Work Text:
October 31, 1895
Reaper Headquarters
London, England
10:45 P.M.
The Grim Reaper sighed as he pushed his glasses further up on his nose, holding his Death Scythe which, for all intents and purposes, looked like a large pair of pruning shears, loosely in his left hand.
“What has she been up to this time?” William T. Spears' voice was curt and clipped as he looked at the Reaper Registrar, Daemian Carson, standing across from him.
“Well, Sir,” the underling said, his voice filled with nervous tension, running his fingers through his short black hair, “it seems that she's been... living it up a little." He stopped, swallowing hard at the dark look on his face. "For some reason.”
“Living it up?” He was incredulous; that certainly didn't seem like something Grell would do but then again, as he considered it, it might be that he was wrong. She was unpredictable and it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for her to do something as crazy as this.
Then again, maybe she might... just for the thrill. He closed his eyes, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose before opening them again . Wonderful.
“She's on a tear, Sir.” Daemian shrugged, spreading out his hands. “I don't know how else to explain it.” He looked at the register. “She's reaped through... thirty individuals in just the past hour.” He straightened up, folding his hands over the front of his long tailed black greatcoat. “And I don't think she's in the mindset to stop without your... intervention.” He coughed politely. “Sir.”
“Perhaps you're right.” William turned to look out the window into the pitch black night with an almost distracted air. The thin sliver of moon hung low in the sky and he knew that she would be about her business although, it seemed, a mite too enthusiastically. Tonight, he reflected, was the perfect night for mischief of the supernatural sort. “Were they on the retrieval list?”
He peered over at the register again, his hazel eyes narrowing. “Most of them, yes.”
“Do you know where she is?”
Daemian nodded. “In Whitechapel, Sir.”
Why am I not surprised?
“All right.”
William shook his head. Dear, dear Grell...
“I guess I'd better go and get her before she causes too much trouble.” William looked out of the window again, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Not that she hasn't already."
The younger Reaper nodded. “I think that would be wise, Sir.”
He nodded, his eyes narrowing before he took flight, racing along the quiet city, the wind whistling through his hair. He moved quickly and lightly, melting in and out of the shadows as he made his way over the cobblestoned streets. Here and there he saw the results of Grell's enthusiastic work and couldn't help but feel a stab of admiration for his wayward darling as he hurried along.
Grell, whatever am I going to do with you?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
October 31, 1895
Whitechapel, East London
11:30 P.M.
Grell prowled the streets of Victorian London with a predatory air, her Death Scythe, a chainsaw-like sword, poised and at the ready. She looked up as a stiff breeze blew her red hair about her shoulders before settling down once again.
She enjoyed this aspect of Reaping immensely and never passed up an opportunity to Reap the benefits, as she called it, with a chuckle and a smile.
And I do so enjoy my work!
This was one aspect of her job that she loved and she was very good at it, as well. She often ignored the “Reaper Directive”-to stay neutral in human affairs-in general but sometimes she found the temptation to meddle just a little too attractive. It in these times that she had been brought up short by William.
Ah, dear sweet William...
She sighed as she thought of him. The handsome Reaper had stolen her heart some time ago and it was with pleasure as she recalled their first meeting. She'd lost count of the years now; she was once human but hadn't been for so long that she didn't even recall exactly when that had been.
She smiled wolfishly as she cut through another person, watching their memories scroll by as the sword drained the life from him. She licked her lips as blood flew, delighting in the little that splashed on her waistcoat.
What was a girl to do? she thought as she watched the memories flashing by as on a moving tableau. There's always one aspect to this job that might be a bit disagreeable but, really, what can you do?
S he giggled to herself as the man's eyes rolled up so that the whites were showing, collapsing into an untidy heap on the ground and, stepping forward, nudged the lifeless body with the toe of her boot. She cast a glance over at his companion, a young, slender woman who stared in horrified fascination, her rich black velvet evening gown spattered with her companion's blood, her hands held out in front of her, trembling noticeably.
“Well, well, darling what have we here?” Grell's voice was as smooth as silk as she sidled up to her, her sword rattling ominously. The young woman's blue eyes widened and she froze, too terror stricken to move a muscle as Grell advanced, her tongue sliding over her lips sensuously as she looked her up and down with an appreciative gaze.
The woman opened her mouth wide to scream but Grell put her finger to her lips, effectively silencing her, staring at her.
“You look marvelous, darling,” the Grim Reaper purred, moving in closer to her with liquid grace, “and my sword is so hungry this evening.” Grell looked away, her razor sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight as she moved closer to the woman who still stared mutely at her as she approached. “Shall we have a bite...?”
Grell lifted her sword and was about to bring it down on the woman's head when she was prevented by a steel grip on her arm. She whirled around to see William standing there beside her, holding her in a firm grip.
“She isn't on the list, Grell,” he said flatly, his tone brooking no argument, his black gloved fingers tightening on her arm. “You know the rules.”
She made a sour face.
“Pooh! Who cares about rules! They serve only one purpose, dear William, and that is they are made to be broken!”
He looked sternly at her.
“There are rules for a reason, my dear, and not simply there to be broken at will or whenever you get it into your head to do so.” He nodded to the young woman. "You may go, Miss, and I do apologize for my errant colleague's...enthusiasm. Have a good evening."
The young woman stared at him for a few seconds and then she blinked, shaking her head as if coming from under the influence of a spell. Her eyes widened again and, after a moment's hesitation, turned and bolted, running as fast as she could down the street until she disappeared from sight.
“You're no fun, Willie.” Grell pouted, batting her eyelashes. “I just wanted to have some fun.”
“I know...and that's why I'm here.” He glowered at her. “I've come to take you back with me.”
“And if I refuse to go?” Her voice was low, dangerous, her green eyes glittering behind her red spectacles.
He tilted his head slightly to the right, a nasty smile spreading over his face.
“Then I'll take you by force -” He leaned over and whispered in her ear “- if I have to.”
Grell's eyes popped open in pure pleasure and fluttered prettily.
“Oh, William! Do you promise?!”
He nodded. “Of course.” His grip on her arm tightened and then loosened. “Now, then, it's time to get you back home where you belong.”
“Dear, sweet William!” She looked up at him, her eyes shining as she pursed her lips for a kiss. He looked at her for a moment and leaned over, his mouth meeting hers tenderly, almost reverently. They shared a sweet embrace and, after they parted, they went back to their home.
.:FIN:.