Black and Red | Kuroshitsuji | Sebastian Michaelis x OC

Street Rat

Rapid footsteps pounded on the rough cobblestones like raindrops, hurtling the woman through the nearly deserted back-ways of London. Behind her, the cries of her pursuers were growing much louder. If she wasn't careful, they would catch up with her soon, and then she'd be in real trouble. The woman turned a corner sharply, sidestepping a deep-looking puddle of murky water – remnants of the earlier summer rain – and quickly vaulted over a broken wheelbarrow that had been left in the dark. It was piled high with all sorts of rubbish, and had probably been turned into a sort of local dustbin.

She skidded slightly on the slick mud-moss-and-algae covered ground, but managed to regain her footing. The woman smirked and spun around, her foot connecting with the near-broken handle. The wheelbarrow tipped over, and began to roll, spilling cardboard, metal rods and broken glass, clattering noisily all the way. She didn't wait to see if that had been enough to do the job, but judging by the disgusted cries she guessed that it had performed well. Still, that would only be, at best, a quick deterrent. The more determined and more desperate ones wouldn't be put off for long. They'd soon come after her, and she wouldn't be here when they did.

The woman swept her hair out of her eyes and thought. If there was one thing that life had taught her, it was that trusting other people was dangerous. Humans were fickle creatures who changed their thoughts, opinions, and emotions at the drop of a hat. Thieves like her had to be quick and opportunistic in order to survive. At least, if you were on your own, then you only had to worry about yourself. 

At least you wouldn't drag anyone else down that way.

Overhead, a lone cloud drifted across the face of the sun, temporarily shrouding the alley in new shadows. Shaking her head, the woman skirted a corner and found herself bursting out of the narrow walls and into the busy London streets. The feeling of emerging into sunlight after being in the dark was painful, and she blinked twice to allow her eyes to adjust to the blaze of light and sound. That was when she heard them again; the furious shouts from behind her. 

Out of habit, the woman lowered her head, tugged the newsboy cap further over her forehead, and hunched lithe shoulders up to her ears. In a moment she had gone from a panting, panicked victim to a grimy urchin that disappeared easily between the crowd of brown coats and rushing pedestrians.  A few people shot angry glares her way when she bumped into them, but she ignored them.

Out in the open, those men wouldn't dare to attack her. There was a constable nearby, and she had learned that coppers were often easily persuaded by a young face and a few coins. Pigs.

Sighing out a breath, she glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder and spotted them hovering just a few yards behind her. There were only three of them now, out of the eight that had preceded them. Her lips curved into a faint smirk, followed by a pivot to the left as though she was about to head back into the alleyway. Their steps quickened to catch up. Another left, and she vanished into the dim space between two shops.

A second later, they thundered past her, calling out insults and slurs. When she was certain that they were gone, the woman jumped down from the small niche she'd pressed herself into and patted herself down.

Idiots, she giggled to herself. But not for long, she quickly corrected. Maybe it had been a bad idea to antagonize that gang. What had started out as a somewhat friendly game of whist had quickly devolved into slimy insinuations and accusations of cheating. How was it her fault that they were all terrible at card games? It wouldn't be safe here for a while. 

Cramming the hat lower over her face, she quickly exited the alley and made her way to a single scuffed, painted brown cab that had been loitering on the street for quite a while. The cab driver glanced at her warily, his eyes narrowing faintly as he took the scruffy coat, tattered trousers, and bruised fists.