Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji

I am Red,

You are Blue,

What Makes You Think I Wanna Stay Here With You?

2. Too Much Information Boo-Boo

November 3, 1872; 9:25 am

Phantomhive Estate, West Wing, Guest Room #6

Lashes fluttered open like hesitant butterflies, revealing caramel brown eyes. The vision those eyes saw was a blurry white and crème landscape, where they saw everything and nothing at once.

Tic-Toc.

Tic-Toc.

Tic-Toc.

The rhythmic chime of the clock's second hand brought a bit of familiarity to Angelica's consciousness. She blinked, squinting as she slowly moved her fingers and limbs. They ached from disuse and it didn't take long for her to feel the pins and needles in her hands and legs.

Angelica lay where she was for another minute, attempting to process in her mind that she was…

Alive.

She was alive.

If the sunshine streaming through the unfamiliar room and the soreness of her limbs were any indication of life, well then it was safe to say, Angelica was alive! Hot damn!

Angelica sat up with carefulness, noting absently that she wasn't wearing her cheap but sheek thrift store clothes anymore. Instead, her body was modeling a rather frilly night gown instead. One made of silk, she noted, rubbing the soft cool material against her fingers. At least the white material was tasteful.

Where the hell am I, she thought, rubbing the sleep away from her face. She looked up and blinked, clearing away the haziness that fogged her vision.

Gold beams, vintage floral wallpaper, sleek wooden panels, intricately designed furniture, a wide arched window with blue velvet curtains pulled back by a golden tassel. Even her bed was large, and rather luxurious, she added, running a hand over the silken sheets. The air in the room smelled faintly of roses and baby's breath.

Where the hell am I?

Angelica climbed out of bed, taking note that her bare feet touched plush carpet. She looked around, questions upon questions building up in her mind as she wandered over to the bay window. Looking out, she squinted against the natural daytime brightness. Once her eyes adjusted, she spotted a quaint garden down below filled with different colored roses bushes. It was empty of anyone, however. Beyond that lay a thick, green forest that seemed to run on endlessly to her eyes.

Was she still in England?

The last thing Angelica could recall was…

Her plane...and some weird she-male with obscenely long hair…then the plane malfunctioning and…

BEING THROWN OUT HER PLANE.

The sudden memories rushed the forefront, causing rage to well up inside Angelica as she turned away from the window.

What the fuck? I could have almost died! That she-male grim-reaper wanna-be nearly killed me!

As if the plane wasn't already going to do that. On the flip side, at least Angelica hadn't been splattered into the raging sea below.

Feet paused in their pacing. The red-head looked up from the ground, a question burning in her mind for an answer.

If she had been thrown out the plane by the she-male over the sea, then what in the world was she doing here? Safely ensconced in what looked like a manor or one of those fancy British estates. Had some unlucky noble family on their yacht saw her and rescued her?

Angelica turned around and walked over to what looked like the exit. Just as she was about to turn the curved knob, the door opened to reveal an overdressed maid in a frilly white cap. She had a round face with bushy brows and pores large enough to make Angelica want to slap her with an exfoliator. She took a single step inside before seeing Angelica up and wide awake. She flushed red, resembling a cherry tomato before quickly excused herself, closing the door firmly.

Umm…

Angelica turned the knob again and opened the door, peering into a lavishly decked hall. She stepped outside and looked both left and right before deciding on her left. Her feet made no sound as they padded along the Persian carpet rolled across a gleaming floor.

Angelica didn't see anyone as she walked for the next five minutes. She did, however, spot numerous amounts of old pricey artwork, vases, fragrant flowers and rich embroidered tapestries. Whoever lived here sure had money, she thought with a jealous pang.

Just when she thought she had entered an alternate reality where she was doomed to walk through an endless hallway, Angelica came across a wide flight of stairs. She smiled, about to take a step down when a figure suddenly appeared at her side. She shrieked in surprise.

An old man of partial Asian descent—judging by his eyes and the contradictory form of his nose—bowed suddenly, a hand placed over his heart. He was dressed in what looked like serious old-school butler clothes. Despite his high-brow aura, he carried a kind gentle demeanor that disarmed the red-head girl from her tensed state.

"Pardon me, ma'am," he said, "but your presence has been requested in the drawing room."

It took a second for Angelica to realize that he was talking to her.

"Oh, um, okay, sure."

"Very good, ma'am. Please follow me," he said, straightening before turning away.

For an old man, he was really quite spritely. His steps were measured but fast, making Angelica walk a little faster to keep up. He led her through several hallways before they went down a wide set of stairs. Two more hallways and before she knew it, Angelica was standing inside an ante-chamber of some sort. The old man knocked lightly on the door before a smooth voice answered.

"Come in."

He entered, leaving the door slightly ajar.

"Our lady guest has arrived," said the same voice.

"Oh?" came another voice, this one female. "Do send her in then!"

"Very well," the old man returned and gestured for Angelica to enter.

Angelica hesitated for a moment, not sure what to expect. After all, going before strangers dressed in a frilly nightgown wasn't how Angelica wanted to meet anyone. And who knows who these people were?

What if they're from…the wrong side of the law? A brief splash of her manuscript and future-husband waiting at home had her grabbing hold of her big girl pants and marching in with all the fake bravado to her name.

No sense delaying the inevitable. Angelica had one mission now and that was to get home.

November 3, 1872; 9:50 am

Phantomhive Estate, East Wing, Morning Salon

She entered the salon with such a confident stride that it dared one to object her presence.

Already Vincent could tell that Francis was both impressed and unimpressed. Though she liked people with a bit of backbone, she was very severe on those who lacked the fore thought to dress for occasions.

Still, their mysterious resident guest didn't look too bothered with her choice of wear and if she wasn't, then why should he? They did have much more important things to discuss after all.

"Good morning," Francis greeted with a courteous neutral expression.

"Good morning," she echoed, suddenly looking unsure as she surveyed the two of them.

"Please have a seat," Vincent suggested, gesturing to the small armchair before him. She hesitated for another moment before taking a seat, once she did he too sat down.

To say that the conversation that followed had been awkward was an understatement.

Breakfast this morning had been informal between the siblings, hence their presence in the drawing room, and since their guest wasn't dressed properly or even aware of her situation, Vincent opted to stay silent and simply observe the girl as Francis continued with the topic he had been hoping she'd drop once the girl arrived in the room.

"You are mad if you think you're getting married via elopement. I know you're pressed for time but tradition Vincent," Francis said with a sharp look. "Our mother would be very cross with you if you refused to wed in a church, or at least the chapel in the nearby town. Honestly, just because you don't care doesn't mean I don't. You only get married once, after all."

"Shouldn't you be happy with doing that in your own wedding? I don't see the point in you pestering me about this," Vincent told her tiredly.

To think he had to face this right now. And it wasn't even noon yet! There just really was no time for the wedding to take place in a church. As long as he placed an announcement in the papers then scandal couldn't ensue like a tidal wave. Honestly, Vincent thought, Francis is making such an unnecessary fuss.

"How long does he have until he's married?" asked their guest suddenly, her accent noticeable.

Did Vincent's ears detect American? Oh dear Lord. Maybe scandal would ensue. She would be a strange one to explain to the ton. And apparently, she was interested in the topic at hand. Wonderful.

"Three days," Francis answered without preamble, sipping her tea calmly. She apparently seemed to have no problem including their guest into the conversation, nor did she seem put out by her disdainful nationality.

"Oh, that's not too bad. Depends on how big the wedding is. If it's small enough, it's doable."

"Exactly," Francis added, pleased to see that she was right. She looked at him. "And I've already taken care of the guest list. Its small but it should suffice. We shall say that it's a private wedding and that the bride's family insisted upon it."

Vincent sighed. Well with that kind of persuasion who was he to keep denying his sister her authority over his nuptials? Not like his bride was planning the thing anyway. He waved his hand.

"Fine, fine. Do as you like. Her Majesty has already been informed anyway."

The girl looked surprised. "You guys know Queen Elizabeth?"

That had both Phantomhives looking at their guests as if she were…well, absolutely gone in the head. Francis and Vincent exchanged brief looks before dismissing her statement. Clearly, Americans were much more uneducated then he had previously thought. Shame that.

"No, no dear. Our monarch is Her Majesty, Queen Victoria," Francis explained patiently.

The girl raised a single eyebrow in disbelief, looking at them as if they were the crazy ones. Just what did they teach the colonies about Britain? Their monarch had been on the throne for the last thirty-five years. You'd think it'd be basic knowledge by now.

The girl said nothing, eyes looking elsewhere in deep thought, glancing around the room, scrutinizing their clothes before looking at them each in the face before suddenly smiling. The change was eerie.

"Right," she said. "Okay, sure. Anyways, could I just borrow a phone? I need to call a friend to pick me up. Where are we in England, exactly?"

There were several things odd about her statement but Vincent decided to examine it later.

"Excuse me for asking, but what is your name?" he asked with a gentle smile.

The girl didn't relax. "Angelica Drake."

Angelica huh? Not a bad name. He had been expecting something ghastly. This was rather tame.

"I have been remiss in our introductions. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Lord Vincent Phantomhive. This here is my sister, Lady Francis Phantomhive," he said. Francis nodded by way of acknowledgment.

Angelica didn't look very much impressed. Instead she appeared to be confused as she nodded.

"Cool. So about that phone—"

"How do you feel about getting married?" Vincent interrupted cheerfully.

Angelica blinked. "What?"

"Vincent!" Francis whispered. "That's too forward. If you must be this way, then let me handle it." Francis smoothed her skirts and faced Angelica. "My dear, what my brother means to say is…well, how do you feel about getting married?"

How eloquently done.

Angelica seemed to sense that this was an odd question but she looked thoughtful. "Well of course I'd have no objections to it," she began. "Marriage is a wonderful and sacred thing! It's something every girl has dreamed about at least once. The beautiful wedding, the loving husband, the big house with the white picket fence, the two children, preferable one girl and one boy. What more could you ask for?"

Francis looked pleased with her answer while Vincent himself felt like he was going to break out into a cold sweat any minute. Ah the details were too much! Clearly, she had thought about this at great length.

"Wonderful. That answers your question then Vincent," Francis told him. "I'm glad we got all this settled."

"Um, what was the question?"

Here it comes...

Vincent smiled at their American guest. "Miss Angelica, if you somehow could and by some miraculous circumstance, say I don't know, marry me, would you?"

She arched a brow. "I...I suppose? Are you single?"

"Completely."

"Rich?"

"Filthy."

"Not insane?"

"Last my physician checked."

"Secretly into men?"

"What?"

"Just checking. Decent personality?"

"My sister says it's tolerable."

"And the deal breaker, can I count on you to bail me out of a situation?"

Luscious lips twisted into a smirk. "Consider that my specialty."

"Then yes. I'd probably marry you if circumstances were different," she told him, leaning back against the chair. Vincent regarded her with a keen eye.

"Then, if you don't mind me asking," he said, "are you unmarried?"

Angelica frowned, cheeks turning a pretty red. "For now."

That was for sure.

"Well-off?"

She scowled, glaring at him. "No," she answered curtly. Vincent didn't much care.

"Of sound mind?"

She snorted, making Francis cringe. "Of course."

"Physically healthy?"

Angelica squeezed her forearm, seeming to think about it for a seconed. "Apparently so."

"Prone to whining or excessive chatter?"

"Vincent!" Francis exclaimed.

Angelica smirked. "Seriously?"

Vincent returned her smirk. "Just checking. And lastly, where's your family, if you have any that is."

The woman blinked. "They're in America?" Excellent. "I need to contact them, by the way."

"And you will. But I suppose that answers that. I would marry you too."

"Great," she replied, confused by the conversation. "Can I get that phone now?"

"I'm afraid the telephone hasn't quite been fully produced yet. I hear Mr. Graham is working on a prototype that will officially put the telegraph to shame though," Vincent helpfully supplied.

Angelica blinked before swallowing. She shook her head, staring at the carpet. "Okay then, can I contact them through...?"

"We'll have Tanaka come up to receive your message so he can put it through the telegram," said Francis, standing up. Vincent rose in response. "If you'll excuse me, I've many preparations to attend to."

She looked pointedly at her brother before she left.

Vincent sat back down and faced Angelica, both persons silent as he stared at her and she stared at the wall. They stayed that way for maybe two minutes before her wandering gaze got caught in his. She blushed again before looking away.

"So...have you heard anything about the plane crash?" she asked as a way to distract his concentration.

It worked. "The what crash?"

"The plane crash. You know, where you found me. I was originally in a plane, heading towards Orlando but then we flew into this storm and some weird guy threw me out the plane. I thought I was going to die. But then I wake up here," she told him, her faraway gaze settling on his once again.

Vincent wondered whether Angelica had lied to him about being healthy in the mind.

He sighed. It was too late now to cancel anything at this point. Plane crash...what the devil was that? It was true she had fallen from the sky as the Phantomhive household could not for the life of them figure out where she appeared from. No tree extended so far over the lake. Ordinarily, Vincent would have investigated the girl, but seeing as his initial surface search yielded nothing and the fact that he had little time to spare, there wasn't much he could do about her.

"Whelp, thankfully I'm not dead," Angelica continued. "That would have so not been ideal."

"Naturally."

She continued to eye him, or more specifically, his clothes, he noted with amusement.

"You know," she said, "for being wealthy, your clothes are really...outdated. Are you doing some sort of BBC reenactment or is it just an English thing? No offense. "

Vincent took all the offense, actually. His outfit was the epitome of the latest fashion of his time. Well cut, tailor made from the finest quality material for a gentleman of his stature, there were no other clothes Vincent would dare try on. He was no dandy but he liked to preen under the attention people gave him when they noticed and commented on his stylish iconic flair. After all, when one's got the money, might as well use it to one's advantage.

"That's fine," he said instead. "What I'm wearing is all the rage in London at the moment."

Angelica didn't seem to believe him but she nodded. "Right, right. So, how long have I been asleep?"

"Three days."

"THREE DAYS? THE HELL? Why am I not in a hospitable?" Angelica gasped.

Vincent cupped his cheek as he leaned to one side. "We had a doctor attend you the first day. He said you'd be alright in the end and to merely let you rest until you awoke. And thank God you did, else I would have had him fetched this afternoon."

"Oh, thank you, then," Angelica admitted. "Sorry to have bothered you like that."

"Nonsense," Vincent said with a winning smile. "I'd do anything for my future bride."

Angelica laughed as she stood up. Vincent followed suit.

"You're too funny," she said, smiling.

"I do not jest," he responded, his smile still in place.

Angelica blinked before frowning. "Um, our conversation before was hypothetical, remember?"

"I only asked you the question to see where you would stand. Francis wanted to make sure you weren't entirely against the idea," he told her, walking to the window.

Angelica scowled. "I'm not marrying you! You're insane!"

"I thought I told you I was of sound mind."

"I don't—ugh! Point is I'm not marrying you. At all. I have to get home and get on with my own life, after all. I have my own husband waiting in Orlando!"

"You said you were unmarried, for now," Vincent pointed out.

Angelica flushed angrily at his memory. "For now, yes. We're marrying as soon as I get back!"

Vincent didn't believe her. He could see that she was slightly embarrassed at the admission. An open book she was. Her face could get her killed.

"Regardless, you've nowhere to go. You have no money, no clothes, no resources available to get you out of this predicament. The arrangements of the wedding have been made ahead of time and since you've supplied Francis your name, she's finalized all details as we speak. In three days, you will be married to me."

Angelica stared at him, mouth gaping open. Vincent smiled once more as he approached her. He let his fingertips touch her cheek softly.

"Don't fret," he continued. "I'm not exactly thrilled at the prospect either but I have little choice in the matter. My hands are tied. If it makes you feel any better, the life of a countess is not a bad one. You'll be comfortable and well provided for the rest of your days."

Vincent turned to leave when he felt his sleeve being grabbed. He looked back and found Angelica staring at her bare feet.

"Why me?" she asked.

"I couldn't find anyone else," he admitted. "Thankfully, Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, has approved our union so I don't have to look further."

No sense lying to her and having her imagine any romantic illusions about his intentions. The sooner she understood the circumstances, the better off they'd both be.

The red-head bowed her head further. Her fingers remained on his sleeve. Vincent let her grab hold for another minute. He was about to convince her to let him go when she spoke up, her gaze still turned away from him.

"Do you have a newspaper?" she asked.

What an odd question.

"Of course," he said. "It's on the table. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work I must attend to."

Once out the hall, Vincent closed the door behind him and locked it. Just in case. Tanaka appeared by his side, awaiting his next order.

"Has her wardrobe arrived?" Vincent asked.

"Yes, my lord. Lady Francis is getting it sorted in the lady's new rooms."

"Excellent," said Vincent, walking down the hall. "Be sure to fetch her a tray of breakfast. Make it light since her body hasn't eaten a thing."

"Very good, sir."

Vincent paused at a window, observing the sunshine outside. For once, he could see hope on his horizon. The last five days have caused nothing but incredible amounts of stress for him. Now that the girl was awake and understood what was happening, he could relax. He smirked, continuing to make his way to his study. Looks like step-father Forsythe had just been checked-mated.

Everything was going according to plan.

"Fucking bastard!" Angelica spat as she tugged on the handle of the window. It was locked tight. The sunshine mocking the red-headed girl with promises of freedom.

She had already attempted to leave through the antechamber but had found the exit door locked. She knew this was Vincent's doing, the bastard. He knew she'd try to escape so he had cut her off before she had a chance to book it.

Angelica gripped her hair, trying to get ahold of herself before she combusted into flames of rage. Figuratively speaking of course. What the fuck kind of crazy house did she get stuck on? And how dare Vincent mock her wedding dreams. Marry her as a last resort? How dare he! The man was a joke.

Angelica growled before turning away from the window, pacing around the room in frustration. The newspaper she had picked up earlier lay on the carpet in pieces.

1872. November of 1872.

IT'S FUCKING 1872, Angelica screamed in her mind, unable to process the insult Vincent had flung at her and add the realization this thought brought to her simultaneously. The last five minutes had tested her patience until on a thin thread remained.

She hadn't believed the newspaper at first when she perused it because, after all, fakes were made all the time. She was dead certain she was merely being held captive in some reenactment set up camp. One that nitpicked the details down to the date. It was the only other possible explanation other than the impossible: FUCKING TIME TRAVEL.

That shit is so cliché, Angelica thought, anger burning at her like a flamethrower at the injustice. And so is this place.

Angelica didn't plan to stick around these parts. If they didn't want to let her go like a decent human being, then she was going to get violent. Grabbing an ornate candle holder from the mantel above the fireplace, Angelica positioned herself in front the wide window after pulling the curtains further back. There were no bushes blocking her exit and she was thankful this place was on the first floor otherwise her escape would have been more painful.

She inspected the lock, wondering if she could bash it open. No such luck however. Leave it to Vincent to make his windows require a key to be opened.

No matter. Plan B was break a glass pane and that's exactly what Angelica did.

She brought down the candle holder and smashed through the thick glass. She cringed at the sound but soldiered on, quickly breaking the jagged cracks that stood out. It only took a few seconds. Angelica dropped the candle holder and attempted to shimmy through.

The opening was small but Angelica's lithe was able to squeeze by without a problem. Well, her night gown tore open in several places but it wasn't like anything critical was exposed. Side-stepping the glass on the grass, Angelica wasted no time hauling ass.

When she finds the nearest town or phone, Vincent and his stupid Victorian set up were dead.

November 3, 1872; 10:28 am

Phantomhive Estate, East Wing, Morning Salon

When Tanaka opened the door to the morning salon, he carefully wheeled the trolley where the new lady's food had been prepared. He hoped she wasn't allergic to anything on the tray and would find the food satisfactory. Otherwise, she'd have to wait longer to eat and no doubt she was starving.

Looking up, Tanaka had expected to see anything. Mainly the lady either crying, screaming, raging, subdued, looking off into space, even a suicide attempt. He did not expect to see one of the window with a broken glass pane, a candle holder laying in front of it as the culprit.

"Oh dear," he said.

Tanaka approached the scene and peered through the opening. How clever of the lady. Clearly this courtship and upcoming wedding ceremony would not be as smooth sailing as his master had originally thought.

"Damn it all!" Vincent snapped, not attempting to disguise his anger as he got up from his desk. "Can't the woman stay still for five minutes?"

"Shall I send word to have your horse saddled, my lord?" Tanaka asked.

"Yes! Post haste! She cannot be allowed to escape!" Vincent ordered as he ran to the door. "Have all the footmen out searching for her. Check the nearest village in case she hid there."

"Very good, sir."

Vincent grit his teeth as he took long strides to the stables. There was no way he was letting this hell cat get away. Not when he was so close. He'd be damned if anyone got the upper hand on him.

After all, he wasn't Vincent Phantomhive, the Queen's Watchdog, for nothing.

Miss Angelica Drake had better watch out.