so it ends so it begins, I am my father's son
Who: Undertaker [thecorpsedaddy] & Ciel Phantomhive [littlest_lord]
When: Afternoon of Sunday, December 5
Where: Undertaker's house of horrors.
Summary: He can't exactly reject a request by the Earl, now can he? Tea and questions ensue.
Warnings: Creeper, trolling, angst, general seriousness?
To have heard from the Earl was something that the Undertaker had not been expecting. Of course, the youth had always called on him in the oddest of moments. Though, previously, he'd been able to read that actions of the underworld in order to predict when that little fist would come gently rapping, faintly tapping as his storefront door. Here, he was not connected to the underworld, and neither was the heir of the evil noble. In ways, Undertaker was certain that this was better, though it meant that less contact with the youth was necessary than before. He did not know Ciel the way he had his father, and as such, their contact was only for business.
However, the last few days had been so full of dizzying headaches and stiff muscles that the man had called himself out of work. However, he'd done his best to continue processing a few pieces for the carpenter in his bed-ridden state. Everything looked different now, felt different, as if the fibers of his very being had been altered by something, into something else. Through the physical pain that was very much akin to being struck by a carriage, what effected him the most was the feelings, the intuitions. He'd tried to go out once, and found that every being that he laid eyes was different than it had been before. Those who were newcomers rather than residents were the worst, and some where more enthralling than others. Of course, he wasn't sure if enthralling was the word, but he found himself staring at these people, as if he could see something now that he never could. Once he'd spent a mere half hour outside and among these people, he'd felt sick and spinning, and returned home promptly.
But now was no time for such things. He had the Earl on the way, and there would be tea and cookies waiting in the small, but oddly quaint and normal kitchen of his home. Most of his work was contained to the basement, other than a few half-finished tables that needed more carving done to their ornate legs. This left upstairs oddly blank, as he'd never seen the point in furniture when there had always been caskets to sit on. The living room had a coffee table that he'd made and two antique looking armchairs on either end. The dining room had a table and two basic chairs. Beyond that, there was nothing, even the walls were blank.
Getting himself out of his bed and making his way on bare feet to the kitchen, he found himself strained and out of breath by the simple movement. The electric kettle was started and he leaned against the table, waiting for it, thinking, getting lost in the sensations that were whirling around him and his house. They were like the phantoms of every being in this city…
He hardly noticed when the kettle went off, the water at a full boil, as he stared off, his attention consumed for the time being.
When: Afternoon of Sunday, December 5
Where: Undertaker's house of horrors.
Summary: He can't exactly reject a request by the Earl, now can he? Tea and questions ensue.
Warnings: Creeper, trolling, angst, general seriousness?
To have heard from the Earl was something that the Undertaker had not been expecting. Of course, the youth had always called on him in the oddest of moments. Though, previously, he'd been able to read that actions of the underworld in order to predict when that little fist would come gently rapping, faintly tapping as his storefront door. Here, he was not connected to the underworld, and neither was the heir of the evil noble. In ways, Undertaker was certain that this was better, though it meant that less contact with the youth was necessary than before. He did not know Ciel the way he had his father, and as such, their contact was only for business.
However, the last few days had been so full of dizzying headaches and stiff muscles that the man had called himself out of work. However, he'd done his best to continue processing a few pieces for the carpenter in his bed-ridden state. Everything looked different now, felt different, as if the fibers of his very being had been altered by something, into something else. Through the physical pain that was very much akin to being struck by a carriage, what effected him the most was the feelings, the intuitions. He'd tried to go out once, and found that every being that he laid eyes was different than it had been before. Those who were newcomers rather than residents were the worst, and some where more enthralling than others. Of course, he wasn't sure if enthralling was the word, but he found himself staring at these people, as if he could see something now that he never could. Once he'd spent a mere half hour outside and among these people, he'd felt sick and spinning, and returned home promptly.
But now was no time for such things. He had the Earl on the way, and there would be tea and cookies waiting in the small, but oddly quaint and normal kitchen of his home. Most of his work was contained to the basement, other than a few half-finished tables that needed more carving done to their ornate legs. This left upstairs oddly blank, as he'd never seen the point in furniture when there had always been caskets to sit on. The living room had a coffee table that he'd made and two antique looking armchairs on either end. The dining room had a table and two basic chairs. Beyond that, there was nothing, even the walls were blank.
Getting himself out of his bed and making his way on bare feet to the kitchen, he found himself strained and out of breath by the simple movement. The electric kettle was started and he leaned against the table, waiting for it, thinking, getting lost in the sensations that were whirling around him and his house. They were like the phantoms of every being in this city…
He hardly noticed when the kettle went off, the water at a full boil, as he stared off, his attention consumed for the time being.