I spy references to Tokyo Ghoul, the Journey into Mystery comics and Assassin's Creed.
Classes begin. Loki darts between classrooms, choir practice, the cafeteria, and the library, returning to his suite promptly by ten each night. Draco skips some classes and goes to others, making sure to sit as far from Loki in Arithmancy as possible. He lounges around the coffee shop, works on his homework in assorted common rooms, and always gets back to his suite by midnight.
The two of them assume Ciel goes to classes, and Draco sometimes sees the earl at the coffee shop, systematically trying all its specialty pastries ("I'm glad that merpeople appropriation scandal got Starbucks kicked out— this shop, Anteiku, is a truly delightful replacement"). Ciel is always asleep in their living room before they come back, and he is always awake before they are, letting in the birds who tap on their window in the morning. An owl brings messages from Malfoy Manor, a raven delivers short letters and pouches of new tea blends from Phantomhive Manor, and a small, black-blue-and-green bird shows up every once in a while, gripping spare change, strange herbs, and scraps of paper in its beak . . .
"Odinson, your magpie is pecking at my signet ring again!" Ciel shouts. "Get it off!"
"It's not my magpie. I don't know where it came from, and I really don't know why it tries to steal everything in sight," Loki drones, half-asleep voice muffled by his closed door.
"Maybe you shouldn't wear such a pretentious stone on your finger, Phantomhive," Draco calls from his own room. "Only the poor need to flaunt their wealth."
"Malfoy, it's stealing the gold leaf from your potions project!"
"Son of a—" Draco dashes out of his room, wearing boxers and a half-buttoned green shirt, just in time to see the magpie flying back out of the room with a stack of gold flakes in its beak. "Odinson!" He storms across the living room, nearly tripping over his own owl, and throws the door to Loki's room open. "Your bird just took half of— what are you wearing?"
Glass shatters, and a green cloud swallows up the room. Ciel runs over.
"Don't creep up on me like that!" Loki's voice— raised, for the first time this school year— sounds from somewhere in the fog. Cloth rustles, trunks slam open and shut, and a lock clicks into place.
"That's a military-style smoke bomb!" Draco stumbles out of the room. "Why do you have that?"
"In case someone tries to ambush me, you dolt!"
"And your first reflex is to throw one at your roommate?" Draco shouts into the cloud.
"Be glad that my first reflex isn't to smash out your brains with a hammer!"
"Why would anyone smash out brains with a hammer?" Draco throws up his hands. "I knew Asgardia was militaristic, but seriously . . ."
"Odinson, how are you still functioning in the cloud?" Ciel cuts in with a bark. "Is the powder charmed to be invisible to you? Have you got magical goggles on? If so, I want a pair . . ."
"He doesn't have goggles on," Draco smirks. "He doesn't have anything on except a lacy nightgown."
Ciel flinches, then peers into the room.
"Malfoy," Loki calls from the smoke, "The main reason you are still alive is that it would be a shame to dirty my beautiful illusionary upholstery with your blood."
"Wha—" Draco sputters. "What are you two so serious about? So what if you like a bit of lingerie, I'm not going to crucify you for it . . ."
"Asgardia might," Ciel remarks.
Draco's mouth snaps shut.
"No, no. You're right, I overreacted." As the cloud dissipates, Loki emerges from the room, now clad in a white button-down shirt, black trousers, and an olive-colored belt. His voice is soft as silk once more. "It's hardly as if I make a habit of dressing so shamelessly."
"Of course not," Ciel replies too quickly.
"I did it as a stunt as part of secret society recruitment," Loki explains. "Obviously, I can't say more, because it'd spoil the secret."
Draco raises his eyebrows. "Are secret societies even real?"
"Of course they are," Ciel says. "Did you miss the wagons full of hay outside the bell tower?"
"What has hay got to do with anything?" Draco exclaims.
"Everything," says Loki. "Or perhaps nothing at all. If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom."
He retreats into his room, shuts the door, and noisily drags a trunk in front, bolstering the defenses against future invasion.
"Secret societies— do you actually buy that?" Draco says to Ciel.
"What matters is that we now have plausible deniability—" Ciel shrugs— "in case Asgardia ever comes knocking."
Updates may be slow, but they will happen, I promise.
