My first shot at writing a Kuroshitsuji fanfiction. I do not own any of these characters, and they belong to their rightful owners.
They say there will be a second season! This is just a fantasy outcome I wrote as a continuation of the series, so I hope you enjoy it. As warning to younger audiences beneath 18, mature scenes to occur as story progresses.
In case you were wondering; Coccinelle means Ladybug in French
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-10-
Coccinelle
Four cookbooks lay on the counter top, spread wide open and creased in so many places, their pages had deep wrinkles. Ciel stared at the books, completely in a bind. He remembered a full dinner set consisted of at least five courses, and even then, if Sebastian so willed it, he could have very well been saddled with over 21 courses to prepare, with very limited knowledge of the kitchen's layout, let alone how to operate one. The pages of the books seemed to mock him, as his eye skimmed every page drastically, hoping that some inspiration would strike him, and having little luck.
Cooking was an art form; one had to have years of prior experience to create the perfect dish, let alone one meant for noble palettes. Ciel rubbed his pounding temples, trying to think of a solution. He'd settle for five courses, that was certain, but what to make with the limited food he had brought home was perplexing. Now and again, different memories of the foods he once devoured floated through is mind, but when he thought deeper as to what composed those delicious morsels, his stomach would complain horribly with a loud growl, and his muse would disappear in a puff of smoke.
Frustrated, he grasped a bowl from under the kitchen table, placing it on the table top with a little too much force, so that it ricochet from the counter and fell onto the floor with a loud clatter. He grabbed cups, spoons, different devices that looked like they could possibly be useful, and as he scoured the kitchen for implements, the clutter along the countertop became monstrous.
He heaped all the ingredients he could possibly find on another part of the tabletop (he had accidently dropped the flour on the floor, and was now stood in his own private winter land, covered in white patches from the billowing dust cloud), and occupied his mind trying to arrange them in order by food groups.
He sat back, staring at his arrangements of all the kitchen supplies and thinking to himself about how impossible his situation had become. He had no clue where to start, and seeing all the tools lined up on the tabletop had hammered the last nail into the proverbial coffin. He sulked against the wall, sliding down it to hug his knees to his chest, resting his forehead against his kneecaps.
Cleaning the entire mansion had been a tedious and horrible task; despite the times he had performed it, the cleaning of every single room took an eternity, and even then, he knew he had been cutting corners and not doing much of a good job. His fingers stung with new blisters from all the dusting and scrubbing, and he was already exhausted, despite the fact that it was around 1:30 in the afternoon. It did not help any that Sebastian seemed to purposely compose new chores for him to perform. Any ignorance of any command resulted in the painful wave of hot pins trickling throughout his body, and so he was urged onwards, despite the horrible conditions. In short, cleaning the entire mansion was a daunting task for a cluster of individuals, and impossible for just one. He thought to himself just how exactly fair the whole situation was: hadn't he supplied Sebastian with a team of servants? Where was his help now that he required it? The more he thought about it, the more bitter he became, and the more he wanted to trash the entire order upon the kitchen floor.
Suddenly, there was a blunt, yet quick rapping of knuckles against glass. Ciel looked up quickly to find the source of the noise, and saw an all too familiar face staring back at him from the kitchen's back door, letter in hand and knocking impatiently.
Ciel got up from his slump, and ran to the door, wrenching it open, "Grell, what are you doing here?"
"Well, hello to you too," Grell pushed his way through the door, tossing Ciel aside like a rag doll.
"Here to see Sebastian, I assume?" Ciel sighed, shutting the door behind him, "You do know he'd more than likely kill you just so that I could have a bigger mess to clean..."
"Tch," Grell clicked his tongue in distaste as he surveyed the condition of the kitchen, "Sebastian would never approve of all this clutter. Believe me, he'd have all this shining and spotless. This place has gone downhill since those good old days."
Ciel glared, though he had to admit, he had done quite a nasty job to the poor kitchen; what with the blanket of flour covering a quarter of the room and himself, and all the kitchenware heaped haphazardly on every surface. Still, he defended his work and his pride, holding his head high as he further addressed the unwelcome guest, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Grell. I have dinner to prepare."
"Is that what you were doing?" Grell looked around the room, before pulling up a stool and taking a seat upon it, "looks more like a tornado struck in here. Doesn't preparing dinner usually require... finesse?"
Ciel's face heated with embarrassment, as he rolled up his sleeve and grabbed a radish from the tabletop, "I'm perfectly capable of doing everything myself, thank you. I have a method, so if you will excuse me."
He snatched up a knife from the wood block and sat the radish on the board, raising the knife up to strike.
"As much as I'd like to see your pretty blood decorate the room," Grell had gotten up from his seat and snatched the knife out of Ciel's hand, holding it out of the boy's reach, "I can't bear the fact that you are holding this completely wrong. Move aside," Grell shoved Ciel out of the way, holding the knife like a professional and attacking the radish smartly.
"Up and down, like this," Grell instructed, as Ciel watched his process with slight irritation and interest. The knife seemed to dance as it was held properly, and the radish fell in thin slices in no time, though they were varied in width and some were wedges instead of proper parallels. Ciel looked up at the redhead, pausing with enlightenment at what exactly he had acquired; a resource. Grell had trained under Sebastian before as a butler, back when he had worked for Madame Red. Though Sebastian had refused to show Ciel the proper guidelines for all the tasks now dealt upon him, let alone the kitchen work, he had once instructed the rather bumbling butler on how to do a proper job at many of the customs and chores performed in the house of nobility. Whether any of it stuck, besides how to properly use cutlery, was a question all it's own, but at that moment, Ciel had more help than he ever had within the days of his own servitude.
"That's very interesting," Ciel said, leaning over to inspect the radish slices, "Do you think it could be possible you show me more procedures?"
"Hmph," Grell scoffed, stabbing the knife into the wood block, "I know what you're doing, you little manipulator."
Grell sauntered over to his stool and sat down, crossing his legs and arms in a huff, nose upturned, "You're trying to use me to do all your work for you."
"Not at all," Ciel grasped a pan from under a stack of kitchen utensils and pulled it out, littering a mass of bowls and spoons on the floor with a loud crash. He jumped back and covered his ears, though he saw the Death God roll his eyes and shed his red jacket, leaving it on the stool. He rolled his sleeves a quarter way up his arms, and undid his neck bow, tying around his long crimson locks into a loose ponytail.
"Alright, incompetent fool," Grell grabbed a pot from the clutter and planted it firmly on the stove, "Go grab everything on the ingredients list here."
He shoved a book in Ciel's face, opened to the page with 'Tomato Bisque' written in bold letters. Ciel held the book, eye roving over the page quickly, before he nodded and rushed about the room, picking out the ingredients needed. The ingredients were surprisingly few, and Ciel had little trouble finding them. Grell began stewing the tomatoes and onions, though he watched them very closely, almost obsessively, to the point where he continued to bark orders at Ciel without looking at him.
Ciel ran around the room, preparing food left and right. Though the dinner was at an unexpected time, Grell insisted that there was no other way than to immediately prepare all the courses and heat them up later, "Less time for people to wait," he recited as he whirled the spoon around and around inside the pot.
"Good to know something Sebastian taught you stuck," Ciel said under his breath, though the Death God seemed to pick it up as if it was loud and clear.
"This is for Sebas-chan, right?" Grell said with loud huff, stirring the pot, "so this is my chance for him to sample some of my cooking. He'll fall in love with me immediately after it's gone down his throat."
Ciel rolled his eyes, "I'm sure he'd appreciate anything that isn't burnt beyond recognition."
Cooking had become somewhat easier since the second butler's arrival, despite a couple problems (Grell's infamous clumsiness was still apparent in his duties, often resulting in more broken dishes, and several do-overs). Before long, Ciel looked down at five separate dishes, each one baring a promise of edibility, though not exactly the most beautiful of culinary accomplishments. Ciel also noted that every dish had a red theme to them; tomato bisque, caprese salad, lobster, filet mignon (rare) in red wine, red potatoes with rosemary, and strawberry mille feuille. Grell wiped his hands on a towel, proud of his work, though it had taken many attempts. They placed the dishes for holding within the ice box, and Ciel shut the dishes away.
"All you'll have to do is lightly heat them on the stove before serving," Grell said, putting his black gloves back on over his hands.
"Thanks," Ciel shut the ice box and walked over to the pile of equipment that was in great need of washing, and began to scrub at a particularly large pot covered in burnt tomato bisque.
"Don't get used to it, doll," Grell slipped his jacket back on over his arms, "I won't be around to help you out again."
Ciel didn't bother to ask why, too busy trying to scrub a rather stubborn clump of soup that was clinging to the pot's side. When Grell didn't receive a look of interest his way, he continued, "I'm putting in for a transfer; to France."
Still achieving no attention, Grell persisted, "I've decided I'm tired of the mediocre butler life, and I've come upon quite a bit of money, enough to start fresh and new. So, I thought to myself, 'why not start over someplace that is the pinnacle of high class and fine living? If Sebas-chan can climb up to such a height, so can I!'"
"So you're going to France to make a name for yourself, is that it?" Ciel said, not bothering to look up, "I'm assuming it's some sort of ploy to get Sebastian into your net."
"You're bright, for a kid," Grell grinned, running his hands through his hair and letting it dribble through his fingers, posing rather glamorously as his voice turned into a seductive and breathless purr," I'm going to France to propel myself into the ranks of high society with a business operation all my own, and once I am a lady of high caliber, Sebas-chan will beg to merge with me."
"What will be your business then?" Ciel was now working on another pot, scrubbing it rather obsessively.
"Eh?" Grell's smile fell into a confused twist.
"You said merge," Ciel looked up at the bewildered Death God, blue eye containing the cold corporate heredity bestowed upon him through years of high society's breeding, "You need a successful company to even fathom entering into the ranks of the bourgeoisie, and even then, you aren't a noble by birth, so you'd be nouveau riche at best. You'll have to obey all the status quo, jump through all the hoops of nobility, follow all the rules, guidelines, etiquette, and attend all the social gatherings just to get into a noble's good graces. Do you seriously think you have that ability?"
Grell stared blankly at the little Earl, who's cornea once burned with a dying flame of defeat, now blazed with the memory of his former life. He rolled his own jade eyes and sulked, "Well, not all of us were born an entrepreneur with a silver spoon shoved up our ass."
Suddenly, Grell's eyes widened with illumination, as he considered the boy who stood a few feet from him. His black clad fingers stroked his chin as his lips curled into a knowing smile, "But you were, weren't you?"
"I was a leader of a couple companies located throughout the world," Ciel said, matter-of-factly and rather cold, "not to mention the Earl of Phantomhive, in case you've forgotten that little detail too."
Grell looked giddy as the plot formulated in his mind, blossoming like a illustrious rose the more he thought about it. His smile finally stretched from ear to ear, showing off his entire set of razor sharp teeth, his eyes glowing menacingly, as the plot came to complete fruition, "How about you come work for me then?"
Ciel withdrew himself from the depths of the large pot, holding a scrub brush as if he was going to bludgeon someone with it, "What nonsense is that you're spouting? Did you forget that I belong to Sebastian?"
"Oh, let me deal with that little detail," Grell sauntered up to Ciel's side and reclined over the countertop in front of the boy, blocking him from continuing his chore, and forcing him to focus on him as he sold his pitch, "If you come work for me as my little butler, and help me out with my own company, then I'll rescue you from the beast's jaws. You won't have to put up his wicked ways anymore."
Ciel looked at him, his gaze studying the crimson Death God with skepticism. A small minute flicker of hope flared up for a minute, as he considered breaking away from the torturous life that had been bestowed upon him. A life where he wouldn't fear for his devoured soul, a moment when he could rest, and a fool who he could easily manipulate. However, the idea was suddenly snuffed out by a downpour of reality, as he shook his head vigorously, "You're barking mad. Sebastian and I have a contract. You can't just simply break it! He'll find me anywhere I go, he'll control me from every corner, and you must be mental to think that I'll ever go work for Jack the Ripper, who killed my aunt on a whim just because it suit you!"
His volume continued to rise, until Grell clamped his hand over Ciel's mouth, hissing in a fierce whisper, "Shut up, idiot! Do you want Sebas-chan to realize I've been helping you? We'll both be done for! Now, I realize that. Water under the bridge. Besides, I can't kill you. Orders are orders, remember?"
"That doesn't matter!" Ciel hissed, smacking Grell's hand away from his face, "I'll never work for you! I have a commitment, this is my punishment for accepting Sebastian's services. I'm Ciel Phantomhive, and I won't run away from fulfilling my side of a deal. Even if it is Sebastian."
Grell huffed, floating his palms to either side in a exasperated fashion, "Fine, have it your way."
He lifted himself off the counter, rounding Ciel's side, before he leaned down next to Ciel's ear, whispering softly, "The best part about my offer is, I'm not Sebastian."
"Just give it some thought," Grell stood up at full height and smiled knowingly, "I'll drop by for your real answer later."
He strut over to the door, but paused before his hand was on the knob, spinning around on his heel and retrieving the envelope that he had tucked away into his jacket, "Oh, Will told me to give this to you. Don't let Sebas-chan see it, okay?"
With a small flick of his wrist, the letter sailed out of his hand and drifted into Ciel's grasp, as he turned and headed out the door, slamming it behind him as he disappeared around the corner.
Ciel looked down at the black envelope, flipping it over and studying the wax seal that held it closed, baring the emblem of a red skull. He took a kitchen knife and slid it under the flap, tearing it open and revealing a single page letter inside. He retrieved the parchment and read over the uniform words:
'To Whom it May Concern;
Due to the recent events beyond our control, we have decided to take special precautions and begin a thorough sweep of any loose ends left over from the London Fire incident. Since our knowledge of the situation is very little, we require the availability of your demonic counterpart. Ipso facto, your continued survival and endurance to your recent conditions is consequently vital to us. If you do find retirement absolutely necessary, please give prior notification to the management department.
- William T. Spears
Dispatch Management Division'
As Ciel finished the letter, he crumpled it up in his hand and walked over to the stove, sending the paper and its envelope to a fiery end. He watched the glowing embers as they quickly devoured William's notice, and rubbed his arm lightly, comforting himself. He felt sick, feeling the remains of Grell's words slither along his spine from his ear; "I'm not Sebastian."
Whatever Hell Sebastian had decided to unleash upon Ciel, it wasn't convincing enough to force him into the service of someone else, least of all the vicious Death God. His skin crawled with disgust, his nails biting into his tender arm, as he mulled over the idea of him working under the crimson devil. What horrors would he endure then? Surely more disturbing and mortifying than whatever Sebastian had delivered him unto. He could feel the blades of the accursed chainsaw already, tearing through his flesh because he refused to make a corpse out of some person on a street, if not preparing breakfast tea wrong.
He took a deep breath, shivered compulsively, and then looked at the kitchen with a new outlook; Sebastian was not Grell. Sebastian had only ordered him to do little tasks throughout the household. It wasn't as much of a horrific thing as he was making it. Perhaps he had given Sebastian a bad reputation from the start due to their shifting relationship, as master and servant. Maybe it was time to make peace with his demon, and show that he was grateful that he was not the same. He crossed the room, taking a rather ornate tea pot from the cupboard, and poured some hot water he had left on the stove into the vessel, adding a couple spoonfuls of tea leaves and leaving it on a tray. He retrieved a tea cup and saucer as well, and set it up neatly, remembering to supply sugar, milk, and honey in case Sebastian was feeling fickle. He looked at his gift with consideration, and satisfied, pushed it out of the kitchen, deciding to clean it after he delivered the steaming beverage to his master.
† † † †
It didn't take long for Ciel to discover Sebastian in the study, scratching his pen away at a stack of papers. He knocked on the door, announcing his arrival, and crossed the floor to the desk, pausing to bow politely before saying, "I've prepared tea for you, my lord."
The words didn't sting as viciously as before; they seemed to fall naturally now, pleasantly. Ciel felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders with the new realization of gratefulness that he his so called punishment was not as severe as he had made it out to be. He decided that taking a more docile route was a more suitable choice; perhaps it would yield a series of privileges returned onto him for better behavior. However, he still had his precious pride, and so offered little love in his tone, only the voice that bore the stoic and corporate tone of business. He waited for Sebastian's reaction with minute anxiety, wondering whether the demon would appreciate his impromptu gesture or just dismiss it.
Sebastian didn't bother to look up from his work, though he did manage to say, "How far along are you with your work?"
"I've finished the primary preparations for dinner tonight," Ciel said, heading back towards the door to retrieve the tea tray, rolling it in and pouring a cup full of the steaming amber liquid, "and I have finished grooming the rooms in the West Wing. I only have the parlor and entrance hall to clean, and the outer walk."
"Hmph," Sebastian took a page and added it to the ever growing pile next to him on his left side, "so the East wing is nowhere near done, then?"
"I intend to do that as well," Ciel said, keeping his head cool, despite the cold indifference in Sebastian's voice as he continued to scratch at his documents, giving Ciel little attention, despite the fact he was making the tea for him at the best of his ability, "I am just one boy, if I should remind you."
"Excuses seem to flow easily in your blood," Sebastian stated simply, punctuating his statement with a flick of his wrist, dragging a thin black line of ink across the page and into the air with finality.
Ciel struggled to maintain the illumination he had harbored earlier, though with Sebastian's ungrateful attitude was beginning to irk him. He placed the tea on the table and put his hands behind his back, waiting for Sebastian to partake. When the demon made no such gesture, Ciel coughed, as if to encourage him to look up at the slowly cooling beverage awaiting his sampling.
"I notice that you are there," Sebastian added another paper to the pile, "and not finishing up your duties. You're wasting vital amounts of time, and my guest is going to arrive any moment now. Will you be insulting me further with your frivolous attempts at gaining my favor, or will you be doing what I ordered you to do without any further disappointments?"
Ciel felt his blood heat, as the inner fire within him flared up and engulfed his illumination in hellfire. The weight slowly fell back onto his shoulders, and he could feel the irritation with his predicament blossom once again. He bit his lip, before he nodded, his tone icy cold and containing nothing but spite for him, "As you wish, my lord."
'My lord' was dipped in the most poisonous tone he could divulge from deep inside him, as he turned on his heel and exited the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Sebastian alone with his paperwork. He held his back against the door, feeling the hot poison seep down his throat like tar and cling to every piece of his being. He beat his fist against the door for a moment before lifting himself from it and walking down the hallway, grasping the handle of a broom that was propped against the stair railing as he made his way towards the parlor.
As he swept the floor, his mind drifted through the moment in the study, considering his own reaction and the completely ungrateful wretch that sat at the table. The more he battled the dirt and grime that littered the floor, the more he stewed. Sebastian could have accepted his token with a little appreciation, and he would have felt compelled to repeat the action. However, Sebastian had shunned him, and did little to acknowledge his outgoing gesture. He felt embarrassed that he had even thought of making the beverage, and quite forgot exactly why he had done so without it being instructed of him.
Disappointment soon gave way to sparked urgency, as he heard a faint noise from outside; the plodding of hooves and the creaking of a carriage's wheels.
'The guest's arrived,' he thought, as he quickly stowed the broom away in a closet, doing a quick survey of the parlor and entry way before fixing his jacket and placing a hand on the door.
He opened it quickly to receive the guest, and his eyes opened in disbelief and shock as he was greeted with a familiar series of senses; a whirl of yellow, orange, and pink, the scent of daffodils on the wind, the taste of white tea with lemon...
"Elizabeth," Ciel gasped inaudibly, as a blonde haired maiden emerged from the carriage depths. Ciel could feel his entire being go frigid, as the painful memories flowed through his head, watching the girl as if she was a mirage, conjured to existence by his own wishful thinking. Once assisted by her maid, Paula, in the exiting of her compartment, she smiled softly as she looked up at the mansion, hands clasped over her chest as her hopeful eyes searched the building, as if for a familiar person to be residing in one of the windows. She sighed, heavy hearted, as those eyes fell upon the young boy standing at the doorway, as still and pale as one of the statues that adorned the garden.
"Hello?" she greeted, taking a couple steps up the walkway, "I'm Elizabeth Middleford, daughter of Marchioness Frances Middleford. I'm here on behalf of my family to meet with Lord Bastion Phantomhive."
"Lord... Bastion?" Ciel felt a little more of his soul decay inside him, as the girl to which he was once betrothed stood mere inches from him, addressing him with that lyrical voice, yet held not a single shred of recognition of the boy in front of her. Even more, the name she used made his stomach lurch with the knowledge that the twisted game within the halls of the Phantomhive mansion was not confined to just himself, the demon, and the meddling Death Gods. The surreal dream that he was living in had roots that were delving deep into the garden of his former life, and had now found their way to Elizabeth.
"Yes, he is the heir of the Earl of Phantomhive, is he not?" Elizabeth inquired, tilting her head slightly as she considered the boy who stood there, looking at her with such a sad, deep azure eye. Something about it sparked familiarity, yet it faded with the sheer impossibility of it all, and she corrected her stature promptly.
"... Right this way," After a long pause, Ciel was finally able to choke back his emotion and force himself to be proper, stepping aside and opening the door wide for the lady to enter. He bowed, feeling the swelling feeling of decay and despair shift inside his body as she passed. Once she and her maid were inside the mansion's entry, he closed the door behind them, and offered to accept their coats.
"This place," Elizabeth shed her orange cloak, looking around her as Ciel accepted it, "I swear, they must have the most talented architects and builders! This entire place has burnt down twice previously and they still are able to recreate it to every minute detail!"
Ciel would have laughed aloud, but he wasn't anywhere near in the mood for laughing; coats hung, he took a position by the West stairs, and bowed, "This way."
Elizabeth and her maid followed behind him as he slowly made his way up the staircase, silently, while the young lady continued to be marveled by her surroundings, exclaiming loudly, "My, they do such an incredible job redecorating it to exactly the way it was! I recall all these scratches on the railings! Look, Paula! This dent here was there before, wasn't it?"
The maid smiled pleasantly and nodded curtly, before Elizabeth tugged on one of Ciel's black coattails to get his attention, "By the way, what is your name?"
Ciel opened his mouth to answer, but he felt the warning of Sebastian's order creeping along his tongue, sharp little pinpricks dancing along every last taste bud, threatening the extraordinary pain should he reveal his true identity. He cringed, before he said, "I'm just a butler, nothing more."
"You don't have a name?" Elizabeth inquired quizzically, tilting her head again in confusion, "How can that be? Did your family not give you one?"
"I was found on the side of the road," Ciel said, the words of truth baring sharp stings in his own psyche, "My lord was responsible for my inditement into servitude."
"Ah," Elizabeth nodded, "How charitable of him! He must be a kind soul, but that's a common thing amongst the Phantomhive line."
Ciel was puzzled by what she meant, and as if on cue, Elizabeth continued softly, "My... fiance was the late Earl of Phantomhive. His name was Ciel. He was such a sweet, kind boy... I remember him so well. He started being so cold after his parents left this world... but I could still see that sweetness deep inside him. It's a shame."
"What is?" Ciel could feel the pang of pain that dripped into his voice, as he listened to Elizabeth's words, a reoccurring thought of 'you remember me, yet you can't recognize me?' floating through his head.
"That he's gone," Elizabeth's own sweet voice held a ribbon of solemnity, as her eyes stared at the floor, delicate fingers netted over her stomach as if in prayer, as she continued, "during the London fire... he disappeared."
"So they replaced him?" Ciel inquired, feeling a subtle strain of anger ebbing through his jaw, "Found some wretch who claimed to be a Phantomhive and seated him in his rightful place?"
There was a rather long awkward silence, before Elizabeth blinked and said, "Um, actually, Lord Bastion had undeniable proof of his claim. You, as his servant, ought to know that."
Ciel stared at her for a long hard moment, before he shook his head and nodded, "You're absolutely right. It is my own failing that I did not recall that detail. Now, he is in here."
Ciel's hand shook as he grasped the door handle to the study, feeling inside him a twisting, slithering serpent composed of grief, rage, doubt, and anticipation; what elaborate play had Sebastian set up for that evening? What despicable circle of Hell did the nefarious, devious denizen of Hades decide to construct for his own personal enjoyment? Deep inside Ciel, the chaos of anguish continued to bloom, as he felt the eyes of his former fiancee on his back, and the deep confusion of Sebastian's agenda boil and froth inside his core.
He clenched his fingers, and his jaw, as he opened the door, bowed, and announced, "Your guests have arrived, Lord Bastion Phantomhive."
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Chapter 10! Chapter 11 to follow shortly.
Sorry for such a long period between updates this week; I've been ill, so writing has been a little difficult to focus on. However, I'm finally on the healthy side, so I can write comprehensible matter again.
Oohhh... what horrible things unfold!