The bark is commonly known as the outside coating on trees, but it's what the outside of a rose stem is called as well. Incidentally, a bark is also the alerting cry of a dog.

Half a minute after Sebastian knocked on the door of the enormous house, it was opened cheerily by its current occupant. "Lord Phantomhive, what a pleasure it is to see you again!"

"Oh! M-Mr. Fairclough," Ciel returned, with unmasked surprise. "Good afternoon. I… I didn't expect you to be the one answering."

Sebastian definitely hadn't either. Usually it was the job of the servants to invite guests in, unless someone was an old friend or a family member. Even if Ciel had fallen into one of those two categories, however, it still would have been odd considering the territory. The abode Fairclough was borrowing for the season wasn't just any manor: it was Sedgemore House, and much like the Phantomhive's townhouse, it was one of the few true stately homes left in London proper. An untitled man like Fairclough staying here for the summer and answering his own door instead of a servant… It was so odd that Sebastian was sure it had immediately rendered him and his charge a pair of gawking idiots.

Fairclough laughed at their dumbfounded expressions. "My apologies! I'm still sorting out how to manage the domestics during my time here," he explained. Then he stared at Sebastian more closely. "And tell me, who is the gentleman you've brought with you?"

Ciel gestured loosely. "This is my butler, Sebastian. You needn't pay him any mind. I only invited him to come and listen in so he can act as my notetaker during our conversation. His memory is rather more reliable than the average person's."

Sebastian put a hand to his chest, bowed just slightly forward. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fairclough. I hope I won't be of any bother."

"... Oh! Not at all, I should think," Fairclough said with a light laugh. Then he gestured them indoors. "Please, come inside, and I'll lead the way to the parlor."

Sedgemore House was as grand in scale as any countryside manor. At one point, it most likely was a countryside manor: London was not built with such large homes in mind, but instead built around them, until the miniature palaces were fully incorporated into the expanding city bounds. Most of the gentry possessed terraced manors instead, a Georgian creation that allowed for much more housing in a much smaller area. That a middle-class person like Fairclough could stay here said much about his connections. Just how far did this man's social reach extend…?

"My cottage in Clermont-Ferrand is significantly more manageable than this enormous space," Fairclough explained as they walked the crisp marble floors down a sunlit hallway lined with oil paintings and exotic flora. "I regret that I only have five servants here at the moment, and they've all been so preoccupied with Sedgemore's upkeep that they can barely spare themselves a free moment. I thought it might lighten their loads if I were to take care of my own guest for a change! I'm happy to do it, anyway."

They passed one of these servants on the way, a blonde girl who seemed in a hurry until she saw their party coming. Dutifully she stepped to the side, bowing her head. In passing, Fairclough asked her in French to bring him and his guest "the usual," and she agreed with a quick "Oui, monsieur" before hastening on her way.

"I tend to keep a fairly bare-bones staff myself," Ciel said. "In some ways, it's easier, but it does have its drawbacks as well."

Sebastian pressed his lips together, internally wondering just how many 'drawbacks' Ciel actually felt he experienced with an all-powerful demon around.

"If you have any recommendations for hires, I'd love to hear them," Fairclough continued. "I'm afraid I'll need to take on quite a few more people temporarily, and I have no connections here."

Ciel laughed apologetically, politely, accordingly. "And I'm sorry to say that I'll be utterly useless in that area. All my staff were hired through… unusual circumstances, and they have no connections themselves. But I may know some people you could get in touch with who will have a better opinion than I would."

"Don't trouble yourself over it! Lord Sedgemore may be able to assist me in this area. In fact, he may prefer providing his own staff."

They approached a door that seemed somewhat out of the way to belong to a parlor. Fairclough opened it for his guests, revealing that it wasn't a parlor at all. It was probably the size of Fairclough's parlor at home, but in a manor this grand, the cozy room was more likely a den or a study. There was a solid wood roll-top desk with an armchair behind it, and another pair of oxblood wingback chairs by an unlit fireplace. Fairclough sat in one, Ciel in the other. Sebastian stood against the wall near the shut door, arms folded behind his back.

"It made me nervous when I first saw this room," Fairclough said, gesturing to the deep turquoise walls. "The mansion was built in the 1700s, and I thought it might have been painted with Scheele's green. Lord Sedgemore's cousin was quick to assure me that it's actually some new pigment made from cobalt. He was staying here before I arrived, anyway. Nips in from time to time, but otherwise, it's been very quiet! It's so nice to have a guest come by at last."

"I'm glad I can return the favors in at least one way," Ciel said. "More often than not, it seems I am in your debt."

Ciel then stiffened slightly, as if remembering his aunt's warning not to "get into financial straits with such a blatant spendthrift." But Fairclough responded kindly, "You owe me nothing in return, Lord Phantomhive. I was happy to help in Oxford, and I'm happy to help today. Though," he grinned with one corner of his mouth, "I do have one simple request, now that I'm thinking of it."

Ciel tipped his head with inquisition. "Oh? Please. What can I do for you?"

Fairclough made a sheepish expression. "Not only has it been a while since I've had guests at all, but it's been a while since I've spoken in French with a guest," he explained. "I must admit, I've grown a bit homesick for my mother tongue. Would you be willing to speak in it with me, at least for part of our conversation?"

Ciel smiled back, the request possibly even simpler than he'd imagined. "Bien sûr." He continued in French, "I'm afraid my knowledge of the language is more conversational than professional, however, so I may need to switch back to English at times to fill in a word or two."

"Pas de problème, Siegneur Phantomhive." Fairclough chuckled happily. "So tell me, how can I be of service? You didn't give me all the details in your letter. I think you only mentioned that my association with the community of toy and display collectors would be useful to you."

Ciel nodded, putting his elbows on the armrests and folding one hand over the other. "I'm planning to do an impromptu promotional event in August," he began. "Summer is the one time of year that Funtom notices a slight dip in toy sales. It's somewhat natural that this would be the case, but regardless, I'd like to remedy the situation. I was thinking one way to do that would be to market specifically to collectors. But I want to make sure I'm creating something that would actually spark interest, as opposed to a clear gimmick. Collectors like you tend to be some of my most important patrons. Funtom's store display items were simply going to waste before people began writing in, asking if they could purchase them. The money donated from the auctions is always substantial. It's clear that there's a very enthusiastic audience here. I want to help this audience thrive, and I think I can understand that best by going right to the source."

By the way Fairclough beamed, Sebastian knew that was just the right thing to say. But of course it was. His master's greatest personal weapons were his brain and his vocabulary. When he knew precisely what he wanted from someone, Ciel Phantomhive was capable of twisting his words to make the other person eager to grant him their time, ideas, money, nearly anything. It made Ciel well-suited to his chosen career — perhaps more than it did to his inherited career.

"Well, now, this sounds fantastic! I'd be more than happy to give you my perspective," Fairclough said. He leaned forward. "I'm not sure where to begin… What information can I provide more specifically?"

"You can start by simply telling me what you enjoy about collecting," Ciel said with an inviting smile. "What is it that interested you in the first place? Is there a goal of some sort? This is different from collecting stamps or cigarette cards; toys from the window displays can't be easily shown to others, and they don't have an inherent value. But, excuse me, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's stick with the first question. What do you like most about your hobby?"

Fairclough sat up straight, talking and gesticulating excitedly. "You're correct, that it is very different from stamp and card collecting, where there is a virtually unlimited supply available of a given item. The window displays are finite, and that makes them more or less priceless. For example, I own a seven-foot Bitter Rabbit Santa Claus mannequin that was in the Paris and London stores for Christmas in 1888. I know for a fact that only one other exists. For me, that makes it an exciting purchase. And there will be a time, in ten, twenty, thirty years, where it could well be considered a piece of history. It's worth preserving things that represent the time they came from, particularly if they are special or unusual."

Ciel looked vaguely fascinated by this explanation. "That's interesting. You're speaking of your collection almost like it's a series of artefacts."

"Yes! It feels that way at times," Fairclough nodded. "It's a modern-day cabinet of curiosities. And we really do live in curious times. The success of Funtom is a true sign that humanity is thriving. Toys, books, music, delicacies from around the world… The aristocracy is no longer the sole connoisseur of such splendor. In a hundred years, I hope the world still remembers these years as a time of joie de vivre. This collection is one way I can assure this." He smiled. "But I make myself sound so noble. Of course, I never would have started collecting set pieces from front-window displays if I didn't have a unique interest in specially-made luxury items. And Funtom always pays particular attention to details. That's why your company has attracted attention from collectors in the first place. Perhaps it wasn't on purpose, but in our eyes, it's as if you've been catering to us all along."

Ciel smiled lightly and opened his mouth, but his words were cut off when there was a knock on the study door. Fairclough called for his servant to enter, and a footman did moments later, rolling in a silver trolley bearing all the accompaniments for afternoon tea. There was a tiered plate stand decked with pale macarons and papillon cookies, another one with all sorts of finger sandwiches — egg mayonnaise, cucumber, lox. There was the tea set itself, a plump pot filled with what smelled like Twinings earl grey blended with blue cornflower. The teapot, along with the sugar bowl, cups, and saucers, employed the entire second row of the trolley. On the bottom row was a bucket of something, which the footman removed last. All of these things were settled on a round table off to the side of the chairs. Sebastian managed to get a good look at the final items after the footman bowed and took his exit.

His eyes narrowed as they fell upon the bucket. Was that…?

"Can I interest you in some champagne?" Fairclough asked the boy, plying the pre-opened cork from the bottle. "This one is rather sweet. A perfect choice for a hot summer afternoon."

Ciel hesitated. "Oh. No, thank you. I'm all right."

Fairclough was already pouring two glasses anyway. "Have you had champagne before, Lord Phantomhive?"

"Yes." A note of indignance had entered Ciel's tone, as it had the day prior: annoyed by an adult's insinuation he may not have been able to handle something they could. He tacked on, sounding slightly embarrassed, "I… didn't like it very much."

"Well! Perhaps you'll like this one better," Fairclough said, handing over the cut crystal by its stem. "I'm sure you're aware that we French know our wine. It's worth trying one from my country before you knock the stuff for good."

Having not much other option, Ciel accepted the glass and took a small sip. Then another more substantial one. "Oh. That's… actually pretty nice."

Fairclough laughed merrily. "I thought you may be partial to it! La vie est trop courte pour boire du mauvais vin, Lord Phantomhive. I would never serve my friends anything but what I've deemed the best."

Presently, the discussion turned a corner, but Sebastian was still sorting out the prior conversation. Had Fairclough really just offered alcohol to a boy? Not only offered it, but then pushed that boy to drink it? It seemed… utterly irresponsible. Sebastian lowered his eyelids. No, it was utterly irresponsible. The only time Ciel had been offered alcohol by an adult before was in a setting where a toast was being held and everyone else in the room was being granted the same service. And at an afternoon tea? Wasn't it a mite early for this sort of activity?

Perhaps it was a cultural difference. Even so… Even so, it wasn't the quality Sebastian would want for Ciel's mentor. No, not a bit. It said to Sebastian that Fairclough did not see Ciel as a young person, or that he did not know how to treat young people. He would make for a poor guide if that was to be his outlook.

"Anyway," Fairclough said at last, "I think Janvier interrupted you in the middle of a thought. Please continue?"

Ciel put his glass down. "I was about to say, I can't possibly run a display auction when there aren't any display windows to auction… plus, those are already organized events held at the end of each season, so it wouldn't make any sense to have one at the start of August. But I was curious if you believe an opposite sort of item would hold any interest to collectors."

"An opposite sort of item?"

Ciel nodded. "I have a new line of Indian desserts that I plan to put on the market before Christmas," he explained. "It is far too early to finalize any marketing materials for the line. But perhaps, in a roundabout way, nothing needs to be finalized in order to begin advertising. Not to the general public, of course, but to appreciators like yourself who are curious about the craft of Funtom goods.

"I was thinking about releasing a new toy alongside the desserts to drum up interest from children. Each toy is a multi-step process in itself. First we need to draw up concepts, and then translate those concepts into a viable three-dimensional drawing. That design has to be built, and then another version with its finalized fabrics. All that to ask: do you think collectors would be as interested in an auction for prototypes and templates as they would be in the display windows?"

Sebastian wagered Ciel knew the answer to that question before he asked it, judging by the mounting enthusiasm in Fairclough's expression. "Not quite as many people," the man began, "but yes, absolutely. I can think of several friends who would very much want to participate."

Ciel sipped his drink. "And yourself? Not to put you on the spot."

"For certain specific items, absolutely," Fairclough said with a nod. "Especially if you auction anything to do with the window display items I already own."

"I'll have to check with my engineers to see what we have archived." Ciel thought for a moment. "To my knowledge, we usually only save preliminary planning documents if we believe we'll want to copy them later on or release a new version of an old model. But I have no hand in that. Either way, I don't care if we keep the original files of anything. We can just make copies and save those instead."

"You don't want to keep any of the originals for yourself?" Fairclough asked, almost worriedly, as if concerned he may be pushing the very head of Funtom in the wrong direction. "You would be willing to auction away something that may accrue value with time?"

"Yes, to be honest," Ciel said, without any worry whatsoever. "The key word in your sentence is 'may.' These so-called collectibles may accrue value with time. But if they don't accrue any, what was the point in keeping them to myself? You're telling me my old blueprints have value right now. Well, then I'm going to strike while the iron is hot. If the world wants to place a greater value on them in the future, that's just the way it is. This isn't a wine collection that only improves with age. Funtom is a toy company, and it's relevant now. I can only do so much to prepare for the future, but I can always take advantage of the moment. So that's exactly what I plan to do."

Fairclough gazed on him almost proudly before bowing his head in another nod. "I can't argue with that, my lord. Your judgment seems all too sound. I should know better than to have my doubts where your opinions are concerned."

Ciel waved that aside. "Please, voice your doubts, if you have them. You are an important client, and I rely on you far more than you do on me. Your viewpoint is invaluable."

This performance of buttering up would usually make Sebastian smirk, thinking of the way his small master could orchestrate every business venture like a seasoned conductor. There was nothing the matter with it today — it was just that Sebastian couldn't help feeling that Fairclough didn't deserve such praise. His hackles only rose higher when Fairclough asked twenty minutes deeper into swapping notes, "Would you like a second glass of champagne, Lord Phantomhive?"

"Uh, I'm fine now, thank you," Ciel said. "It was nice, though. I've never had champagne chilled before. I don't typically get ice deliveries to my manor; it always melts on the way to the countryside."

Good, well done. Sebastian couldn't help glaring daggers at Fairclough, who surprisingly seemed not to notice. The initial offer for champagne was… forgivable, maybe, but the second? There was no excuse. Perhaps Fairclough had grown up in a village where beer was safer to drink than water, and had spent his youth supping on alcohol. But temperance was no new concept, and Sebastian was no stranger to the way the liquid turned geniuses to ramblers. He did not need anyone coercing his young master to foolishness.

Fairclough and Ciel talked for an hour more about the finer points of toy manufacturing, much of which Fairclough already knew, as the subject clearly interested him. "Why not stay for dinner?" the host asked, in English again, when his guest said he must be leaving. "There will be plenty of food for two. Join me, why don't you?"

The offer was, thankfully, turned down. "Some other time, perhaps. It's a Saturday evening at the height of the Season, and I'd like to leave the city proper before traffic picks up. I've heard the Opera Comique has been hosting full houses these past few days. I would rather not compete with the theatregoers."

Fairclough bowed his head in smiling defeat. "I will concede that. Some other time soon then, yes." He stood. "Shall I lead you both back to the front entrance, then?"

"You needn't do so." Sebastian stepped forward, trying to look more accommodating than forceful in his suggestion. "This is a servant's job, is it not? Allow me. I recall the way."

Ciel eyed Sebastian with minor suspicion but said nothing. Fairclough was persistent. "I'll accompany you regardless. I'll be going that way myself in moments, so I may as well come along."

Begrudgingly, Sebastian allowed the man to precede him. Fairclough and Ciel chatted with finality as they wove their way back through the crisp white halls, darker now with the evening light. Sebastian was wordless in their wake, and gladly took hold of the door handle when they made it to the front, wanting to hasten the goodbye process.

Fairclough noticed. "No big hurry, now, is there?" he aimed at Sebastian with slight annoyance. He at last seemed to be catching on that his guest's butler was not a fan of him.

"No reason to dawdle, either." Ciel tipped his hat and gave a final cordial smile at Fairclough. "Thank you for meeting with me. Let's talk again soon, shall we? You've been a fantastic resource today, and I think I should need your help going forward."

"Lord Phantomhive, I would be delighted." Fairclough tilted his palm, and Ciel accepted the boisterous handshake. "Please visit any time. Your company is always a pleasure. And it needn't only be for business! Come as a friend, and I shall happily provide you with the finest France has to offer."

Ciel returned Fairclough his most charming countenance. "I shall certainly take you up on that. Au revoir, then, Mr. Fairclough."

Sebastian tailed Ciel to the awaiting Phantomhive carriage, Yankee and Gilbert seeming chipper from their short rest in the no-doubt elaborate Sedgemore stables. When the gleaming gate was pulled open by a pair of guards, the horses needed only the slightest click of the reins to be persuaded onto the thoroughfare. Sebastian did not look at Fairclough as they left, but saw him wave out of his periphery. Mild contempt flared in his chest.

The two cobs were smart, and needed very little guidance to weave their way home. Sebastian could thus turn the brunt of his attention to himself. Should he be this upset over Fairclough offering champagne to a boy? He wouldn't have been this upset a few months ago; not at Fairclough, at least. He would have merely expected Ciel to handle the situation properly, to drink no more than what was polite and appropriate. If Ciel had pushed the boundary of his own tolerance, Sebastian would have blamed Ciel. Now Sebastian felt entirely different: that Fairclough should have known better than to offer champagne to someone so young, and that Ciel's decision to abstain beyond the first glass was worthy of praise.

But that wasn't all… There was something else needling him, an unusual sense of unrest, something humans called a hunch. Sebastian did not like Fairclough. He couldn't say definitively why this was. He only knew it was true, and that he wanted Ciel to stay away from the man whenever possible. But without a good reason for it, how was he to voice his argument?

Sebastian brooded over this for the duration of the ride home. It was only after rehearsing the entire memorized conversation between Ciel and Fairclough that it dawned on him. French. The whole meeting, Ciel and Fairclough had been speaking French. Not until the very end did they switch back to English. This had not posed an issue, because Sebastian's French was of course impeccable. He'd understood every word exchanged between his charge and the man.

Ciel knew that, so he had no reason to switch back to English. But Fairclough had no idea. As far as he was concerned, Sebastian hadn't gathered any bit of dialogue. And maybe, for reasons unknown, Fairclough had wanted it that way.

At nine o'clock that same evening, Sebastian brought up a tray with hot chamomile milk tea to Ciel's study. This was a new ritual Sebastian had suggested to help Ciel settle down and fall asleep more easily. Ciel could even have his tea with honey, given he brushed his teeth afterwards, of course.

The young master was sitting at his desk, and stretched his arms above his head as Sebastian approached. "I have some letters for you to deliver to the postbox tonight. Soma should be coming soon after he receives it, so expect him by tomorrow."

The cup was placed atop the saucer by the boy's elbow. "You're inviting him, sir?"

Ciel plummeted into the tight quilted backing of the armchair. "Tuh. No, the very opposite. I just have no doubt his response to being told I won't be staying in the London house with him all summer will be to come and demand I change my mind."

"Ah, yes. Even after all this time, our spoiled prince doesn't take well to the word 'no,'" Sebastian chuckled.

"No, of course not… So, my final free day before the Trooping the Color is going to wind up with a social call anyway," Ciel sighed. He spread the addressed envelopes out across the tabletop like a deck of cards. "I made further headway into turning down invitations, too, so take note of the names here and remember them when I'm sending out cards for the Funtom event."

"Certainly, sir." Ciel scooped the letters back up and handed them over. Sebastian rifled through them, each name sticking in his infallible memory like a dart. His hand paused as he got to the last letter. "Another message for Mr. Fairclough, then?"

Ciel finished his sip, cocking an eyebrow. "Yes. Thanking him for seeing me today, on such short notice. Why do you sound irked about it?"

He'd sounded irked? He hadn't meant to. Sebastian cleared his throat. "Pardon me, sir. I just find Mr. Fairclough somewhat… less than exemplary."

That earned Sebastian a dead-on look. "What?" Ciel angled himself in the chair to better face his butler. "Why?" he demanded. "He's gone out of his way numerous times to help me, sometimes at a detriment to himself, and you find him 'less than exemplary'? Where is this coming from? If anything, you should find me less than exemplary for having to rely on him so many times…" The last part was somewhat grumbled out.

Sebastian answered carefully. "His actions today were… not ones I find to be conscientious of his particular audience."

Ciel slouched against the armrest, staring with scrutiny, trying to gauge the meaning of the demon's intentionally cryptic statement on his own. After a few seconds he grasped it. "You're upset because of the champagne, are you?"

"'Upset' may be too strong of a word—"

"Don't try and get me caught up in the semantics, damn demon." Ciel glowered. "What do you have to be upset over anyway? Even you told me it would be acceptable to have a single glass of champagne whenever I wanted, and I stopped at one."

"Yes, you did, and I'm glad for it," Sebastian said. "For him to offer you more, though… At your age, that simply isn't—"

"At my age? Ugh, who cares about my age?" Ciel flicked his head to the side. "Actually, it's all anyone seems to care about these days — except for Mr. Fairclough. It was nice for someone to treat me like a person for the first time in a while, instead of a child who needs to be constantly shepherded around! Even you're doing it!" Ciel folded his arms, souring. "Well, you can cut it out! It doesn't matter if the whole world wants me to be a child, I'm not one, and I don't want to be treated like it either. The way Mr. Fairclough acted was perfectly appropriate for someone of my stature, so stop thinking that way."

"Do you not find it strange that he insisted on speaking French the entire time?" Sebastian decided to ask. "He did not know I could understand him. Even when he spoke about the very party I was supposed to be 'taking notes' on, he did not change back to English. I find it odd that he was so interested in excluding me."

Still Ciel was not swayed. "Are you so selfish that you think even this is about you? Obviously he just got caught up in the moment and forgot. I knew you understood, so there was no reason to correct him when he kept going in French. Thinking about that for even a fraction of a second could lead you to that conclusion, idiot."

There was only one argument left, and it was the weakest by far. "I have a bad feeling about Mr. Fairclough, young master. I apologize that I can't supply a worthy testimony to my claim. I merely sense something ominous about him."

Ciel rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and standing after he downed the last of his tea. "As if that means anything. Your judgment of humans is abysmal, it always has been. You've looked directly at guilty men and gathered just as much about them as I have, if not less. You scarcely like any humans; why should I be surprised that you don't like Mr. Fairclough either?" He began to walk to the exit. "I don't know why you're entertaining thoughts like these in the first place. Don't tell me how to live my life and who to associate with. That's not your place."

Then Ciel left the office, leaving Sebastian behind to tidy up the room from the evening's work. He sighed out his nose. 'Not your place…' What was he to do, then? Sit by and let the young master be taken in by the charms of a man he found suspicious? Though he couldn't fully explain his own reasoning behind that suspicion… only that it was present.

The boy was right, at least in one regard. It was not a butler's place to set rules for his master. But they were not simply a master and servant — they never had been. Sebastian's 'place' was not dictated by the mere social customs of humans. It was outlined in the pact they had created four and a half years ago. The proof existed on the back of the demon's hand; on the surface of the boy's right eye. Until the day Ciel Phantomhive gained his revenge, Sebastian would remain unfailingly by his side. That was his place.

As for what remaining by his side implied… Sebastian had been left to gauge that by himself. So what did he do here? Listen to the boy? Or listen to the strange, new voices telling him to be careful, voices that sounded so much like his own?

"Ciiiiiii-eeeeeellll!"

In accordance with his master's prediction, Soma arrived the next day just past noon. This time they were given no knock as a courtesy. The prince entered the manor as if it were his home and began striding around, his voice echoing down the halls as he cried out, "Ciiiieeellll! Explain yourself immediately!"

Prince Soma was no Nina Hopkins, but a guest, so Sebastian did nothing to stop his tirade. He followed the sound of the whining until it emanated from the open door of Ciel's study. Agni was just hastening up the opposite staircase as Sebastian arrived at the room. He looked exceptionally apologetic, and only moreso after he caught Sebastian's eye. Sebastian merely smiled to show no harm was done. Well, at least to him. Perhaps not to the young master's eardrums.

"Ciel, how could you do this to me?!" Soma was fuming. He stood wide-stanced before Ciel's desk, finger stabbing furiously at a piece of paper he held aloft in the opposite hand. Agni and Sebastian watched the scene play out from the doorway. "How could you write such a cold and heartless letter to your very best friend from India?! I was so looking forward to spending the entire Season together, and now you tell me you are coming to the London house for maybe two weeks at most?! But whyyyy?!" Soma stamped his foot, making Agni gasp and Sebastian smirk in utter amusement. "I was very, very, very patient with you when you said you couldn't come until June because of your mission to the Queen! Even after you promised we would see each other before the end of April! When you took it back, I was very understanding! But now! Now you're doing this to me!" Soma's temper tantrum finally subsided into loud weeping. "I-I-I was s-so excited and n-now you aren't coming to London at aaaall! This is the worst thing you've ever done to me! Selfish, horrible Ciel! I hate you! I h-hate you!" Soma rubbed at his face with his arm, sniffling and hiccuping dramatically all the while.

Sebastian expected Ciel to be absorbing the rant with a patience worn thin as spider's silk. But just as Ciel had expected Soma's arrival, so too it seemed he had expected this explosion. His expression was calm, almost discouraged, as he finally said, "What a shame. I should have guessed you wouldn't read the entire letter. But actions speak louder than words. I guess I can't trust you with this project after all."

The blubbering fit was, unsurprisingly, mostly theatrics, as Soma asked in a near-normal voice, "Eh? Huh? What? What project? What are you talking about?"

Ciel gestured to the paper Soma had crumpled up in his fist. "As I said, maybe if you read the entire letter, you would know." Soma struggled to undo his destruction at once, as Ciel continued airily, "It doesn't matter what it is at this point anyway. I see you aren't ready to take on any real Funtom work."

"W-Wait… Hold on…" Soma finally managed to straighten out the letter, and he pressed his face close to decipher the crinkled writing. He read aloud, "'If you manage to stay away until I next call on you, then I'll consider you a business partner—! Who can help me with a new project—?!' Ah! Wait! But I still want to help!"

"Too bad." Ciel had pretended to return his attention to his paperwork.

The prince was utterly crestfallen. "B-But-! But, but I… But—"

"No."

"Please, I just—"

"Sorry." Ciel didn't sound the least bit sorry.

Soma clenched his fists and bunched up his shoulders. He looked like he wanted to have another meltdown, but was holding back because he knew it definitely wouldn't get him his way anymore. Finally, he dropped down to his knees and put his chin on the edge of the desk, peering over it like a small child or a needy dog. "Ciiiieeelll…" he whimpered.

"What?" Ciel's voice was completely placid. Sebastian knew the boy was secretly relishing making the spoiled prince suffer.

Soma sniffled again. "I'm sorryyyy… Please, let me help you… Please, I want to help so much… You are my very best friend… Please, please, please... I will do anythiiiing…"

Ciel finally looked Soma in the eye. "Is that an honest statement?"

Seeing he'd gained some attention, Soma straightened up, though he was still kneeling. "Yes! Yes, I'll do anything!"

"Then promise me," Ciel began pointedly, "that you won't come here for the next six weeks while I'm planning the Funtom event, not even one time, unless I invite you. I'm going to be busy, and I do not need any spontaneous interruptions. If you behave, then you can help me with my work. Do you promise me this?"

The prince sprung to his feet. "Yes! I promise, cross my heart! Not unless I am invited will I come over!"

"... Okay. Good." Ciel put away whatever faux-work he'd used as a distraction and removed a few other sheets of paper from a drawer. He came around to the opposite side of his desk. "I'm designing a new rabbit to be released when the Indian desserts debut. I want it to fit the theme, so I'm going to model it after an Indian prince, and I'd like you to tell me… Oh, don't make that face," Ciel sighed when he noticed Soma's eyes were brimming with joy.

"Ahh, Ciel! I was wondering when this day would come!" Ciel made a noise of distress as Soma captured him in one of his back-breaking hugs, swinging him from side to side. "You are finally making a Bitter Rabbit doll inspired by me! This is the greatest day of my life! Perfect, thoughtful Ciel! I love you! I love you!"

"Let me go this instant," Ciel coughed out, stumbling away when he was finally released. He glared slightly as he straightened out his clothes and massaged at his shoulder. "It's not inspired by you. You aren't the only Indian prince in all of history, you know. I only chose it because it makes the most sense."

"Perhaps that is what you will tell yourself." Soma plopped his hands on his hips. "In my heart, I will always think of it as me."

"Yes, well, wonderful. You and your heart can do whatever you want," Ciel dismissed, turning back to the papers and tugging Soma over by his sleeve to indicate he should do the same. "This here is a general design document for a standard-model Bitter Rabbit. Stop bouncing. I'm not sure if this toy model will be what we ultimately go with, but we can use it to at least plan an outfit. I need you to either send me examples from your own wardrobe or wear them here so we can start making pricing decisions based on the fabrics. I also need to see what they look like. All right? That's how you can help in the future. Can you handle that?"

"Of course I can!" Soma clamored. He turned to the doorway. "Agni! We brought some of my festival clothes to England, didn't we? Ah, we'll have to check. You probably want Bitter Rabbit to wear his best, right, Ciel? Not everyday clothes?"

Ciel looked Soma up and down. The prince was still decked out in glistening jewelry and vibrant cloth even for this simple call. "I don't know. Is what you're wearing right now considered 'everyday clothes'?"

Soma laughed. "It is for a prince! See here, this is called a kurta, and most men wear them, but mine is much more decorative and colorful than what the average citizen would own…"

"It is so very kind of Lord Phantomhive to include my prince in his work."

Sebastian was torn away from the scene when Agni suddenly spoke to him. Like his charge, Agni's eyes were filled with joy as he watched Soma jump around in various ridiculous poses, as if posing somehow illustrated a point.

Sebastian chuckled. "'Kind' is quite a curious word to use in regards to my young master."

"How is Lord Phantomhive feeling lately, by the way?" Agni asked, lowering his voice somewhat. "Does his mood seem to be improving? Have you found someone to be a guide for him yet?"

Sebastian hesitated to answer. He slowly looked back at Ciel, who seemed to be writing quick notes as Soma introduced him to each piece of his royal ensemble. He hadn't thought about it, but Ciel's overall mood had improved over the past few months. The boy was back on track with his work, and was even going to bed on-time again (well, nearly). The sudden spikes of anger and occasional nightmares hadn't gone away, but these were things that could be worked past. And… they weren't unusual or shameful. Not given the stage of life Ciel was at, nor the experiences he had endured along the way.

Sebastian had seen Ciel through every trial. For a long time, he had viewed it as a thing he had no choice in the matter of. But something had changed in Sebastian. He knew it had. He had changed before. He had started this contract utterly clueless about how to make a dish that didn't overwhelm the taste buds. Now the science of food was as familiar to him as the art of killing. It was just as well that Bard was abysmal at cooking: Sebastian could not imagine allowing anyone but himself to create the majority of meals for Ciel. Once he had mastered a talent, all he could do was see flaws in the methods of others. "Never mind, I'll do it," was a phrase he muttered several times a week, when the servants failed to do something right on the first go and he was feeling too impatient to give them a second chance.

If Ciel were to have a proper mentor in the ways of life, it would be just the same. Sebastian couldn't lie to himself and say it would be otherwise. He would be constantly nipping and tucking at the mentor's techniques, constantly thinking he could do better, and then casting the mentor off with the very same, "Never mind, I'll do it." It was too late to turn back. By now, Sebastian knew too much. He was critical to the point that he had begun judging humans on that basis alone. The potentially innocent Fairclough was forever a blight simply because Sebastian had measured him on conditions he had no business being measured by.

There was no competition. Maybe there never had been.

Sebastian raised his chin. "Yes. I believe I have found… the most suitable individual for the job."