Do Not Go Gentle

Chapter 8

{ Revenge is like drinking poison, and expecting it to hurt someone else. }
- William Shakespeare

〰〰〰〰

The streets of London have always smelled of decay and ruin. I can hear my shoes clicking against the slick pavement and cobblestone streets as Sebastian and I make our way up to where the Undertaker works. The strong scent of rotting corpses masked with heavy perfumes and preserving agents waft through the door as it is opened, and we step inside the cool, dank room.

"Undertaker. Are you in?"

I call out into the darkness, readying myself for the grey-haired man to spring forth upon us from a coffin, or from under the table in the corner that is covered by a stained, white sheet.

"Ah... I've been expecting you, Phantomhive."

His low, gravely voice comes from behind the front desk of the room, and I can make out his robed figure hovering with a jar of dog biscuits in his hand.

I step forward, keeping my eyes on him like a lion stalking its prey.

"I suppose you know what I am here to ask, then?"

I question him obligingly, letting a small smirk form at the corners of my mouth. A low chuckle escapes from his mouth.

"Why of course. Everybody is talking about it, you know? If I were you, I'd fix this problem soon."

Though I cannot see his eyes, I feel them searching upon me and scanning along my ribcage and collarbones.

"Care for a biscuit?"

He holds the chalky, crumbling thing up, dangling it in front of me as if he were taunting an animal. He is, though. But it is not that horrible dog treat that he is teasing me with.

"No, thank you. I don't have time for games. What is it you ask?"

He glides out from behind the desk, and I turn to face Sebastian as the Undertaker scurries up to him, circling him as a clawed-tipped finger brushes along his jawline like a knife would brush along the throat of a victim.

"I ask only for the simplest of things, of course. The live-giving force that can drive a man mad."

He stops to turn his ominous gaze on to me.

"Prime laughter."

I sigh, briefly closing my eyes as I step towards the two men. My eyes lock with Sebastian's, and I can feel the anticipation swirling and burning through his pupils like a red flame.

"Very well. Sebastian, you know what to do."

He nods obediently, the moment hovering like a hummingbird before flitting off and out of sight.

"Please, master... close your eyes."

I find the corner of the room by the door, and crouch down with my head in my hands. This is the trick Sebastian has pulled many times before for the Undertaker, and I am glad that it is laughter he has requested, today. And though I should be frightened of what is about to become of my butler, I feel the stirrings of excitement mixing with adrenaline in the pit of my stomach.

The air grows cold around me, and I can almost feel the energy being sucked towards the center of the room; undoubtedly where Sebastian is standing. The wind outside seems to pick up and whistle through the trees and closed windows, and even behind my eyelids I can see all light and color disappear into the oblivion that is Sebastian.

I have seen Sebastian in his true demonic form thrice in the time I have known of him: first, when our contract was made, the second when he was attempting to scare off a bothersome detective... which seemed unneeded, though I may never unwind the coils of that man's mind. The last time was a year ago... and it is a time I should never forget, for he became so agitated at the thought of me that he couldn't control himself. I have never seen someone so utterly dark and writhing at such a simple thing as human speech... though I suppose that is the mystery of demons.