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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."
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."