Entry tags:
♚ birthday.
Who: Ciel & Sebastian.
When: December 14th.
Where: Speculum 2.
Style: third.
Status: closed.
It's dark already, but Ciel is still in his study, seated at his desk. It isn't a large room, and by no means as well furnished as the one at home. But it's served, and he's finally become used to it--become used to all of it, really. He's been here nearly a year now. But that isn't the anniversary on his mind. The fact that he's a year older hardly matters, either. On this day, there are always flames dancing in his mind. The day on which he was born marks the end of his old life. Ironic. But there was a month of limbo in between, before he was born again.
He can't help but think of Sebastian.
Ciel holds grudges. But even he has to admit that his anger has abated over the last few months--well, his anger with Sebastian, at least. With himself? Not quite so much. But he's tired. Tired of sleeping in too late, of wasting his days, of attempting to do the jobs that his butler really should be doing. He isn't suited for it. For quite some time, he'd considered breaking off the contract entirely. (He hadn't been certain it was possible, but he had considered it nonetheless.) But as the months drew on and he took no action, he realized that he wasn't going to.
If he is still intending to give the demon his soul, shouldn't he still have to work for it? They've been too long on their own--both of them.
He stands, pushing his chair away from his desk.
"Sebastian." It's a name he hasn't spoken with intention in months; he denies that it is somehow comforting to speak it again. (The days in which he may have been able to find comfort are over.) His voice is hollow, but his nerves are making his stomach roil so much that he fears he may be sick. Still, his fingers find his eye patch and undo the slightly lopsided knot. He clutches the black leather in his hand as the all-too-familiar energy that comes with an order lights his right eye. "Come."
When: December 14th.
Where: Speculum 2.
Style: third.
Status: closed.
It's dark already, but Ciel is still in his study, seated at his desk. It isn't a large room, and by no means as well furnished as the one at home. But it's served, and he's finally become used to it--become used to all of it, really. He's been here nearly a year now. But that isn't the anniversary on his mind. The fact that he's a year older hardly matters, either. On this day, there are always flames dancing in his mind. The day on which he was born marks the end of his old life. Ironic. But there was a month of limbo in between, before he was born again.
He can't help but think of Sebastian.
Ciel holds grudges. But even he has to admit that his anger has abated over the last few months--well, his anger with Sebastian, at least. With himself? Not quite so much. But he's tired. Tired of sleeping in too late, of wasting his days, of attempting to do the jobs that his butler really should be doing. He isn't suited for it. For quite some time, he'd considered breaking off the contract entirely. (He hadn't been certain it was possible, but he had considered it nonetheless.) But as the months drew on and he took no action, he realized that he wasn't going to.
If he is still intending to give the demon his soul, shouldn't he still have to work for it? They've been too long on their own--both of them.
He stands, pushing his chair away from his desk.
"Sebastian." It's a name he hasn't spoken with intention in months; he denies that it is somehow comforting to speak it again. (The days in which he may have been able to find comfort are over.) His voice is hollow, but his nerves are making his stomach roil so much that he fears he may be sick. Still, his fingers find his eye patch and undo the slightly lopsided knot. He clutches the black leather in his hand as the all-too-familiar energy that comes with an order lights his right eye. "Come."
no subject
He comes without any tip-off. A blink and you'll miss it moment. One minute Ciel is alone and the next minute his butler is kneeling before him with his head lowered in the most perfect form of submission. "Your orders, my lord?" he asks, never once raising his head from the ground and acting as if their time away never happened. It's the old routine again, the old ways and means.
no subject
"You are to resume your duties in full, but for a few. You will no longer dress, undress, or bathe me. I will not permit any direct touch from you that I do not expressly ask for, unless it is in circumstances under which I would otherwise be harmed. Do you understand?"
no subject
If Sebastian had anything to say about it, he didn't show it. There was no snark, no sarcasm, no backtalk. Well, not while his master's talking at least. It wouldn't be them without a little challenge after all. "Perfectly clear, my lord." he replied simply, never once raising his head. "However, if one may say... It seems you've done rather well for yourself during our time apart."
no subject
And as much as he might wish to deny it all together, there is an empty place in him where that trust once was. What was once a bond solid as steel feels hollow. It's uncomfortable and cold. "Do not think that this incident will be merely swept under the rug. I want to know precisely what happened that night. Spare me no details."
no subject
Called it.
He doesn't hesitate when he speaks. "At midnight of August 27th, I had begun to lock up the manor as per our usual routine. However, I found the... hunger... had intensified." Sebastian began. The way he says 'hunger' though is strange, almost as if hunger was a mere substitute for whatever he wanted to express. "Try as I might, my lord, I found my usual forebearance was scarce able to taper it. The rest, I'm certain you've managed to piece together. Shameful as it is..."