Success Story

A Master Surrealist

Lavish scarlet coats made of the finest cashmere. That's what people think of when they see Grell Sutcliff. But the person is actually rather modest with their money. That cashmere is real but the coat is from a second-hand shop. They own a suit worth £800, but that's the only suit they own. And one Victorian-style  dress on sale for £50. The illusion of exuberance the truth of which is entirely practical. A life of poverty prepared them for scrimping and saving every penny. A large jar of copper coins sits at the foot of their bed. 

With the money earned from the assignment Grell pays off overdue rent from their small apartment, the water bill and buys enough groceries for the month. Less remains from their earnings than hoped. How did they get into so much debt?! At least no more loan companies will be knocking on the door this month. Grell hides the rest of the bills away in a trinket box on the shelf above their bed. 

Can't use the bank after all. Someone might notice they're depositing a lot more than their monthly salary. They'll save it up until they have enough to escape this wretched life. Not squandering it on jewellery, clothes, fun... 

"For all the world to hear, I say fuck it," snatching a £50 note, they begin the trek to their favourite drinking establishment. They still haven't thanked that bartender, they'll give him a nice tip. 

But when they arrive, they find not the friendly long-haired goth tending bar, but William. 

"What are you doing here?!" they frown. Their voice carries over the low-pitched murmurs hushed under thickly veiled smoke. 

"Ssh, the Higher-Up is here," 

"Higher-Up singular?" 

"Yep," William nods. "The CFO... that's his official position. The boss of everything. He's in a meeting with Un- the bartender now," 

"I know Undertaker, probably have for longer than you," 

It makes sense the bartender would be in with the higher up. He recommended Grell for their position after all. You don't act so bold unless you have a position of authority within the organisation. Maybe he's an executive? "Since you're here, I'll take a Bloody Mary with a cherry down her neck," they bat their eyelids, swooning over William's aesthetic today. 

Working a bar is messy so his suit jacket is neatly folded behind him. He wears just his shirt and tie, his sleeves are rolled up to expose popping forearm veins. His hair is messy and flopped over his forehead. He looks so out of his depth. "I er... I don't know what I'm doing," William's pale cheeks heat with a subtle red undertone. Grell would love to paint him entirely in red. Themself too and they'd roll around together on a canvas to create the masterpiece of crimson flare. 

'Grelliam' would be the apt name for such a painting. 

Grell guides him through the process step-by-step, patiently watching and waiting. Eventually William has created something like the Frankenstein's monster of Bloody Marys. Grell sips it. Not too bad for a first attempt. But needs to be drowned in sugar. He also forgot the cherry. 

"May I ask why you're drinking so early in the day?" William inquire to the tune of squeaks as he cleans out a pint glass. 

"Me? No reason. My life is so boring I prefer not to discuss it myself. I'd like to know more about yooouu~!" 

"I'm going to stop you right there," his eyes lock onto Grells. "I've noticed how you act around me. I'm not great with social cues but I suspect you like me as more than a coworker," 

"Maybe," Grell tilts their head in amusement. They never thought William would be the one to bring up relationships. 

"Well I'm sorry but you need to get over that," William huffs sternly, starting to make Grell a refill for their drink. It's nearing the base of the glass. Just like Undertaker said. Start the refill before the customers finish so you can top them up immediately. "I'm aromantic. Not interested." 

"Aro hm?" They sigh. Unable to hide their disappointment, Grell withdraws away from the bar a little. They don't look at William in the eyes., "I must be the opposite, the hopelessly romantic lover in desperate need of attention. Like a baby kitten clinging to their owner. Why must I be like this while the man whom I love rejects me?" 

"You'll find someone nice. Someone who loves you back," William doesn't know that at all. He just wants out of this conversation. 

"Someone who loves me? Impossible, darling," Grell stares at the ceiling, vaguely interesting in the wooden beams holding up the cement. It crumbles at the edges, how long until this old building finally collapses and kills someone? "For I am always the lover," 

* 

Hidden beyond the doorway to the staircase leading underground, Undertaker and the CFO watch their interaction on CCTV cameras. The bar is filmed from all angles and bugged as well. It does well to gather secret information on people either for blackmail or leverage. They sit together on the same couch, fingers interlocked. Hands held between them. "Grell Sutcliff? A wise decision to introduce them to the company. A long-time patron of yours, weren't they?" 

"Indeed," the bartender giggles. "I hated watching them waste away their best years waiting for their dream to come true. I had to do something to make it happen!" 

"Despite everything, you have a warm heart," 

"Warm enough to melt the ice that encases yours?"

The blue-haired Higher-Up smirks. "Oh I wouldn't quite say that," 

*

Grell and William talk for an hour. Grell discovers that William owns a cat and demands to visit his home to meet the cat. Its name is Cheshire, so wonderfully adorable. "An enigmatic man such as yourself deserves a surreal companion to guide you on your way," 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" William asks. 

"The story, Alice and Wonderland? It had a Cheshire cat who'd melt in and out of visiblity. Like a Dhali painting," 

"My cat is not the product of a master surrealist," William chuckles. "More like a stick figure drawn on the inside of a cave," 

"That has its own sort of beauty," 

"I never said it didn't," 

Their conversation halts when the door to the downstairs inventory room swings open with a creak. The bar falls silent, each patron tense. Even those innocent who hae no idea what's going on can feel the dangerous aura lurking within the mists of cigarette smoke. Grell turns to look at Undertaker emerging with a blue-haired man shorter than himself. Dressed in a 3 piece and coat that looks right out of the Victorian era. He's only missing the tophat. 

"Is that the CFO?" Grell whispers. William nods. 

"Yes. He owns a monopoly of the finances for several companies. Not just mine and not just in England," 

"Yes. Italy too," Undertaker appears behind the bar. His answer reveals that he, and probably the CFO, would hear them whispering all along. He stares pointedly at William. "You're relieved. You can go now," 

"Thank you sir," William hands him the rag to wipe down the bar and fixes his own sleeves. Washing his hands in the basin at the back. Dishes are washed in there too. 

The CFO is gone now, everything returns to normal. Slight confusion remains, but normal. The man can definitely stir up a room, voices are raised in the back. Arguing over which legends about him are true. William walks to the door but turns at the last moment, calling out to Grell at the end of the open path he created between the tables. 

"Well? Aren't you coming to see my cat?" 

"A- Are you free now?" 

"Would I ask if I were occupied?" 

"Good point," they drop the £50 on the counter for Undertaker. A generous tip left behind from just 3 or 4 drinks. He knows why it's there, nobody has to say anything. Grell follows William to the door, grabbing his arm when they alight onto the cold street of Old Town. 

"It's chilly," they nuzzle into William's side. He wnats to say something but Grell is right, it is chilly. And the redhead is surprisingly warm.