy of Lily. Who would show up would not be their savior, but their Devil. A woman calling herself the Duchess. She promised Charlie power to find the person who harmed their friends in exchange for a favor at a later date. Charlie was then sacrificed on an altar far below Whitechapel, but to what goddess or entity, they did not know. All they know is that they were opened up much like the corpses on the autopsy tables in the morgue, and then drained of all blood, turned into a bloodthirsty monster. Then abandoned on the streets. After becoming feral and accidentally slaying two people, Charlie turned themself in, though they were quickly turned over to the Vampiric Council of the United Kingdom. This is where they were rehabilitated by Delilah Ainsworth and her husband Aegis Stone, then allowed to return to the USA. Though it was still hard to find a food source and the only thing they could think of to get a large group, but not have to worry about too many people finding out -- was build a congregation. This of course backfired and they made more of a cult than anything, and one of their cult members developed an unhealthy obsession with them. His name was Cedric.When Charlie saw what they had created and tried to disband the cult, Cedric intervened, but a few weeks afterwards Charlie would poison his blood supply with silver, enabling them to flee. After that they never saw Cedric again and would go on to serve in World War II before settling down in Melrose in the 1940’s, creating the cathedral they now work in, St Januarius’, but making sure that a cult never happens again. Thankfully with blood bags it’s become less of an issue.Their life changes though when a man named Victor walks into their church…

Victor Talbot

Pronouns: He/him or they/them

Occupation: Sex worker / Artist / Cat Wrangler

Origin: Sussex, England, United Kingdom

Love Interest: Charlie Robineau

Victor is the only child born to a surgeon and an art lecturer. He spent quite a bit of time with his mother who taught him all about Hinduism and the ways of their culture. As a child and throughout his school life he was bullied for being larger than his peers; this made him quite shy and destroyed his self esteem. He did find a love of dance though when he would watch Bollywood films with his mother at home, and then at school he got involved in modern dance. Though it was in secret, as he did not want his peers to bully him further. As he kept at it, Victor lost weight and began eating better, becoming how he’s seen today. Which of course gained him attention and popularity where there was none before. 

While studying medicine, as his father had proclaimed he would as all of the men of his family had, Victor found that he could help people by giving them the medicine they needed but couldn’t necessarily  afford. He then began to sell narcotics to addicts to cover the cost of the extravagant lifestyle forced upon him by his peers. A tragic accident occurred when the man he was seeing stole from his stash and OD’d, then was brought to the hospital where Victor was doing his residency. Victor did try to save his life but the man ended up dying. Of course he came clean about it to his dad, who was the chief of surgery at the hospital, but Victor’s dad told him to keep quiet about it lest he lose his job. Unfortunately, the damage was done and Victor became haunted by the loss of life at what he believed was his hands. Unable to cope with what he had caused, he began to take the pills he used to sell and became hooked. After a severe mental break having spent too many hours on shift he was suspended and dismissed from the program, now having to deal with being haunted continuously with what he’d done.

He would then fall into a drug spiral where he stole his father’s script pad, implicating him in his stealing, which got his father suspended. During this time he began taking street drugs and getting involved in the party scene, all to whisk him away from the trauma he suffered. This cycle only stopped when a tragedy happened for a second time. Another man he had been seeing died while they were together, and he woke up to his lifeless body in the bed. It’s here that Victor blacks out and does not have much memory of, only remembers waking up in the hospital and being convinced to go to rehab. 

After being released and having his parents hovering over him every second of the day, he relapsed, then was cut off by his mother and father. He would then sell all of his belongings, or what he could, and bought a ticket to America where he would be picked up by the infamous Red in Melrose, New York. It would be here that he’d meet Father Robineau at the St. Januarius Cathedral…

Hazel Coldbrook

Pronouns: They/he

Occupation: Personal Assistant + Receptionist

Origin: Manhattan, New York City, New York, USA

Love Interest: Maxime St. Martin

Hazel was adopted at the age of six by a Jewish doctor and a First Nations professor of linguistics at one of the universities in New York. He was put into the system after his father lost custody following a terrible car accident that killed his mother. He did have two younger siblings that were sent to different homes, he never saw them afterward. Hazel did have an older adopted sister named Morgan, who was often cruel and rude to him. She got him into a lot of trouble and often got him bullied by other children at school, more than he already was. It didn’t help that he was starting to have issues seeing and hearing things, on top of paranoid delusions. 

His parents did their best to set him up as much as they could, and he did get better eventually. Therapy and medication got him on the right track, though his night terrors do plague him still. Once he went away to college, Morgan was cut off from the family around the same time after she was arrested for violent breaking and entering. They didn’t see her for a while after that, though at one point she did make a brief appearance. Morgan chased after him and one night broke into his dorms while he was with his girlfriend, Willow. She was killed after trying to wrestle Morgan away from him, and he was bitten by Morgan. Thankfully, he survived, but he did find out that his sister had been turned into a vampire. 

Charlie found him in the dorm shortly after the attack, having gone hunting during a blood bag shortage. They took him to the hospital and then offered him a job as a PA at their church, helping transfer all of his college credit over to the local community college where he is now studying psychology and theology. During his time in Melrose though, he begins attending drag performances at a local club and comes upon a gorgeous drag queen...

Maxime St. Martin / Enzée Bytten

Pronouns: He/him (She/her, in drag)

Occupation: Club Owner/Drag Queen

Bloodline: Vampire, former human, Seraphim Lineage

Maker: Gabriel

Origin: Saint Martin d'Oydes en Ariège Pyrénées, France

Love Interest: Hazel Coldbrook

Maxime was born in a small, self contained village where he did not leave much until his late teens. Unfortunately, the reason why he left was not a matter of simply being sick of the small village life, it was due to a much darker purpose. A man named Gabriel had come to the village and infected the residents with vampirism, causing them all to turn on each other night by night. This was but one prong in a grand scheme to build an entire army of vampiric soldiers indoctrinated with Gabriel’s radical beliefs about humans and vampires. Maxime --being young and impressionable-- followed his Maker in his footsteps, having a sort of love for him that one could only have for a Maker.

As the decades went on, Maxime would turn people he met and attempt to sway them to their side of things, but became infatuated with human culture as he went. Eventually he saw the error of his Maker’s ways and began planning a rebellion against Gabriel. Maxime even managed to convince a human soldier who he had picked up during World War II, who he would then turn after he would get severely injured. You could say the plan went off without a hitch, though there were many casualties and a lot of fighting.

Eventually he would move on to the states where he steadily sunk into his trauma, though he would find a club to make his own in Melrose. There he would build a reputation of being cold and calculating, but as Enzée he is warm and lively -- or rather she is.Le Syndicat is where Maxime would meet Hazel, who had just come to the bar for a drink…

VAMPIRES:

Vampirism, lycanthropy, and magic all come from a single source. Different strains of diseases that all come from one person, who thus far has been lost to history, as well as the war that led to the werewolves and vampires becoming tense with each other. Vampires come from the strain that needs blood to survive, but also an undead host. It attacks all systems aside from the nervous, and shuts most of them down. They do process blood but not in the same way that a human would food. Their waste system is completely cut off and their stomach has become oddly misshapen, different. It ‘digests’ the blood and filters it back through the body so that the vampire can use it as a source of energy when healing, keeping them young, and making sure their body doesn’t rot from the inside out due to their functions being cut off. The disease is parasitic in nature this way, but eventually becomes symbiotic. Vampires need blood to survive and can be affected by blood born illnesses, though never die. At least usually. In the cases of aggressive cancers and autoimmune disorders, it can kill the host, but it’s very rare. Those with vampirism can only be turned after being fed on, drained, and then made to drink the blood of a disease carrying host; be born as a Stillborn, or be born as a fully fledged vampire. They are ever immortal, cannot eat human food unless it has blood in it and even then they cannot eat a lot of it, though this is not the same for liquids, and every bloodline has a ‘feral’ type that is different from another. Reproduction is a bit of an unknown for vampires. There are creatures called Stillborns that are the successful offspring of a vampire and a human, or are the human offspring of a vampire when the disease becomes recessive. Almost always the disease is terminal and it kills them, then resurrects them from the ages 19-31. Scientists think this could be the peak age range for humans healthwise, which is why the disease stops their aging as well at that time. Otherwise, vampires can have offspring with other vampires, however it is unsure how. It could be that their reproduction systems come alive when with a compatible partner, but no one knows for sure and it isn’t full proof. Even so most vampires, just as they will do with humans to prevent possible Stillborns, will wear protection when with other vampires. It is whispered that there are ways a vampire and a werewolf could also have child, but seeing as one is dead and one is alive, that is skepticism at best. Vampires who are born from other vampires age very slowly until that 19-31 age range and then suddenly stop. They can of course be created when one is fed off of or drained, then made to drink the blood of a host. These vampires are called ‘newborns’ and are often very attached to their makers. They acquire a Bond, which is crucial for a newborn, though they don’t always get that treatment from their Maker. A newborn without a Bond will have issues trying to feed and they often become feral. If they do form a Bond, they will feel drawn to their Maker for decades if not for life. Some may need extra care and attention, even touch when they’ve been turned. The stage when a newborn becomes a stable vampire varies from bloodline to bloodline. Becoming feral is usually something a vampire wants to avoid. It happens when they are too hungry and have been starved of blood for too long, or sometimes when they experience very strong emotions. The form of being feral varies from bloodline to bloodline, just as it would for werewolves. When being fed off of a human will feel the pain of the bite but then a euphoria will settle, which is dangerous at times. A pheromone is also given off that makes them smell and taste amazing to a human (such as saliva and skin, this is not a reference to cannibalism lmao), which was once so they could draw in prey to better feed off of. In Melrose, vampires and werewolves live together in a tenuous harmony. Again no one really can point out why they have tension but still that thought has lived on in more traditional, and older people of both kinds. They try not to encroach on the others territory and spaces, and their councils work together along with the human government when needed. Vampires answer to the Vampiric Council of their country when a crime has been committed or they need other governmental help. Currently the hub for vampiric activity is in two parts. St. Januarius’ Cathedral, and Le Syndicat, respectively a church and a nightclub. The church is a safehouse for all werewolves, vampires, and humans , and the nightclub is well...a nightclub. One is ran by a charming but seedy priest, and the other is ran by a cold, but sweet once you worm your way into his heart.

WEREWOLVES:

Werewolves, like stated above in the vampire section, come from one large strain. There was a war a very long time ago but no one really knows that anymore, and there’s just some strain among the more traditional folks. Werewolves can be born with lycanthropy, or they can be turned; though werewolves can have offspring with humans at the normal rate unlike vampires. Their children tend to be hyperactive and need a lot of attention to keep their instincts under control, much like newborn vampires. They burn off a ton of calories and usually need to be on a high calorie diet because of this as well as high in iron, which becomes worse during a full moon. Changing in and out of their forms, whether it be bipedal or all fours, tends to burn off a lot of calories and consume a lot of energy. Werewolf kids need that extra supervision so that they don’t hurt themselves during the night, but they will learn to cope as they get older. Pain management those nights is a must, a lot of werewolves keep a well stocked medicine cabinet. Being turned into a werewolf is not as a rampant problem as people used to think, it never was. Usually they can only turn someone during a full moon when their saliva has more kick to it and is full of the lycanthropic strain, which their body has on a cycle much like a period. However, they can turn someone on the odd night but it’s usually just before or just after a full moon, and they will not get the chance to turn someone during a full moon that time around. Werewolves also often experience PMS like symptoms close to the full moon, no matter what gender they are.

Their hair grows very thick and fast, usually covering their entire body in a peach fuzz and growing more prominent on their arms, chest, pubic area, back, head, etc. Sometimes the back of their hands and feet as well. They see exceptionally well in the dark, usually have the speed and strength to rival vampires, and are always on the taller side. Though there are some exceptions, especially for human born wolves, or those turned into one. Aging is slow for them, some can live up to three hundred years before they pass on. Werewolf society usually comes in the form of a pack, designating an Alpha and Betas (usually two to three) in their own way and coming to them for advice as well as governing matters. They have their own council and converse with the human or vampire government if needed. How they govern is really up to them however, just as it is for vampires. In Melrose there are smaller packs everywhere, and a bigger one out on the edge of town. This pack has recently elected (through a physical challenge of the previous Alpha) Dante Kāne as their Alpha, and he has two Betas : Serj Allgood, and Ty Hacon. The previous Alpha, a man named Gunner, is a very traditional man who put into practice not so great things (drug running, not so safe sex work, etc) but Dante is slowly trying to ease the pack into doing better things.

MAGIC:

Magic is an inherited trait, usually through a distant tie to the strain that gave the world vampirism and lycanthropy, or it is learned. Witches can be born to any human, werewolf, or vampire; though most humans still believe magic to not be real. It can also come in the form of anything, blood magic, rituals, soothsaying, fortune telling, necromancy, green magic, etc. It all exists all at once. Some believe in gods, some don’t, it’s all up to the person.

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

writing ask: 8, 20 and 30 please

8. Which character is your favorite to write? Why?

Fanfiction-wise, it’s all my OCs and Cloudia as they are easier to write - but then, Cloudia’s basically an OC too. After all, we still didn’t get to meet her.

20. What color scheme is your current work in progress? 

Aaaaah, thanks for asking me that! I love matching colours with everything I write^^

The question is just… which WIP? XD There are quite a lot…

The current WotQ arc, the Hunter’s Prey Arc, is forest and grass green. (It used to be set in a forest but the colours didn’t change even if the setting did.)

The Stars of the Night’s Whitechapel Copycat Arc’s colour is the sky’s grey colour on a rainy day.

Here With Me has the colour of old parchment.

For Brave Enough, every fragment has a different colour.

The two Kuroshitsuji advent calendar pieces I’m doing are icy blue/white/grey and blue/green respectively^^

Etc., etc…

30. What’s your favorite part about writing?

Getting hold of the words.

You see, most of the time I speak, the words run through my fingers like sand. But when I write, the words (mostly) flow out, get caught by the paper in the way they should instead of clumsily breaking out of me when I speak.

Thanks for the questions^^

[itsmemateinnit]

Whitechapel series 4 press pack

Patrick Schweitzer - Producer

What can we expect from the new series of Whitechapel?

We entered into this series with the remit of making a very visual, very exciting gothic drama on the backdrop of a TV detective show. Caroline and Ben wrote the first and last story with Steve Pemberton writing the middle part, which meant that we had a really great range of stories to play with. Also I think the character arcs that have been introduced across all six episodes will really enrich the texture of the series. Jon East directed the last episodes of the last series and he set quite a high benchmark. His episodes were ‘edge of your seat’ material and so it’s been great fun keeping up that pace.

What about the individual stories in particular?

The first story touches on witchcraft. The second story is about a killer who’s flaying his victims and the final story is about human sacrifice and finding out why bodies are being found in sewers across London underneath Whitechapel.

What role do Buchan and the real historical crimes play in this series?

Buchan plays a big role again in this series. All the research Ben and Caroline do is from true crime events that are inspired by the past. The series has moved from copycat killings to using history as a route to understanding the current crimes. So Chandler is still delving into Buchan’s amazing mind to find out what could be the cause and what’s happened in the past that could indicate clues as to how to find the killer and what is going on in contemporary Whitechapel.

Do you need to be mindful of stories going too far or over the top?

Yes you do have to be mindful. I think because Whitechapel tends to be a world where people want to watch in a suspended reality, we don’t try to give massive reminders of contemporary life. Computers and mobile phones take a back seat, we don’t have huge amounts of car travelling scenes so you stay in this world where you’re able to enjoy the unexpected a little bit more. I think that’s always been a real strength of the show that we’re carrying on with this year. The way our characters interact as well, instead of it being a very contemporary police procedural show we get to play with those elements far more so hopefully everyone is going to enjoy that.

Does this series cover anything from previous episodes?

We don’t tend to touch on previous stories too much, so that each story can be fresh. If you’re a regular fan you may notice hints of previous situations that the characters have been through but we tend to take each episode as a fresh piece of drama. If you’ve never watched the series before you can pick up any of the stories and just enjoy it for what it is – I think that’s quite a strength and we try and stay focused on that. In terms of character development we’re very mindful that there needs to be a development in each character’s story but it’s not a main emphasis at all.

Will there be any famous guest stars in this series?

We don’t tend to go with big names for guests stars, I think partly because if a viewer is aware that at some point we’re going to introduce the killer you don’t want anyone to be too obvious and to stand out. We just want really good actors and people that will fit into the world of Whitechapel and we’re very free to use the best actors for the role.

Why was the area of Whitechapel chosen?

Ben and Caroline have created this ‘world’ of Whitechapel that I think is beyond the specific area of Whitechapel itself. Everything that happens has a darker leaning but

it does stem from the history of that part of the East End, which has had a slightly higher percentage of crime over time. I think what makes the series more interesting is that we want to go for the wackier events that might happen.

Are all of your locations in the East End or do you cheat?

Some of it is cheated, obviously if there is a good location in another part of London then we do tend to go for the best places. Using Hornsey Town Hall as our police station is a prime example. This building has been fantastic this series. It’s the same physical space as series one and three but we’ve re-done it. We’ve created a slightly different mortuary set and we have an inter faith prayer room. We’ve also created a few more corridors so that the journeys around the police station take a bit longer. It’s been a real blessing to have this building - it is listed so anything we do, any changes have to go through the council, but we’re very used to that.

Is all of your post production set up here too?

Yes, part of the joy of working in a building like this is that you can actually house your edit suites in the same space. Quite often on other projects I’ve worked on the edit is in Soho and the main sets out in Ealing so everything is quite separated. Here we have everything in one hub which means in the canteen you’ll have the editors sitting next to the DoP and actors. So it’s a great creative environment to be in where everyone feels very attached and involved in the project. Also for my job it means I can pop upstairs, have a look at where we’re at in the edit and then nip back downstairs and carry on prepping for the last block – so it makes life a lot easier and makes the process feel quite fluid.

Is it difficult to film in central London?

Luckily a lot of places that were needed in the script weren’t the most populated areas. To keep London as a successful filming city we really believe that you have to comply with the regulations. It’s only reasonable to ensure that film crews wrap by a certain time as it can be quite noisy and disruptive. I think with any restrictions, whether it’s monetary or time frame to shoot something, it makes sure everyone is on board with getting the best results.

[thestarsofthenight]

Chapter 4: The Queen of Hearts

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

Pairings: mainly Ciel Phantomhive/Elizabeth Midford

Summary: “There is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man won an election,” Francis had said, ending the Midfords four-year-long stay in the USA. Three days later, Elizabeth lives in gloomy London, wishing to be back in sunny LA, when a murder case suddenly turns her life upside down, entangling her with Ciel Phantomhive, his duty to the crown, and his school-intern detective agency…

Navigation: Chapter Index

“The Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties, great or small.”

– Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll

  London, England, United Kingdom – November 2016

  He woke up to the sound of broken glass and screams.

Ciel Phantomhive had stopped a very long time ago to set himself an alarm. His servants always started the breakfast preparations at the same time every day. And every time, something was broken – resulting in panic and hysteric cries. Sebastian did not even bother to wake up his master anymore.

Home sweet home, Ciel thought and sat up in his bed. In exactly ten minutes – no second earlier, no second later – Sebastian would come and bring him his breakfast. And in these ten minutes, Ciel recalled the events of yesterday, rubbing his temples. Of all people, Green Eyes had to turn out to be the witness.

***

Elizabeth Midford stared at him, her green eyes wide. “I should work with you?” she said, not believing the words which had left her own mouth. “Why?”

“Not in the way you think I mean,” Ciel answered, taking a Rubik’s Cube from his desk and fiddling with it. “I do not want you to work actively with me – to investigate crime scenes, to interview witnesses, etc. When I said that you have to work with me, I meant ‘I need you by my side to make sure that what you saw does not get to the public.’ The murder you have witnessed is the fourth one committed by someone the Yard and I call the ‘Whitechapel Copycat.’

“You haven’t heard anything about this case of serial murders, right? They started in late September. Usually, the newspapers would have been able to get at least bits of this story and tell them to the world. But, despite Scotland Yard’s incompetence, we have managed to keep this case a secret from the public. Nobody than those involved with the investigation knows about the ‛Whitechapel Copycat.’ In two years is the 130th anniversary of Jack the Ripper’s famous, unsolved crimes. And now, a copycat has appeared? The media would go crazy on this, and this would hamper the investigation.

“I need you to cooperate with me, need you to be by my side because if you don’t, if you aren’t, and the newspapers and hobby, wannabe detectives sneak around, it will be fatal to the investigation.”

He looked up from the cube. “We will make sure that you get police protection 24/7. They will follow you as subtly as possible. You are the only witness this case has even though you cannot remember much of what you’ve seen – I’ve read your answers Card protocoled –, but the culprit may or may not go after you, and we cannot afford to lose you. After all, you may remember something later on. Something which could be of great help to find out who killed these four women.”

“I have... no intention to tell anyone anything about today,” Elizabeth slowly replied to him, before she added in a whisper, almost shyly: “The perceptive abilities of my mother are immense. If the officers aren’t the world’s best ninjas, she will notice them and find out that something is going on.”

Ciel raised an eyebrow. “I will make sure that she does not find out about them,” he assured her, and put the Rubik’s Cube away, standing up and going to the door.

“Be aware that you cannot tell anyone about today – not your family, not your friends –, and that, for a while, your personal life will constantly be watched and compromised. Furthermore, if you decide to tell anyone anyway, Lady Midford, nothing good will happen to you and those you have told anything about this case. My butler will bring you home now; I wish you a good night.”

***

“Lady Midford is indeed a very interesting person. Usually, witnesses are not so brave and composed to go straight to the police after seeing such a gruesome crime,” Sebastian suddenly said, pouring tea into a cup. Ciel had not noticed his butler entering the room or that the ten minutes were already over.

“How did you know that I was thinking about her?” Ciel wanted to know.

Sebastian handed his master the cup of tea. “About what else should you be thinking about than the events of yesterday, Mylord?”

Ciel took the cup and leaned back into his pillows. “Her courage is the result of all the chivalry in her blood,” he meant. “The Midfords used to be famous knights. Without a doubt, she has no idea about how to hold a sword, but the sense of chivalry and justice is still inside her.”

“I have the feeling that with her this case could take some interesting turns.”

Ciel frowned. “Why should it? She is only a witness. She will do nothing more than provide information.” He put down his empty cup. “Enough talking. Now, help me to get dressed.”

***

When Elizabeth woke up on Friday, her dream still clung to her. Ever since the events of Monday, she kept dreaming of the same thing every night: The Whitechapel Copycat stabbing their victim over and over again. A curtain of red which blurred her view of the scene. An odd, iridescent glow shining briefly in the dark night.

Sleepily, Elizabeth tumbled into the bathroom, got washed and dressed before going downstairs for breakfast. After she had calmed down in the last few days and had been able to analyse the events of Monday from a new, clearer, and distanced position, Elizabeth could not understand how stupid she had behaved back then: Why had she been so anxious while she had been at the police station? Especially when the door had opened, and Ciel had entered? How could she have believed for even a second that the murderer would casually come through the door? After all, there were cameras in police stations – no one was so dumb to do anything like that, and Marty had told her that someone wanting to meet her would come. After she had witnessed the murder, she had been oversensitive over anything – had got scared over every single, little thing even though there had been no reason at all to be scared or anxious about them. She had made a mountain out of every molehill she could find.

After witnessing the murder, Elizabeth had instinctively shut down her brain which had resulted in her not being able to recall anything specific from the crime scene.

I am most likely the worst witness in the history of witnesses, Elizabeth thought right before saying goodbye to her parents and leaving for school. Knowing that you were followed wherever you went was a very uncomfortable thing – but at least, Francis had not noticed any of them.

Silly, silly, silly – I am so silly for having let the shock consume me. Because of that, I cannot help Cute Shortie by providing information on the culprit’s appearance. Because of that, it won’t be as easy for him to find the copycat. To find the murderer of the poor victim. The poor person I saw die.

But when I cannot help Cute Shortie like that, I sure as hell can aid him differently.

And this time, I will not allow my senses to be cloaked.

***

The fourth period on Friday was Ciel’s only P.E. lesson in the entire week, and he had never attended a single class. Still, McMillan who should have P.E. with him kept looking at the door in the hope that his best friend could have had a change of heart.

This often resulted in McMillan’s head being hit by a ball and he being allowed to leave class earlier than the others. He always used this extension to his lunch break to head to the Agency and go through the paperwork. All sorts of things happened to the students of Weston College – some missed their lunch money, had lost something, were sabotaged, thought that someone else was behaving weirdly, etc. –, and as these students always came to them, McMillan and Ciel, the list of cases and their accompanying paperwork was sheer endless. Still, McMillan greatly enjoyed doing this job of aiding his friend.

He was just filing some documents when there was a knock on the door.

“You may enter,” McMillan called, not looking up. He heard footsteps and the sound of the door closing.

“Is... is Ciel here?” the person who had knocked and entered asked, and McMillan finally looked up. By the door, a girl with blonde hair was standing. He did not know her name which was quite peculiar as he knew the name of every student of Weston College but recognised her as the girl Ciel had returned something to earlier this week. Lunch break on Monday, November 21.

“I am sorry,” McMillan answered, “he’s not here. But you can wait here until he comes – which will be soon because he always spends his lunch breaks here.” He walked towards the girl and held out a hand. “I am McMillan,” he introduced himself with a smile on his face.

She took his hand and shook it. “Elizabeth Midford.”

Oh, the daughter of Marquess Alexis Leon Midford?

“It is nice to meet you, Lady Midford,” McMillan said formally. “You have only transferred to our school on Monday, right?”

“Yes, you are. How do you know that? And by the way, you can just call me ‘Lizzy,’” Elizabeth replied, sitting down on a sofa. “There is no need to be so formal when we are simply schoolmates.”

“I know a lot about every pupil of Weston,” he meant, “both from the school and the university part. So, why did you come here in the middle of the school year, Lizzy?”

“You know about the elections in the USA?” she asked, and McMillan nodded. “Well, you see, my mother was not the biggest fan of the election’s outcome and persuaded my father to move, and that’s why we’re here now. She said that ‘there is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man with dreadful hair won an election.’”

McMillan chuckled and started to file documents again. “I did not know that the Marchioness is such a funny woman.”

“Yeah, but she can be really scary,” Elizabeth said. “I think that if she had had the opportunity, she would have gone to Trump and talked to him until he had started to cry and overthought his entire existence.”

He laughed the instance the door opened, and Ciel Phantomhive hastily entered the Agency, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Chloé again?” McMillan asked. Chloé Donovan was a Year 8 pupil who bothered the Agency with terribly stupid things all the time. She had two highly embarrassing middle names – Jeanette and Chantal –, had been spoiled by her father who saw his daughter through pink glasses ever since her birth, actually had to wear glasses but didn’t do it because glasses were too “geeky” for her, and had played in a mortifying advertisement when she had been younger but her family had done a magnificent job hiding this fact and the ad’s video from the world. McMillan still knew about it though. In fact, he had said ad safely stored on his laptop, as a CD on his shelf, and uploaded on various file hosting services.

“Her fingernail broke even though she had let them be made only yesterday, and now, she wants me to go to the shop and find evidence that proves that they tricked her.” Ciel ran a hand through his hair while someone hammered against the door from the other side. Perhaps, Chloé even shouted something at them, but the door and the walls were at least thick enough to conceal voices.

“I think we should let our clients do IQ tests before allowing them to request our services. We are neither in a novel, manga, nor a fanfiction. Why do such things keep happening to us? How is that statistically even possible?” Ciel added, and just wanted to head to his desk when he noticed Elizabeth sitting on the sofa.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded to know.

She glanced at McMillan who finally understood who she was and why she was here. I have started to wonder why she came here.

“You are the witness of the Whitechapel Copycat case?” he said, earning a surprised look from Elizabeth. McMillan scratched his head. “Uh, yes, I know who Ciel is. Didn’t see that coming, right? Nobody usually does even though we are best friends.”

“Colleagues,” Ciel said.

“Best friends,” McMillan said, nodding.

“Uh, I am simply surprised because I thought that Ciel’s real occupation is one of the best-kept secrets in the UK,” Elizabeth replied.

“Of course it is,” McMillan told her, putting away the folder into which he had finished filing the documents, “but I know it anyway.”

Ciel sat down behind his desk. “Okay after we have finally sorted this out, can you please tell me why you are here, Lady Midford?”

Elizabeth had been about to say something when the door suddenly flew open. McMillan feared that Chloé in her insane rage had somehow managed to damage the lock. Therefore, he was even more relieved when he saw who had actually entered the Agency. What a relief! The C4 would have never agreed to finance us a new door if anything had happened.

“Madam Red?! Lau?! Why are you here...” Ciel yelled.

“We were taking a walk when we passed your school, and I thought – ‘I haven’t visited my cute nephew for so long, let’s see how he is doing now,’” Angelina Dalles answered him with a smile on her face. She was the sister of Ciel’s late mother Rachel and the widow of Baron Burnett, but nobody referred to her as “Baroness Burnett” as most people called her either by her maiden name or “Madam Red” due to her beautiful red hair and her preference to wear red clothes all the time. “It is good to see you, and you too, McMillan.”

���Hello, Doctor Dalles,” McMillan replied.

“Hey, Earl,” Lau said – he was officially the manager of the English branch of a Chinese trading company named Kong-Rong. Unofficially, he was also the top official of Green Bang, a Chinese mafia. McMillan liked Angelina and Lau even though the latter had the ability to irritate him quite often. “I accompanied your aunt because I believed that I could stumble into something interesting.”

Ciel sighed. “What interesting things can happen in a school, Lau? Children with paper-cuts?”

“I attended this school once too, Earl, and I learned that interesting things could even happen at schools.”

Ciel sighed again and turned his attention to Angelina who had spotted Elizabeth. “Hello! Who are you? I have never seen you here before – what is your name?” she said after staring at her for a moment which made McMillan subtly raise an eyebrow. “I am Angelina Dalles, Ciel’s aunt.”

“Uh, well, I am–” Elizabeth answered uneasily before cutting herself off and looking at McMillan and Ciel for help.

Angelina’s eyes widened at Elizabeth’s action. “Don’t tell me you’ve had a girlfriend all along, Ciel! And even such a cute one! How could you keep this a secret from me?”

Simultaneously, both Ciel and Elizabeth blushed, and Ciel hurried to say: “It is nothing like that! Her name is Elizabeth Midford, she has only transferred to Weston as of Monday, and she is only here because she wants to join the Agency.”

For some reason, his words let an amused smile appear on Angelina’s face. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, but I told her that we are currently not recruiting anyone, and she was just about to go.”

“Oh, why not? I am sure that Elizabeth here will be a wonderful addition to your little Agency.” Angelina walked to Elizabeth and put a hand on one of the girl’s shoulders. “You should let her join! You and McMillan have run this place alone for years now – it is time for a change, don’t you think? And when a cute, little girl like her honestly wants to join, then let her!”

Ciel shook his head. “You cannot just walk in here and tell me what to do – less even decide for me.”

“Sure, I can.” Madam Red smiled at Elizabeth. “Welcome to the McMillan & Phantomhive Detective Agency, dear.” She turned back to her nephew who had turned red again – but because of anger this time. “I believe that Elizabeth will be of great help in this case if you ask me.” She blinked at him. “I am already looking forward to seeing her later at the townhouse.” Angelina patted Elizabeth’s shoulder before heading towards the door.

“I will see you after school, Nephew-Number-One and Elizabeth! Goodbye, McMillan!” With these words, she and Lau left as quickly as they had come, and Ciel tore his hair.

  ***

  Elizabeth still had no clue what had happened earlier, and now, she was standing in front of the entrance to the Phantomhive townhouse.

I have never thought that I would get the permission to help like that. This is almost as unbelievable as that Chicago was raised over 1.22 metres with screw jacks to install the first sewer system of the United States.

The door flew open only a second after she had finally sounded the bell after standing awkwardly in front of the entrance for around ten minutes, wondering if she should have really come here in the first place.

“Good afternoon, Lady Elizabeth,” Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel’s butler, greeted her with a bow. “Please come inside.”

Elizabeth stepped inside, and Sebastian closed the door behind her before he led her through the corridors. “The Young Master will arrive in approximately half an hour. His chemistry teacher, Henry Lumière, is very fond of having a chat with him after the lesson as they are both part French.”

Aaaand now I could not help myself but imagine Cute Shortie as a stereotypical French boy: in a striped t-shirt with a red scarf slung around his neck, a beret on his head, and a baguette in his hand.

“Until his arrival, I request you to wait in the drawing room. I have prepared a few cakes and–” Sebastian stopped talking when he opened the door to the parlour and saw Angelina, Lau, and another man throwing things out of the cupboards. They turned their gazes towards Elizabeth and Sebastian. “Oh, hello, Sebastian, Elizabeth, good to see you,” Angelina said, stopping in her action and waving at them, smiling. “We are currently searching for some chocolate – as I know my nephew, there is chocolate hidden everywhere in this house, but, as of now, we weren’t successful.”

  After Sebastian had cleaned everything up with a scary speed and brought them some chocolate, he left Elizabeth alone with them. She learned that Angelina was the aunt Paula had told her about some days ago and that she and Lau were part of a group called the “Aristocrats of Evil” – “There is no reason to hide this from you as you are working with my nephew now” – which helped the Queen’s Watchdog – the actual name for Ciel’s occupation. She also learned that the fourth and last person in the room was Grelle Sutcliff, Madam Red’s incredibly clumsy butler.

After telling Elizabeth all these things, Angelina started to bombard her with questions which she politely answered. She and Cute Shortie are the sorts of persons you will never guess are relatives until you are told so, Elizabeth thought, eating another macaron.

“Such a pity,” Angelina said when Ciel finally arrived. “I was just about to show Lizzy some of your baby photos.”

“Good that I have burned them all,” he said, sitting down on an armchair.

She grinned at him. “Not the ones which I saved on OneDrive.”

“I hacked your account – well, it was not exactly hacking as you always use the same password on every one of your accounts: CC141203.”

“And what about my Dropbox?”

“Ditto.”

“I cannot believe that you have done this! You used to be such a sweet child, how did you become like this?”

“People change, Aunt, and let’s talk seriously now.” Ciel leaned back in his chair. “The newest victim of the Whitechapel Copycat is a prostitute named Anna Walker. She was born on January 3, 1993, to Conrad and Maryanne Walker who are a physician and a kindergartener respectively.

“Anna was an average child – not too shy, not too bold, a couple of friends, average marks – and led a normal and calm life until she turned eighteen. The factor which changed her life holds the name Jonathan Dells.

“Dells is three years older than her, tattooed, and a person everybody would call” – Ciel cleared this throat – “a ‘bad boy.’

“One day after finishing her shift at the local nursery home she was a volunteer at, Anna met Dells, and despite hating him the instance she saw him, she loved him too. And he, despite never having ‘opened’ his heart to someone before, only fooling around to try to forget his terrible past full of drugs and fatherly violence, started to ‘love’ her too from this moment.

“They barely knew each other, but Anna and Dells still started to go out. Anna did not go to the nursery home anymore or to school, only spent her time with Dells. Her family and friends were worried about their little, nice girl but despite every reason and logic, Anna stayed at Dells’ side who regularly slept with others while dating her. Dells’ with whom she fought only to sleep with him for no reason at all in the middle of it. The next day, the fight from yesterday would be picked up again – only to start this vicious circle of illogical actions again. Dells insulted her, abused her, cheated on her, isolated her from the people who actually loved and cared about her, made her cry and sad, drowned her worries in drugs, treated her like an object – but Anna still loved him. For Anna actually believed that what they had was ‘love.’

“But, then, a year later, a year of bruises and tears, it happened what had to happen: Dells grew tired of her. He beat her up one last time – I guess, for old time’s sake – and kicked her out of his apartment, already having a long queue of new, stupid girls to exploit waiting for him. With nowhere to go, Anna eventually started to sell her body to strangers.

“And now, at the age of twenty-three, she died – was gruesomely killed by the hands of a madman or – woman. That is all that McMillan could find out about Anna Walker.”

“That sounds exactly like the premise of a bad NA novel,” Elizabeth meant. “But without the unrealistic happy end.”

Ciel frowned at her. “NA?”

“‘New Adult.’ It is a term for books written especially for people in their twenties. Like ‘Young Adult’ books are specially written for teenagers. Most well-known NA books revolve around the same exact things – ‘good girl’ meets a highly abusive ‘bad boy,’ but does not accept the fact that he is an abuser and tells herself that he is only ‘misunderstood’ and her ‘soulmate.’ You know, books like After.”

“Yes, I have heard of that book – a book which used to be a terrible One Direction fanfiction. Good that I only read classics. That sounds awful. Ah, and did you know that ‘After’ is the German word for ‘anus’? I think the title is quite fitting when taking that into consideration if you ask me.”

Elizabeth giggled at his words before she suddenly remembered something. “Ah, before I forget it! You said that McMillan found out all these things about Anna Walker – but where is he? Shouldn’t he be here if this is a meeting to talk about the Copycat case?” she wanted to know.

“He doesn’t have any time. It’s his younger siblings’ birthday on Monday, and he still needs to prepare a lot,” Ciel answered her.

“It’s very sweet of him to put so much time and work for his siblings’ birthday.”

He shrugged. “He simply likes organising things.”

McMillan & Phantomhive Party Planner Agency – Chocolate for Decorating, Elizabeth automatically had to think, and she bit into another macaron to hide her silly grin.

“The Queen’s Watchdog has already been dispatched, but I am not interested. However – do you have the guts to go to the crime scene?” Lau said out of the blue, the smile of a cat on his lips.

“What do you mean?” Ciel asked, clearly puzzled by the suddenness of his words.

Lau stood up and walked to Ciel with the grace of a dancer. “I smelled a beast at the crime scene. The murderer is definitely an abnormal madman.” He bent down and touched his face. “Will you... be scared? Earl of Phantomhive?”

Ciel stared up at Lau. “Why should I be? I was already there on Monday.”

For a wing beat, the parlour of the Phantomhive townhouse was completely silent.

“Oh... Really?” Lau let his hand sink. “Well, then, let us go there again!” he said and yanked Ciel up from his armchair.

“Wait a minute!” Angelina exclaimed, making Lau stop in his movement and letting Ciel fall to the ground. Immediately, Elizabeth jumped up to help him get up, but Sebastian was faster than her.

“Let us all go, then. Lau, where is the crime scene?” Madam Red said.

“Don’t you know, Madam?” He looked at her with a mysterious grin before he dropped it abruptly and shrugged. “Don’t ask me; I don’t know the way either.”

“You talk so arrogantly, yet you don’t even know where it is?!” she yelled at him.

Ciel sighed. “Calm down,” he said after Sebastian had stopped cleaning his master’s clothes from dust and other particles. “I have never intended to go there again in the first place. After all, there is nothing left to find there anymore. But I know someone who knows more about this case than we do at this point.” He looked at Elizabeth with open displeasure in his eyes at the prospect of meeting the person he was referring to. “I hope you know some good jokes, Lady Midford.”

  ~~~***~~~

  BONUS – at some point after Elizabeth’s, Angelina’s, and Lau’s visit to the Agency, McMillan started a not really canon conversation with Ciel:

McMillan: Uh... Ciel, I have to tell you something very important.

Ciel: *looking up from building a card house* Hm? What is that important thing you want to tell me?

McMillan: Do you remember what you have said after running away from Chloé? That “we are neither in a novel, manga, nor fanfiction”?

Ciel: Yes, I do remember.

McMillan: Well, you have to see, Ciel, that you were right with the novel part but partially wrong at the manga one and completely wrong on the fanfiction part.

Ciel: *frowning* What do you intend to say, N?

McMillan: I intend to say that you and I and nobody else in this universe is real – that we are part of a manga called Kuroshitsuji or Black Butler which is written and drawn by a woman who calls herself “Yana Toboso.” But, right now, we are not in a manga universe – we are in a fanfiction based on the manga universe we actually belong to. The manga Kuroshitsuji is actually set in the late 1880s, you are serving the queen of that time, Queen Victoria, and we are not the best of friends in this original universe because we only briefly got to know each other when you had to stay at Weston – in Kuroshitsuji it is still a boarding school and solely opened to boys – to investigate the strange behaviour and disappearance of a person called Derrick Arden. To spoiler you – Derrick was murdered and later turned into a “Bizarre Doll,” a zombie-like creature.

We are currently in a fanfiction named The Stars of the Night which is written by two persons under the nickname “Automatons and Clocks.” Well, at least, it should be written by two. It is actually only made by a girl with the nickname “RedThreat” or “PeachDestroyer” because the other one is lazy.

Ciel: And if we are, as you say, indeed only fictional characters – how do you know that?

McMillan: When we are inside of Kuroshitsuji none of us is aware of the fact that we are not real, breathing persons. And when we are transferred to a fan work, we lose most of our memories of the source universe – how much we forget is dependent on the new creator and if or if not it is an AU or anything like that. We can also gain new memories depending on the new creator. But we lose the memories we have gained in this fan work when we go back to our original universe. I, however, do not lose them for some reason and am even fully aware of being entirely fictional. And because I can keep my memories of the fan works I am in – which are, sadly, not many – I know quite a lot of things. There is a lot of terrible fanfiction out there, Ciel. I still get nightmares from simply thinking of them.

Whatever – I am in possession of all my source memories, but also know things beyond the source material. And to prove that I am not a lunatic – I know that Sebastian is a demon. You had made a contract with him when you were ten years old and about to be sacrificed by some crazy cult. But don’t worry, I will never tell anyone about it. You are my best friend after all – fully in this universe and one-sided in the source material.

Ciel: That... that is quite a surprise.

McMillan: Isn’t it? And by the way, Lizzy is your fiancée in Kuroshitsuji.

Ciel: She is what?!

[thestarsofthenight]

Chapter 3: The Phantom Protector of Great Britain

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

Pairings: mainly Ciel Phantomhive/Elizabeth Midford

Summary: “There is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man won an election,” Francis had said, ending the Midfords four-year-long stay in the USA. Three days later, Elizabeth lives in gloomy London, wishing to be back in sunny LA, when a murder case suddenly turns her life upside down, entangling her with Ciel Phantomhive, his duty to the crown, and his school-intern detective agency…

Navigation: Chapter Index

“Wherever this shadowed path might lead, we were both irrevocably committed to follow it to the end.”  ― Susan Kay, Phantom

  London, England, United Kingdom – November 2016

  She did not know when she had started to run.

A second ago, Elizabeth had witnessed a murder, and now, her feet were carrying her as far away from the crime scene as possible. And while she ran, records of what she had seen found their ways back to her mind.

The metallic smell of blood.

The murderer, stabbing and stabbing their victim even though they were long dead.

The victim’s muffled, dying screams.

There is no way that I will ever forget them, Elizabeth thought while running and running and cursing her bag with the chocolates and her bag with the bagels for not allowing her to run faster.

Eventually, despite the adrenaline pushing her body to go farther, her lungs started to burn so badly that she could only stop. Elizabeth collapsed against the wall of a building, trying to catch her breath. She had no clue where she was. She had no clue if the murderer had seen her or not. What if she had started to run without checking that first? What if they had noticed her running away and went after her?

The thought turned her blood to ice.

No, a voice in her head suddenly said – the voice belonging to the part of her head which was still sane despite everything. Someone was killed. There is a killer on the loose. You have to go to the police. You need to report this. Staying here will only decrease your chance of surviving if the murderer really followed you. You will be safe with the police.

Elizabeth pulled herself away from the wall, her legs feeling wobbly. Because her hands were shaking and she was still holding the bag with the bagels, taking out her phone proved quite difficult. If leaving the bagels wouldn’t make it easier for the killer to track her, she would have thrown the bag away ages ago. When Elizabeth had finally managed to get her mobile, she tried to dial the police’s number, but stopped herself right before clicking on “call.” What if her voice was too shaky? What if the person on the other side of the line couldn’t understand her? Was making a phone call in an unknown place while possibly being followed by a killer the best idea?

No, not here, definitely not here, her rational part said and forced her run farther to a more crowded place and into some shop.

After Elizabeth had walked through the entire shop a few times while calming herself down, she looked up the location of the closest police station.

It is only a few minutes away. Thank God, it is only a few minutes away.

And these few minutes gave her new strength to make her feet move.

  ***

  The police station was awfully ugly. “Police” was written in capital letters over the entrance of the grey building, and a lonely London flag was fluttering miserably in the wind.

Elizabeth took a deep breath before entering the police station.

“Good evening, how can I help ya?” the policeman in charge said, looking up from what looked like a comic, and frowned. “Isn’t it a bit late for you to walk around on a school day?”

Elizabeth glimpsed at a clock and saw that it was a little after ten o’clock. When had it got so late? She had no idea.

“I,” she began, her voice hoarse and her throat dry. “I...”

“Stop stuttering, kid, and tell me what the matter is. Lost your parents? Someone stole your lolly?”

“There was a murder somewhere around here,” Elizabeth managed to say, falling into a nearby chair.

The policeman’s eyes widened. “Woah, woah, girl! You’ve seen a murder?”

Elizabeth nodded faintly. Her mind was drifting away to the crime scene, but she blinked away the image of the street painted red. Focus. “Yes. In... in Whitechapel, around Brick Lane.”

The policeman raised an eyebrow and put his hands under the counter. It was a strange movement. It had been meant to be subtle, but Elizabeth’s clouded brain still managed to catch it. She tried to analyse what he was doing, but, somehow, she did not manage to grab a clear thought.

“And you are not lying to me? Kids like you come to me all the time to prank me. Not cool. Absolutely not cool. They always prank me because they believe that Detective Inspector Marty Card is an easy victim. Can you imagine that? Can you believe that? Kids nowadays are all idiots. I am not the idiot here. Definitely not.” The policeman, Marty Card, took out a piece of paper before frowning at her. “You are not kidding me, right? Joking about murder is bad. Joking about such a murder is even worse. False information could cost me my job. Perhaps even my head. I cling to my head. I think it’s a nice head, not particularly pretty, but still nice. Has a nice shape, don’t you think?”

With her head feeling heavy, Elizabeth barely managed to nod at Marty’s words. In the alley, this one voice in her head had told her that she would feel safe with the police. But, for some reason, she did not feel secure at all. Elizabeth grabbed the rim of her skirt. Her heart was racing, her body tensed. What if the murderer knew that Marty was in charge today? If children knew when he worked, did grown-ups too? Did this one grown-up know? What if the killer had followed her and decided to get rid off her right here and now in this police station because they knew that only Marty was here? What if they murdered them both? She dug her fingers deeper into the fabric of her skirt.

“Hello? Are you listening to me, kid?” Marty’s voice snapped her back to reality.

She stared at him with wide eyes. “Hm?”

“I asked: Was that a nod for the kidding part or the head part?”

When Elizabeth didn’t reply and simply kept staring at him, he only sighed. “Not very talkative, are you? For now, I am believing you because I don’t think you are that much of an actress to fool me, Mighty Marty. So... for the protocol, what is your name?”

  ***

  It was little after 10 pm when Ciel’s late night ice-cream eating was disturbed.

Regularly, Ciel would eat ice-cream even if it was already late. He did not even care about the fact that it was late autumn. After all, it might be cold outside, but it was quite warm inside his townhouse. Thus it was fairly reasonable to eat ice-cream even on an icy November day. Ciel especially liked it to sit next to a window on the ground floor while eating so that he could watch the passersby shuddering in the coldness while being warm and comfortable himself.

But today, he was sitting in his office, and thus, could see the tiny red lamp going on on his desk. The alarm used to make a sound too but Sebastian had once changed the ring tone from the Toccata by Johann Sebastian Bach to the cat song from The Big Bang Theory when his master hadn’t been there. Annoyed, Ciel had removed this function upon finding out about this change.

Ciel had made the alarm himself: It was connected to Scotland Yard, and every time someone pressed a certain button in one of their police stations, the small lamp lit up in his office. Next to this button, Ciel had let little, foldout, and extractable keyboards to be installed so that whoever had pressed the button could send him a short message, telling him what was going on. Then, the message would appear on a small display on the alarm cube. Another display showed the number of the police station from where the message had been sent.

He leaned forward and read the message: “S7616 – around Brick Lane, Muscle. Manor: circle. DI Right Brother.”

Ciel himself had invented the code and was quite proud of it. It had not been the easiest task to teach it to the police, though. The message, decrypted, meant:

Serial murder case: New Whitechapel Murders  – around Brick Lane, now. Witness: a female. DI Marty Card.

Ciel frowned. A witness? That was strange. There had never been a witness to this case. But Ciel could not think longer about it as the message had said that the murder was happening right now. Apparently, the witness has immediately run to the next police station. Interesting. He stood up and called Sebastian.

  ***

  Less than two minutes later, Ciel and Sebastian arrived at the scene of the crime, but the criminal was already gone. It looked like the other crime scenes which Ciel had seen in the photographs the Queen had included in her letter: The horrifyingly mangled victim was lying in a pool of blood. Her eyes were staring up at the dark sky as if she was trying to pledge Heaven for mercy. Ciel couldn’t help but to bitterly chuckle at this sight. Mercy. What a joke.

“Sebastian – search the crime scene for things which seem important or odd,” Ciel ordered.

Normally, a crime scene is secured first, then thoroughly documented by taking photographs and drawing sketches before evidence is collected. But if you have a demon butler and are the Watchdog, things work a little bit differently.

“Yes, Mylord,” Sebastian replied, his eyes glowing bright red, and began to work.

  “What now, Young Master?” the butler asked a few minutes later, closing the last plastic bag.

“That someone witnessed the murder is bad enough,” Ciel meant, walking back and forth. “We cannot allow anyone else to see the crime scene again.”

“And what do you suggest, Mylord?”

“You need to restore the street’s appearance before the murder took place. Like that, this case will stay the secret it has been since the first murder.” Ciel looked up at Sebastian. “Sebastian – I order you to restore the street’s appearance, and when you’re done to bring me to Marty Card’s police station. There is someone we need to speak.”

  ***

  “Come to think of it, Lizzy, you were not hallucinating, were you?”

After Elizabeth had calmed herself by slowly and deeply breathing in and out and after Marty had given her cup by cup of tea, she had been somehow able to answer Marty’s questions – told him her name and contact data and all she knew about the crime – even if she could only vaguely remember what had happened.

At which time did you see the murder? I am not sure. I think sometime after nine o’clock.

What did the murderer look like? I can’t remember.

Did he have a weapon? No. Wait... yes. A knife. The killer had a knife.

Eventually, Marty had decided that saying “Miss Midford” all the time was too troublesome and started to call her “Lizzy” instead without her permission.

“I am only asking because I’ve noticed that your backpack is full of chocolate and that you have a plastic bag full of Rainbow Bagels. Too much sugar can do strange things to some people, you know? Some become hyperactive, some start hallucinating. Could also be that I am mixing this up with some other white substance, though.” Marty shrugged. “Nevertheless, can I have some? I am starving. The others went home early, leaving me with all the work. Can you believe that? They work for the police, justice and righteousness and all, and then they leave their coworker to do everything! Didn’t have time to grab something to eat. Could be that I started doodling food on the documents I had to fill out.”

Elizabeth threw him a Rainbow Bagel. It nearly fell to the ground because she didn’t have the strength anymore to throw it properly. His hunger, apparently, gave Marty the power to dive headlong over the counter and catch the bagel a centimetre over the ground with the grace and elegance of a drunk cat.

“Caught it!” he happily exclaimed before returning to his original position behind the counter. “Never thought that I am so sporty, right?” Marty ate the bagel like a savage. “Oh, Heavenly Rainbow Bagel! Without you, I would have died of hunger. You coming here was truly a gift of Heaven, Lizzy! When we forget the murder part, though.”

“When do you think my parents will come?” Elizabeth asked him. She felt tired, and her brain kept repeating the screams of the victim again and again. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be with her parents and brother. She wanted to go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and find out that all of this had been a mad, mad dream. What were the odds to witness a murder on your first day of school?

“I didn’t notify them,” Marty said, licking the bagel crumbs from his fingers.

Elizabeth blinked at him, the fog over her mind suddenly lifted. “What?”

“That means ‘Excuse me,’” he corrected her. “Also, if I had called them, they would have come to see and get their baby duck – Babies of a duck are called ‘ducklings,’ right? Like in The Ugly Duckling; to see and get their duckling then. However, I cannot allow that. Someone high-up will want to talk to you. And if I mean ‘high-up’ I mean ‘scarily high-up.’ He can do things no other citizens of Britain can. Cannot afford to enrage this guy. Like I’ve said, I cling to my head. And I know what you’re thinking ‘It’s the 21st century, and we are in a civilised country, nobody gets executed and incapacitated here!’ But I have to tell you otherwise: He has the power to wander outside of law, he does not care if we are still in the 21st century and that I have a nice head I cling to.”

“Who is this ‘scarily high-up’ person?” Elizabeth wanted to know.

“‘The Phantom Protector of Great Britain’!” Marty theatrically said, spreading his arms. “His work and existence are one of the best-kept secrets in the entire United Kingdom. And I am one of the secret keepers. It’s such an honour!”

“Which you have just told me.”

“Excuse me?” he blinked at her.

“‘His work and existence is one of the best kept secrets in the entire United Kingdom.’ And you have just told me about him.”

Marty immediately turned very, very pale. “Oh God, what have I done? I will be killed for sure. Beheaded like this dumb queen with her pimped out dress and white, stinky wig –”

“Marie Antoinette.”

“– Mary Anton!” he continued in a scream.

Then, to Marty’s horror, the door to the police station opened. He shrieked and jumped out of his chair. Elizabeth’s body temperature increased – What if it’s the killer? she thought between two raced heartbeats –, and she craned her head to see who had entered the station. And as soon as she saw who had come, her body temperature promptly dropped – her initial, unreasonable fear – Marty had told her that someone was coming after all – being replaced by cold disbelief.

Only a few metres away from her stood a person she knew. A person who had just turned around and whose eyes widened at the sight of her just like her own did.

Cute Shortie.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, Elizabeth Midford was sitting in the back seat of a Bentley. A 1954er R-type continental. One of the only 208 which had ever been created, instinctively crossed her mind. Growing up with an older brother and a father with a deep love for old and rare things, especially cars, had left marks on her. Furthermore, ever since she had been a child, facts and numbers had a comforting effect on her. And now, it helped her to keep her mind from drifting away again.

King Henry VIII never slept without an axe beside him.

Two-thirds of the world’s population has never seen snow.

The first three digits of pi are 3.14. Backwards, these numbers spell “pie.”

Four is considered to be an unlucky number in some Asian countries as their names for “four” sound similar to their words for “death.”

In Thailand, “five” is pronounced as “ha.” 555 would be “ha ha ha.”

The national anthem of Greece consists of 158 stanzas, but, normally, only the first two are sung.

The tradition to buy a white dress which is specially made and worn for and on your wedding started with Queen Victoria in 1840. Before that, women wore dresses to their weddings which they could wear afterwards too. Also, these dresses could be of any colour.

People suffering from Capgras delusion believe that someone close to them, for example a good friend or family members, was replaced by a doppelganger.

One year after the tragedy of the Titanic, the International Ice Patrol came into existence. Its purpose is to warn ships of icebergs.

Even though Buddhism originates from India, only around one percent of Indians are Buddhists. Most of them are Hindus.

Ciel Phantomhive is the “Phantom Protector of Great Britain.”

  Half an hour later, the Bentley stopped, and Ciel’s butler, a tall man with black hair and peculiar eyes, opened the door for Elizabeth. She left her bags inside the car, and the butler helped her to get out. The instance she saw where they were, her eyes widened.

Why did they bring me to school?

Quietly, Elizabeth followed Ciel and his butler to Blue House, and the butler opened a door for them which said  “McMillan & Phantomhive Detective Agency – Chocolate for Investigating.” Ciel entered the room and sat down behind a large desk, and as soon as Elizabeth had stepped through the door too, the butler closed it behind her, leaving the two of them alone.

As weak as a kitten, Elizabeth fell onto a sofa. The entire day had been awfully draining. First, she had been late to school. Then, she had lost her diary and became witness to murder. Now, she was sitting inside a Detective Agency at her school with the ominous “Phantom Protector of Great Britain” opposite from her – who had turned out to be the boy she had run into this very morning.

“I thought that it would be better if we could talk in a calm environment,” Ciel started, turning on a table lamp which was barely able to illuminate the room. “The police station is rather... loud with Card in charge.” He leaned back. “Let me introduce me first: My name is Ciel Phantomhive, the Earl of Phantomhive – but I guess that you have already known that.”

Blood rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks, and she was thankful for the dim light. “I am Elizabeth Midford.”

She could faintly see Ciel raising one of his eyebrows. “Midford? Like in Marquess Alexis Leon Midford?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. I am his daughter.”

“I see.”

Ciel wanted to continue, but a question suddenly blurted out of Elizabeth and cut him off: “How come you are ‘The Phantom Protector of Great Britain’?”

He blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

Elizabeth’s cheeks turned bright red. “That’s what Marty Card called you,” she mumbled.

“Card?” She could hear Ciel chuckle. “Nobody calls me that.”

Elizabeth looked up, and Ciel continued: “But that is, more or less, a description of what I am and what I do.” Ciel’s next words froze the blood in her veins.

“I am the Watchdog of the Queen – the secret executive organ, the private detective, and private assassin of Her Majesty the Queen Elizabeth the Second.

“I am the detective in charge of this murder case; and, unfortunately, you, Lady Midford, have to work with me now.”

[thestarsofthenight]

Chapter 1: The Land of Hope and Glory

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

Pairings: mainly Ciel Phantomhive/Elizabeth Midford

Summary: “There is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man won an election,” Francis had said, ending the Midfords four-year-long stay in the USA. Three days later, Elizabeth lives in gloomy London, wishing to be back in sunny LA, when a murder case suddenly turns her life upside down, entangling her with Ciel Phantomhive, his duty to the crown, and his school-intern detective agency...

Note: This is a retelling of the manga arcs (starting with the JTR arc) set in a Modern/School AU in which Ciel and McMillan have a detective agency at Weston (now accepting girls too) and Lizzy gets entangled with them after witnessing a murder. I hope you like it!

Navigation: Chapter Index

“The blood a hero sire hath spent/Still nerves a hero son.”

– A.C. Benson and Edward Elgar, Land of Hope and Glory

THE WHITECHAPEL COPYCAT ARC

London, England, United Kingdom – November 2016

“There is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man with dreadful hair won an election – and no, I don’t mean Oompa-Loompas, they are decent people,” Francis Midford had said, already packing together their things and thus ending the Midfords four-year-long stay in the USA.

If it had fully gone after Francis’ wishes, Elizabeth Midford would now live in Australia or Canada or perhaps even in a more exotic country, but Alexis Leon, her father, had managed to persuade his wife to go back to England, their old home – Brexit or not. After all, they had spent most of their lives there, were members of the old British gentry, and the history of their families was entangled with the history of the kingdom.

Therefore, Elizabeth was now running through the crowded streets of London, trying not to be late on her first day at her new school, while the stereotypical British rain was falling upon her. It was insane to change schools in the middle of the school year, but there had not been anything she could have done against it. At least, the school year had only started a couple of months ago. But it was still a bothersome procedure – a new school, new teachers, new schoolmates. Elizabeth had been with almost the same people in the middle and high school – but at her new school, the renowned Weston College, she didn’t know anybody besides her brother. She would be the stranger in a pile of already distinct groups.

Even if Elizabeth doubted that everyone at Weston would be a stranger to her.

Terribly wet and wishing that she would be back in Los Angeles, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin rather than the stinging rain, Elizabeth finally arrived in the school’s main building. Its official name was “Pearl Swan,” but everybody called it “Grey House” rather than “White House” because that would have been incredibly ridiculous.

Before the 1920s, Weston College had only been open to males. But now, even selected “normal” people – the children of parents who were neither rich nor noble – could attend it. With the change of the school system, the house classification had been abolished, and Weston College had become a day school and wasn’t a boarding school anymore. Now, the former four dormitory houses – Scarlet Fox, Sapphire Owl, Violet Wolf, and Green Lion – inhabited different school subjects: In Green House, P.E. and the sport clubs took place. In Purple House, music, art, drama, and dance was taught. In Red House, the pupils learned languages, manners, and cooking; and Blue House was the home of every other subject.

Still, Weston College mostly allowed rich and noble children to wander through their ancient, historical corridors, and, therefore, the percentage of “normal” pupils was quite low.

Fumbling her timetable out of her magenta leather bag, Elizabeth hurried through the white marmoreal corridors of Grey House.

It was 9.25, and Elizabeth had only five minutes to find out to which house she had to go for her first lesson. (She had already missed both the registration and the assembly.) And if she didn’t find her timetable in her bag soon, she would be late because the four old Houses were scattered over the huge campus. She could have gone to any ordinary school, but, of course, her parents had had to send her to a school whose premises were larger than three or four football fields together. And only because it was a Midford tradition to enrol their children in Weston.

Elizabeth sighed. The timetable seemed to have vanished inside the depths of her lovely bag – and why did she have to oversleep for the first time in her entire life today of all days? (It had only happened because Francis hadn’t been there in the morning for a change. She had been called by her sister-in-law very early in the morning, and Alexis hadn’t realised that it had now been his duty to make sure that both of his children got to school in time.)

If Elizabeth hadn’t overslept, her older brother Edward could have brought her to school, and on the way, she could have calmly searched for her timetable. Everything would have gone smoothly, but, of course, the universe had decided to turn her life into a silly romance novel beginning today – only without the slice of buttered toast in her mouth.

Now, I only have to run into a boy for whom I would fall immediately. And I would fall for him in the most disgusting and unrealistic way which was possible. After all, he would be “the great love of my life” and just like every over stupid romance “heroine” I would be strangled by the red thread, Elizabeth thought – and promptly collided with someone.

Elizabeth’s bag slipped out of her hands and because the bag was open, most of her belongings flew out of it. She landed on the hard floor and when she looked up she gazed into the eyes – no, eye, he was wearing an eye-patch over his right one – of a boy who, she had to admit, was actually quite cute despite the circumstance that he looked a bit feminine. But “him being cute” was not enough to start the magical “falling in love” process. If it had worked, she would have dumbly stared at him, perhaps even drooling onto her clothes and the floor.

Thank heavens.

“Are you all right?” the boy she had collided with asked, standing up before offering her a hand to help her up.

Hell – he is even nice! Good that this is still the reality and not a cheesy novel.

Elizabeth took his hand, and while she rose from the ground, she said: “I am fine. Thanks for asking.” When she was standing in front of the boy to her full height, Elizabeth had to realise that he was a few centimetres shorter than her.

Then, before anybody could say anything, the bell rang.

“Dammit,” Elizabeth cursed silently, quickly collecting her belongings and aggressively throwing them into her bag – and there was her timetable! Lying on the ground beside her chemistry book. She resisted the urge to kick it furiously into the next bin and simply picked up both things before saying goodbye to the boy and running to get to art.

And, of course, Purple House had to be at the other side of the campus which a glimpse at a map told her.

Hallelujah.

***

Art had been terrible. Elizabeth had been forty minutes late because she had missed the bus driving from Grey to Purple House. The school grounds were seriously so large that there were even buses driving between the six main houses. (The buses were colour-coded to make sure everyone – even Elizabeth – could figure out where they headed.) Her art teacher, Miss Julia Fray, had not been very amused of the fact that her new student had missed so much of her lesson, and Elizabeth’s new classmates had stared at her as if she was an alien. (As if they had never been late themselves.) That she had been still soaked in rain hadn’t helped much.

Now, fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth left Purple House and got into a bus which should bring her to Red House for English Literature.

I just want to go home, she thought while hugging her magenta bag. I want to go back to Los Angeles. Trump or not. I want to go back to my normal daily life full of sunlight, not-being late, and Red Velvet Oreos.

After Elizabeth had dropped out and entered Red House, she had to face another problem: Where was the English Literature Room? There wasn’t any room number on her timetable, and there were too many people walking around for her to see any signs or maps. Elizabeth already accepted the fact that she would be late again – and then, she saw a brown-haired girl who had also been with her in art.

I guess, she must have Literature now too... right?

Elizabeth fought her way to the girl and tapped her on the shoulder. Immediately, she started to scream and whirled around, her eyes wide.

“Hi,” Elizabeth greeted her with a smile. “I am Elizabeth Midford. Do you know by chance where Miss Lucie Doyle’s class is?”

After the girl had stared at her for a couple of seconds, she nodded and visibly relaxed. “Hello. I am Paula Sergeant. I also have Literature now – just follow me.”

Lucie Doyle, a woman with friendliness shining in her pale blue eyes, approached Paula and Elizabeth when they entered her classroom on time.

She extended a hand to Elizabeth. “You must be Elizabeth Midford. I am Miss Doyle – your Form Tutor and English Literature and Language teacher. I missed you during the registration.”

With an awkward smile, Elizabeth shook Miss Doyle’s hand. “I am terribly sorry, Miss. I overslept this morning and was completely overstrained with the school’s layout.”

“That’s all right,” Miss Doyle meant, smiling at her. “It’s your first day at Weston College after all. Also, you came to London only a few days ago. That must have been very stressful.”

Actually, the Midfords had arrived in London yesterday. That’s how fast their moving had gone. Three days ago, Francis had decided to leave Los Angeles, and now there were here: around eleven hours and almost 9000 kilometres away.

English Literature went better than art – after all, Elizabeth hadn’t been late this time –, but she had to realise that, to her misfortune, they were doing something entirely different than what she had done in America a few days ago.

Clearly, it wouldn’t be funny to rework everything.

And again – hallelujah. Thanks for everything, stupid election. Thanks, Donald Trump’s hairdresser.

***

Paula showed Elizabeth around during the break between 11.35 and 12.00 after they had spent half of English Literature exchanging notes. Paula introduced her to some of their schoolmates – shy Joanne Harcourt (He was a boy! Was every boy in this school feminine looking? Elizabeth had to take notes.), dashing Irene Diaz, the star of the Drama Club, and Grimsby Keane, her boyfriend (Okay, not everyone.) – and pointed at the Student Council when they passed by. Edgar Redmond, Gregory Violet, Lawrence Bluewer, and Herman Greenhill didn’t only have stu... interesting names but also attended Onyx Raven, the university part of Weston which had been created during the school’s reformation in the 1920s. (The name “Onyx Raven” sounded like the title of a Pokémon game, with its counterpart being “Pearl Swan.”) Paula told Elizabeth that always four of the university students formed the Inner Core of the Student Council for the entire institute. The Inner Core members were called “Council 4” or “C4” for short. Then, there were also their deputies and assistants – Cheslock, Maurice Cole, and Clayton – who belonged to the Intermediate Core. The Outer Core consisted of two pupils of each school year. For Year 10, it were Irene and Justus Siemens.

Also, Elizabeth told Paula about Los Angeles: How her family had moved there in 2012. How they had originally planned to stay only for a year, but fell in love with the city and stayed three more years until the next election which had been nothing but a total train-wreck. A ridiculous match between pest and cholera, Dolores Umbridge and Joffrey Baratheon, Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey. No matter what you chose, you would always get something utterly horrible.

Elizabeth looked around to find out if Edward was somewhere, but she couldn’t see him, and then, the break was already over.

She trudged through a lesson of Chemistry (The teacher was seriously named Merlin Morgan. As if he was a book character) and P.E. (It was quite boring to not being able to participate, but her P.E. clothes were still in one of the million boxes filling their villa like furniture) until Lunch Break finally began.

Paula and Elizabeth went to the cafeteria which adjoined Grey House. Elizabeth hammered her head against the table in frustration, and Paula tried to calm her down. But there was nothing to calm her down.

During P.E. Elizabeth had gone through her bag and noticed that her diary was gone. Her diary.

She was none of these girls who carried their diaries everywhere – even to the toilet. The only reason why Elizabeth had brought her diary to school today was because she had put it into her bag for the flight. And because she had been in a hurry this morning, she hadn’t been able to remove it. And now, it was gone, and she had no idea where it could be. Perhaps, she had lost it on her run to school or somewhere on the school grounds – she didn’t know. Actually, Elizabeth preferred her diary to have gone lost in the rain somewhere in the streets of London over a schoolmate having found and now reading it. She wasn’t a person who poured all her heart into a simple notebook, but she would still die of embarrassment if someone read it. And today was her first day at the new school.

I think, things couldn’t go worse now. I was already at the absolute zero point.

“I am certain that you will find your diary, Lizzy,” Paula said. Elizabeth had offered her one period ago to call her “Lizzy.” At home and in Los Angeles, everyone called her “Lizzy.” It was weird to be called “Elizabeth” all day long.

Elizabeth stopped hammering her head against the table and looked up. “Paula – I am fine. Stop talking about it.”

“But you are definitely not fine,” Paula replied. “You were hitting the table with your head.”

“I am fine now. I stopped doing it, so I am fine.”

Her new friend sighed. “Whatever you say, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth let her gaze wander through the cafeteria, searching again for her brother. But then, her gaze froze at the entrance door – no other than Cute Shortie into whom she had run into earlier was standing there and talking to a boy with funny reddish brown hair and round glasses. Paula followed Elizabeth’s gaze and tilted her head.

“They are Ciel Phantomhive and McMillan,” she told Elizabeth. “They belong to the ‘Phantomhive & McMillan Detective Agency – Chocolate for Investigating.’”

Elizabeth frowned. “Detective Agency?”

Paula nodded. “You can go there if one of your things is missing or anything like that, and they solve your case in exchange of sweets. The one with the eye-patch is Ciel, the detective and the agency’s leader. McMillan is his secretary and assistant.”

“Why do you keep calling him by his surname?”

Paula simply shrugged. “Everyone calls McMillan McMillan. I don’t think anybody actually knows his first name. Not even the teachers.”

“O-,” Elizabeth started to say before cutting herself off when she saw Ciel noticing and approaching her.

Don’t tell me the “Red String Strangle Magic” had worked on him. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...

“You lost this earlier,” Ciel Phantomhive said to Elizabeth when he stood in front of hers and Paula’s table, handing her a blue velvet notebook with a soft Victorian pattern on it – her diary.

Okay – I have been wrong. I have just fallen beyond the absolute zero point.

Cute Shortie – I mean, Ciel Phantomhive – has read my diary. He. Has. Read. My. Diary. Hopefully, he just wanted to have my entire stock of Red Velvet Oreos which I had brought over from America and didn’t go around telling everyone about my diary’s contents.

I don’t pour my heart into it. Usually. But I did it once. On my darkest of days. And this entry contains my biggest secret nobody could ever know. And now, Cu- Ciel Phantomhive did, and who knows who would know about it soon? Or did already know?

Perhaps, I should give him the Oreos I have in my bag.

Wordlessly, Elizabeth took the diary. Ciel also didn’t say anything anymore and just went back to McMillan.

“Lizzy!” Paula exclaimed, blinking at the blue notebook. “Is this your lost diary?”

Like she had been mesmerised (Like there was a fairy sitting invisibly on her diary and looking into her unprotected eyes!), Elizabeth stared at her diary and slowly nodded.

“Yey! You have it back, isn’t it great? But why are you looking like the Earl has given you ectoplasm?”

I wouldn’t have this expression on my face if he gave me ectoplasm – ectoplasm was awesome.

Elizabeth’s confusion was strong enough to make her forget that her life was probably over now – and that after only fourteen years! She looked up and frowned at Paula. “‘The Earl’?”

Paula frowned back. “Uh... Ciel Phantomhive? The Earl of Phantomhive? The boy who came to our table a few minutes ago? Dark hair? A deep blue eye? Eye-patch?”

“‘Earl of Phantomhive’?” Elizabeth said, her eyes widening. “Do you mean that he already holds his family’s title? That he isn’t just, for example, the son of a Duke who was granted an extra title to his title of a Lord? That he is already the head of his family?”

Oh, God – I am the daughter of a Marquess and thus hold the title of a Lady. Cute Shortie, however, has already inherited his family’s “main” title – and the position as the family head – despite being in my age or perhaps even one or two years younger (probably not older, he is so short).

That he is holding this title means that his predecessor – most likely his father – is already dead.

“Uh... yes? He inherited the title after his parents’ death,” Paula told Elizabeth who could only stare at her with an open mouth. (Terribly unladylike, but then, they weren’t in the 19th century.)

Both his parents are dead?! I think I would die if Mum and Dad suddenly passed away in the foreseeable future. I couldn’t imagine living without parents at my age even though I know that there are far too many children in the world who have to live like that.

“Didn’t you know about it?” Paula asked, still frowning. “It was all over the news three years ago. ‘Head of the Funtom Corporation and Family Die In a Mysterious Fire.’ ‘Earl Phantomhive Son’s Ashes Not Found.’ ‘Who Burned Down Phantomhive Manor?’ ‘What Happened to the Company’s Heir?’ ‘Phantomhive Arsonist Still On the Loose.’ ‘Ciel Phantomhive’s Miraculous Return!’ ‘Where Had Ciel Been?’” she recited some of the news’ headlines. “The news about the fire was everywhere. For seemingly endless weeks, it flooded everything – the newspapers, the internet, the television... Everyone talked about it. Everyone wondered what happened to the missing ten-year-old boy. Groups of people searched for Ciel for weeks – until he magically returned. After his return, he was labelled ‘England’s saddest boy.’ Now, everyone is wondering where he had been and what had happened on the day of the fire.”

“Do they know it now? I mean, three years have passed after all.” Elizabeth had turned pale. This was even worse than she had imagined.

Paula shook her head. “No. Ciel refuses to talk about these topics, and his aunt does everything she can to ensure that the media does not harass him so that her nephew can live without having to fear that reporters jump out of every bush he passes by. There’s also a distant relative who leads Funtom Corporation until Ciel is old enough to do it on his own. He lost everything else on December 14, 2013 – his tenth birthday.”

OH. GOD.

“It happened on his birthday?!” Elizabeth yelled and quite a lot of people turned around to her. She ignored them.

Paula nodded with a sad expression on her face. “Yes. That’s why they are calling him ‘England’s saddest boy.’”

To hell – I doubt that THIS BOY could ever, ever read someone else’s diary, or at least, tell everyone about its contents.

First of all, he didn’t know me, and thus he had no reason to do anything like that to me. I didn’t go and punch him in the face today or anything like that after all.

Also, telling the world about someone else’s diary would not only draw attention to the diary’s owner but to the whistleblower too. And Ciel Phantomhive is DEFINITELY not a person who wants to draw a lot of attention to himself.

And the most definite argument: If he had seriously wanted to mortify me, he would not have given me back my diary. Of course, he could have made photos of the pages, but wasn’t keeping the diary more vicious? Also, Ciel didn’t seem evil or plotting or anything like that to me. He just seemed like a nice boy who wanted to give something he had found to its rightful owner.

I simply overreacted.

Elizabeth sighed in relief.

I am saved! My life isn’t over yet!

“I am going to get myself something to eat,” Elizabeth told Paula and stood up. “Should I get you something too?”

Paula shook her head and got out a lovingly filled lunch box. Just before Elizabeth walked to the food counter, she looked back to the cafeteria’s entrance – but McMillan and Ciel were already gone.

***

There is only one thing I was looking forward to when Mum announced that we would move.

With a wide smile on her face, Elizabeth ran all the way back to Midford Villa after the school had ended.

Alexis Leon Midford had brought the villa – a dream of black and white with five floors (counting the attic), one basement, three garages, and a huge garden with a pond – in 1997 after marrying Francis. Since then, the beautiful Victorian villa in Mayfair belonged to the Midford family. This had not changed when they had moved to the States – a convenient circumstance, considering their rushed return to England.

Elizabeth hurried through the enormous, brilliantly shining white entrance hall and up the red-carpeted stairs to get to her room. The new servants (their old ones had refused to leave America; Francis didn’t mind as she had been able to get new ones in no time) were running around like busy bees and packing out the many, many moving boxes. If they had also sounded like bees, a terrible noise would have gone through the villa and a policeman would be standing on the door because he had been called due to “breach of the peace.” Luckily, the servants did not make the annoying sound of bees while working. Getting into a fight with your new neighbours on your first day was never a good thing.

Elizabeth closed the door behind her and quickly exchanged the white and black school uniform with a pale orange knitted jumper, thick tights in pale rosé, and a black skirt. Elizabeth threw her school and exercise books out of her bag before grabbing the bag, her velvet coat which had a lovely, warm brown colour, her black boots and left her room again, putting on the coat and bag. She jumped around while putting on the boots when she passed by her father’s study.

“I am going out!” Elizabeth announced through the study’s opened door while getting into her left boot.

Alexis looked up from the newspapers he had been reading and frowned. “Didn’t you just come back, Lizzy? Can’t you eat something first?”

“I ate at school!” she yelled and hurried downstairs. She was out of the door before Alexis could reply anything.

When the Midfords had moved to Los Angeles, Elizabeth had been ten years old and too young to explore the city on her own. Now, back and fourteen, she was finally able to walk through the stunning streets of London all on her own.

I couldn’t await to meet London’s atmosphere, its life, in a new way – as a person different to the one who had left it all these years ago.

Elizabeth walked through Grosvenor Street before turning right into Bond Street before entering Burlington Gardens and some other streets – and twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of M&M’s World, every child’s biggest dream. It was the world’s largest candy store at 3250cm² – and Elizabeth was so happy to stand in front of it because there were only a handful of these stores existing in the world, and none in Los Angeles.

Just like A.C. Benson had said, England was really “the land of hope and glory.” Hope for almost infinite sweets. Glory for dentists.

How could she have lived in London for ten years without ever going here before?

Happily, Elizabeth entered Hea... M&M’s World, only to come out hours later with far too many sweets in her almost exploding bag. But actually, that wasn’t true: You could never have too many sweets. Just like you can never have enough sweets.

Perhaps, I should share some of my sweets with Cute Shortie. He may have enough money to buy M&M’s World (I quickly googled “Funtom Corporation” on my way to the candy store – he is truly one hell of a rich kid), but the gesture of someone giving him sweets out of nothing would certainly, hopefully, make him happy. At least, for a short amount of time.

Also, I have falsely accused him of being an arsehole who goes around and tells the contents of someone else’s diary. Cute Shortie may not know anything about it – I did it in my mind after all –, but I still feel that I owe him something as an apology.

It was already past seven o’clock (and because it was November, it was quite dark despite the glowing shop lights) and tomorrow was school, and perhaps, perhaps, Elizabeth should go home now..., but she had even resisted the urge to go into the Nickelodeon Store right next to M&M’s World... (Who had come up with that???) ... and she had always wanted to eat one of these famous Rainbow Bagels...

Before she knew what was happening, Elizabeth found herself on a Piccadilly Line train. She got out in Holborn and took the Central Line (The train was suffocatingly full!) to Liverpool Street. Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth stood in front of Beigel Shop, Brick Lane. Would she walk down the Brick Lane, she would eventually arrive at Aladin – the restaurant serving London’s best curry. Even His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, had eaten there.

She would go there on another day. The temptation was big, though.

Elizabeth entered Beigel Shop (It was a 24/7 shop! Rainbow Bagels all day long forever!) and ordered twenty Rainbow Bagels. They were just the right things to buy on such a grey day. Also, she was certain that even Francis would like them.

Alternatively to the sweets, I could give Cute Shortie one of the bagels – but first, let’s see if Edward and Dad don’t eat all of them immediately.

With a bag full of warm bagels, Elizabeth walked through various side streets to get back to Liverpool Station. Of course, she could have gone back the same way she had come – but her city exploration trip had only consisted of two stops today (Damn you, amazingness of M&M’s World for stealing time like teeth!), and Elizabeth wanted  to have something of a little “adventure” to make her trip less lame. Good that she had her smartphone with her. Good that she was not afraid of the dark.

And then, right before entering the quietest side street of them all, she saw something terrible on its other end.

Elizabeth Midford, fourteen-years-old, with M&Ms and plushies in her magenta leather bag and a bag full of Rainbow Bagels in her hand, stared at the scene in front of her – and watched a figure clad in black brutally stabbing an already unmoving body.

[thestarsofthenight]

Chapter 2: The Land of Horror and Blood

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

Pairings: mainly Ciel Phantomhive/Elizabeth Midford

Summary: “There is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man won an election,” Francis had said, ending the Midfords four-year-long stay in the USA. Three days later, Elizabeth lives in gloomy London, wishing to be back in sunny LA, when a murder case suddenly turns her life upside down, entangling her with Ciel Phantomhive, his duty to the crown, and his school-intern detective agency…

Navigation: Chapter Index

“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.”  ― Stephen King

Countryside, England, United Kingdom – November 2016

“I see... In any case, I have no intention of fighting you, Mr Butler... I yield. But you know...” Azzurro Vanel said while grabbing Ciel Phantomhive by his hair and pulling him into his arms before he held a gun to his head. “I’ll be taking those goods you managed you get.”

It was Monday morning – and no, Ciel Phantomhive usually did not spend his Monday mornings bleeding and hurt in the arms of a madman who pressed a gun against his temple. Not that this had never happened before – just not on a Monday morning.

In what kind of world were they living where madmen ignored the fact that you should not kidnap anyone before midday? Especially thirteen-year-old children who had to go to school on Mondays?

“You wouldn’t want your cute master to have breathing holes in his head, would you?” Azzurro Vanel, Italian mafia boss, traitor, and madman who did not know that you were not supposed to kidnap anyone on Monday mornings, said. Mondays were already worse enough without a kidnapping. Particularly the mornings when you were fully confronted with the fact that the weekend was in the past now, and you had to go out and socialise again.

Ciel almost shuddered at the thought of socialising.

“If you’re really a butler, then you know what you should do.”

“The thing you gentlemen are looking for is right-” Sebastian Michaelis, manservant, Phantomhive family butler with a secret, calmly replied. The moment he put his hand into his pocket to get out the item Azzurro wanted, he was shot in the head. A second later, Sebastian was shot a dozen times again.

And no – that Ciel Phantomhive’s butler got shot was also not something which often happened.

“Did... we get him?” Azzurro’s henchmen asked their boss from behind the perforated painting which had hidden  them earlier.

No. You have just turned him into a piece of Swiss cheese – but no, you didn’t get him, Ciel thought.

“... Hahaha,” Azzurro chuckled. It sounded horrible. “Sorry, Romeo... but I’m the winner of this game!!”

That’s what you call a Large Ham, crossed Ciel’s mind right before Azzurro pulled him by his hair again to force him to look into his ugly face. Now, the Mafioso was pressing his gun against Ciel’s chin. “And right when he’d finally come for you... too bad, huh? Little Phantomhive. If you’re up against the Phantomhives, the Queen’s Watchdogs, then even I’ll keep an ace up my sleeve.”

For centuries, the Phantomhive family served the Royal family as Watchdogs who guarded the Underworld. And when Ciel’s parents had died three years ago, the family duty had been passed to him.

Normal citizens didn’t know about this. For them, the Phantomhives were rich entrepreneurs and Ciel nothing but a poor, poor child who had lost his family in tragedy.

But in reality, the Phantomhives had been murderers all the time – shadow detectives and silent killers, executing every one of the ruler’s wishes.

Therefore, you could say that Ciel Phantomhive was definitely not a nice boy. He was the most calculating and manipulative evil boy of this century – not counting fictional Artemis Fowl.

“All that’s left is to kill you,” Azzurro said to Ciel, grinning, “and it’ll be perfect. You’ve been in the way for a long time now, always watching us like the police. Eh? We’ll erase you... and bring change to England through our own methods.”

I am better than the police. Don’t compare me to these incompetent fools.

Azzurro pulled away Ciel’s eye-patch with the gun barrel and continued to talk. Ciel did not even bother to listen to his words anymore.

This man is a master in wasting time. I need to be in school in twenty minutes.

I guess, I should call out for Sebastian now.

“Hey,” Ciel said aloud. “How long are you going to play around for? I wouldn’t have thought that that was such a nice place to sleep. Just how long are you going to play dead like a racoon? I am going to be late for school.”

With a chuckle, Sebastian Michaelis – manservant, butler, dead just a minute ago – sat up. “The efficiency of guns has been going up recently. It’s a big difference to one hundred years ago.”

Azzurro Vanel, crying like a child who had seen a ghost, started yelling to his henchmen to kill Sebastian.

Idiot. Can’t even figure out that you couldn’t kill Sebastian.

Without much effort, Sebastian killed Azzurro’s men with their own bullets which he had earlier retrieved from his own body.

What a show-off.

“Ah... What a mess,” Sebastian sighed, looking at his damaged clothes. “My clothes have become ruined.”

“It’s because you were playing around, you idiot,” his master replied.

The butler Sebastian Michaelis’ secret was that he was not a real butler. Or a manservant. Or even a man.

“Sebastian Michaelis” was the name Ciel Phantomhive had given to the demon he had made a contract with three years ago.

If Ciel were to tell the boulevard press what he had been doing in his month of absolute absence, they would definitely not believe him. But when “accidentally summoning a demon” was the truth what else could you do but to stay silent?

***

After Sebastian had stopped to play dead, everything had gone faster – but not fast enough. And now, it was 9.25, and Ciel had missed the registration and assembly. Hopefully, nobody noticed the quickly covered cuts and bruises on his face.

Incompetent idiot. The cake today has to be especially good to make up for this.

Ciel had just wanted to leave Grey House and take a bus to Red House for French when someone walked right into him. He fell down on his buttocks and when he looked up, Ciel saw a girl with blonde curly twin-tails. She was surrounded by the content of her magenta bag.

The girl gazed up – and stared at him with her shining green eyes.

If she recognises me and begins to pity me with empty words, I will burn down the boulevard press for real this time.

But the girl did not say anything – she just stared at him, her eyes not reflecting recognition or pity but surprise... and a little bit of disgust?

Well, that is weird.

“Are you all right?” Ciel politely asked the girl, stood up, and offered her a hand.

She took his hand without hesitation and answered: “I am fine. Thanks for asking.”

Hm... could it be that she does not know me? That she knows nothing about the fire? Strange... it was all over the news three years ago... Everybody knows about it.

But when I come to think about it – I have never seen her here before.

The bell rang, and the girl cursed right afterwards before she collected her things and put them back into her bag. She threw her books so violently into her backpack that Ciel feared that it could fall apart and she would start cursing uncontrollably.

“Goodbye!” the girl quickly said to him before crumbling her timetable in her hand and running away.

Yes, goodbye to you too.

Ciel was about to head to French when he saw something blue which was reflecting the white corridor light on the ground. He frowned and approached it. The blue something turned out to be a beautiful notebook. He picked it up and thumbed through it, but as soon as he saw the words “Dear Diary...” on one of the pages, he closed it. Ciel Phantomhive might be the ruthless Watchdog of the Queen but he was certainly not someone who read the diaries of others. Especially the diaries of people he did not even know.

It must belong to Green Eyes. The contents of her bag were scattered all over the corridor after our collision after all.

Ciel put the diary into his bag before leaving Grey House. He would surely meet the girl again – and then, he could return the notebook to her.

***

“Hello,” McMillan greeted Ciel when he entered the physics room at 10.34.

Two years ago, McMillan had been late on his very first day of school, and the only free seat had been next to Ciel. Not that this event had turned them into friends – it had just been a coincidence.

McMillan had actually begun to try being Ciel’s friend after Alethea Wordsmith’s rabbit Conan had vanished, and Ciel had deducted in a couple of minutes that Viola Fleming had stolen it as she held a weird obsession for rabbits and her mother had just forbidden her any contact with these adorable animals. Viola had been sent to an asylum, Alethea had got back her beloved pet, and McMillan had started to persuade Ciel to open a detective agency at their new school.

He had eventually succeeded, and the “Phantomhive & McMillan Detective Agency – Chocolate for Investigating” had been founded. And after a while, Ciel had even – to his own surprise – accepted McMillan as his friend. On a peculiar December day when Ciel had watched the snow falling down in front of his office window, he had caught himself thinking “I could call McMillan and ask him if he wants to build a snowman.”

Ciel had laid in his bed for the rest of the day, but, eventually, he had stopped to struggle against the fact – a really, really, strange fact – that, deep down, he considered McMillan as his friend – a circumstance which had been caused by the remnants of his childish thoughts, Ciel told himself. From that day on, Ciel became the only person to call McMillan by his first name – except his parents and siblings.

But I cannot get too attached to this “friendship” and this “normal life.” After all, it is not going to last for long.

“Hello,” Ciel replied and sat down on his chair next to McMillan’s.

“How was your weekend?” he asked.

“Not out of the ordinary,” Ciel answered, and McMillan started to tell him about his weekend. “I helped my father at the library, and my mother is in the middle of an interesting case. Also...”

He talked and talked until the bell rang, and Kaizuka Taiji, their physics teacher, started the lesson.

***

Ciel saw the green-eyed girl again in the cafeteria during Lunch Break while he spoke to McMillan. The girl had been talking to Paula Sergeant and was now staring at him across the cafeteria. Paula followed the other girl’s gaze and tilted her head before saying something to her.

I can give the diary back to her now, Ciel thought and excused himself to McMillan before walking towards the girls’ table who were still deep in talk.

“You lost this earlier,” Ciel said to the girl after he had arrived at their table and took out her diary. He handed it to her and, at first, the girl just stared at him as if he was a ghost or had vomit in his hair.

Green Eyes is quite weird. Always staring at me.

Hm... wait. What if I really have something in my hair? Or if one of my cuts or bruises are visible? I need to check that later.

Then, without saying anything, the girl took the notebook. And because she had not said anything, Ciel simply frowned and wordlessly returned to McMillan.

“What did you do?” his friend wanted to know.

“I collided with her earlier today,” Ciel explained. “She lost something due to the collision. I found it and gave it back to her.”

McMillan nodded in appreciation before he resumed their conversation from earlier. “Nuala likes Marinette the most.” Nuala was McMillan’s younger sister and a big fan of Miraculous Ladybug. One day, when Ciel had been visiting McMillan she had forced them to sit and marathon the entire first season. It had been a dreadful experience. This show was too sparkly and too light and good for Ciel’s taste. He especially hated Hawk Moth, the TV show’s idiotic villain, and the fact that Ladybug had the ability to undo the damage caused by the akumatised people. The world wasn’t as simple and easy as it was shown in Miraculous Ladybug.

You cannot just turn everything like it has once been with the help of magical ladybugs.

Ciel sighed. “Of course, she likes Marinette. She is the protagonist after all. The protagonist, as long as he or she is not a complete idiot, is always one of the top three most liked characters of its source material.”

McMillan shrugged. “She’s five. So, do you think a Ladybug doll would be a good present for her?”

Nuala and Niall ‒ McMillan’s twin siblings – would turn six next week, and while McMillan knew what he could get his brother, he was a bit clueless when it came to finding a suitable gift for his sister.

“Are there any Miraculous Ladybug toys?”

“I have absolutely no clue. No – wait. I do. Toys ‘R’ Us has some. They look terribly ugly, though. I cannot give my sister a toy which could give her nightmares.”

McMillan was the sort of person who always found something good in everything and everyone. This was most likely the reason why they had become friends in the first place. So, if he thought that something was hideous, it was indeed hideous.

“What about a t-shirt or some other piece of clothes? There are band t-shirts, so why shouldn’t there be any children TV series t-shirts?”

“I looked that up already.” McMillan sighed. “They look even worse than the toys. Mostly, just the Ladybug and Cat Noir symbols were put on a plain t-shirt, dress, or jumper. The guys who make these things are awfully fanciless.”

“What about fan-made things, then?” Ciel suggested. “They tend to be better than the official things.”

“Hm – that’s a good idea! I will search for something after school. Thanks, Ciel.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It happened on his birthday?!” somebody suddenly screamed through the entire cafeteria. Ciel flinched. He whirled around to find the voice’s source – which turned out to be the green-eyed girl. People looked at her before they turned their attention to Ciel.

Dammit. That’s why I usually don’t go to the cafeteria.

Ciel Phantomhive usually spent his breaks in the office of his school-intern detective agency. But today, he had gone to the cafeteria because he had had to find the girl and return her diary.

Damn you, Paula Sergeant. I preferred it when Green Eyes knew nothing about this. Then, there would have been two pupils in this goddamn school who would not bother me with this topic.

Ciel quickly left the canteen before anybody could come and talk to him. McMillan silently followed him.

I am not someone who would turn into a cry-baby because of that. I am just tired of answering the same questions over and over again.

No, I won’t tell you where I was in that one month.

No, I have no clue who burned down Phantomhive Manor and murdered my parents.

But I am working on it.

***

After a period of biology by Caspian Darwin, McMillan and Ciel walked home together. Finnian MacCoul, who was officially the son of Ciel’s gardener, but who was actually Ciel’s gardener himself, still had German classes and thus couldn’t accompany them.

Ciel and McMillan said goodbye to each other when they arrived at the Phantomhive townhouse, and Ciel waved after his friend while McMillan walked down the road.

“Welcome back, Young Master,” Sebastian greeted Ciel, opening the door. Ciel glared at him. “I hope the cake is already ready, Sebastian.”

“Of course, it is, Young Master,” Sebastian replied. “I will serve it as a dessert after lunch.”

“No. The cake will be my lunch. And don’t argue with me – I deserve this after you fooled around too long this morning and let me be late for school.”

“A letter from the Queen arrived before you returned from school,” Sebastian told his master and handed him the letter on a silver tray. Ciel had just finished eating his lunch charlotte russe.

“If it was already here when I came back – why didn’t you give it to me then?” Ciel asked, taking the envelope.

“I thought that you might want to eat first.”

Ciel ignored Sebastian’s reply and opened the letter. It said: “My dear boy – in 1888, a person who was called Jack the Ripper murdered people, mostly female prostitutes, in Whitechapel, London. Their identity was never unveiled, and thus Jack the Ripper became one of the most famous serial killers in history. But you may already know about that.

“Lately, similar murders have been committed, and again, they have occurred in Whitechapel. Scotland Yard is working on this case, but they are as clueless as Frederick Abberline back in the late 19th century. Therefore, I removed them from this case and put you in charge of continuing and solving it. I have already informed the police about this transfer.”

A second Whitechapel Murderer? Ciel thought and put down the letter. At least, this was more exciting than searching for cats or looking into supposed beauty contest frauds. Or idiotic Italian mafiosi.

[thestarsofthenight]

Little Bonuses

Hi! I am currently working on the fifth chapter, but before I continue I want to address something.

I don’t know if you ever went to the main page of thestarsofthenight.tumblr.com, but if you didn’t, perhaps you should? (In no way, I want to advertise myself, but I just happen to like to put little extras on my fanfiction tumblrs, and, maybe, you would like to check them out?)

If you go to the main page, you will find this:

And see the second rhombus from the right? When you hover your cursor over it, the word “Links” appear.

And when you click on it, you will see the image below!

Clicking on “Chapter Index” will lead you to a nice navigation help to the chapters. I already planned out the entire Whitechapel Copycat Arc so you can see how many chapters there will be. Also, I also put the title of the next chapter in there if you want to know it.

Clicking on “Students of Weston College 2016/17,” “Weston College Teachers,” and “Student Timetables” will lead you to some little extras.

Most teachers have been named either after real-life people or fictional characters - so have been the 8th graders. Some are more obvious, others... aren’t. Also, you can see which Black Butler character is in which Year and with whom :D