Rain falls faster than even a demon can outrun, and the storm Sebastian finds himself caught in shows no sign of letting up anytime soon.
His clothing is heavy and plastered against his skin. The grace that normally colors his every movement is forgotten as he draws open the last reserves of his energy.
This body that he has chosen for his young master is not meant to handle this much abuse, and for lack of a better words, it feels like it is breaking down.
The water that pools inside of his shoes makes an undignified squelch with every stride in his broken gait, but it isn't nearly as loud as the woman speaking in his mind.
"What exactly do you think to achieve, Sebastian? You naughty boy. Do you really think your master will appreciate you spoiling his plan? Bitches and butlers should stay put until called upon. Bad, bad doggy."
The edge of the Phantomhive Estate is in sight. If only he can last that much longer. He shoves the Contract from his conscience with a final effort of indignation.
Droplets are pelting the roof of the carriage cab, disrupting the plan being constructed in the mind of the Earl of Phatomhive. The two reapers sit beside and across from him, and still he keeps his eyes dead ahead, damning himself internally for being a move behind.
The only thing keeping Ronald and Grell on his side is a threat on William's life, and Ciel is well aware that his words could very well be empty. Although Ronald had proposed that he and Grell stand in as bodyguards-considering whose place they're going to-there still isn't anything concrete preventing the reaper from turning a blind eye to a stray blade or bullet heading towards him.
Two more things are still weighing down on him. First, the Queen. It will not please her to learn that with Elizabeth gone, he now has a personal stake in the False Silver Case, which can potentially used against him. Or worse, Elizabeth's disappearance is entirely unrelated to the recent counterfeiting and abductions, and he is actively shirking his duty as the Watchdog. Two members of his staff are out on an assignment that may prove fruitful if he can get Lau's cooperation, but that's all he can manage with Sebastian still gone.
The other vulture gnawing at his mind regards Lady Elizabeth. If there's one thing Ciel is certain about, it's that both Sebastian and Elizabeth are too stubborn to be dead. However, his concern is the state his fiancee will be in when she is found.
There are many ways to ruin a person when they are alone and at the mercy of others.
William is lying on the mattress, trying his best to keep any reminder of the demon from affecting him too much. It seems impossible, as the stench of the sticky, half-dried blood has soaked into the floor, bloating the fibers of carpet. Even the bed sheet against William's skin seems to contain skin particles Sebastian shed during his imprisonment. Repulsive.
There isn't a specific quality to demons that he despises. It's everything; the entirety of their existence: their predatory nature, their need to corrupt everything good and pure around them, their nigh invulnerability and the fact that they're so damn cocky about it…
And reapers practically have a natural hatred against demons hardwired into them. It isn't like he harbored prejudice against demons (at least no more than an ordinary, God-fearing man would) before waking up at the Academy. A new set of glasses, a new set of morals: it's pretty much a package deal.
It is difficult to differentiate between the wills of the Dispatch and his own. These past few decades, he's let his work consume him, dominating his life and his identity. Everything is easier when it's the higher ups making the decisions, his only job being to execute them. When one is not responsible for their actions. how can they be blamed?
The Campania incident, though, that fuck up falls on him. Three hundred plus outstanding souls is too large for the Dispatch Department to let him off with a slap on the wrist.
What happens to reapers fired from the Dispatch is something no one speaks of. Ever.
The battery to William's cell phone is dead. William blames Ronald, who had been incessantly phoning earlier that day.
Now all he can do is wait. The room is outfitted in ways both occult and technological to be inescapable by demons, and as a result, it is inescapable by reapers as well. Eventually he will be freed; the only questions being when and by whom.
He closes his eyes are tries to rest, knowing he'll need it, considering the hearing is tomorrow. His mind wanders, unaccustomed to being idle, and he finds himself listening to all the ambient sounds around him, trying to isolate and distinguish each individual component.
He can hear soft rain hitting the windows and the vinyl siding of his apartment, the sound of the water flowing from the gutter and into the downspout. The wooden wind chimes that had been gifted by his mentor upon his promotion at the Dispatch rattle like bones from their place hanging from the front porch. A shutter creaks because he hasn't found time to repair it yet, droplets arpeggiating a broken chord on its face.
It's peculiar, the weather in the reaper realm is always the same as the weather in London. There are many theories as to why this phenomenon occurs, although none have been proven.
It will storm soon in London; William is sure of it. But for now, the gentleness of an early April shower is … nice.
It washes everything away, he thinks, before finally falling asleep.