[Black Butler] "Purring" (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for Kuroshitsuji, Grell, the sound of a chainsaw
"Why don't you be a dear and go out into the garden for a putter?" Madame Red had said. All morning, Grell had been trying to make himself useful in the kitchen, to the despair of the kitchen maid and the cook. He probably had not left a dish unbroken or at least not cracked. And the chambermaid would have nothing to do with him, since he had tried to charm her in the way a gentleman, even a mere butler such he should charm a lady.
Now he sat curled up on a stone bench, face buried in his knees, arms wrapped around them. Oh, why had he left the Grim Reaper Society and chosen to dwell among the humans? Oh yes, for love of Madame Red and her love for blood: he had found her standing over the body of a tatty gutter wench, covered in her victim's blood and it had moved him with delight. He had agreed to aid her in her blood lust, her revenge against these doxies who threw away a chance at motherhood as if it were of no more value than a sweet wrapper. She would earmark the targets, the women who asked her to perform an abortion, when such things were against the law, or who wanted their inner womanly parts removed. He, too, craved the chance to bear a child, and so he had left his post in the afterlife and hidden himself in the mortal world as Madame Red's manservant.
And yet, he proved utter rubbish about the house, and since he had had no trash to discard for milady, he had, at her request, tried to make himself of use to her and her household. Oh, there was no place in the mortal world for something like him! He was better off dead, though he could never die.
And then he heard it: the coughing clatter of a chainsaw being started. Oh, where was that coming from, that lovely sound that quickened the pulse that he wished that he had?
He leapt up from his bench and jumped onto the parapet of the garden wall, looking about for the source of that glorious sound. Looking into the next garden, the property of Lady Proudfoot with her shadowy oak trees that let in little light, he spotted the gardener there, trying to start a chainsaw, clearly at work, possibly to trim some of the branches that had overshaded the rose garden.
Grell emitted a happy chirp. "Oh, you are a lucky man: you have such a delightful tool there!" he called. "But you aren't starting it properly."
The gardener looked up, glaring at him. "An' who 're you, tellin' me wot way to run me tools?" he snarled.
"Hmm, I may not look like much, but I *am* handy with a chainsaw," Grell said, hopping down from the wall and reaching for the saw. "Now let me show you how it's *done*, old man."
The gardener held it out of the smaller being's reach. "Go back to yer ladyship an' 'er teacakes: this is a man's work."
"Oh? And how do you know I'm not a man?" Grell purred, eyeing the chainsaw. "Oh, I see what you've done wrong: you've got the choke on. That's why it's not starting."
The gardener tilted his head, blinking at Grell. "And 'ow do you know that?" he demanded.
"I told you that I know my way with such an instrument," Grell replied haughtily. And taking advantage of the man's distraction, he lunged in and grabbed the saw out of the man's hands. He let off the choke and pulled the starter cord. In one pull, the chainsaw roared to life.
"'Ere, get yer 'ands off that!" the gardener snarled.
"Oh, don't argue with a butler with a chainsaw," Grell purred, taking a step toward the gardener, the saw buzzing away between them...
"Why don't you be a dear and go out into the garden for a putter?" Madame Red had said. All morning, Grell had been trying to make himself useful in the kitchen, to the despair of the kitchen maid and the cook. He probably had not left a dish unbroken or at least not cracked. And the chambermaid would have nothing to do with him, since he had tried to charm her in the way a gentleman, even a mere butler such he should charm a lady.
Now he sat curled up on a stone bench, face buried in his knees, arms wrapped around them. Oh, why had he left the Grim Reaper Society and chosen to dwell among the humans? Oh yes, for love of Madame Red and her love for blood: he had found her standing over the body of a tatty gutter wench, covered in her victim's blood and it had moved him with delight. He had agreed to aid her in her blood lust, her revenge against these doxies who threw away a chance at motherhood as if it were of no more value than a sweet wrapper. She would earmark the targets, the women who asked her to perform an abortion, when such things were against the law, or who wanted their inner womanly parts removed. He, too, craved the chance to bear a child, and so he had left his post in the afterlife and hidden himself in the mortal world as Madame Red's manservant.
And yet, he proved utter rubbish about the house, and since he had had no trash to discard for milady, he had, at her request, tried to make himself of use to her and her household. Oh, there was no place in the mortal world for something like him! He was better off dead, though he could never die.
And then he heard it: the coughing clatter of a chainsaw being started. Oh, where was that coming from, that lovely sound that quickened the pulse that he wished that he had?
He leapt up from his bench and jumped onto the parapet of the garden wall, looking about for the source of that glorious sound. Looking into the next garden, the property of Lady Proudfoot with her shadowy oak trees that let in little light, he spotted the gardener there, trying to start a chainsaw, clearly at work, possibly to trim some of the branches that had overshaded the rose garden.
Grell emitted a happy chirp. "Oh, you are a lucky man: you have such a delightful tool there!" he called. "But you aren't starting it properly."
The gardener looked up, glaring at him. "An' who 're you, tellin' me wot way to run me tools?" he snarled.
"Hmm, I may not look like much, but I *am* handy with a chainsaw," Grell said, hopping down from the wall and reaching for the saw. "Now let me show you how it's *done*, old man."
The gardener held it out of the smaller being's reach. "Go back to yer ladyship an' 'er teacakes: this is a man's work."
"Oh? And how do you know I'm not a man?" Grell purred, eyeing the chainsaw. "Oh, I see what you've done wrong: you've got the choke on. That's why it's not starting."
The gardener tilted his head, blinking at Grell. "And 'ow do you know that?" he demanded.
"I told you that I know my way with such an instrument," Grell replied haughtily. And taking advantage of the man's distraction, he lunged in and grabbed the saw out of the man's hands. He let off the choke and pulled the starter cord. In one pull, the chainsaw roared to life.
"'Ere, get yer 'ands off that!" the gardener snarled.
"Oh, don't argue with a butler with a chainsaw," Grell purred, taking a step toward the gardener, the saw buzzing away between them...