Chapter 1: In which we meet a grumpy woman

Well, this is my very first upload. And it contains an OC...Dear me.

I understand the general taboo with OCs, so I've tried my best to make Skye as non mary-sueish and un-cliché as possible (except for, you know, the usual girl-falls-into-story thing, sorry about that.).
But I reason OCs are a challenge to take on, because when writing an original novel you have no character guidelines to follow, and where better to practice than in a fanfiction – where you have the freedom of your imagination, and the guidelines of other's?

theme for chapter: tuna fish, Emiliana Torrini

Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and (unfortunately) never will own Kuroshitsuji, which belongs to Yana Toboso. Nor do I own Emiliana Torrini's music. Skye + co, however, are a part of my merry band.

If there's one thing I hate in life it's travel, which is sort of ironic considering the fact that travel is one of the necessities of my job. Most people would be thrilled by the prospect of being able to travel the world with very few expenses, but I remain an exception. I'm a homebody, you understand, I would much rather be at home with a cup of tea and a book. When I was younger, I'd often mentioned this to Mother, but her response was always the same, 'Now Skye, you of all people should know that life isn't always fair, most people would envy you, and here you are complaining about a fantastic experience. Hold your head up high, aye love?"

The first time she gave me the 'you-have-a-great-job-embrace-it-with-the-pride-of-a-lion' speech I was overcome with the overwhelming urge to send her on the next flight to Ethiopia - see how she liked it. Of course I didn't, I love my Mother more than anything, and doubtless, she's right too. It's just that the chances I have of travelling –expenses taken care of by my benefactor- and not having to kill or maim someone are mind-bogglingly low.

No, you did not mishear me, but assume we'll address that matter later, alright?

Thankfully, today was one of those mind boggling days. Of course, that doesn't mean I'm enjoying today's travel at all, because I also happen to be one of those people whose ears always seem to ache without fail when flying. That, and flight attendants, flight attendants always seem to regard me with suspicion because my right eye is absent-without-leave, and in its stead is a glass eye and a gorgeous, large scar over my forehead and cheekbone. I suppose it's fair enough, being unnerved and all, it's just that I – being human, and therefore self conscious with good reason, honestly wish they'd at least be a bit more subtle about it.

I muttered irritably as my ears kindly reminded me that the plane was descending, and once more as a blonde flight attendant asked me meekly whether I had any rubbish. I mumbled a quick, "No," and went back to my book; an old, worn diary from sometime around the late 19th century - my mother had given it to me as a thirteenth birthday present, and for the purposes of my sorry story, I advise you take note of it.

"Oh, say love, that looks a bit old, doesn't it?" said aforementioned flight attendant, apparently having plucked up the courage to make small talk, something that – while not desired - I could give her credit for. I turned back to face her and forced a small smile, "It was the diary of one of my great-grand-something's servants, I think" I said conversationally, albeit bit stand-offish.

A look of sheer awe crossed her face "Oh say love, that's old, 18th century love?"

"19th" I corrected, a little colder than before. I am indeed one of those uppity grammar-and-useless-details-Nazis that hover about irritating people over the slightest of unimportant details, I concede, but one must keep in mind that I don't pretend to present myself as the friendliest of people, though perhaps I ought.

"Oh, say love." She said again, and then after a short pause repeated the statement. I repressed the urge to respond with, "Oh say love what?" and instead forced another strained smile as she walked away.

"Ladies and gentlemen we are about to land at Heathrow airport where the time is 3pm and the weather outside seems to be a little drizzly and 15 degrees centigrade. Whether you are beginning your holiday, or returning home, we hope that you have had an enjoyable flight with Britannia airways, see you gain soon," said a calm male voice over the loudspeaker, as the plane began to circle the airport.

I sighed a tiny sigh of relief at the prospect of getting off the plane, and then sighed an even louder sigh of joy as my ears popped.

Another thing I detest about travelling is the size of the airports, Heathrow Airport especially; customs, immigration, security check, another security check, "excuse me miss, may you please step over here while we conduct a random search". I suppose it comes from having to face the joys of Heathrow Airport around once a month – usually. You see, over the past five years I've only actually seen Heathrow twice, but that hardly changes anything. In fact, I swear it's more crowded today just to spite me. I have a deep dislike for large crowds, you see - and trying to find your loved ones amongst large crowds – that's a pain too.

You've probably noticed I'm not the most sociable of people, I can only apologise and attempt to excuse myself with flimsy things like 'first impressions' and all that jazz. The point remains, however, that I don't much enjoy crowds, and I was at that moment in Heathrow Airport without a phone.

I was not in a particularly stellar mood even for those standards, however. Which was a shame, because I had been in fairly good spirits when I departed from the accursed plane. My ears had popped, and I was going to have a long awaited reunion with my family, but this had been rained upon to an extent by the fact that it's rather hard to smuggle certain items of value to her majesty on and off planes, especially when one has a glass eye and a scar across said feature.

When I started out in this business I could never understand the conclusions people jumped to; that just because one looks a bit war torn they're more likely to be a danger. I'm accustomed to it now, though, and it's a regular enough experience for me to know how to behave. Regardless, it's an uncomfortable experience having random pat downs when you've not consciously done anything - far worse when you have, whatever the reason may be.

I fiddled with a large sapphire ring that so rarely left my left pointer finger, somewhat nervously, craning my neck above the crowd on the lookout for any sign of my family 'and co' (as they are affectionately known, though essentially they are my family): An eccentric middle aged, dark haired woman, an even more eccentric twenty-something ginger, a reserved dark haired twenty-something boy, or a little anemic looking gunmetal-grey (this is a term mother coined whilst flicking through one of those paint sample squares) haired boy.

I gave up craning my neck to spot my family and decided to try looking elsewhere, which proved to the best choice as after around fifteen minutes of wandering I spotted a large sign being held above the crowds that said in bold red lettering (surrounded by various scribbles of what appeared to be me).

'SKYE (WINK-WINK-NUDGE-NUDGE) PHANTOMHIVE'

I smiled slightly as one particular ginger, twenty-something spotted me and proceeded to squeal and dance on the spot until I was safely out of the monstrous crowds, and then joyfully attempt to kill me via a bone-crushing hug.

The gingers's name was Freja, and to this day she is my best friend, we've known each other since we were twelve and thirteen respectively, and despite various differences in personality, temperament, and even one small tiff over a boy, we've stuck together through everything. I suspect part of our 'bond' (this is her term for it) is that we have very subtle similarities: to this day a running joke in our social circle, as we both have one bright blue eye and one that is missing, a funny coincidence really (although coincidences are not few and far between in my life – but we'll get to that later). Freja claims her left eye was never there to begin with, but I had the misfortune of losing my eye in an accident (which we will not discuss, because I do in fact, have some dignity) as a child.

"Hullo Freja," I rasped through her surprisingly strong hug, I'd forgotten she was so strong for such a slim girl.

"Five 'ole years!" she exclaimed, nearly incomprehensible with her thick northern accent, "five un'oly years studyin' away in France an' 'ardly ever comin' back to see us!"

"I know, I know" I wheezed, and smiled weakly at the dark haired boy behind me.

The boy's name was Justin, he was a quiet, well read boy, and was engaged to Freja. He was in fact the boy the Freja and I had fought over in our teenage years, but I try not to think about it as it's a silly sort of thing to brood over when it was so many years ago.

"Nice to see you Skye," he mumbled quietly. It seemed to me he thought that I would still be a bit sensitive around him. Probably, I would be, if I didn't watch myself.

"Yes," I attempted to pull myself from Freja's hold, "you too."

Freja on the other hand, clearly didn't want me to go anywhere, as she immediately tightened her grip on me and cried, "Oh no you don't Miss Skye! I 'aven't seen you in ages and I miiiissssed yooouuu!"

If there's one thing I have learnt about Freja, it's that she's as stubborn as a mule, so I relented, and let her hug me all the way to her car.

Right, so I feel pretty nervous about this, hope you enjoyed it. Reviews and helpful criticism are welcomed.

I shall update soonish, ciao for now.