Black Butler: Joker and Drocell Backstory~ Long Lost Brother By Tamara Keinz

Joker and Drocell: Long Lost Brothers

The photo is not mine. All credit goes to the original artist of the photo. I hope you enjoy!
-Tamara Keinz ⚜️

Long Lost Brother~

It is an amazing thing, seeing how quickly two souls who were always together fall apart. Although as a child, I didn't think much of it. It was a pitiful event that was bound to happen one way or another. I was born on the 2nd of April, 1863 where my mother had examined my body for the first time. I watched the weak woman, whose face too worn for her age, touch the nub of my invisible limb that was made up of the air around us. What was supposed to be a strong, healthy arm. The first word I had heard my mother speak, was "freak."

Growing up, I held my mother very close. I grew up In an old decrepit house on the East end of London. The walls peeled with melancholy hums. Though there was not much to our house, it was still better than sleeping on the streets with dirty blankets ripping with holes. I had never met my father, nor had a father figure; but the mysterious older men that my mother brought home after dark. My mother never told me what she did for a living. Her expression would drop and her eyes would become wet with tears. She would kiss my cheek and say "it's for me."

One night, my mother was screaming from upstairs. I climbed the decaying, splinter filled stairs receiving small creaks from the floor boards with each step until I reached what was left of a bathroom. My mother's wet eyes met my nervous purple. She sniffled up what courage she had to gain to tell me she was pregnant. Being only age three, I did not understand this. By this time, my mother and I were almost completely on the streets. I was a feature of what brought my mother more "customers," but was always rejected and neglected due to a loss of a limb. I never wanted to make my mother upset or angry with me, but this was the case in which it would happen.

Nine months later, my mother whose name I learned to be Karen Taylor, went into labor during the middle of a cold and crisp winter night. A "customer" had brought my mother and I to the emergency room. At that moment, I met my younger brother Drocell. We were very similar in appearance, but he had all of his limbs. I would watch out of jealousy, how my mother's loving eyes sparkled with Drocell's deep amethyst. Drocell was my mother's favorite. He always brought in customers in the streets for her.

When obtaining food brought us stress, Drocell would go into a puppet store named Angel's Wing Antiques, and steal pink and frilly porcelain dolls to perform puppet shows to make our mother feel better. He always knew how to make her smile. As Drocell and I grew older, he developed an obsession with dolls. He had obtained a job from the Earl that owned the puppet store, after the Earl took an empathic interest in his attributes. However, I wasn't able to receive that benefit due to my disability. I could have only wished to become a performer, but my mother needed the extra help taking care of us.

A few years later, Karen had passed away, leaving my brother and I orphans on the street. Drocell had been promoted to a butler's assistant position at the Earl's mansion. From that point on, Drocell and I were separated. He took care of the Earl's family, known as the "Mandalays." He excelled in his position until he became their butler and beloved puppeteer. However, I was taken into an orphanage, taking only a picture of Drocell and I with me, and keeping it close. I was very proud of my brother and what he had achieved, though I worried about him taking care of the children alone when the Earl of Mandalay was admitted to a sanatorium for tuberculosis.

At the orphanage, I made a group of friends. Friends whom I called my own "family." They were a rough looking group with torn clothes, and scraggly hair dye from their time living in poverty. My family and I were a lot alike, especially those that lacked a limb. Each of us unique in a different way. Unfortunately, we didn't last long in the orphanage, from being too different from the rest of the children. My "family" and I were kicked out and back to living into the filthy, damp, and lonely streets east of London; where we prayed every night to be spared from our unfortunate situation.

One day, my "family" and I sat under a tarp covered in a thick layer of mold, that protected us from the rain. We held each other close, huddling and shivering. There was a piece of wet paper that flew by us, crumpled into a ball. I managed to grab the paper before it bounced away with the wind. I opened what was a shocking newspaper article. The Mandalay's were found dead in a massacre, by an unknown suspect who had broken into the mansion. The suspect had been too swift to identify, but a witness stated the mysterious murderer was last seen flying into the night sky evacuating the premises.

My brother Drocell had been murdered. At that moment, I felt a pain that was like no other. I crumpled up the paper and threw it back into the lonely streets. I took out what I had left of my brother from my ripped coat pocket. The comforting picture of us together when we were adolescents. If only I could have seen his face once more. The storm of tears I shed formed little puddles onto the photo. My "family" were the only souls I had left that were dear to me. Beneath the picture, were a pair of shiny, wet, black shoes. I met tearful eyes with the person obtaining such expensive material.

The shoes of a man almost fully wrapped in gauze, who sat in a wheelchair with two nubs for legs. Acknowledging our sorrow, the man revealed he was no different than us due to loss of limbs. With what seemed like pure empathy, he offered us to work for him. He was our only way of hope. The man who we had called "Father," turned us into circus performers, where I received a name for the first time; "Joker."