::Porcelain::
((an OzBert))
sequel to ::Schirm::
Chapter 1: Spiel
"Sunday, October 3
Bocchan has been acting strange lately.
The other morning, when I went to wake the young master, he pulled me down under the covers with him and squeezed me like a pillow.
And after that, while I was making breakfast, I spilled the flour bucket all over myself and the kitchen, and while Mrs. Kate was scolding me, Ozu sent her away and squeezed me again.
So then I went to wash the flour off myself, but Bocchan told me I needed help and pushed me, fully-clothed, into the bathtub himself, fetching fresh clothes of his own for me to change into.
I am concerned about my master. It's unlike him to show me so much attention—apart from teasing, that is. So, tomorrow morning, first thing after waking him, I have decided I will bring him his breakfast and inquire him immediately about when he plans on replacing me.
Gilbert."
Oz reread the shakily-written diary entry again, somehow unable to comprehend the last line. He'd been in the midst of another soon-to-be-victorious game of hide-and-seek in the mansion—(he always won, because he'd told Gil if he ever beat Oz, he'd sick Ada's kitten on him.) –when he found Gilbert's tattered journal book. It was worn out and the paper was frayed and yellow. And Oz Bezarius, being curious, mischievous, and now very intrigued, had pulled it from its hiding spot behind the shelf in the cellar (which he was using as his own personal hiding place at the moment as well.)
The blond wasn't one to see someone's diary, get nervous, and set it back where he'd found it. No, in fact, he was just the opposite. He delved into the journal with much enthusiasm, hungry to unravel the secrets of his cute little raven-haired servant, and use them against him. But instead of a deep, dark secret…instead of a weakness…Oz had found himself in the diary. It was as if nothing else existed in Gil's world, but "Ozu-Bocchan". He looked at the date on the entry. October 3rd. It was now the sixth of October. And, contrary to what was foretold in the journal, Gil hadn't inquired of Oz anything at all! Especially anything about whether or not Oz was going to replace him.
The fifteen-year-old Bezarius crawled out from his hiding spot and stood, putting his hands on his hips and calling in his best booming-master-voice:
"GIIIIILLBERRRRRRRRRRRRT!"
A muffled crash, then scampering feet were heart, before the little, golden-eyed Gilbert scurried down the cellar stairs and over to Oz in a panic. His black-haired head stood about half a foot shorter than the blonde's. The height difference was especially accentuated by Oz straightening up intimidatingly and Gil slumping over like a scolded puppy.
"Y-yes…Bocchan…?" Gil muttered. His knees were shaking. This is it, he told himself, Master doesn't need me anymore. He's going to get rid of me now…
Oz folded his arms over his puffed-out chest,
"Care to explain what in the world you're thinking while writing something as brainless as this?" he held the tattered journal book out to Gil, shaking it slightly to gather his attention.
Gil's eyes widened at the sight of his master with his diary. All the secrets. All the confessions of dedication and what he was sure was the "love" that adults always spoke so smoothly of. Everything Gilbert thought and felt about Oz…it was all written in that book, dangling from Oz's own hands.
Gil whimpered, "I-I'm sorry, I—"
Oz bonked the book lightly against the top of Gil's head,
"You said you were going to ask me something. Well, you have my attention. Might as well just ask me now."
Gil sniffled, shaking his head, "I couldn't possibly, master,"
"Gilbert!" Oz retorted, "As my servant, I am commanding you: Tell me what this is about!"
The blonde held the journal in closer to the raven-haired boy, who gulped and squirmed,
"W-well…" Gil began in a tiny voice, "Oz is… Oz is so quick, and energetic, and strong and—… and… Gil can't keep up. Gilbert is so… useless. So powerless. I—…Gil simply wonders…when it is that Master… will get tired of having to wait up on him. When—… When Oz plan's to replace Gil."
Gil's eyes stung with hot tears. He sniffled once, twice, eyes glued to the floor worriedly. Oz watched him, a scowl forming on his forehead. He clutched the journal tighter in one hand and reached up, smacking it hard against the side of Gilbert's face.
A loud "WHAP" was heard, and Gil jumped, hand immediately rising to clamp over his own now-stinging cheek. It turned red, where his master had just hit him on the face. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming from his eyes now. His whole tiny, frail body shook from fright, and stifling sobs. The still-scowling Oz dropped the journal, letting it fall to the floor, and grabbed the crying boy before him by the shoulders, shaking him firmly.
"Listen here: I don't want you ever saying things like that again, do you understand?!"
Gil nodded, eyes still shut tight. Oz shook him again, gentler this time.
"Look at me," the blonde snapped lightly. Gil opened his eyes cautiously, looking up at him through dark eyelashes.
Oz sighed.
The wary golden gaze from the boy melted his heart. His voice was weaker when he continued:
"Gil…is not just a servant to me… Gil is a friend. Sure, I might pick on you a lot, but that's cause I like you, dummy! I don't mind waiting for you to catch up, ever. Because you're my Gil. My servant. And I've gotta make sure to always keep an eye on you and protect you from danger, right? That's the duty of a master."
Gil watched the blond lecture him, staring, wide-eyed up at Oz incredulously,
"But—"
A small finger was pressed against Gil's unexpectant lips and mischievous green eyes challenged the little servant boy as Oz leaned in closer.
"This interrupted my game," he tsk-tsk'd slyly, "You owe me a new one."
Gil bowed quickly, wiping his tears with his sleeve,
"Of course! What would master like to play?"
Oz smirked, "Tag."
A quick peck on the lips and Oz had bolted off,
"YOU'RE IT!"
Gil blinked, head tilting. He touched his own lips with his fingers softly,
"…..kiss……tag…?"
He smiled softly.
"Thank you…… Oz." He picked up the diary Oz had dropped when running off, and set it back in its hiding place with a content sigh. He turned, determinedly,
"I'M GONNA TRY MY BEST THIS TIME, YOUNG MASTER!" he called, running off after him, "No holding back!"