If these seem random, it's because they are. They're just simple scenes that I thought up and didn't know what to do with, since neither of them are really long enough to stand alone as one-shots. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy them.

Also, the second one, as you will see, contains a somewhat more obvious hint of Grell/Madam Red than usual. I couldn't help it. ^^;

/

Grell could not conceal his great and obvious interest as Madam Red handed him yet another photograph, another remnant from a time long before the servant had become familiar with the name of Durless. This one was of a young woman, and one easily identified: a Lady Red who here appeared to be in her early twenties, propped up in a chair he did not recognize in a drawing room he did not recognize. It must have been inside her parents' house, which seemed to be the setting of most of the other images in the collection. She wore a handsome dress, and her features were just slightly softer. Her expression, however, was solemn, her mouth a straight line, but even so it was impossible for one not to detect the fiery spark in her eyes that betrayed a lively spirit. Her shining hair, which Grell imagined must have been long and lovely when unbound and flowing, was wound up into a modest bun behind her head, while slim side-bangs hung neatly at each side of her face.

He admired this precious relic of the past a few moments longer, distantly wondering how she and he might have gotten along had they encountered each other when just a bit younger, under different circumstances perhaps. The only thing that could have enhanced this photograph, and all the rest, would have been the capability to view it in color. How dull, how dreary monochrome was! Memories, after all, were not meant to be recorded and preserved in such ghastly shades. And it was then that another subject of intrigue, although entirely unrelated to any of his musings thus far, manifested in his mind. "Hmm," he murmured to himself, and looked up at the woman before him thoughtfully.

"Excuse me, my lady…but may I inquire something of you?"

Madam Angelina glanced up at him mildly from where she sat behind the desk, on the surface of which a black leather-covered album lay open and a myriad of stray pictures were scattered about. "You may."

Attempting to be tactful, the curious butler gave voice to his question. "Why…ah, that is, whatever made you decide to have your hair cut?" It wasn't that personal of a thing to ask…was it?

"Why I had my hair cut?" Madam Red repeated, quite evidently caught off guard. She tilted her head just slightly, rich wine-colored eyes going blank to a degree as she sorted through her memories for the answer. "Well, some years ago, I fell ill with a very high fever. My hair was cut in order to provide some coolness, and I came to like the look so much that I've kept it ever since." She made a face of pretended hurt. "Why? Do you think it doesn't suit me?"

"What? Oh dear me no, that's not it at all!" Grell exclaimed, strongly opposing this notion. He went on to wave his hands before him in a violent frenzy, nearly dropping the photograph, which flapped about in the air. Such an impression had never, would never chance upon his mind! "That is not what I was trying to imply! You look splendid with short hair! Exquisite! Marvelous, in fact!" Perceiving her stare, which was bewildered and yet also flat at the same time, he realized that he was exhibiting overexcited behavior – a natural but much frowned-upon tendency of his – yet again, and promptly dropped his arms to his sides. "A-All I thought was, you seemed to look so very grand when your hair was longer, as well," he explained a bit more calmly. "Possessing a different yet equal sort of fineness, you know. So…I just wondered."

There was a moment of stillness then, in which Madam Red did nothing but simply behold the now somewhat-smiling butler, and at the same time contemplate this sudden onslaught of (exaggerated…?) flattery. Then, the smirk appeared.

"I'll tell you what, Grell. I will consider letting my hair grow out again – on the day that you cut yours."

The image of the younger Anne, in all her quaintness, slipped to the floor.

Any and all remarks relating to hair were discreetly avoided – by one of them at least – from that day forth.

/

Madam Red was a physician, not a psychologist. But right about now, she was starting to wish that she had looked into that profession, if only a little.

She hadn't even meant to stop and look in the way she had. She had had no reason whatsoever to pause. She was still puzzling over it, wondering why simply pushing the door fully open and calling out to him had suddenly seemed such a difficult act. If she had only done so, she could have killed the moment before it even occurred and saved herself this frustration.

Grell, her butler – her servant – had been standing at the bookshelves of the modestly-sized library within the drawing room, conveniently placed within the range of view that the small gap in the door permitted. One arm, crossed against him, supported the elbow of the other, the fist of which in turn upheld his chin. In this casual, deliberative stance, he appeared to be considering the many tomes lined up before him, his features calm and thoughtful. And it was something about this expression he wore that caused her to hesitate and to stare.

Why had she never noticed it before?

As she watched, he shifted his arms from their previous positions and reached forward, selecting a volume from the shelf. He skimmed the cover, and then took a moment to raise a hand up and briefly rub one eye, in the process pushing his glasses up and momentarily exposing an unfamiliar variation of himself, before allowing them to fall back into place. The thought skirted the back of Madam Red's mind that she had never once seen him without his glasses on. And then he opened the book, leafed through the first few pages, and began to read, an air of concentration wrapping itself about him.

His eyes were not worried or otherwise disquieted in any way. His face held no tension, and seemed to be at such a quiet ease that she might venture to call the look one of solemnity. There was such an absolute placidity about him, something rarely if ever seen, and it brought to light an astoundingly different aspect of him, changing his appearance somehow. And, well…it caused him to look…rather attractive.

She couldn't believe it had escaped her until now.

A strange shiver passed through her, and she found that tearing away her gaze was impossible. But then he suddenly looked up, blinking, and saw her, and at once became the Grell she knew again, the spell broken.

"Oh – my lady! Forgive me for not seeing you…do you require assistance?" But by that time she had forgotten what she'd come for.

And now that she had seen it, she couldn't expel the fascinating image from her mind, and couldn't stop wondering how she had missed this perception of him, had been blind to it all this time, up until this day. She didn't understand it, and neither did she understand why she had liked the sight so much.

Madam Red was a physician, and not a psychologist.

/

Historical note: Victorian women always kept their hair long, as it was a sign of female virtue, but when they got seriously ill with fevers they would indeed have it cut. That was the only time I believe they wore it short. I guess Madam Red got away with it in the actual series for other reasons, somehow…

Also, the next butler!Grell story I plan to put up will not be part of this series, but will stand alone as its own story because of its length. If you're interested, please look out for it in the coming weeks, or add me to your Author Alert.

In the meantime, please leave a review on these scenes. Thank you!