(Untitled)

[patchedseal]

[ It's a perfectly beautiful morning; with light, chilly wind caressing the bare branches in the immaculate garden. The sun peers through dark curtains, its light creeping into the polished floor, past stacks of papers and neatly ordered boxes of seals, past the draping canopy and sliding onto the plush, expensive stretch of blanket.

A form stirs

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[ars_x_goetia]

[ It's never too early, and it's never too late. Ciel is stirring awake at the precise moment that Sebastian enters, intent on having him greet the new day properly. After all, sloth is never looked upon kindly in their household, right? Which means --

-- the loud swish of velvet curtains snapped back, allowing the morning sun in, and isn't it about time to rise, young master?

Sebastian secures the separated drapes with the tassles deftly, the trolley of steaming breakfast waiting neatly by the doorway. It's a pleasant morning, indeed, and the butler says pleasantly. (He's always taken a sort of amusement in seeing his normally composed, severe master all bedraggled and groggy) ]

You'll be late for your lessons if you don't wake soon.

[patchedseal]

[ Force of habit is an unfortunate thing-- his body adapting to the schedule entirely against his own liking, his internal clock adjusting itself to the sleep, wake, sleep, wake, curtain rising and breakfast waiting--

He makes a small, displeased noise, eyelids squeezing to shield himself from the sudden assault of brightness but the light streams through his own skin, thin and helpless.

Apparently, he had entirely forgotten about lessons. ]

What lessons do I have today?

[ars_x_goetia]

[ An unfortunate thing indeed. It doesn't escape Sebastian's notice that despite a much improved standard of living during the past couple of years, Ciel still hadn't quite managed to get all that much healthier. He's still the same, verging on malnourished, and Sebastian muses on the power such a thin, frail little boy holds.

But therein lies the entire poetry of it, isn't it? Murder and ice water in those small, small veins, unwavering loyalty to a Queen with so many troubled secrets, and Sebastian thinks that it is simply delicious.

Now, however, he is tugging rich down covers from his master, briskly going about his business of waking the boy up. Folding it neatly and setting it to the side, he heads for the trolley and wheels it in by Ciel's bedside, murmuring. ]

History, self-defense, music, and of course - etiquette. You also have a meeting scheduled at half past six this evening, regarding the Funtom Toy Corporation.

[patchedseal]

[ And yet something else that follows that Series of Unfortunate Events - that still he lives in an era, a society that looks to their eye level to judge a man's worth, no matter how much is possible inside that vessel instead of the shell.

The shirt is crisp ironed, perfectly starched and slides on his skin like smooth water. He looks to the pair of shoes at his feet - a new pair this time, to match the hue of his outfit, the same size as the rest of his shoes.

He should blame Sebastian. Of all the milk he was made to drink, it didn't help. ]

Why do I still have to attend etiquette lessons? I am perfectly versed in the ways of the high society.

[ His voice is low, measured, but the childish purse of the lips isn't concealed.

Still making me do unnecessary things, Sebastian. ]

[ars_x_goetia]

[ Sebastian helps, effortlessly clothing the young nobleman and adjusting, fixing the buttons and making sure that they fall just right. He pulls on socks, fits the shoes, and hey, don't blame the milk for something that Ciel has a natural aversion to.

(Read: Ciel might be allergic to all forms of growth spurts.)

He notices the purse of those lips, knows that the boy is still displeased, and he muses in response. ] Not all of them. [ Really, in high society, it's impossible to know all of the pretentiousness. ] Isn't it only a while back that you are incapable of engaging in a proper ballroom dance with a lady?

[ Teasing, playful - he hasn't forgotten. ]

[patchedseal]

That's-!

[ ... The sentence dies on his tongue, before he bites the inside of his cheek and grits his teeth, face heating from just the memory of it. Before long, the young master of the Phantomhive is reduced to glaring hatefully at his own butler.

He jerks his arm away. ]

Hmph.

[ He can't deny it. He can't say that it isn't necessary, because it's the way these nobles are: hosting extravagant dances and showing off their wealth to each other, then prey on others like hungry vultures.

It's disgusting. ]

[ars_x_goetia]

[ He's smiling, all innocent pleasantry and lazy amusement, and it feels like there are times when his master is still very much a child.

Now is one of those times. Nonetheless, he continues, bringing the tray of food over to him, still hot and steaming. ]

We have Darjeeling tea, freshly steeped, with petit fours, chocolate truffles, and strawberry cream tarts.

[patchedseal]

[ Still scowling, he picks up a truffle and pops it into his mouth, chewing.

Of all things he can fault Sebastian for, cooking is not one of them. Even if Ciel isn't that easily appeased with only a few pieces of excellent sweets. ]

I assume the meeting will be about the new shipment plans of oriental candies we're importing?