(Untitled)
It's been a year for him, and it shows, if you met him before. He's far more muscular from the training he's been doing and currently, the muscles are accentuated still further from hunger. But it's self-imposed this time, rather than just from being unable to afford food.
He's seen a lot, learnt a lot and is tired, of many things. And this means he ( Read more... )
Regardless, he's people-watching at the moment, more careful observation than lazing curiosity. He's still not sure what to make of Milliways' clientele. Some of them are almost disturbingly out of place, and then you have the ones like the lean, brown-headed guy nearby, who look perfectly normal in a pub-type scene...
Ciel isn't exactly staring.
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Eventually he sighs and looks over.
'You OK?'
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There's a quick blink and a flash of evident displeasure on his face, before he twitches his head downward in a tense, awkward nod.
"Yes - I'm fine."
He pauses, then replies with a sigh of his own.
"I apologize. I'm still getting used to this place and its customers. I didn't mean to distract anyone."
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He smiles a little, polite.
"I'm pretty new too, if it makes you feel better. There's plenty going on here that I don't understand."
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'This place' meaning a tavern, rather than a pocket dimension at the end of time, though Ciel doesn't bother to clarify as he slants his eyes off of Bruce and takes in his surroundings.
"It's hard to know what to make of some of the rest of it all."
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Bruce probably looks more like he'd suit a dive bar in the low-rent end of town, at the moment. He's pretty scruffy and a touch dirty as well, dressed like some kind of labourer or mechanic in a wife-beater and workman's pants. But those are the type of people often found in bars, so he takes the kid's point.
"I've been warned that it's often the people who look normal that you have to worry about. Hidden powers, that type of thing."
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Bruce doesn't look too far removed from some of the toughs and laborers that Ciel's seen in London's worse parts. His clothes are odd, compared to the Victorian fashion that the boy would expect, but, beyond that...
"Do I need to wonder what sort of powers you're sitting on, then?"
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He shakes his head immediately and, he hopes, reassuringly.
"I'm just a regular guy, I promise you that."
And he smiles, a touch of teasing evident in his eyes.
"Maybe I should be worried about you."
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The boy gives a small laugh and smile, nodding with a sort of amused indulgence.
"But the rats wouldn't appreciate it if I made trouble."
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"What could you do?"
He thinks to himself that he should be taking his own advice and not underestimate anyone here, not even the kids.
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Ciel just chuckles, now, lips trending upwards into an earnest (though slightly smirky) expression. He's not sure whether he finds it more interesting that he was taken seriously or that, when it comes down to it, that's exactly what he'd do.
"If I thought they could find the management here."
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"Good luck with that. I don't think anyone knows who runs this place.'
He sips his water again, looking the boy over and briefly wondering about the eyepatch.
"What's your name?"
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He leaves out his title of nobility and doesn't offer to shake hands, but there's a polite nod aimed at Bruce, before he remembers his glass and occupies himself with it for a moment.
"And you are?"
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He's fine with not shaking hands (he's comfortable slouched in this chair), and nods back.
"Obviously you're British but you look like you come from a different time to me."
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Ciel has been trying to ignore that, mostly. The thought of people from off in the future makes him feel like he's at a disadvantage, here.
"You're from afterwards, I imagine?"
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He tries to work it out. He's American but went to the best private school money could buy. They taught all kinds of things there.
"...nineteenth Century? And yeah, I'm from early in the twenty-first.'
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