Disclaimer: I own a really awesome Kuroshitsuji mug. I love it a lot. I'm drinking tea from it right now. But I don't own the series. Oh well. (Mmm, tea~)
Author's Note: So my original intention was to finish the rough draft of chapter three before editing and posting chapter two, but work has been draining all of the life and energy out of me… meaning I haven't gotten much writing done. And keeping a finished chapter waiting on my laptop seemed silly, taking that into account. In any case, there will likely be a delay between this chapter and chapter three; hope that's okay with y'all. ^^;
Also, many thanks for the sweet reviews, my dears! I want to shout-out especially to Madam Arachne for taking the time to leave me such a detailed comment. I love those! :'D
Warnings: SebaCiel (and CielSeba). Part of the "Bicentennial" series ("Bicentennial," "Inevitable," "Five Thousand," "Timetable," "Coffee Break." "Cats and Dogs," "Surely Someday," "Turn," and "Bouquet."); Takes place immediately after "Five Thousand." Season II logic, haha. Fail editing. Sexual themes.
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Hitches and Knots
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Something New
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7:46 AM
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Hannah murmured sheepishly, taking a long drag of the cigarette that she held between two dainty fingers. The perfect shell-pink of her nails invoked a small spark of envy; Sebastian did tire of questions about the 'black polish' on his own. "I know it's a bad habit, but we're all entitled to them." With an airy sigh and a ring of silvery smoke, she leaned against the cleanest patch of red brick she could find, lodged somewhere between the "employees only" door and the black-topped, back lot dumpsters. One arm nestled beneath the round of her bosom and the other resting on the jut of that wrist, she tapped a stream of off-white ash into a nearby puddle of sludge, shooting Sebastian a sidelong glance. "And of course I never do it in front of the boys."
Despite these reassurances, Sebastian's glower did not soften. Thinking back, it did seem rather unlikely that his disapproval was related to the physical wellbeing of the Macken boys and statistics about children's health and air pollution. "If you think my expression has anything to do with your masochistic desire to ruin your lungs, you are sadly mistaken, I am afraid," he hissed, curling five tense fingers around the banister of the emergency exit. Though the other devil had given Sebastian no reason to be suspicious (except for, you know, the whole stealing-his-young-master-and-allowing-the-Trancy-heir-to-posess-him thing from a few centuries back), he made a point of keeping those slimy metal bars carefully between them. Just in case. "Honestly, I couldn't give less of a damn about your lungs, or the lungs of those children—especially since all three of you are supposed to be dead!"
"You mean four," Hannah corrected calmly, a small smile playing across her painted lips. Sebastian nearly choked on his own horror.
"Claude is alive, too?"
"Well, why wouldn't he be?" The former maid seemed genuinely baffled by her companion's open-mouthed amazement. The former butler, in turn, was genuinely baffled by the extent of her obvious brain-damage. Perhaps one of those falling rocks had hit her head a bit too hard…
"'Why'? Oh, I don't know," the demon returned with a scathing snarl, wildly waving the hand that wasn't currently leaving dents in solid iron, "perhaps because I stabbed him through the heart with the demon sword?"
How quickly we forget… Hannah dropped a curled fist into her palm, as if only just recalling an important memory. (As if in parody, Sebastian's forehead also reacquainted itself with a palm.) "Oh yes… alright, yes, you did do that," the buxom devil conceded with a brisk nod of agreement, guilty grin firmly in place. She seemed a bit loath to admit it, but history was history; she tossed her cigarette butt into a mess of spilt soda, stamped it out, then scraped her heels clean on the concrete. "I suppose I might have been somewhat… deceptive… in my descriptions of the Leviathan's powers..."
'No shit' seemed the choicest response to that, but Sebastian held himself to higher standards.
"So it was a lie, then, that wounds dealt by that blade will never heal, and that all souls cleaved by it are destroyed?" the demon guessed dully, allowing his chin to flop unceremoniously atop his arms. It was a rather undignified position, taking into account the height of the handrail, but he was a bit too preoccupied to care about how silly he looked, right then. So what if his rump was popped out like a cheap whore's? Who cared if his bottom lip stuck out like a five-year-olds? Did it really matter that he sounded like a toddler mere moments before a tantrum? He was too busy processing how basic truths in his life were really lies in disguise. Claude Faustus was alive. So was the little blonde he called master. Next he'd be told that giant crabs had begun attacking the city, and that there was a boogie man vacationing in his closet.
Hannah, at least, had the good graces to look apologetic, even as she gently berated him. "You can't honestly believe that I would have told you, my enemy, the full truth," she pointed out, rummaging through her purse for something. (A tube of lipstick, Sebastian soon discovered.) "But because of what we are, neither could I tell a blatant lie. I did mention, if you'd be kind enough to recall, that no attacks are fatal to a demon. And that's the reality of the situation, even with Leviathan." With a bored sort of nonchalance, she opened the extracted gloss and smoothly applied it, digging out a makeup mirror to double-check that she hadn't made a mess. After smacking her lips, she slid both accessories back into their respective pouches. "A wound inflicted by the Leviathan will never heal… provided the sword remains lodged in that wound. And a soul cleaved by it would be destroyed… but we both know that the soul isn't something you can assault, per say. You punctured Claude's internal organs, but not his soul."
Sebastian snorted. "Cheap loopholes."
"Like you're one to judge. I heard about the Jack the Ripper case."
He couldn't argue that.
"…look," Hannah eventually murmured, shooting a fleeting glance in the sulking demon's direction, "if it makes you feel any better, it took ages for Claude's injuries to heal themselves. We laid together in the rubble and wreckage of the Isle for… goodness, decades, at least. But it gave us time to talk, if nothing else."
"Bully for you. Now, if this is the part where you monologue about what you lot have been up to 'til this point, you can just skip—"
"What you did changed him, Sebastian. What Alois did changed him. So much devotion, so pure and heartfelt… It wears on us, you know. Shapes us. Claude eventually began to miss that affection, as well as the one who showed it," Hannah continued, lacing her fingers and staring dreamily at the sky above the alleyway. (Sebastian, in turn, rolled his eyes and checked his watch; he only had fifteen minutes for a break, after all.) "It wasn't so bad for me, since I had both Alois and Luca inside, alive and intact… Well, as 'alive and intact' as two souls can be without bodies, I suppose. But still, I could understand Claude's loneliness to an extent— it's like a letter versus a visit. It's wonderful to be able to speak with a person, but it's not the same as being able to hold them, or kiss them, or watch them sleep at night."
"Something I'm sure the both of you are very well-versed it, being the creeps that you are," the devil muttered under his breath, fully slumped over the railing, now. The stink of moldering waffles, egg shells, and mixed syrup filled his nostrils and clung to his hair. …actually, there was a good chance that more than just their stink was doing that. Dammit.
"You'll remember, I'm sure, that I was able to attach my master's soul to Ciel Phantomhive's body, yes?" Hannah continued, either so lost in her own reminiscing that she didn't hear her companion's scathing commentary, or so determined to tell her story that she didn't care to acknowledge it. It didn't really matter which; Sebastian was having her past explained to him whether he liked it or not. "Since I hadn't digested either Luca or Alois' essences, I was able to replicate that process… only using different vessels, of course," she tacked on with a glib little laugh, as if this were all one, big, lighthearted joke. And no, it didn't bother her that Sebastian refused to see the humor in it.
"I work as a nurse when out of Contract," Hannah informed him matter-of-factly, stretching her arms above her head with a happy purr and a crack of bones. (Maybe if he broke her neck, that would shut her up for a while…) "I specialize in caring for sick children. Eternity gave us ample time to wait for patients who bore striking resemblances to our lost masters. In 1912, during the flu pandemic, I found the first: an orphan boy keeled over on the side streets of New York City. Petite, young, blonde hair, blue eyes… fitting for me to find a body for the elder brother first, don't you think?" She beamed engagingly, as if to encourage a reply. For her efforts, she earned a grunt. It was enough. "After making sure there was nothing else physically wrong with the corpse, I inserted his highness's soul and memories, then bestowed upon him immortality, just as I had Ciel Phantomhive. The only side-effect is a tendency for my poor highness to catch the sniffles." The thought pulled a titter from Hannah's quirked lips, as if frequent bouts of snot and sneezing were attractive qualities in a boy. "Luca cried and cried, of course; my stomach was upset for weeks. He so hated being separated from his brother again… But I found a body for him a few years later— the victim of domestic abuse. He hadn't even completely died yet, the original owner of that body. I felt right awful for the poor dear… I held him and tried to comfort, I truly did, but it was too late for him. I ate his soul and replaced it with Luca's, and that was that. I thought about giving him a few years to grow before turning him into a demon, as well—but the world is such a frightening place, isn't it? Anything could have happened, and I might not have been able to save him, if that body were to get in any trouble. I regret that he must face forever as a five year old, but… he is soldiering through, and admirably at that." The pretty devil sighed once more, but it was a sound saturated with pride—a mother's love for her babies, cloying and saccharine. Sebastian fought the urge to vomit, and not just because he was fairly certain he'd gotten a head full of refuse juices.
"How wonderful for your makeshift family," the deadpanned demon drawled, speaking mostly to his own belly. (He was a little afraid of standing upright, now.) "It's so lovely that you were able to resurrect the brats, only to abandon them at tables in random restaurants and… presumably whatever woodland hovel or spider-infested den you call home, or wherever it is you left Alois, since he's not here with you."
"…'left?'"
Hannah blinked owlishly, looking at Sebastian as if she'd only just realized how stupid he actually was. A fair assumption to make, taking into account how little attention she'd truly been paying him over the past few minutes. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I didn't leave my master anywhere. After all, Alois is the one who insisted that we drop by—usually we're enjoying ourselves on the beaches of Brazil at this time of year. No, when I heard from Baalberith that you and Ciel Phantomhive were getting married, Alois is the one who insisted that we attend. He didn't want to miss his best friend's wedding."
She shrugged off the onslaught of Sebastian's stare, as if the dagger of his gaze amounted to nothing more than a few pins and needles. "That's what he said," Hannah said defensively, waving her hands as if to show that they were clean. No dirt on her, as it were. Or trash can rubbish. "And while he sends his best wishes and said he'd love to catch up with you later, he didn't particularly feel like making a pit stop for waffles. So he and Claude decided to—"
That caught Sebastian's attention. With no regard for whatever grossness might have congealed upon his forelocks, the devil straightened with a snap of his spine and a clench of his fists. The whole of the banister whined in protest, molding around his fists like putty or clay. "Claude is here, too?"
Hannah was undoubtedly questioning Sebastian's mental capacities, at this point. (That wasn't fair; she'd been the one barraged with boulders!) "Well, obviously," the she-devil intoned, brow arching in incredulity. "Why wouldn't he be? I told you that he was alive and that we four live together. Isn't it only natural that he should decided to make this trip with us? Especially considering your history?"
A logical argument. But logic had never amounted to much when dealing with the Trancys, the family of dysfunctional psychopaths. Obsessed, dysfunctional psychopaths. Obsessed with his young master, dysfunctional psychopaths.
Nearly as green as the dumpsters and their contents, Sebastian nevertheless managed to grace Hannah with a legitimately threatening growl: fangs distended, pupils slit, talons sharpening. Whether or not her bowels were full of firearms, it was enough to make her flinch. After all, even the Leviathan wouldn't do much damage to the darkness— or to the undulating shadows in the devil's command, slithering like serpents from his body and writhing towards her own.
Well. So much for a friendly hello.
Sebastian hissed a final warning when Hannah once more twisted his way, gaze as bright as embers as he forced a single question through his clamped and grinding teeth: "Where. Are. They."
7:53 AM
"Right, if we're gonna do this, we ought to do this properly."
"…shall I break out the party poppers?"
"No... No, not yet. We'll use those for the 'congratulations' portion of our visit," the blonde pre-teen decided, waving a dismissive hand after a moment of deep consideration. In response, the tall, bespectacled man who stood beside him slid the multicolored tubes back into his magenta fanny pack, strapped around his jean-clad hips. He then awaited further instruction, standing as prim and properly as was possible for someone wearing a magenta fanny pack. On his right, having clambered atop the base of some tasteless piece of "decorative" modern art (this particular sculpture depicting a ring split down the middle; how creative), the boy—or not-boy, as it were— frowned a thoughtful sort of frown, kicking his sandaled feet back and forth. "No, Claude, the first thing to keep in mind is that this is a surprise visit. So we need to surprise Ciel. And that means he can't spot us first, you know? We need the element of… um…"
"Surprise?" Claude provided helpfully, earning an appreciative grin from his charge.
"Yes, exactly!" Alois cheered, clapping his hands together. "And to that end, I thought the mall would be a good place to go to find a proper disguise. Something more—" fingers wriggled, as if trying to pluck the proper phrase from thin air— "full bodied than vampire teeth, and cleverer than a top hat and cape. Perhaps a little less conspicuous than a maid's outfit, too, taking the era into account." With that plan firmly in place, the once-child jumped from his perch and landed with the grace of a feline, all smug smiles and perfect balance. To make things look even more visually dramatic, he embellished this leap by simultaneously pulling a pair of dark shades from his overall pocket, and slid them gracefully onto his face. Like James Bond, he fancied. From Russia with love, and all of that. "Glasses on, Claude," he encouraged as he fully straightened, surveying the sea of cars that stretched out before them. Windshields glinted, chipping veneers rusted, shrill alarms whined… In a world as small as this, it didn't seem unlikely that one of those very vehicles had driven his unknowing best friend to this exact shopping center, head full of dreams that matched his own: to find an outfit with which one might 'dress to impress.' And to that end… "They'll have to do as our temporary disguises. At least until we find better temporary disguises. Maybe we should go from glasses to wigs, then wigs to masks, then masks to costumes, then costumes to outfits for their wedding."
A beat.
"You know, sir," Claude ventured coolly, not yet making a move for his glasses. (After all, technically, he was already wearing a pair.) "I cannot help but think that finding costumes is something of a waste of our time. I sincerely doubt that Ciel Phantomhive is expecting to see us as it is… Purchasing disguises seems rather redun—"
Alois snapped him a glare as cold as baby-blue icicles. "I said glasses on, Claude."
"…yes, your highness." The butler sighed, and from his convenient little pack retrieved a set of novelty spectacles, complete with shaggy faux moustache and bushy brown eyebrows. Alois had chosen them specifically for him, of course. It was at times like this that Claude was fairly certain that he had yet to be forgiven for that whole 'murdering his master' shtick. Some people… Regardless, he dipped into a shallow bow and slid the plastic rims up the bridge of his nose, pressing them flush to his more respectable eyewear. "Temporary disguise in place, Alois."
"Good boy," the blonde praised, whipping a bone-shaped cookie from the pouch on his chest and tossing it carelessly at his servant. The biscuit hit Claude square in the forehead, bounced off, and was immediately attacked by a flock of pigeons who— like most scavengers— waited in mall parking lots for just such an occasion. Oblivious to the storm of feathers (as well as the stray fat bird who randomly decided to take up residence in Claude's hair), Alois pointed dramatically towards the revolving doors of the entrance, as if in homage to Washington and his trip across the Delaware. This allusion was made all the more effective by Claude lifting him up by the pits and carrying him forward, as if some sort of ballerina. "Now, to build our new disguises from the bottom up and inside out!" the blonde screamed over the deafening squalor of ravenous birds, wings flap-flapping and scaly feet scrabbling. "Claude!"
"Your highness?"
"You know where to go! Olé!"
8:37 AM
"I am not coming out."
"Oh, I think you 'came out' a long time ago," Grelle murmured mindlessly, shifting through the colored hangers that had been lined along the bargain rack. For politeness's sake, she spared a glance in Ciel's direction, but it hardly mattered—he was currently cowering inside one of the boutique's many changing rooms, hidden behind a curtain of red velvet. All along the bordering walls, headless mannequins were dressed in frills and ruffles and mesh… and not much else. Their off-white bodies were haloed in a rosy pink glow, thanks to the mood lighting set by the staff. A little darker, a little sultrier, a little more mysterious… after all, Victoria was a lady with a secret.
And at that moment, the secret was that a smiling grim reaper had forced her young devil-friend into a gauzy piece of lingerie.
"What do you mean, there's nothing more to this?" Ciel had choked when he'd asked for the next layer of clothing, face contorting into an expression of embarrassment and horror. Like some sort of tropical turtle, he'd immediately retracted his poking head, pulling it back behind the scarlet drapes.
"What on earth made you think that there was?" Grell had countered, just before finding herself distracted by the articles on sale. She'd been thinking about invested in a new chemisette… something made of satin and boasting a gossamer trim. Ooo, and here was a lovely claret number. She folded Ciel's clothes more neatly over her arm and checked the price tag on her item of interest. "You didn't like anything at David's Bridal—not even the black dresses I let you try on."
"I told you—I don't want to wear a d—!"
"Well, you didn't like the tux, either," she sniffed in interruption, frown deepening as she pushed the camisole far to the left, along with the other pieces she'd rejected. On sale for $50? For a few scraps of translucent fabric? Ridiculous. She'd just keep sleeping naked. (Which, now that she thought of it, was probably sexier, anyway.) "So I assumed that the issue must be that the outfits we were looking at were too conservative for your scandalous tastes."
Ciel made a frustrated sound—something between a snarl and a scream— as the hangings rolled and waved in fury. Grelle imagined that he was probably stamping his little stockinged feet, too, like the child he swore up and down that he wasn't. "Just because I don't jump on the first few full-length outfits that I see, doesn't mean I'd rather dress as a whore!" he snapped, pacing in tight circles like some sort of caged animal. Which he almost was, really. "No, I take that back—not even a whore would go out dressed like this, for work or otherwise! This isn't an outfit, it's just underwear!"
With a dramatic clatter of rings on a rod, Ciel pushed back the screen and glowered at Grelle, hand outstretched and straining for the street clothes that she'd stolen. But the pretty reaper refused to surrender her cloth captives, instead holding the khakis and retro "Flipper" t-shirt hostage behind her back as she surveyed the blushing demon. Her head tilted in consideration, thoughtful gaze sliding up and down. Her free hand fingered the rims of her glasses, sliding them down her nose a millimeter or two so as to peer over the plastic frames. Her lips pursed, then parted when she'd finally formulated an opinion.
"…you do look good in red," she decreed, nodding in approval at the sight before her. She had decorated the demon in a lacy thong of a cherry hue, made to match the garter belt that had been corseted around his willowy waist. The elastic straps that dangled down his thighs were a bit superfluous when one was using nylon leggings, but Ciel had attached the clips just the same, if only to feel like he was wearing something more substantial. Because the cold (and drafty) truth was, he wasn't wearing much: the only other accessory had been a choker of a crushed crimson material, embellished with a large bow and a dangling, heart-shaped crystal. In hindsight, the devil wasn't entirely sure why he'd decided to humiliate himself further by wearing said necklace, as well… but at the time, it'd been nice just to feel another piece of fabric against his skin. "I think we should buy it. After all, red is the color of passion and love! What could possibly be more appropriate for a wedding?"
Ciel leveled her a flat glare. He wasn't the only one doing so; a number of individual customers had caught sight of the underage boy in dubious attire and were beginning to whisper about his supposed caretaker. The not-boy half-hoped someone would call security. "Something involving pants, perhaps?" he nevertheless suggested wryly, rubbing his thighs together in a squirmy show of awkwardness. When Grelle's only response was a gracious chuckle ("Oh, my dear brat, you kidder~"), Ciel half-considered leaving the cloistered world of the dressing chamber and physically attacking the reaper, if only to rip his slacks and top from her evil, evil grip… but he stomped on that idea when the AC wafted against his second set of cheeks, sending a chill up his spine. Oh yes. His backside (as well as most of his front-side) was currently on display, and the former was hosting a number of fresh, suspiciously-shaped bruises. Bruises that he didn't particularly want to let the rest of the store see, considering the shoppers present already seemed to suspect that he was the victim of some kind of child abuse.
"But hmm, now that I think of it," Grelle continued once her giggles had subsided, tapping a manicured nail to the round of her chin, "I think there is some room for improvement. Or personalization, as it were. Now, what are we missing…"
"A top?"
"No… no, I was thinking more along the lines of… ah, yes!" The death god gave a gleeful snap of her fingers, pensive expression melting instantaneously into one of flagrant self satisfaction. Ciel was almost afraid to hear what her crazy little mind had come up with. And he had every right to be. "Cat ears."
The little one sucked in a noisy breath. He did not allow it to escape as a hiss. Instead, he forced the oxygen down and his stiffened shoulders with it, allowing a beat of silence to pass between them as he tried to compose himself. (It was, understandably, difficult to find any form of composure in his current situation.) "…cat ears," he then echoed, voice strained, as his lengthening talons ground into the base of his palms. "Your answer is… cat ears."
"And a tail," Grelle chirped, as proud of herself as if she'd just cured cancer, or discovered gravity. Ciel fervently wished for an apple—or anything else, really—to chuck at her grinning head. "That choker looks just like a collar, so why not make it a theme? Sebastian-darling would just lap it up~"
…there were so many things wrong with the resulting mental image that Ciel wasn't entirely certain he could properly convey them all with words alone. But taking into account what he and Sebastian had agreed on last night (that they didn't want to spend eternity being chased by a furious Will), he somehow managed to redirect his fury from violence to discourse. Scathing discourse, perhaps. But it was either that or sticks and stones. (Or mannequins and hangers, since Ciel was a believer in using his surroundings to his advantage.) "Grelle," he forced through clenched teeth, somehow managing to make the bubbling irritation in his tone sound more like vague annoyance, "I may not like you all the time, and you may have a tendency to act like a ditz, but I know that, deep down, you're a smart woman. And because you are, I am only going to say this once." A deep breath; Grelle had the courtesy to lean attentively forward, curiosity written all over her innocent features. In preparation, Ciel's lashes closed lightly… and then scrunched along with the rest of his face, as if to keep his eyeballs in place in the wake of his verbal explosion. "I AM NOT MARRYING SEBASTIAN IN A THONG AND CAT EARS!" he screeched, the diamond bauble on his breast bouncing as he violently shook his head, just in case the sounds weren't enough to communicate the entirety his message.
And the message got across, alright. But it was the wrong message.
"Marrying Sebastian?"
And it was transmitted to the wrong party.
With another metallic rattle, the drapes from the fourth dressing room over slid open wide, revealing a second little boy all done up in hosiery and intimates. A dark shade of salmon with trimming done in burgundy, the front and back of his panties were held together by silk ribbons, which stood out prettily against the pale of his hips. Rather than a belt, two gauzy garters kept his tights securely in place, and were decorated in pearls to match the whiteness of said pantyhose. Compared to Ciel, he was short one pretty necklace, but instead had been fitted in a flattering ribbed bodice, which shaped his lithe body from underarm to waist. For the first time in his life, the demon was almost jealous of the one wearing the corset—at least he was more covered.
Then Ciel truly registered the voice. And the face. And the trickster's grin, and the light blue eyes, and the two bare arms spread wide in welcome, coming closer and closer as the not-stranger barreled down upon him, squealing all the while.
"Ciel! We found you early!" Alois shrieked, running towards the Phantomhive earl like a lifeguard on the beaches of Baywatch. Behind the blonde—still lurking in the changing stall, hands curled around a camera and face covered in artificial hair— an appreciative Claude watched the energetic reunion, never having stopped snapping pictures. He may have muttered something along the lines of, "weren't we shopping for disguises in order to avoid being found out early?" but no one heard him.
No one could hear anything over the sound of Ciel's ear-piercing scream.
"ALOIS TRANCY? WHAT THE FLYING FUCK— NO, GET AWAY FROM ME! DON'T TOUCH ME! GRELLE! GRELLE! HELP ME— ACK!"
"Ciel, don't think you can hide behind those curtains now—I saw you! I know you're in there! Come out, I know you've missed me!" Alois sang, happily attempting to wrestle the drapes open—then giving up and attempting to crawl under them—then tittering coyly when he wound up with a foot in the face. "Woaaaaaah, you were right Claude! That feels heavenly, heehee~!"
Ciel made a number of noises that no collection of human letters could ever properly represent. And so the struggle raged, with two little demons ripping and pulling and tearing and twirling, one butler quietly muttering about his future blog post, three store employees calling up mall security on their walkie-talkies, and a reaper quietly contemplating Alois Trancy's lacy rear, having noticed the "50 Percent Off" sticker that had been slapped across its tag.
"… you know, I think I like that outfit better," she said to herself, smiling as Ciel released another high-pitched wail.
9:02 AM
"A toast! To mall security guards not being nearly as difficult to bribe as real cops," Grelle sang, lifting her Orange Julius high into the grease-scented air. All around the unusual foursome, families and friends chatted and laughed at wobbly checkered tables, eating fat-filled snacks and early lunches before wandering back to finish whatever shopping they'd left undone. Though the food court was surprisingly busy for as early as it was, there was still plenty of space to provide some degree of privacy; the three devils and one death god were chairs away from anyone else, as well as half-hidden behind a jungle of synthetic ferns. When Grelle, Alois, and Claude lifted their Styrofoam cups, no one else was able to see them over the spiky leaves.
Ciel, of course, did not touch his glass. He sat, arms crossed, as far away from the rest of the table as was physically possible without actually moving to a different one, which Grelle wouldn't allow. ("Why are you being so rude?" she'd demanded when they'd stood in line together at the Dairy Queen, shooting her temporary charge a disapproving glance from over her shoulder. Ciel hadn't responded, too busy glaring at the newcomers from around the bell of her skirt, hiding like a five-year-old would behind his mother. When his silence persisted, she'd sighed, prized his hand from her dress, and took it in her own; she then suggested that Claude do the ordering while they found a place to sit. "Ordering is my job," Alois had corrected with a snicker, winking at Ciel. Ciel had growled. And then Grelle had dragged him away and given him a stern talking to.) As the others lowered their drinks and began enjoying them, he likewise refused to join in; instead, he listened stoically as Alois explained to Grelle why he wasn't dead, as well as why he hadn't made their presence known before.
"I mean," the blonde said between swallows of smoothie, swinging his feet cheerfully back and forth as he exchanged smiles with his fellow tablemates, "I guess we really should have dropped by earlier, huh? So it was less of a shock. But even though Claude has seen the error of his ways— haven't you, Claude?"
Claude's paused in his exuberant sucking. "Yes, your highness."
"—I suppose I was just a little nervous. I'm kinda possessive, you could say." Alois giggled in a demure, endearing sort of way. Grelle nodded vigorously, always the theatrical one, as she murmured nonsensical noises of understanding. The once-child licked a droplet of Orange Sunrise flavoring from the corner of his mouth with a seal-less velveteen tongue. "But when I heard that Ciel and Sebastian were getting married, I said to myself—I said, Alois, it's time to put up or shut up. I'd always insisted that I trust Claude, but I'd never given him a chance to prove himself, you know? Well, this was that chance, whether I was ready for it or not. After all, there was no way I could miss this. What sort of best friend would I be if I didn't even attend Ciel's wedding, right? So I told Hannah that I was going, and that I was taking Claude with me, and she suggested that we make a family trip out of it. Brazil gets kinda boring, after all, once you've been there a few hundred times."
"Ooo, Brazil?" As was her wont, Grelle found a detail she liked and clung to it. Like a gossiping schoolgirl, she plunked her chin into her palms and leaned closer, cheeks pink with good-natured envy. "I'm always trying to convince Will to take me down there. He's got a brother who lives in that area of the world, I believe…"
"Yeah! You should totally drop by sometime. You could stay in our vacation home," Alois offered, grinning toothily at the reaper. "Undertaker is gonna visit, too, next summer. In thanks for letting us stay with him during this little misadventure. Why don't you and your husband come along, as well? The more the merrier! How about it, Ciel?" The blonde then turned to his self-proclaimed best friend, setting aside his cup to lace slender fingers with a giggle and a smile. "You and Sebastian should tag along. Brazil is great! Though you seem the type to burn easily… I'd be happy to rub you down with lotion before we go to the nude beaches~"
Ciel did not reply—didn't even bother growling anymore. Instead, he remained as stone-still as one of those tacky shopping center statues… one with a permanent scowl affixed to its marble face. Not that it really affected any of the others present; Alois shrugged, Grelle murmured something about ignoring the baby, and Claude merely pointed to Ciel's untouched drink and asked if he was going to finish it. When the little devil made no response, the butler tossed away his empty glass and began suckling on Ciel's smoothie, instead. Ciel half-considered being aghast and disgusted— memories of his last few days as a human returning in full force— but then belatedly remembered that no part of his body had ever officially touched that beverage. In fact, he'd hardly even looked at it. He was, however, looking at Claude now… and the butler was unabashedly returning that gaze, golden eyes dark with evocative questions.
"…did you want it after all?" he ventured lightly, moving as if to give back the half-guzzled treat. Ciel quickly shook his head, lifting a hand in abject refusal. The smoothie was immediately snapped back to Claude's chest, where he returned to nursing as if his continued survival depended solely upon how much frozen juice he managed to consume. Yet, despite the ridiculousness of the action (as well as the stupidity of the novelty glasses now resting atop the crown of his head), the older demon wore a notably somber expression as he simultaneously sucked and stared. There was nothing overtly threatening about the look; it certainly wasn't the most piercing stare that the devil had ever given. But after a few more moments of being subjected to it, the once-boy's mind began to jump to nasty conclusions: things like what Claude might be thinking about while he savored his creamy dessert. Ciel's brow had just creased into a furrow and his leg tensed for a kick when—rather unexpectedly—the servant chose to speak.
"Well then, if it's not the smoothie you're after, it must be answers that you want," he droned, using the hand that wasn't protectively wrapped around his cup to readjust his spectacles. "Perhaps you desire to know why I bothered to pit Alois against Sebastian in the first place. Or maybe why I haven't attempted to steal you back, now."
Ciel said nothing for a moment, seemingly content in their pseudo-staring contest. But that, much like everything else, swiftly grew wearisome; he ignored Grelle's prompting nudges but nevertheless gave in to her wish. "More the latter than the former," he confessed in a grumble, shoving against the reaper when she (again) leaned over to elbow him. "I don't particularly care about your motivations then, but I'd be a fool to ignore your motivations now. I can't believe you'd come here just to play escort to Alois—not after what you did in the past. What do you think you're up to?"
The raspy splutter of an emptying cup; Claude sighed in two-fold remorse. "'Up to?'" he then echoed, sounding faintly incredulous. "I am not 'up to' anything. I merely wished to accompany my family on their journey to see a loved one get married. I have no personal interest in you, anymore. Not when your soul is no longer fit for consumption." He smacked his thin lips, savoring the last, lingering traces of imitation pineapple and strawberry. "My affection for you never ran as deep as Sebastian's did. It's the inside that counts, and all of that, but I only ever craved a very specific part of your insides."
"Could have fooled me," Ciel muttered, shivering as he remembered volleys of bad-touches and lengthy lewd glances— crocheted blankets full of gaps for spidery fingers and serpentine tongues. It made his innards roil, really… but funnily enough, the once-child found comfort in the tender sting of his bottom: in the midnight bruises that peppered his skin and the memory of the demon who had left them there. He thus decided to concentrate on that. Alois, on the other hand, decided to focus on the more romantic aspects of the exchange.
"I always knew that Sebastian loved you," he cooed, looking as much the part of a schoolgirl as Grelle did, now. "I said so, didn't I? Right from the beginning."
"Yes, you did," Ciel dryly agreed, shooting the blonde a glance that would have curdled milk, had there been any milk in the immediate vicinity. But there wasn't even any smoothie left, at this point. "And if I recall, you stole my body as punishment for that."
"Well… well, yes, okay, I suppose I can't deny that," Alois acknowledged with exasperating flippancy, rolling his eyes like Ciel was a toddler who bore a grudge for a stolen cookie, rather than a transmogrified earl with a lasting resentment for having had his most personal fortress violated by a psychopath with a penchant for masochism and a fetish for sadistic slaves from Hell. "But you can't deny that you have me to thank for your happily ever after, can you? After all, it was my wish that turned you into a demon in the first place." He graced Ciel with a grin that nearly oozed the words 'you're welcome;' Ciel had to physically coil his fists around his chair's sticky legs to keep from throwing a punch at that smug, dimpled face. "And seeing as that's the case, it really wouldn't make sense not to invite us to the wedding, don't you think?"
Alois fluttered his eyelashes, clearly attempting to look as charming as possible. Sadly, it rather had the opposite of the desired effect.
"Invite you?" Ciel bit out a sardonic laugh, the retort airy with incomprehension and soft with scorn. For the first time in… well, centuries; sometime prior to the invention of zippers and sliced bread… the once-child watched Alois' sunny smile blacken, and the sky of his face cloud over. "You dare—? The sheer audacity! Why on earth would I invite you? You tried to destroy us! I don't even understand why you want to go so badly—unless you have some secret plan to try and ruin this for me, too!" With a shriek of metal on linoleum, Ciel pushed himself away from the gathering with enough force to send his chair tipping backwards. Luckily, he managed to leap to his feet before his seat hit the floor with a reverberating crash.
"Little br— Ciel." Grelle gawked, seemingly mortified, as she caught hold of the furious demon's shoulder in an attempt to keep him from storming off. He struggled against her steely grip, spitting and squirming like a riled kitten, but she refused to loosen her hold—even when she felt the trembles of emotion running through and through his limb, making her heart ache. Flustered, she shot a quick glance from the solemn Claude to the teary-eyed Alois, trying to wordlessly express her apologies. "Ciel, sit down," she whispered, gaze bouncing from one not-boy to the other. "You're causing a scene. And you're hurting the feelings of two devils who traveled an awfully long way to surprise y—!"
"You take their side?" Ciel gawked, cobalt eyes flashing vermillion. As his pupils narrowed and sharpened, so did his thrashing talons; startled, Grelle loosened her grasp just enough to allow the demon to wrench himself free without hurting her. "I don't believe this! You personally witnessed what their crimes did to Sebastian! To me! And yet, here you are, so eager to believe them? What's gotten into you?"
The redhead blinked once, rapidly, looking for all the world as if she'd just been socked in the gut. "Ciel, I…"
"No. I don't want to hear it! No, I don't want to discuss it! And no, they are not coming to my wedding!" the demon howled, and as that final declaration resounded through the sudden hush, he wheeled around and stormed towards the escalators, feeling as though he might throw up. Equally strong was the feeling that he was being watched by hundreds of bewildered people.
Which was as good a reason as any to fight the urge to vomit.
9:39 AM
This feeling of nausea intensified when his nostrils were assailed with the scent of rotten sweetmeats.
But that wouldn't be for a few more minutes, yet. The sensation of sickness was temporarily stifled by the suitably-stifling weather; ironically, Ciel's head felt a bit cooler and his nerves a little less frayed when he finally managed to stomp his way to the parking lot and into the muggy humidity of a 90-stupid summer day. He was still peeved, still tense, and still feeling horribly violated (if you couldn't trust the fact that the dead stay dead, what could you trust?), the petite demon had nevertheless calmed down enough to remember a rather pressing fact. Namely, that he had come to the mall with Grelle in her blood-colored Firebird. So unless he decided to swallow his pride and wander back to the reaper with his tail between his legs…
In short, he had no ride home. He supposed the bus was an option, but after having just dealt with the societal dregs that he had, Ciel felt that he'd reached his quota for spending time with weirdos and perverts for the next few decades. As for calling a cab, that was expensive and awkward; small talk was a chore and so were the endless questions about why he was alone. And that was all assuming he'd have been able to summon one in the first place; he hadn't brought his cell phone, having assumed that he'd be spending the day with Grelle, and the only person he ever really texted was busy with work. It was a pity; he might have been able to wrangle a ride from Finny, if he had. But no… meaning that he was on his own, as it were. He was perfectly capable of traveling by way of personal volition, of course; he was one of the strongest crows in the sky. But still, he didn't want to fly, since that ate up precious energy and he had no desire to start feeling Hungry again so soon. The mall was a good 30 minute drive from home, meaning it'd be a long and grueling walk… but anything was better than having to humble himself.
Except, perhaps, getting hit by a car.
Or almost hit, as it were; no need to exaggerate. Ciel had just taken his first few steps off of the curb when—near the four-way that marked the mall's entrance— the sound of squealing rubber filled the air with noise and the scent of burning. When he instinctively looked up, the ruckus was still far enough away to merely merit a cursory glance… but when the shrieking car in question (an almost antiqued black mustang), shot through the red light with an earth-shaking rev of its motor and an angry succession of subsequent horn-blasting, Ciel's attention was fully garnered. Somehow forgetting that he was standing rather absentmindedly in the middle of the road, he watched as the speeding car rocked and wheeled— careening wildly forward as if the running zombies from that idiotic movie his fiancé liked so much were snatching at its taillights. Actually, the whole scene played out as ridiculously as a chase sequence from the movies… which might explain why Ciel simply stood there and watched as the vehicle bore down on him, doing little more than leveling it a judgmental sort of stare.
Or maybe he did that because he recognized the license plate.
And indeed, when the car screeched to a sudden stop— its fender shuddering to a halt a scant, wavering centimeter from the baggy canvas of Ciel's kahkis— the hysterical creature that scrambled through the driver's side door recognized him, too.
"Ciel!" Sebastian cried, as breathless as if he'd just run the whole way on foot. In half an instant, he was upon the not-child— arms coiled around his middle and squeezing as if Ciel might try to escape if he didn't keep a crushing hold on him. Which wasn't an incorrect assumption to make, considering the elder devil currently smelled of trash.
"Sebastian, what in Hell's name—? Did you go dumpster-diving, or something?" the once-boy gagged, features scrunching in revulsion as he shoved against his fiancé's chest. It was still covered in powdered sugar and drying patches of syrup; come to think of it, wasn't his shift supposed to end at noon? "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" Like some sort of musical instrument, Sebastian's quaking voice slid up and down the tonal scale—from terrified to grateful to incensed. With a faltering grace, he fell into a low crouch, bodily shaking his precious charge. "What are you doing here? I've tried calling you a million times—where is your phone? Why didn't you tell me you were going out? The only reason I knew to look here is because William isn't dumb enough to withhold information from a devil who serves him his breakfast every other day, even if his wife warned him it was supposed to be some stupid surprise! Save it all—!" With a groan of emotion not wholly unlike frustration, but not quite as aggravated or upset anymore, the butler buried his face in the soft of Ciel's belly, covering Flipper's countenance with his own.
The younger demon regarded the crown of his servant's head with a strained sort of affection. Not that he minded the hug in theory, but… oh, whatever, he'd take a bath later. With a sigh, he smoothed down the refuse-riddled locks, wondering vaguely when a mall cop was going to wander by and slap them with a ticket for parking in the no-park zone. It was actually sort of a wonder that another car hadn't attempted to get around Sebastian's mustang ye—oh, wait. There was some angry honking now.
"I've always been aware of your obsessive tendencies, Sebastian," Ciel quietly murmured, foul mood temporarily appeased by the devil wordlessly worshiping his very existence, "but this is taking things a mite far, even for you."
That caught Sebastian's attention. Looking somewhat miffed (perhaps even faintly offended; was it so wrong to be passionate about the important things in life?), the former butler pulled away just enough to shoot his charge a sulky frown, forehead furrowing into three perfect folds. "Believe me," he retorted, surrendering to a full-body shiver as a memory passed through his doe-brown eyes, "with the news I've just received, it's a wonder I'm not taking you right here on the tarmac."
Ciel arched a single eyebrow, sinuous fingers slipping from tresses to temple to cradling the unhappy face. The minivan stuck behind Sebastian's mustang let loose another orchestral arrangement of pissed-off beeping. "I have a fairly good idea of what that news was," the demon said simply, one hand continuing to caress his lover's honey-streaked cheek while the other wrapped around Sebastian's bony wrist. With a pointed tug, Ciel moved that familiar hand from his hip to his rear; the servant started in surprise when his master essentially assisted him in groping. How very helpful. "But rather than have your way with me on the asphalt, perhaps we might try your car, instead…? In an actual parking spot. I'm fairly certain the caterwauling of that blasted van will ruin the mood, otherwise."
9:46 AM
And Ciel had thought Sebastian had burned rubber getting to the mall.
"How many sets of tires do you go through in a week, seriously?" the younger devil asked—casually conversational— as he straddled the waist of the demon in the driver's seat. As he spoke, he nonchalantly completed the last in a series of complicated knots—intentionally rub-rubbing against Sebastian's torso as he did so. The demon retaliated by breathing his answer direction into Ciel's sensitive ear, delighting in the once-earl's suppressed quaver.
"Too many to make driving a reasonable method of personal transportation," he chuckled, perfectly content to let his master have his fun. "You'll notice I'm inclined to walk to work. Mmm." He hummed his approval when the little one pulled away, having finished his self appointed task. That felt nice and tight… and seemed as it might hold, if they were careful. Looking thoroughly pleased with himself, Ciel leaned back against the steering wheel and surveyed his handiwork; in addition to his seatbelt ("You're the one who told me to always use it when in the car"), Sebastian had been effectively strapped in place by his dirty apron, its cords looped about the back of the partially reclined chair and woven around his crossed wrists. It wasn't a position that the devil seemed to mind, but there was a glint of curiosity in the scarlet of his stare.
"You're still a mess," Ciel explained with a wrinkle of his nose, bracing himself against the car's inner controls. "So I don't want to have to touch you more than is absolutely necessary." With that, he rolled his nimble hips upward, and that glint of curiosity was replaced by one of lust.
9:59 AM
"Nn— my lord…? Wha—what is that… ah… tag I see…?"
Delicate digits, slickened with sweat, slipped across the leather of a jittering steering wheel and the mustang's metal stick shift. Only breaking pace long enough to fiddle with the zipper of his pants, Ciel panted through a husky chuckle when Sebastian's eyes flashed red— ironically, the same color as the visible strip of his new thong. The elder demon choked on a groan; his head fell forward as he struggled not to rip his uniform into shreds. (He needed to use it tomorrow, after all… provided he didn't get fired for randomly running out the door that morning.) This task was made all the more difficult by the continued movement of Ciel's grinding hips, his lissome back arching against the dashboard as he vigilantly avoided touching everything but the tented fabric of Sebastian's slacks.
"I s-sorta… shoplifted the- themmmm..." the little demon moaned, biting down hard on his bottom lip as his spasms became more sporadic. "Ha… had to yank on… my clothes 'ca- cause… mall security comes fas— ah…!"
And so did devils, in situations like this.
10:07 AM
"…we do not have to go home, if you want."
Ciel said nothing for a moment, instead choosing to concentrate on the rhythmic rise and fall of the chest he'd cuddled up against. His pillowed arms put some space between them, but he could still hear the rush of blood and adrenaline that coursed through the beloved body beneath. It was a reassuring sort of sound, soothing as a lullaby… It was difficult to believe that anything was wrong when he lay with Sebastian like this. (Well, anything other than an odor problem; the scent of sex was strong and welcome, but the tiny demon could still pick out the stench of sour milk and overripe berries.)
"But if we don't go home, you can't take a shower," Ciel reminded in a mumble, blowing out his cheeks as he twisted his face towards Sebastian's. Still tied flush to the seat, Sebastian was watching his fiancé snuggle against him with concern in his gaze. "And I'd rather like to change my underwear, at least."
"Even though it likely means facing Grelle?"
"Well, it's not like I could avoid her forever, anyway," the once-child pointed out, though he sounded none-too-excited by the prospect. "I mean, considering she's your best friend. And she has a key to the apartment. And she's planning our wedding. And she's also probably freaking out, since I kinda just ran off on her…"
"And you feel guilty for worrying her?" Sebastian surmised with a smirk, barely managing to stifle the chuckle in his voice. He, too, had calmed a great deal in the wake of physical gratification, and had even regained a modicum of his usual humor. Of course, he remained equally displeased by the unexpected arrival of tormentors from their past… but the fact that Ciel had survived an encounter with the devious pair and returned to his fiancé's side with little more than a post-tantrum headache was almost (dare he say it?) heartening.
Ciel, however, had always been the stubborn one; rather than embrace the tranquility his catharsis had provided, he mulishly continued to sulk and grumble. "She deserved it," he quietly insisted, lips pursing into a thin, willful line. "She saw first-hand how much Claude and Alois' games hurt you. And me. And us. And yet she dared to stand up for those… those villains! Like they might actually be worthy of our forgiveness!"
The butler considered this outburst with a soft exhalation of breath—tickling against Ciel's ears as it wafted through the wispy down of his hair. "Well…" he then murmured after a pause, the words heavy with musings and hesitantly shared deductions, "Perhaps she sees herself in them. After all, she was once our enemy, too."
Ciel's lowered lashes leapt open; he sprang up like some sort of wound jack-in-the-box. "Are you suggesting that I—?"
"No," Sebastian interrupted simply, face set in an expression of muted forbearance. Although he was still unable to use his hands, his gaze was like a gentle caress; it smoothed the little one's rumpled feathers just as easily as it had ruffled them. "I am not. I am simply pointing out her likely reasoning, since I'm not sure you'll give her a chance to explain herself."
"…" Mismatched blue eyes flicked guiltily to the side, black-tipped fingers twisting and twining around one another. Similarly, the once-child himself squirmed in place, as if physically fighting with the emotions battling inside of his skinny chest.
Sebastian waited for the war's outcome with a small, enduring smile. The expression gained a flash of teeth when the smaller demon eventually growled out a groan and grimaced, scrubbing at the back of his neck as if trying to work out a pain lodged there.
"…I suppose you expect me to untie you now, don't you?" he guessed hollowly, with a second, blustery sigh. Sebastian cocked a slim eyebrow, as if the answer to that should be obvious. Which, to be frank, it really should have been.
"If you'd like me to drive you home, yes."
"Maybe I'll just sit on your lap and drive us myself."
"Do you know how to work a shift stick?"
"I've practiced enough with yours. I'm sure I could figure it out."
12:34 PM
"Look, I'm not saying I don't agree that it's appropriate—you know, taking Sebastian's personality into account—"
"Uh, I'm right here, you know."
"—but seriously, Sutcliffe, that song just makes me think Bad Thoughts. And not the good kind of Bad Thoughts." Cross-legged atop the island (much to Sebastian's grit-teethed irritation), Ronald shuddered at his own mental musings, then somberly shook his head. "I dunno what the hell those other people were thinking, choosing 'I'll Be Watching You' as their wedding song…"
"They were thinking that the lyrics were deep and beautiful and moving!" the redheaded reaper countered in a huff, hands on her hips as she glowered at her colleague. When he did nothing but offer a helpless, sorry-to-say-you're-stupid-and-wrong sort of shrug, she released a strangled scream of frustration and turned her attention to Sebastian, who was, indeed, 'right here, you know.' "Sebastian-darling," she implored, the hard edge of her voice melting into something syrupy sweet—like rock candy left out in the sun. "It's your wedding. You agree with me, don't you? It's lovely song for you and Ciel…"
"Actually, it reminds me more of another demon in my young master's life," Sebastian flatly intoned, casting Grelle a sidelong glance from over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. Before him on the table were envelopes of bills and receipts to deal with; the use of glasses helped to make the drollness of the chore more tolerable. Also assisting in that regard was Ciel. Still feeling somewhat clingy (and more willing to show it, now that both of them had washed), the little demon sat with his back to Sebastian's chair, pretending to read a book and endure the affections of a purring Georgina, but really only sticking around for the occasional brush of his butler's hand over his crown. "I would honestly prefer to never hear the song again, if it is all the same to you."
At the roundabout mention of Claude, Ciel visibly tensed. Grelle did the same, though for different reasons entirely; when Ciel had first come through the apartment door, she'd been too busy being happy to see that he was safe to bother with such mundane tasks as apologizing or attempting to continue their previous discussion like adults. After the not-child had disentangled himself from her embrace and scampered off once the bathroom was vacant, Grelle had briefly recounted to the grime-free Sebastian the events of that morning, as well as informed him that the infamous duo had gone back to the Undertaker's vacation home after the catastrophe in the food court. She was also quick to insist that she hadn't meant any harm by showing them hospitality. "I just… I think it'd be nice if the brat had friends his own age, too, you know?" she'd mumbled behind twiddling thumbs, bottom lip stuck out far enough to trip unsuspecting passersby. "Well, sort of his own age, anyway. And besides, if there's anything we've all learned, it's that the past should stay in the past. Why not use this opportunity to start fresh?"
Sebastian hadn't agreed or disagreed. But he had jotted down the phone numbers that Grelle had stolen from the twosome and secretly programmed his master's cell phone to block any incoming messages from Claude. Better safe than sorry, and all of that. Soon after, Ciel had reemerged in fresh clothes and Ronald had burst down the door in a hunt for food, and that brought them back to the awkward silence of the present.
Made all the more awkward, of course, by those with the mental facilities to understand that something was going on, but who lacked the capacity to be tactful about it.
"…eh?" Ronald tilted his two-toned head, eyes dancing from one solemn figure to another to another. "Dude, I feel like I've been left on the outside of an inside joke. Seriously, what the heck? The song was bad, but not that bad—what is it? Some memory-thing? Didja get dumped while this song was playing once, or something?"
"No, but I may very well commit murder to it if a certain someone doesn't get their dirty death god duff off of my countertop," Sebastian returned tersely, tapping a small stack of papers into a neat pile. He set another group of organized pages aside to be dealt with later, and then spared a moment to stroke Ciel's head. "In any case, let's talk about something other than music. Something that isn't reminiscent of… sensitive subjects."
Grelle nodded soberly, the very picture of submissive agreement, as she pulled out one of the island's bar stools and hopped up onto it. A moment later—apparently unsure whether or not Sebastian had been joking—Ronald did the same, though he made sure to sit on it backwards like the rebel he was. Arms and chin resting atop the back of his seat, the reaper (much like the two demons) watched with interest as Grelle rolled discussion ideas around in her head. "If not music…" she murmured thoughtfully, muttering to herself as she shot a glance at the checklist she'd taped to the refrigerator door, "then how about… the guest list?"
Thud.
Ciel's expression fell flat. "Is that supposed to be a joke?" he drawled, barely audible over the sound of Sebastian's forehead meeting the tabletop. Three times in a row.
"Sebastian-darling, don't do that— we want you looking your best for the wedding, don't we?" Grelle sang, in an ironically devil-may-care sort of way. Every ounce of timidity and indecision had vanished as if it'd never been; neither demon was certain if it was some sort of act for the sake of getting work done or if she sincerely believed that now was the best time to bring the subject up. In retrospect, she had always been the sort to tackle a problem head on, ramming herself into an issue until it had either been neutralized or otherwise trampled into dust. Perhaps she figured the healthiest and fastest way to help Sebastian and Ciel was to explicitly ignore their wishes and force them to do what she thought was best. Things like… like…
…like have a fancy wedding. Or wear a garter belt. Or invite old enemies over to celebrate. (Damn, thinking about it now, it was almost frightening how effective her methods tended to be. They were going to have to keep a close eye and a closer ear on how she dealt with their refusal to use that awful song...)
"Now then." Grelle clapped her hands together, hopping from her current chair and sliding into a new one: a seat beside Sebastian at the dining table. As she did so, she helped herself to one of his discarded scraps of paper ("That's my utilities bill, Grelle") and tugged a fountain pen from the depths of her cleavage, unscrewing its garnet cap. "This doesn't have to be a finalized list… you could still invite—say— four more demons, if you later saw fit—"
"Nice. Very subtle," Ciel commented deprecatingly, keeping his dogged eyes trained upon his open book. Grelle didn't bother pointing out that he'd been staring at the near-empty title page for a good five minutes, at this point.
"—but I'd still like a basic idea of how many people to prepare for," the reaper finished, turning her serine smile upon the sarcastic little monster near her feet. "So, brat?" she prompted, the tip of her pen poised above the blank back of the important document. (Sebastian merely sighed. Whatever. His landlord was used to worse, at this point, he figured…) "Who were you thinking of inviting?"
"I was leaning towards Sebastian," the devil shot back dully, finally remembering that—in order to read (or at least look like he was doing so)—it might help to have words readily at his disposal. He turned to the first chapter, then went back to vacant staring and silence.
Grelle drummed her nails brusquely atop the glass surface of the table, her composure intact but showing the first signs of fissuring. "Anyone else?" she pressed after a long pause, crossing one svelte leg over the other and sliding more deeply into the confines of her seat. Body language made it clear she wasn't giving up that easily, and she wasn't going anywhere in the mean time.
"I do not think the young master and I were expecting much in the way of a guest list," Sebastian cut in, sliding off his spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps just you and Will, Finny, and Ronald. It is not as if inviting many others would be appropriate, anyway," he tacked on, then breezed through an explanation before Grelle could open her mouth to ask. "While we have a number of mortal acquaintances, yes, most of them recognize Ciel as my brother or something similar… and even if they didn't, he looks far too young to be walking down the aisle." As one, his head and gaze fell to the right, landing (much like his hand) upon his little lord. Ciel leaned back into the embrace, lifting his own gaze to meet his fiancé's. "To that end, I don't believe there is anyone else you could invite, is there, my lord?"
"Well, then," Grelle persisted, twisting from one difficult devil to the other, "what about you, Sebastian-darling?" Hope springs eternal, especially in immortals; she pressed her pen to the paper with every intention of filling it with names, not just a growing blot of ink. "You likely know more devils and demons than the brat does. Surely they could come and pay witness. It's not like they'd bat an eyelash at his appearance, or anything."
She waited, perky and patient, for the elder demon to finish sighing and start spilling. Sebastian took his time—massaging his forehead as if thinking (or, more likely, as if fighting back a headache)— but eventually did grumble: "I expect there'd be no harm in inviting the Undertaker."
A squeal of delight; finally, they were getting somewhere! "Good, good!" Grelle cooed in encouragement, jotting down the name and then looking back for more. Insatiable, that one. "Who else?"
"…I…" Sebastian cleared his throat, looking unexpectedly uncomfortable. The fondling fingers running through Ciel's locks came to a stumbling stop; that hesitation caught Ciel's attention far faster than any whisperings did. Closing the novel he wasn't really reading anyway (how shocking), he leaned away and around to shoot his servant a proper stare, features pinching in concern when he noticed that the uncharacteristic vacillation extended to his servant's expression, as well.
"Sebastian…?"
Sebastian dragged his now-free hand down his face, muting his umpteenth sigh as he did so. "I suppose," he continued weakly, "that if the news has truly traveled as fast and as far as… well, as it apparently has, there is no avoiding it. I shall have to formally invite my family, shan't I?"
Blue eyes widened—nearly as round as the mouth that fell open. But before he had a chance to speak, Ronald (oh, yeah, he was still there wasn't he?), stole the worlds from his mouth like the thief that he was. "Woah," the reaper cackled, leaning so far back on his barstool that he was essentially lounging on top of the counter again. "You have family, big guy? Does this mean there are baby picture out there that I might be able to get my hands on?"
The devil decided to ignore the second quip (as if he'd ever admit to that), but for the sake of his gawking master, responded to the initial question. "Yes, of course I have a family. I can't very well have appeared from thin air, now, could I? That would hardly make sense." Though the words were somewhat mordant, he offered his tamer a gentle grin, as if in some attempt to pacify the brewing distress he could so acutely sense. "I have a mother, a father, and…"
"Oh, just let me invite him, Sebastian-darling!" Grelle interrupted in a keen, as if this confession meant nothing to her. As if she knew something that the others didn't. Which, Ciel suddenly realized, was a distinct possibility, considering who her husband was and what sources he had access to. But…
"You're not inviting anyone without Ciel's explicit permission," Sebastian retorted briskly, tearing his gaze from his still-startled master and directing it instead towards the death god. It was far more barbed a glare when it landed upon its new target. "If my lord does not want them here, I will turn them away at the door. I'll bar the windows, too, so you can't sneak them in like you did all of your reaper friends a few Halloweens ago. And then I'll add you to the uninvited list."
Grelle squawked in protest at the very idea, hand flying to her breast like some sort of slighted southern belle. "You can't uninvite me," she snapped, though the intensity of the reply was somewhat nullified by the whine in her tone. "I have my own key. And speaking of, do you honestly think not getting an invitation would stop them? Wouldn't it just be easier to deal with them up front, rather than have them crash the party by crawling through the air vents, or something? You know they would."
"Well, we could always block the air vents. Ciel and I, at least, don't need to breathe—"
"Oh my God, seriously guys, what is it with all of today's vagueness and shit?" Ronald—still pointedly there—pouted from his place halfway between seat and island, looking for all the world like he was in the middle of being eaten by the furniture. "Who are you talking about? Looks like Juliet wants to know, too—don't you?" The reaper nodded down at Ciel, whose stunned features were growing paler and paler as he began to connect dots in his mind—dots that he'd previously seen as unrelated.
Grelle fluttered innocuous lashes, shrugging off the very warning glower that Sebastian threw her way. "We're talking about Sebastian's family," she provided, easy as you please. "Specifically about Sebastian's brother—"
"…Claude."
Sebastian flinched as the barest whisper fell from Ciel's mouth, deadened in the wake of dawning realization. But hearing it spoken aloud (even if by his own power) seemed to be all that Ciel needed to confirm his own suspicions; his head shot up as his shoulders tensed, and he scuttled away on his bottom when his servant reached out to touch him. "It's Claude, isn't it?" he repeated, the words growing louder as conviction and horror added a tremble to his voice and a tinge of green to his cheeks. "Sweet Satan, it is. It all makes sense, now… I was just a pawn in a sibling spat, wasn't I?"
The elder demon looked as if he'd just been informed that he had five minutes left to live. "Ciel, I—"
"How could you not tell me, Sebastian?" the once-child demanded, tremors racing up and down the length of his body. Even he wasn't sure what emotion they were symptoms of: fury? Disappointment? Disgust? Sorrow? "In all this time, how could it not occur to you to tell me that Claude was your brother? After what he did to us—?"
His croaked question caught on memories; his nails left crescent moon punctures in the cover of his book.
"It just—it never seemed appropriate…" Sebastian feebly explained, in some pathetic attempt to justify his actions. Or lack thereof, as it were. But even he had to admit, it was a fairly lame excuse, thinking back on it. "After your initial transformation, there was so much more to worry about. And once we'd dealt with that, there was the… turning point… in the Irma Hotel, and our stint at the Aurora bar and— well, once things had settled down again, there just never seemed a good time to bring it—"
"Is that also why you never told me that you had parents?" Ciel cut off frostily, scooting back another foot when his fiancé leaned over, truly reaching for him now… The little one's back slammed into the base of the island, and he used that leverage to slide to his feet. Knobby knees buckled beneath him; he clung to the countertop to stay upright. "'There just never seemed to be a good time' to tell me that you had this whole other life? Or is it that you didn't want me to know? Or you didn't want them to know?" With a mortifying crack, Ciel's voice broke along with the dam of his pride; two pearly tears spilled down his pallid cheeks… It almost seemed paradoxical, since his eyes felt like they were on fire. "Are you embarrassed?" he queried in a quivering hush, violently batting away the hand that Ronald offered to help keep him standing. "Don't touch me! Well, Sebastian? Are you embarrassed to tell your family that you made a mistake and got stuck with me for eternity? Or is it that you don't want them to know that you're together with someone who used to be human!"
"You are something of an abomination," Ronald agreed, only to lift his hands in defense when two demons and one death god snapped their poisonous glares upon him. "What? Oh, come on, everyone knows that…!"
He was ignored for the remainder of the discussion.
"Ciel— oh, little one," Sebastian tried again, climbing slowly to his feet—carefully, calculatedly, as if to keep from frightening a hurt and harried animal. It didn't stop Ciel from shrinking away, but at least he didn't immediately run… "Baby bird, that is not true at all! Do you really think I would marry you if I felt that way…?"
Garnet-colored eyes narrowed as Ciel's indignant cowering brought him further behind the countertop; he looked more and more like some sort of caged beast as he quaked in the cabinet-filled corner, trapped by Sebastian's approaching body. "You just said you weren't planning on inviting your family," he hissed, pupils waning to livid slits. "I was only going to be some tawdry secret… and this wedding some stupid attempt at tricking me into thinking you actually cared!"
With a burst of emotion that culminated in a stamp of his foot, a roll of three tears, and a heavy tome chucked as hard as possible at Sebastian's unsuspecting stomach, Ciel dashed from the kitchen with a venomous snarl and a parting, acidic slur: "You devil!"
A slamming door; a ringing silence. A faint cough to accompany an arched brow.
"…huh. Well. That was fairly hypocritical."
"Oh, shut up, Ronald," Sebastian spat, winded and wincing. Blast, that had hurt; nothing like a good book, as they say… Hands on his knees, the demon quietly assessed the damage done to his torso: a bruise was inevitable, and hardly worth noting. His diaphragm and belly felt sore, but whole. Lungs? Empty, but functioning. His ribs were less lucky—three were fractured, two were broken. They'd heal in a minute. But the biggest concern was his breaking heart. "Just… shut up."
At the table beyond, Grelle bit her bottom lip, toying uneasily with the pen in her hands. "So… that's a 'yes' on Claude, right?" she confirmed lightly, as if she'd turned away and somehow missed the events that had so recently played out. Which, knowing her, might not have been so far from the truth. "Excellent. I'll invite the other three, as well, just to fill up some chairs. Our next order of business, then, is the invitations themselves. I'm leaning towards a black and silver motif… What do you think?"
Keeled over in the kitchen, the battle-wounded Sebastian groaned, falling to his knees as whatever strength remained in his body morphed into weary exasperation.
"I think the two of you should go home, now."
XXX