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Comments 23

mylord July 22 2009, 00:49:21 UTC
God was never Merciful nor was He particularly kind.

The last man worth anything whose name Sebastian could recall (with some thought -- a man worth anything was a difficult task, even for him) was named Garrett. Sir Garrett, in the middle of an argument with a demon on the subject of a merciful God had barked, Nonsense! irate with something the demon had said. I don't believe my God would do that.

The demon leaned in low over the disabled Knight's bed, his weight sinking in the side, murmuring in a voice like the Confession of Original Sin and It Was Me: I'm Why You Have All These Problems. It said: Ah, but your God allows me to exist.It was in the same voice Sebastian said, "Good morning ( ... )

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fausted July 22 2009, 02:03:11 UTC
Without bothering to reciprocate the greeting, she lifted her head off the pillow momentarily to fix him with a dark, dirty look with her good eye - the contract was obscured under a curtain of voluptuous bedhead, a token of her hard-won night - before sweeping her gaze disinterestedly over Sebastian's daily offerings. Turning away she settled herself back down against the feather bolster, gingerly, as though afraid of breaking something, and snorted in a decidedly unladylike manner.

"I'm not hungry," she murmured across the sheets, in a voice rough with something that wasn't quite tears, or sleep, "You can take it away, Sebastian, but leave the pills."

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mylord July 22 2009, 02:24:13 UTC
What an ungrateful child.

His expression didn't change, but his eyes closed and shut out the rest of the world -- or would have if he had been anyone else.

This was someone who didn't need open eyes in order to see.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he said, voice level and firm like the top of the cherry wood tea cart. He set the teapot down, busying himself with the business of picking things up and putting them down in other places (moving dishes; putting covers over foods that weren't needed), picking up a spoon and spooning honey into the tea, stirring carefully no matter how much his care would go overlooked. "My Mistress must eat something before she takes her pills or else she mustn't take them at all. They may harm the lining of her delicate stomach and I suspect the reason she wishes to take them is to avoid pain."

Someone must have spent too much time reading side-effects and warning labels.

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fausted July 22 2009, 03:06:52 UTC
That patronizing tone again - as if she were some kind of wounded animal that needed to be coaxed into submission! For a moment the irritation and the desire to stay absolutely, perfectly still warred within her, but it didn't last long; her pride was her inheritance as a Phantomhive, stronger than any pain or degradation. With as much poise as she could muster, she pushed herself up onto her forearms and then curled, catlike, back against the pillows at the head of her bed, reclining in apparent comfort.

"My health is fine, Sebastian," she reprimanded in a voice that was still a little hoarse, but was determinedly brisk, "I'm merely still full from last night's supper.

"What of today's itinerary? How close are we to a lead in the case of recent robberies?"

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STARTING A NEW THREAD BC I BASICALLY WROTE A SHORT STORY AND IT'LL SCROLL FOREVER mylord July 24 2009, 07:19:44 UTC
The pills shook inside the plastic like a child's rattle ( ... )

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/picks it up like nothing... happened.... chuuu?? fausted August 10 2009, 04:56:30 UTC
The veneer of her mounting calm cracked a little as Sebastian suddenly pushed himself back into her space, gloved hand sliding against the backs of her knees and crooking her close. But with the press of his chest against her side came the sudden flood of relief; she relaxed back into the arm cradling her, arm snaking back around his shoulder to coil around the back of his jacket collar.

Wordlessly, she took the glass of water and wrapped her small, slender hand around it, polished nails dull against the sheen of glass. Catlike, she curled her hand against her chest.

"It didn't seem necessary at the time," she quipped, leaning her head down against his shoulder. The brushed cotton felt cool against her cheek, as though the clothes hung on nothing more substantial than a dressmaker's dummy. "But the next time I call, you'll come immediately, won't you?"

She twisted her neck to bury her face into the fabric; what was wrong with her emotions?? The lack of sleep must have been getting to her, she felt positively vile, and agitated ( ... )

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Oh, my GOD. Why do I write so much with Sebastian???? WHY??? I SWEAR DON'T WITH ANYONE ELSE. mylord August 11 2009, 00:15:43 UTC
He let her speak without interruption even though she was lying and was silent when she asked her useless question. Did she not know you mustn't ask questions whose answers you already know ( ... )

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fausted August 14 2009, 16:12:26 UTC
Sense memory could be a deceptive thing. Passing through the light of the hall, Sebastian's unearthly, statuesque features seemed softened and familiar; enough so that Ciel found herself unwittingly relaxed, slumping sideways into the expanse of his chest with her head bowed.

She recalled being carried like this once before, in the grip of an asthmatic fit, from carriage to bedroom - Tanaka's voice imploring that he be the one to carry the young mistress while another deeper, nearer voice, rumbled through her cheek. It murmured placations through the ages; that it was there for her, that it would never leave, that it would all be over soon ( ... )

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