[Closed] They Said That Hell's Not Hot

[earl_ciel]

WHO: Ciel Phantomhive (earl_ciel), Sebastian (blackestate), and Shira (cut_em_open)
WHAT: Butler is doing some cleaning.
WHERE: Somewhere seedy where twelve year-olds shouldn't be.
WHEN: Day 127, after Shira's post.

Comments

[blackestate]

Sebastian, on the other hand, was the very picture of serenity. Though he kept his smile suppressed and stance cautious, nothing today had managed to upset him, a feat of Fate he found rather impressive. The lighting was dark and only faint hints of sounds-there, a woman laughing-there, a glass breaking-made themselves known in these alleys. All in all it was a rather fitting place for a killer. Uncouth and hopelessly abase the man was, Sebastian supposed even maggots could select their surroundings.

Master Ciel had insisted on coming, despite Sebastian’s advice not to do so. The boy had obviously been upset by Miss Pevensie’s loss-after all, he had not known the victim personally. For one with such a formidable determination towards apathy and logic, Ciel was but a petulant child-one used to getting his own way and deluded by some vision of control and power, even in this unpredictable city. Using Sebastian to deal out the justice he so wanted to see served-such romance. Such naivete. Such...kindnessBut Sebastian had not

[cut_em_open]

It was a hot night, and a busy one. He had been walking through what seemed to be turning into a battlefield now, working. He was hyped with the girl's scream ringing in his ears, and there was no thought of sleep. He had never particularly been a night person, and with his arm, there was no thought to be wasted on buying a prostitute, but he enjoyed the environment of the red light district nonetheless. He had done nothing for himself yet; the boy he had killed had been worthless to him. Too old, male - nothing that he could have enjoyed.

Sitting besides the entrance of one of the relevant entertainment establishments, legs stretched out and his maimed arm as always hidden under a shawel over his shoulders, he lifted the opium pipe to his lips and inhaled deeply, watching the street with one cold, detached eye.

[earl_ciel]

It seemed he had over-estimated the man. There he was, seated in the open, only hiding under the guise of night and still smelling of aged blood. It was a scent that Ciel couldn't ever adapt to, too many memories drawn as it pressed insistently against his nostrils. His stomach was already lurching uncomfortably, but he maintained his nonplussed expression well.

There weren't any other bodies or victims in view; though Ciel suspected there could be more tucked away. He'd met many hounds of the same breed before, eager to string up their accomplishments for the world to see. Mad men, for all their claims at originality, inevitably fall into the realm of the predictable with their patterned behavior.

The question was how many had come before this Caspian. Regardless of the answer, Ciel would make certain no more victims would come to follow.

Turning to look up at Sebastian, he simply nodded at him.

[blackestate]

Sebastian wasted no time with extraneous words or movement when he saw Ciel’s motion. His footsteps were silent, something that should not have been possible on such slippery ground as this-only the last two steps echoing along the walls as he came up right beside the sitting target.

A displacement of air was his only warning.

In one sudden movement Sebastian swung his leg up and angled his kick just so, bringing the heel of his muddy, filth-stained boot into Shira’s nose. Using the remaining momentum he adjusted the swing and crushed the skull into the wall, creating an audible crunching noise and thud. His boot still in Shira's face he smiled, the light reflected in his eyes turning the perfectly polite smile darker with shades of sinister. He spoke.

"Good evening, Mr. Shira. I believe that was 'one.'"

[cut_em_open]

The kick came out of nowhere. Shira hadn't even had a chance to react before it hit him. He was normally quick and had good reflexes - something a life as a hired killer on the streets taught you - but for a human. The speed and silence the approach and attack were executed with were beyond human.

He literally saw stars for a moment, dazed and disorientated, but before he even fully understood what had happened, his reflexes let him draw the knife he normally used to pin his opponents' hands to the ground, and stab it at the thing that had attacked him. He felt blood dripping from his face, and the biting pain from the nerves in and around his nose.

"What the fuck," he hissed, choking down the blood that had made its way into his throat.