A/N: You know why I wrote this? Because I love Joker!!!!!!!1 I don't think there's anywhere near enough of him on fanfiction. Really, I've only found 7 stories! So, with that in mind, I wrote this, and now, there shall be eight!
Disclaimer: I owns not Kuroshitsuji. Not in any way, shape or form.
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Meaningful Conversation
If one were going to condense Ciel's rather…irate thoughts into only a single phrase, one might be faced with something leaning towards the more unmentionable side of matters, and therefore, sadly, such words cannot be uttered here. But we can at least say this: he was not pleased, and that wasn't likely to change any time soon.
Although, it was possible that if he received a very sharp blow to the head…no; far too unlikely; his shadow wouldn't allow such a thing to happen; it might have a nasty effect on the quality of his prize.
But, the point still stands. If Ciel were ever to hit his head and lose all comprehension of the word 'pride' in relation to himself, then it might be that his attitude towards his current predicament would change. After all, no dignified creature would allow itself to be happily immersed in elbow deep filth merely for the sake of a conglomeration of, in his own words, 'lazy acrobats', which, come to think of it, was quite the paradox in itself.
To explain the exact situation with a little more clarity, for the above comments seem, perhaps, disjointed, it must first be noted that the said 'lazy acrobats' were currently hurling themselves around an absurdly large tent with nothing between them and the ground but 50 metres of air and, depending on their location, an array of alarmingly sharp flying knives and a moody tiger.
However, to Ciel, such trivialities were far below what he would consider worth mentioning, and so, death defying stunts and avoiding being mauled did not register as a worthy excuse in his mind for leaving him – him – of all people, to do the washing up.
Because he was certain that there was nothing so degrading as having to scrape partially-dried grease off somebody else's plate.
It was this very substance that our young Earl Phantomhive was currently attempting to gouge from the bottom of a pan (without removing the bottom of the pan itself) used in the earlier creation of breakfast, something which he, unfortunately, had not had the pleasure of partaking in.
This, naturally, had done nothing to improve his mood.
How on earth was he expected to know that one had to risk potential suicide just to get to the counter before the raving masses arrived, clamouring for their meal, to kill you through slow starvation instead? He was certain that decent, civilised society wouldn't be caught behaving in such a manner, and he'd be damned if he was going to stick around long enough for such barbaric conduct to, heaven forbid, become acceptable to him.
With a particularly loud grunt, he managed to put enough force into his thin arms to dislodge a small portion of the grease, splashing copious amounts of greyish, sloshing, shiny 'water' onto the rough clothes that covered his chest.
Great.
He'd have to get Sebastian to shift that from them later; he couldn't stand the smell of grease; it was something that he associated with the lower classes, and he had no desire to degrade himself further.
He considered, briefly, just leaving it at that and moving onto the next item, or maybe not move on at all, and save his clothes from an unpleasant, sloppy doom.
It was undoubtedly a very appealing concept, and perhaps he would have carried it through, were it not for the appearance of The Figure, whose very inopportune timing had Ciel sprawled over the floor in shock. Not even Sebastian had ever managed to sneak up behind his person so completely unnoticed (though that was for lack of trying), and so it was with a dark and dangerous glare that Ciel found his eyes fixed on the youthful, grinning visage of one tall, lithe, red-headed man.
Joker.
"Havin' some trouble?"
Ciel wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but he could have sworn that the man's smile had widened again to impossible proportions; the left canine, slightly longer than the right, was now revealed in full where it had once been covered by his ever mobile mouth. Really, didn't that hurt…?
Preventing the innate haughty gaze he permanently wore from surfacing, Ciel tried picking himself off the floor, only succeeding in slipping over again when his feet lost traction against the grease covered surfaces and bruising his backside; the water having been spilt when he first sensed Joker's presence and jumped almost a foot in the air.
Joker watched for a moment in some amount of amusement, his arms folded and weight pushed onto his back foot, head cocked to the side and curious frown upon his features as he puzzled over Ciel's struggles.
"Want some help?"
It took everything Ciel had not to send him that glare.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Heh." A half smile curved its way over his lips. "That's funny, 'cause you suuuuure don't look it."
Finally taking pity on the prone boy at his feet, Joker bent down, hands outstretched, and waited for Ciel to, albeit reluctantly, place his own into the provided ones, the cold, smooth texture of Joker's right hand proving difficult to grip.
"I was sort'v hopin'-" A pause as he lifted the other from the ground. "-that you'd manage on yer own, but…"
"It's slippery."
He said it very shortly.
"Ah…"
Joker didn't quite manage to keep the very pronounced smirk out of his voice, which, again, sent Ciel's mind into paroxysms of indignant rage at having his precious, and obvious, in his eyes, superiority trampled upon.
"Sooo…" The older man shifted his eyes to the sopping wet carnage in front of him, his left hand going to rest at his hip while one skeletal finger of his other tapped his chin out of habit. "You're on washin'-up duty, eh?"
"Obviously."
Joker turned back to Ciel in surprise at the sound of his voice; stiff and certainly annoyed, with his eyebrows raised, a short burst of laughter issuing forth when he caught sight of the boy's disgruntled expression.
"Well there's no need to be like that about it; all of us've done it at some point, an' usually, we take turns. 'S just that today I needed the guys to practice a little harder since Black got all munched up by Betty the other evenin'. Don't need any more accidents."
"Right…"
Still despondent (and internally frustrated), Ciel allowed his shoulders to slump forward and feet to shuffle along the floor as he made to return to his own brand of hard labour, eyes downcast and thoughts turning unwillingly submissive. If he had to do it, then he would. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd need to do it again anytime soon; he would be gone in a day or two, hopefully without their noticing.
Joker's head tilted to the side, long, ginger locks of hair, bleached white at the tips, slipping over his jacket to hang in the air, an understanding smile replacing the former mischievous grin.
"Aw, cheer up, Smile! Look-" he dropped his shoulders one at a time, shrugging off the heavy black material and throwing it onto a nearby bench, simultaneously rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and lifting them away from his body to show Ciel. "-I'll even help ya out, if ya like!"
Completely ignoring the not-so-appreciative blank stare on the face of his companion, Joker strode over to the sink, grabbed the nearest object he could see, a tin plate, and proceeded to dunk it into the 'water', apparently having no qualms whatsoever about submerging his arms at the same time.
Noticing that Ciel had yet to join him, he cast a look back at the boy, a good-natured grin accompanied by a speeding sponge, aimed well enough that it thwacked the younger in the chest, adding to the stains that a certain incognito butler would have to slave over that night.
"Oi, I said help; I'm not gonna do it all for ya."
Blinking, Ciel bent over to pick up the abused sponge and walked slowly to where the other stood, wincing as he edged his now dry hands back into the sink.
"It's better if ya just shove yer hands in real quick, otherwise ya end up drawing out the process for longer than it needs to be."
A white-skinned arm, lightly freckled, reached for another item, the water falling from it in sliding sheets to create a heavy rushing sound as it collided with the rippling surface below; stopping abruptly when the arm retreated again, object now in hand.
Ciel watched the arm move, surprised at seeing hard muscle shift under that pale skin, and looked at the man next to him with distinct curiosity; he hadn't taken Joker to be particularly athletic, assuming that his body, not as whole as it should be, would not allow for exercise or training, and that his role was one only of a supervisor. It appeared that had been a mistake.
Joker caught him looking before the boy could turn away, and glanced down at his arm with a smiling frown, not understanding what had captured the boy's interest.
"What?"
Grey eyes darted between Ciel and the supposedly accused limb.
"Nothing."
"No, really; what? Is it the freckles? I do have red hair, ya know."
"N-no." He stuttered, embarrassed and consequently aggravated at having to explain himself, especially concerning what must be such a touchy subject. "It's not that. It's just…I was wondering…how you would be able to train when you're…disabled."
Joker released a low, chuckling breath and twisted slightly to face Ciel, raising his right arm, nothing more than an excellent imitation of bone, to inspect it, his expression detached.
"There's no need to be so diplomatic about it: I'm missin' an arm; it's a fact, and it ain't gonna change any time soon. Besides," His voice lilted to a slightly lighter note, his dark grey eyes closing briefly as he smiled again. "Ya can say just about anythin' and I won't get mad, so no holdin' back, 'kay? If ya wanna know: ask."
The answering nod was meant only to humour him; Ciel had no intention of forming bonds with any of the members here, unless, of course, they could be used to his own advantage.
"So, in answer to yer question," He resumed the scrubbing of his latest item with vigour. "I won't deny that this arm's a bit of a hindrance: it's not as flexible as the real thing would be, I can't always tell if someone's touching me or not, unless they do it hard enough that it puts pressure on the remainin' nerves, and it sometimes hurts where my hand should be, like it's still there. That's not a pleasant feeling…but 's'not all bad; I reckon it adds somewhat to the overall look, don't ya think?"
To emphasise his point, Joker pushed his hand up close to the boy's face, wiggling the wet, spindly digits at him before jabbing his nose with the hard tip of his index finger, laughing when Ciel yelped resentfully and rubbed the dry part of his upper arm over the sore skin, composure forgotten.
"What was that for?"
The man pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile and appear to contemplate this matter seriously.
"Hmm…my own amusement? I mean, it is in my job description."
"I thought that was to make others laugh."
He shrugged at the dry response.
"It's all the same."
Ciel snorted incredulously and went back to the pan he had been working on before Joker arrived, still the only object that he had even started to clean, and considering the rate at which the elder was going, it looked to remain that way.
Then again, he couldn't say he had a problem with that.
The next five minutes or so passed in relative silence, Joker finishing off every previously indescribable item of crockery and moving on to dry them, his hands running quickly as he pushed the towel over the surface of whatever came past his sharp vision. Ciel had still had no more luck with the grease-ridden pan, and after hearing a hushed but violent curse followed by a splash, Joker peeked over at what was happening.
"Let me see?"
Ciel relinquished his hold on the object without objection, indeed, with a certain amount of relief, and watched as the man lifted it closer to his face, inspecting it, before prodding it with his live hand, picking away at the surface of the grime with his nails.
"Wow…that's stuck pretty fast…who cooked this meal, anyway?"
"Se-Black." He had tripped on the name. "But then he usually cleans up after he cooks, so no one else has to worry about things like that. I didn't even know he could make such a mess."
"Well," he pushed the tip of his tongue between his teeth, concentrating; now attempting the same thing that Ciel had earlier, except, this time, opting to use an already cleaned-and-dried knife to do the scraping. "If he can clean up stuff like this, then I suppose it doesn't matter what he does when he cooks…actually…"
He dropped the knife back into the water, the decrepit pan following suit soon after.
"…I might just drag him down here once he's done practicin'."
Ciel didn't respond to this, more engaged with amused and slightly irritated thoughts pertaining to Sebastian's lack of skill when it comes to neat cooking. He'd be sure to mention it to the so-called 'hell of a butler' later. Or maybe he'd just tell Bard. That would produce some interesting reactions.
Joker's voice interrupted.
"We'll need to put this stuff away, so if ya just grab all o' the cutlery ya can see an' follow me…"
Doing as he was told (quite the novelty for the young Lord), and nearly slipping over again in the process, Ciel struggled over to where Joker stood at the other end of the room, his back bent as he searched through a series of heavy-looking wooden drawers that lined the edge of the tent.
"No…no…perhaps tha-? No…"
Finally, he reached the end one, and, on pulling it out, Ciel's ears met with a loud, triumphant cry.
"Yes! This is the one!"
Realising that his companion was probably extremely confused by his somewhat spirited actions, Joker turned, his expression sheepish.
"Sorry, it's been a while since I helped out here, and they've moved eveythin' around. Can't blame me for bein' enthusiastic."
Ciel personally disagreed.
"Well, once we've done these, we may as well head back out. Dagger was sayin' earlier that some of his knives are a tad blunt: I'll have to get someone to fix it…"
Thankful that it was now unlikely he would have to spend more than a few extra minutes in the exuberant man's presence, Ciel hastened to pass any and all items in his possession over to the gaping drawer before him, the contents clattering loudly and none too delicately into a cluttered mess that spread across the bottom. It looked to be exceedingly difficult even to close the container: tips of knives, bent forks and rusted spoons seemed ready to jam themselves tightly into the gap between drawer and holder, but, surprisingly, this did not seem to bother Joker.
"As lon' as it shuts, who cares? We'll only be dolin' them out again come dinner, anyway."
There was some sense in that.
"Anyway," Joker's eyes narrowed in mock displeasure and suspicion as Ciel edged towards the tent's entrance, having far less success than he would have hoped for in sneaking out unnoticed and far away from chores, dirt and clowns. There was, evidently, for Joker was following close behind, jacket slung over his arm, no denying his lack of skill in this area. "Why were you so surprised?"
Ciel, confused enough to be distracted by this, only registered Joker's sliding in front of him, and blocking his exit, seconds after the man had leaned down, regarding the boy with deep mistrust. For one panicked moment, Ciel considered the possibility that Joker had discovered something about himself, and felt his heart rate pick up in anticipation of the worst.
"When ya asked about my trainin'. Do I look wimpy, or somethin'? I wouldn't be in charge if I wasn't tough enough to kick the others' asses about the ring."
Relief momentarily numbed his mind.
"N-no, I didn't mean-"
He was cut off by an exceedingly raucous burst of laughter, and watched in some amount of concern (more for his own safety than for the sanity of Joker) as the elder bent double, hands on his knees and eyes watering.
"Stop, stop! Seriously! You're gonna ruin my makeup!"
He let out a long, calming breath and straightened, one finger dabbing cautiously at the corner of his most heavily decorated eye while his other hand went to pat Ciel's shoulder heartily, still chuckling. The said boy was not feeling any better for having experienced this sentiment, and was, at that moment, attempting to settle his rather sour expression into one of blank mystification.
Honestly, he tries to be tactful, and this is what he gets.
"Yer face just now! Ya looked like ya were gonna be accused of murder, or somethin'! Ah, priceless! I reckon ya deserve my title more than I do! Really…"
Beyond a certain undertaker, Ciel doubted very much that any sane human could agree with that statement, and so he remained silent, trying not to appear endlessly thankful when Joker stepped to the side, muttering about seeing to Dagger's knives, making sure that Snake's 'Emily' hadn't gone on another nipping spree, and checking that Betty hadn't 'lost her temper' again.
It was at times such as this, when his clothes were sticky with drying grease, his hair sticking up on end and an eccentric, humming red-head nudging him onto the path that lead to further exhaustion, that he was thankful undercover work was not a full-time job.
Next time, Sebastian's on his own.
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Owari.
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Pwetty pwease, could you weview, pwease? It would makes me very happy indeed...