Friends In High Places

~O~

The huge advantage of boarding school is that it throws you into the social fire. Every social interaction I've had since then has been a million times easier. Literally, ever since then, it's all been child's play.

Nicholas Stoller

~O~

Charlotte had never properly attended school as a child. The closest experience he had to the stoic monotony of her days and the enforced scheduling of each and every class was the brief stint he'd spent within Maison d'éducation de la Légion d'honneur a.k.a. The School For Girls Whose Fathers Had Managed To Kill Enough People In A War To Get A Medal For It.

True it was a bit of a mouthful but, like he said, it was a very brief stint. He was eventually expelled for stitching a girl's hair into her pillow and then, when the matron instructed him to unpick the very neat cross-stitches, had brandished a newly sharpened kitchen knife instead of the tiny needlework scissors.

That said, Charlotte was having more fun than he'd thought possible. Perhaps it was just that boys were allowed far more freedom. At least no one had come to scold him for standing outside in the warm spring sunlight without an umbrella, or insisted that he learn how to pin up his hair with several different accessories. No, as a boy Charlotte was free to roll up his sleeves and join others when they went digging for crickets and grass snakes to play pranks. He was allowed to take multiple helpings of cake and roast beef at dinner because 'you're a growing boy, you need the energy'.

Granted Weston's adherence to tradition was a tad annoying at times. "What are we talking about?" He interrupted cheerfully, throwing an arm around Ciel's shoulders. The boy jumped in surprise but the kid across from him yelped and gaped at her as though Charlotte had just spat his bread and then fed it to his sick grandmother. "Hello?"

After a few awkward moments of stammering he managed to produce actual words. "Y-Y-You can't sit here! Phantomhive, it's not good to be seen getting too friendly with other houses!"

Ciel grimaced. Even without looking he could sense the wide grin on Charlotte's face. As annoying as it was, he didn't shove her off as was his automatic reaction. Partly because it was always good to show a united front, he would not allow Charlotte's tactile nature to become a weak spot others could use to tease him, but also because he was petty as hell and didn't like being told he couldn't do something. Especially when the thing was so arbitrary and petty.

"That sounds like the rivalry of women," he replied, lifting his nose a fraction. "Why shouldn't I be allowed to talk to…?" Shit, what was Charlotte's new name again?

"Charles Soyeux, at your service!" Charlotte chirped, stealing half a jam-covered scone from Ciel's plate and cramming it in his mouth. "Oh wow, you guys get blueberry jam! Why can't I talk to Ciel?"

McMillan stared at Charlotte as if he wasn't sure what to make of him. "I mean, competitiveness aside, there's also the fact that this isn't your dormitory? How did you even get in here?"

Charlotte mumbled some response through his mouthful and then swallowed. "Besides, who's going to rat me out? You? Gosh I love not experiencing consequences of having no manners!"

"SOYEUX!" They all jumped and turned to see a teacher dressed in black with blue draperies marching furiously between tables.

Charlotte cursed and swallowed the rest of his scone. "Damn; it's the consequences! They found me! Bye Phantomhive!" With that, he took off in the opposite direction with what appeared to be unprecedented agility for anyone who didn't know him.

Ciel watched her go, irritation warring with amusement borne of schadenfreude as the teacher yelled about detentions and copying entire bible passages in Latin. McMillan coughed delicately to hide a grin. "You have interesting friends."

"If you say so," he replied noncommittally and reached for another scone. "What were you saying about Derek Arden?"

McMillan's smile dropped. "Look," he lowered his voice, glancing from side to side. One benefit of Charlotte's loud entrance and exit was that she'd distracted potential eavesdroppers. "I don't know much about Arden, but I do know that he's the only student who was transferred to a different house on exception.

"Transferred?" Ciel repeated as he smeared a generous helping of clotted cream on his scone, trying not to seem as interested as he really was. As far as he knew, no one transferred in or out of the house they were in. Weston appeared to operate on some odd sorting system that governed how students treated each other and how they were treated in turn.

Yes, as we all know there are only four types of children: intelligent, athletic, artistic, and rich.

McMillan was still talking. "Rumour goes that the principal was the one who organized his transfer from red to purple. I don't know all the details though, he was in a higher year than I was, but you don't want to get tangled up in the other dorm's business! Especially not Violet Wolf."

Violet Wolf? Ciel stiffened as he recalled the untidily knotted tie around Charlotte's neck. "Wait, what about Violet Wo-!"

"McMillan!" A sharp voice disrupted them belonging to a surprisingly mild looking boy with dark hair and glasses. McMillan perked up and jumped to his feet with a happy grin and, after calling out hasty explanations and goodbyes, dutifully trotted after the older boy like a puppy.

Ugh, was everyone here so happy to take orders? How telling of the English educational system. "Phantomhive!" Ciel started and spun around to face a more familiar upper year. Clayton pointed at him and then gestured to the dining room. "Until you're assigned to an upper year, you're on dining hall cleaning duty on Tuesdays and Fridays."

Ciel took in the food-stained tables, the crumb-covered seats, the left-behind books and the mud-tracked floors. He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. Actually no, absolutely not, zero chance, fuck this. Ciel lifted his eyepatch and between one breath and the next Sebastian was standing before him, still dressed like a professor and still fully enjoying the trappings of one judging by the wholly unnecessary clipboard.

"It seems that Derek was transferred to the purple dorm. If his name is on the list then he should be at the dorm right now. I will go and check, while you clean this place up," he instructed before leaving as quickly as possible before the demon could even utter a single word. Sebastian watched him go, equal parts exasperated and entertained. All the power of a higher demon and the child wanted him to perform menial labour. Oh how far the mighty fall.

The demon laughed and vanished his clipboard beneath his cloak before clapping his gloved hands together and eyeing the filthy hall. "Very well, let's deal with this."

oOo

Violet Wolf dormitory looked exactly how Ciel had expected but that didn't stop him from being a little taken aback by just how on-brand it appeared. Physically the building resembled all the other dormitories, but the grounds were overgrown with grass so green it almost looked black. The trees were bare despite the spring season, and they curled up and to the sides like grasping claws. There were gravestones knocked into the soft earth but they looked like they were just there for decoration rather than to mark an actual place of rest.

The sky above the dorm was dark as well. Clearly these people were deeply committed to maintaining a certain aesthetic.

Ciel stepped between the arched gate, glancing warily at the carved stone wolves that sat at either end. A raven cawed from one of the trees and another replied from across the grounds.

"As expected of a house of eccentrics," Ciel muttered to himself as he reached the bottom of the stairs. His ears pricked up, picking up the muffled hush and rustle of other people, and then the whispers. He turned around and screeched in fright as a crowd of hooded figures popped out of the bushes and from behind the gravestones.

"An outsider…it's an outsider..."

"Look at the crest...he's from Blue house..."

Ciel had seen cults up close and this looked like a terrifying replica of one. Just then a loud voice cut through the whispers, no less accusing but at least it was loud enough that he could pinpoint the source. He recognized the odd haircut before he recognized the sneering face of the boy he had seen with Charlotte. "What business does a bookworm have here? This isn't a place for people who can't do anything but study! Get lost!"

"Yeah, get lost!"

"People from other houses should get out!"

"Get out!"

Ciel wasn't sure who threw the first projectile. It wasn't exactly rocks and bricks, but the humiliation of being pelted in the face by wadded up sheets of paper while other people pointed and laughed still stung. The second projectile never reached him though.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Charlotte was standing in front of him, a crumpled ball in one hand and the other resting on his hip.

The ringleader of the motley mob cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "You know this bookworm?"

"We came to Weston together," Charlotte replied. "He's a friend. Can I plead clemency, Chester? Just this once?"

"Hmph," the boy didn't look pleased but the tension in his shoulders eased. As if responding to some unknown signal, arms began to lower and a few students even began to slink back into the shadows. Ciel watched them go and wondered wildly if Blue house did something similar when other houses came knocking. He hoped so, if only out of some vicious need for vengeance. "You're out of clemency points, which is wild since you've only been here a week."

Ciel couldn't see Charlotte's face when he said. "I'll let you paint me?" But he could see the boy, Chester, when he arched an eyebrow and grinned wide enough to reveal two sharp canines.

"Three?"

"One."

"Two, and I won't do any flowers."

"Deal."

What the fuck does that mean? Ciel wondered in bewilderment. "What the fuck does that mean?" He snapped out loud.

Chester scowled at him. "It means you have three seconds to get out of range before we start throwing stuff other than crumpled paper. One, two..."

Ciel booked it. He'd never been much of a runner but proper incentive will motivate anyone and he sprinted until he was out of sight of the Violet dormitory before he finally let himself stop. There was a tense second when he wondered wtheter the panting breaths would transform into asthmatic gasps but it seemed that his luck wasn't that terrible.

So that plan had failed, Ciel grumbled to himself later that night. It seemed he would need a less direct method, in which case he required assistance. He didn't doubt Charlotte's (Charles now?) potential willingness to help him, but he certainly wasn't looking forward to asking.

oOo

Popularity had not been Charles's goal when he'd entered Weston. He'd simply wanted front-row seats to the Phantomhive's most recent blowout event. The Soyeux name had been enough to get him admission, and if anyone pried too hard well it's not like the English kept abreast of French news.

Gender had never been something Charlotte had ever truly thought about. As a child they had believed that they were a girl because, well, everyone said they were. After all they'd had all the genitalia and liked wearing dresses, so obviously she had to be female. Of course there had been days when she'd felt so uncomfortable in her own skin, others when they'd felt so shackled by the femininity they were forced to perform, but Charlotte just assumed that all girls felt like that.

Right, yes: popularity. Charles had expected to coast along until things came to a head as they were wont to do whenever Ciel was involved, but she hadn't expected to find that the Violet Wolf dorm was just...so fucking weird. Not just any weird though, but her own specific brand of absolutely buckwild nuts.

These were the dreamers, the eccentrics. Why regurgitate Bach note for note when you could craft a dirge in a minor key and blast it throughout the night? Why limit yourself to realism and 'acceptable' topics when you could fling paint at a wall-sized canvas while suspended from the ceiling? And why stick to simple canvas when you could harass the newest student instead?

As it turned out Charles's prosthetics had become the hottest ticket in town. When asked why, local students had cited something about the expressionist nature of colours in motion seen from a variety of angles and Charlotte had quickly zoned out.

But yes, smooth bone-china prosthetic limbs = free canvas, though Chester had more or less commandeered first pick since he was the prefect's personal fag. Charles sat still and watched the boy trace a collection of constellations up and down his arm. The smell of oil-based paint was thick in the air, part of the reason they were working by the window.

"So how do you know Phantomhive?" Chester asked suddenly, quite out of the blue.

"Oh, our families are linked through business," Charles answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Apparently he's become a wonder in the blue dorm," Chester sniffed and then waved his free hand to dispel a bit of the smell. "He can cook like a chef, clean rooms in mere minutes, and his penmanship is supposedly unparalleled."

Charles pressed his lips together and nodded seriously. "Huh, yeah that sure is unbelievable."

"Right?" Chester nodded emphatically, almost sending a blob of purple paint careening onto his uniform. Instead it landed in the centre of the white moon on Charles's shoulder. "Ah fuck. Pass me the turpentine?"

Chester was not an artist. Like Charles, he was a musician; to be more specific he was a violinist. Still he'd wanted to try branching out and Charles was both convenient and cheap. He passed over the little tin and rag and held still as Chester carefully erased his mistake. "So why bring up Ciel? Did someone say something about him?" Charles pried.

"The prefects were talking about him," Chester mumbled distractedly. "They want to meet him. The king snob himself said he wanted to talk to him about being on the Campania. He even sent Cole to extend the invitation." At that he let out a derisive snort and flung the rag away before squinting at his work. "Do you think I can just leave the moon like that and claim it's a representation of ever encroaching darkness upon

unsuspecting innocence?"

"I think art is broad as hell and you can do whatever you want," Charles informed earnestly. "But wait, back to before. Why did you make that noise?"

"Huh? Oh," Chester huffed and leaned back. "It's just...I've never liked Cole. Something isn't right about that guy. He's like Phantomhive; absolutely perfect in every way, but Phantomhive at least acts like a real person. Every time I've been forced to talk to Cole I feel like I'm talking to a mask." He re hepulled a face at the clichéd words and snatched up his brush decisively. "Never mind that. This is why we don't get involved with other dorms. Now give me your other arm, I want to see if I can paint a dragon."

I spent a year in an all female boarding school and I will say this: it's absolutely freeing when the only people around you are other girls. Suddenly nothing matters. All those years you spent being forced to "act like a girl" to appeal to men suddenly seem so dumb. Wear make up for yourself! Don't wear it if you don't want to! Walk around in the ugliest clothes ever! Smear mud on your face like the feral creature you are!

I'm not advocating shipping kids off the boarding school, I was 16 at the time so I was already pretty independent, but that was just my experience.