what *even,* man.

Dinner at the Trancy estate has gone without incident. This being such a rare event, Ciel is bracing himself for something to go wrong during dessert. The parfaits are not as lively as Sebastian's, so he is perfectly capable of paying attention while he eats. He does.

Alois devours dessert with all the same gusto he'd displayed throughout dinner. He mmms and ahhhs between tastes, licks his lips and his fingers, lets his eyelids flutter in a parody of ecstasy. His butler hovers near, occasionally wiping the boy's mouth when he misses a spot with his obscene tongue.

At Ciel's end of the table, he eats quietly, politely, and dabs his own mouth with a napkin when he finds it appropriate. Sebastian stands a respectful distance behind.

When Alois has done away with his dessert as well, he settles back in his chair with a contented sigh and a smack of his lips. Ciel thinks it rather unfortunate that he's run out of things to fill his mouth with, since tonight's meal was the longest he's ever known the Trancy boy to be quiet. He finishes his own parfait and waits resignedly for the older boy to speak. As expected, he does not disappoint.

"Wasn't dinner divine, Ciel?"

Ciel might have said that it was passable, but Alois gives him no time to answer.

"I almost couldn't stand myself! I assume you were most pleased with the dessert course?" It's a teasing sort of jab that Ciel ignores.

"The meat served during the main course was not quite to my tastes." It had been a bit salty.

Alois blanches; giggles. "Really? The main course was my favourite part!"

He assumes Alois is simply being contrary. He folds his napkin and sets it aside. "What was it? It tasted almost like pork, but it seemed too... tender." Ciel pauses to recall the taste — a bit stronger, more bitter.

The singsong answer from the other end of the table only irritates him.

"Governness!"

Governness? Alois means to imply that they've eaten one of his tutors? Exasperation rises in Ciel's muscles, making him tense.

"Don't be ridiculous, Trancy."

"Spanish governness, to be exact." This is Claude, refilling Ciel's flute with a lovely sparkling dessert wine. In Claude's mellow baritone, the idea seems much more plausible. A demon butler would certainly serve up human flesh; a demon chef would cook it.

A wave of uneasiness washes over him like a fever as he takes a sip of the wine. He remains silent, fearing a trick, until the rising nausea will no longer allow it.

"And what did the governness do to anger you, demon?"

Behind him, Sebastian makes a small noise. Ciel correctly identifies it at once as a warning and a sound of deep offense. Sebastian is wounded at the implications of his question. Ciel couldn't possibly care less.

"To anger me?" Claude echoes the words, looking unconcerned. "You are mistaken, Lord Phantomhive."

"It was my idea," Alois chips in. His voice is huskier than normal, his lips against the edge of his flute. "I didn't like the way Claude looked at her, but since we were having guests tonight, I thought we shouldn't let her go to waste, hmmm?"

His laughter grows louder and the sick, sloshing feeling in Ciel's stomach grows overbearing. The laughter grows louder and louder still, until Ciel fears he might choke on rising bile, and he's turning his head this way and that, looking for a way out of a room that suddenly has no doors. Sebastian is no longer there.

Ciel knocks his chair over when he stands up, and finds that the dishes decorating the table are filled with spiders, black and gold and crawling everywhere at once, up his ankles and into his hair; he tries to call for Sebastian, but his voice belongs to Alois now, and each time he opens his mouth, he begins to laugh hysterically until he can't even hear himself —

"Young master?"

Panting, hair clinging to his face, skin damp with cold sweat, Ciel glares at his butler.

"Call the Trancy house and tell them we'll take a rain check. If they want to reschedule, we'll have dinner here.

"And call Señora Cartera and tell her to take a week off. My history lessons can wait."

PROFILE: William T. Spears (Canon)

CHARACTER PROFILE

Name: William Thomas Spears
Age: Unknown
Birthdate: Unknown (effectively January 4)
Birthplace: Unknown
Bloodtype: A
Dominant Hand: Right
Eyesight: Legally blind.

Height: 5' 9"
Weight: 155 lbs.
Hair: Dark brown, shortish, thick. Easily styled, usually combed neatly out of his face.
Eyes: Bright, yellow-green, sharp.
Skin: Clear, fair, well-cared for.

Favourite food: Buttermilk pancakes (and elderflower cordial, not necessarily together).
Favourite colour: Green.
Favourite books: Record books. (I think this is a serious answer....)
Favourite music: None in particular. (He's partial to the sound of the cello.)
Favourite animal: None in particular. (Though he has a latent fondness for crocodiles. I've no idea why.)
Favourite weather: Light spring rain.
Favourite sport/physical activity: Rugby (league or union).
Preferred type: ... He won't answer this. (I think the answer is 'wild.')

Disliked food: Not a fan of pork in any form.
Disliked colour: Red.
Disliked books: Magazines. They're not real books.
Disliked music: Metal.
Disliked animal: None in particular.
Disliked weather: Hot, sunny, still.
Disliked sport/physical activity: Badminton.
Disliked type: 'The type who slacks off.'

Basic nature: Efficient.
Spends money on: Cleaning supplies for his deathscythe, ....
Currently wants: ...
Kinsey rating: Like a 5.
Marital status: Single, not looking.
Current occupation: Death God.
Current residence: Unknown.

Scents: Aftershave; clean, dark, deep, pronounced.
Fashion: Outside of the standard Death God uniform, which he wears strictly to code, he tends toward dark suits and ties (so... basically no different). The man has no casual wear.
Handwriting: Elegant, sharp, efficient, rightward-slanting. Even baseline, light pressure, smallish letters.
Laugh: Soft, low and very infrequent.
Sense of humour: Dark, clean, complex.
Temper: Easily irritated, but difficult to anger. Very slow to forgive.

Sun sign: Capricorn.
Decanate: Taurus.
Moon sign: Capricorn.
Rising sign: Scorpio.
(Mer/Cap, Ven/Sag, Mar/Lib, Jup/Sag, Sat/Sco, Ura/Sag, Nep/Sag, Plu/Sco)

Sin: Wrath.
Virtue: Diligence.

Dominant character traits: Serious, mature, responsible.
Likeable traits: Dutiful, efficient, loyal.
Annoying traits: Reserved, uptight, stoic.

Talents: Combat specialist (hand-to-hand and polearms, in particular), highly organized, quick reader.
Hobbies: ... None notable.
Ambitions: ... ?
Educational background: None known.

Introvert/extrovert: Introvert.
Intuitive/reasoning: Reasoning.
Optimist/pessimist: Pessimist.
Tense/relaxed: Tense.
Serious/carefree: Serious.
Chaotic/methodical: Methodical.
Work/play: Work.
Daredevil/cautious: Cautious.
Confident/diffident: Confident.
Passionate/indifferent: Indifferent.

APP: William T. Spears // Mayfield

Name: Cassie
Personal LJ: tokyocentricity
Contact Info: tokyocentricity (AIM); tokyocentricity@gmail.
Other Characters Played: Also currently apping for Vincent Phantomhive, but no characters currently in play.
Preferred Housing: If at all possible, I'd like him to be stuck with the Grell that's also currently apping, assuming we're both accepted. It's been talked over with the other player already.

Character Name: William T. Spears.
Character Series: Kuroshitsuji.
Character Age: Unknown; apparent age mid-twenties?
Background: Wiki!

Personality: Will presents as a stone-cold bastard. He seems to have little consideration for others, generally thinking only of himself, and adhering strictly to rules, regardless of the consequences. To some extent, this is true. His main concern is for his job, which he does with a chilly sort of efficiency. He hates to stray from the rules and holds a sharp distaste for others who do, as well as for those who slack off. He's always working hard, not because he enjoys it, as some might think, but because he hates working overtime. He prefers to keep his work and his free time distinctly separated, and that's very difficult to do when his work time keeps bleeding into the rest of his (rigid) schedule.

As a senior in the workplace, he expects his underlings to work just as hard as he does. He takes on as many responsibilities as he can manage, never more and never, ever less, and he takes them very seriously (as he takes most things — he's not the joking type). When the people around him fail to do the same, it frustrates him. He tends to feel that he's the only one pulling his weight. He has no qualms with insulting them and punishing them for their actions, sometimes violently. He has many more qualms with having to clean up their messes and apologize in their wake. Forcing him to pay for his coworkers' incompetence is a quick way to piss him off.

He's not the angry type, though — while easily irritated, it takes a monumentally concerted effort to actually anger him, and even then, he's the type to bottle it up, not voice his feelings. In emotional situations in general, he has a tendency to be shy and uncomfortable. Feelings aren't something he's well acquainted with (not, as rumour has it, because he has none, but) because he doesn't often express them openly. Practicality takes priority over emotion in his life; he keeps himself busy and he keeps his head above the emotional tides. He's a hard man to get close to because of this, but if you can manage it, you've won his loyalty for life.

Overall, he prefers to keep to himself and for others to do the same. Unfortunately, it's rare for that to actually work out for him. If he had his way, he would be surrounded by competent, polite and like-minded individuals who did their jobs as efficiently as he does his, and left him to his business while he left them to theirs. What he doesn't realize, however, is that if he had his way, he would be incredibly bored. The people around him put a spin on his life that he would probably sincerely miss if they went away.

Abilities: As a Death God, William has a number of abilities typical to the profession — above-average strength, speed and reflexes are only the beginning. His job is to supervise the deaths of humans, to investigate untimely deaths and those who escape their intended deaths, and to collect the souls of the dead to be judged. As such, he possesses a deathscythe, the standard tool of the Death Gods, used to release a human's Cinematic Record, a record of their life on Earth. His deathscythe (is not an ability, but will be taken upon his arrival, so I thought it relevant) is a standard model: a polearm-like weapon with clipper blades on either end, and the ability to extend its length over great distances.

Sample Entry: [ There is a slight clearing-of-throat before he speaks. You can almost envision him adjusting his tie. ]

I've had many suggestions to become a teacher, however, I would rather avoid working with children if at all possible. Schools full of these... hiveminded creatures in miniature might be bearable, but I suspect that the arrivals from elsewhere also attend school, where appropriate. I'm sure they're less bearable.

In lieu of that, I'm considering becoming a librarian. It's not as if it would be much different from being a Death God. I spent more time shelving records than reaping souls, most days. If not, perhaps a banker — the pay is better; something to consider.

Is there anyone with any experience in these positions here at Mayfield? I've a feeling that they're not precisely the same here as anywhere else.