Compulsion - Chapter 2: Seize the Chance
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji.
"Yes," Ciel grumbles irksomely, his tone more or less a languid drawl at this point, "for the final time, and bear in mind, final time, for I am done with reiterating this: the killer is targeting nobles, such as you and I."
"But, are you certain?"
"Very much so." The Earl of Phantomhive then coughs into his fist, his forehead crinkling in a disdainful manner, when an intoxicating cloud of smoke is blown directly to his face.
"Ah . . . how unfortunate."
His eyebrows, tenuously, cross at the center, as he takes into account his companion's sheer—and rather commendable—nonchalance. But then again, he is familiar with his bewildering lack of ability to assess situations seriously.
Another cloud of smoke is breathed toward his direction, and an aggravated Ciel bats at it in order to disperse its concentration of narcotic chemicals. "Shouldn't you be more worried? I've invited you to my townhouse for the purpose of enlightening you on this severe matter." He, subsequently, leans back against his chair to elude yet another smothering collection of mind-altering vapor.
"Mm, perhaps I should be," the Chinese man murmurs, while relaxing on the chair proportionate to Ciel's, seemingly suspended in a dreamlike state. His opium pipe, detestably pumping out more smoke to taint the air, perches near his lips, supported by his thin, slender fingers. He is dressed in a silky, floral-patterned jacket and pants of equitable quality, and his eyes are persistently closed; he emanates carelessness, and yet there exists a wispy substratum of enigma embracing the man. "However, I have my cute little Ran-Mao with me." With a tranquil smile fixed on his visage, he gingerly cups the chin of the woman, that resembles a Chinese doll, mounting on his lap. She wears relatively suggestive clothes, judging by how much skin she reveals—and she also does not mind this, as she has used her physical appeal numerous of times before to beguile others.
"Surely, you don't expect that she can protect you at all costs. . . ." Ciel begins slowly, delicately, allowing for his words of wise counsel to be absorbed at a reasonable pace so that the Chinese man will adopt a conduct of temperateness instead of misconstruing his fundamentally good intentions.
It is quite propitious that he does not appear offended, as his everlasting smile is retained. His tongue clicks disapprovingly, in a roguish, playful fashion. "My, my, it would seem that the Earl is underestimating Ran-Mao." He, gently, taps his finger on his personal assassin's chin for her response, and she fulfills the implicit request by puffing out her cheeks as though to visibly portray her displeasure.
"Lau," Ciel, vexed, mutters through gritted teeth. He pauses brusquely to examine the Funtom Company files his butler has just set on his desk. "You're too indifferent. This affects you too; you should know better. Imprudent behavior can lead to your downfall."
Lau lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug, his exceedingly roomy sleeves slipping off his hands. "Oya, oya, no need to be so dramatic, Earl. Talking 'bout my ultimate death and all . . . that's a little depressing, you know? Besides, you have yet to tell me how you gauged this killer's potential so far. Is he any good like Jack the Ripper—oh, my apologies, touchy subject—or is he just a poseur?"
"I was attacked myself," Ciel declares, without breaking their eye contact, in a flat, unequivocal and straightforward manner. The daunting coldness in his voice is an aspect incapable of being disregarded. Merely this significant narrative gives an indicative insight on Ciel's appraisal of the killer.
Raising his eyebrows, Lau indulges in a long drag from his pipe. For a transient interlude, silence befalls them, as the Chinese man immerses in contemplation. The taciturn Ran-Mao squirms on his lap, almost indignantly, as if to express her dissatisfaction for Lau's uncharacteristic reticence. For a man that is prone to mirthful outbursts, it is a wonder that he has yet to do so now.
But, at last, the hindering pipe is removed from the press of his lips. Lau exhales a smoke ring this time.
"Meh . . . then this killer must not be that good."
Surprised, Ciel stops midway in his monotonous operation of verifying and stamping the files. "Why do you think as such? After all, he has boldly attacked me and managed to escape—"
With that inscrutable, crooked smile, Lau intervenes, holding up a finger and tilting his head to the side, "However . . . you are still here."
"Meaning what?" the Earl of Phantomhive interrogates, impatience imposing a slight strain on his tone.
"Meaning, he must not have been very good if he wasn't able to kill you. His assassination attempt failed. That's all there is to it. Now, if you were three meters below the earth, dead, because of his bullet . . . I'd be running for cover. But since you are still alive and well, there's nothing to fear. It's as simple as that."
Admittedly, Ciel can discern the sound logic behind this, despite the strong and unnerving connotations that he must be among the deceased for his concerns to be taken with soberness of attitude.
"Seems like you are not at all pleased with my answer, Earl," Lau comments, breezily stretching, and disturbing Ran-Mao's equilibrium in the process; she is compelled to shift about to accommodate to the changes in position.
Lau is at times more perceptive than he goads others into believing; his superficial ignorance is as deceiving as it is galling. Though, Ciel is not inane; he is well aware that often times than not Lau is genuinely oblivious to his surroundings. Thorough explanations are required to be carried everywhere, for the sole sake of precaution, whenever he accompanies him.
His stare lingers at the red stamp that he has affixed to the file before him. More to himself, Ciel whispers, "There is just a perplexing factor to this entire equation: how in the world was he able to evade Sebastian?" It is a badgering, interminable question that has haunted and prodded him since the assassination attempt.
"Aren't the City Yards in the midst of investigation? If you remain in this safe townhouse until the killer is arrested, your life is basically guaranteed. You shouldn't have to lose sleep over this matter."
"Yes, but I am not worried about my life. I am mainly concerned with discovering the abilities of this killer. Even if I'm on suspension, my duty to protect the Royal Family holds true to this day. I want this killer dealt with as soon as possible."
Lau pulls on his pipe, greedily filling his lungs with the self-detrimental opium. "Mm, a Watchdog will forever be a Watchdog. As always, it's your persistence that intrigues me. It's a pity that your suspension . . ."
"That, I know," Ciel does not bother hiding his chagrin. "I truly feel leashed. If I had the connections, perhaps I can move about from this rigid cage. Perhaps, then, I can get to the bottom of this." He pushes back against his chair, and knocks his fist meaningfully on the glass window behind him. As directed, Lau's attention floats to an awkward man that is pathetically concealed at the monumental gates of the townhouse.
Not missing Ciel's ingenious instillment of an idea, the Chinese man grins. "I wonder if the reason why you relayed to me all the information you've gathered 'bout the killer was really for my sake. Oya, oya, I'm starting to have second thoughts! Maybe you're just slyly seeking my assistance to sneak you 'round a few places that you can't attend now that you're on parole."
The Earl of Phantomhive's nefarious smirk makes itself present, if only very vaguely. "That is, if you're interested in helping me."
"Haven't I told him already, Ran-Mao?" He pinches her cheek affectionately. "I will do the Earl any favor. It is of my benefit in the end, anyway. But, Earl, do you even have the slightest clue on how to capture this killer? 'Cause if you were relying on me to conjure up a strategy . . ."
Ciel presses the stamp against the heading of a file. "I never leave the thinking to you. And, you should know better. It's the head of Phantomhive you are speaking to." Ciel looks at him, unhesitatingly, staunch eminence radiating from his small frame; a wily smirk smoothly glides into his features, and not yielding a second to blink, he proudly asserts, "I am always prepared with a plan."
Curious, Lau hearkens intently as Ciel says, "Now, we must base this capture at a large accumulation of nobles. Somewhere that attracts a lot of nobles, I am almost positive the killer will appear there as well. That is when we take action. Do you have any suggestions of such a place? Preferably, the event that brings together a mass of nobles should be scheduled at a nearby date, so that we can detain the killer as quickly as—"
"I got it!" Lau, suddenly, cries out, snapping his fingers, and startling both Ciel and Ran-Mao (though she is expeditiously returns to her typical facial expression of nothingness). "I know of a social event that will take place at the end of this month."
Social event?
Ciel is already experiencing abhorrence at the mere notion of striking up gratuitous conversations with others, and he is predisposed to decline whatever Lau is about to propose.
"—I'm sure you heard of it already. It's the winter ball, hosted by Marquis Wright."
Discomfited, the Earl of Phantomhive distracts himself by sorting the files in order, separating the validated ones from the ones he must query about to his butler. "In honesty, I have not heard of the winter ball."
Ran-Mao gasps faintly, and Lau drops his opium pipe in shock.
"Earl, have you been living under a rock?" Lau exclaims, unduly astonished.
"No, I live under the roof you're under at the moment," Ciel replies, maintaining a calm, level tone.
"Who hasn't ever heard of the winter ball before? Seriously, it has got to be one of the biggest events before the coming of the Season! Oh my, what should we do with you?" Theatrically, Lau splays his fingers against his forehead and shakes his head as if effete and disappointed.
"I could care less about those things," Ciel says, not even glancing up from his files. "Social events are ridiculously bombastic, and so are the people that attend them. I refuse to go to the winter ball. There must be other options, other places where the killer will appear; if we are able to pinpoint them, we can take him down with ease."
Bemused, Lau cocks an eyebrow. "But, Earl . . . why can't we just go for something more convenient: the winter ball. Everyone who's important is gonna be there, you know. I know you're usually a wallflower at balls . . . and that the last one you went to, you know, Viscount Chambers' ball, where you had to dress up as a—sorry, again, bad memories—well, anyway, that did not leave a good impression. Even so, wouldn't this be the best way to get the job done faster?"
"I'm not going. We'll—I'll think of something else," the Earl of Phantomhive curtly and concisely states, his patience threatened with having to reassert things that are unworthy of his time and energy.
The Chinese man produces some sort of defeated "meh" sound, and once again silence tugs its dense curtains between them. Ciel preoccupies himself with meticulously evaluating the circumstances his Funtom Company is thrust in; it seems like his profits have been curtailed, as his products have considerably failed in extending their appeal to the countryside for an unknown reason. Ciel frowns; usually, his products will do fairly well there but just recently they are not sold as fluidly. He will have to systematically study this bothersome plight with Sebastian later. For now, it will have to be put aside, and—
"But, you know, Earl," Lau pipes up, abruptly.
"Hm?" comes his torpid, lackadaisical reply; he does not possess much vigor to have a discourse with him. Ciel's sharp eye rovers over the next file, and after ascertaining its correctness, he stamps it and moves on.
"What other event, besides the winter ball, do you think will come up that involves plenty of nobles? If we don't do anything soon, the killer will just proceed on murdering whatever noble he wants, one by one, if he wishes to."
"I'll think of something," Ciel murmurs in a lazy and indolent manner; he is unconvincing, that much is evident. Nevertheless, he has no desire to impress Lau with some kind of overwhelmingly brilliant plan that does not include the winter ball. He will have to deliberate quietly in a solitary room at another time, in order to fabricate that sort of magnificence and utilize it in an effective stratagem. If he is to be sincere and forthright with himself, perhaps he is a bit, just a bit, childish and irrational to deny going to the winter ball. If one is to give his perspective on the matter impartially, then logically, the winter ball would be the most efficient option to lure out the killer. A widespread gathering of the aristocracy is too much of a glorious opportunity for that ruthless murderer to let pass.
Notwithstanding, Ciel absolutely despises social events, with a passion. There is a number of reasons on why that is so: the suffocating mixture of perfumes; the incessant chattering in the background all merged into a discombobulating buzz; the dreadful dancing, that has a frighteningly debilitating effect; the unendurable pretentiousness of it all, especially of the turgid, high-flown those whose chief concern is their display of importance and splendor; and so on and so forth. It is a headache he would like to avoid at all costs, and the winter ball does not sound quite appetizing.
It is an annoyance, but he will settle for personally inducing the killer to come out if no other option works.
"Earl, I really think you're gonna rack your brain for no good reason at all. The winter ball's the ideal setting for you to deal out your plan."
And he admired me for my persistence.
"I told you already, I am not going." Ciel is exerting a bit of unneeded pressure against the stamp, but he is growing irritated.
"It's gonna be packed full with nobles!" Lau insists just as firmly, while stroking Ran-Mao's hair.
"Not going."
"There's gonna be a lot of nobles you know, too."
"If you would spare a second to inspect my expression, you will see clearly that I do not care."
"But, Earl, many people are going to go! It's a must!"
Ciel grips his stamp wrathfully. "I told you already, I am not going to go to that stupid ball—"
"There is a rumor . . ."
Lau's cryptic smile wears down Ciel's exasperation, replacing it with inquisitiveness.
"A rumor . . . ?" the Earl of Phantomhive urges, and without completely realizing it, he is holding in his breath.
"A rumor that Alois Trancy will also be attending the winter ball."
Lau knows he is victorious when Ciel actually drops the stamp in his grasp. "Oh my, suddenly clumsy, are you?"
His throat has gone parched. "Don't . . . don't spout nonsense! No one has seen a shadow of Trancy since last year." Although he tries to be stern, there is a mellow softness to his tone that did not go by undetected by the Chinese man.
Lau is about to remark that Ciel must be lonely, but decides against it after perceiving as Ciel hastily picks up his stamp. Watching as the poor earl restart his tediously unvarying work—and halfheartedly at that—is a deplorable sight; moreover, he executes the task with a bit more vehemence than earlier, as if to pound out his rigorously locked up frustration onto the defenseless piece of paper.
Lau, then, retrieves his bronze opium pipe from the floor, wipes it tactlessly against his jacket, and sinfully satiates his lungs in its entrancing drug once more. Ran-Mao cuddles up against his chest. "Oi, Earl . . . seize the chance."
Ciel continues stamping, heedlessly.
"I know you hear me, Earl, it's mean to ignore someone, you know? Just listen to my advice"—he puffs out an intricate smoke ring, which momentarily sets a haze over his vision and he is inveigled to daydream—". . . seize the chance."
"What are you talking about?" the boy grumbles.
"Meh, you have 'till the end of the month, at any rate. Then you can choose whether or not to go."
The force of the stamp colliding with the paper is excessive, this time.
His thin, slender fingers twiddle with the pipe. "By the way, it was just a rumor, that's all. There's no telling if he will—"
"Would you just be quiet?"
"Yes, yes, Earl. I'd like to daydream for a while anyway."
And there is silence once more.
A/N: I've realized my chapters have gotten shorter. I hope you don't mind; at the very least, the plot is moving forward.