contemptuous-earl

[contemptuous-earl]

stickyspiderlips:

 ”We should get going now,” He agrees, and moves to stand on his own too feet; offering both his hands if Alois would like to take then, and help him up. He expects that it’ll take some time and great care to get him out of his sense of shock, and he is prepared for that. “Do you want me to take you home first? If you can’t stand to touch it, I can take care of it so you don’t have to see it, either.”

        By the time the police arrive, he’d have it handled. And even if the body were found and the story that circulated, who would believe a group of delinquents without calling them crazy?

Home hadn’t even occurred to Alois. He felt like he’d been tipped head-first into a parallel universe where the only thing that actually existed was this dingy old warehouse, and when he opened the door and stepped out, he would just find himself falling through white light in a loop, until eventually he arrived right back at the warehouse door again.

But no. This was reality. And he could go home if he wanted to, have a scalding hot shower to wash off this feeling that he was covered in blood when really, he hadn’t gotten a drop on him.

It reminded him vaguely of a line from a Shakespearean play he’d had to read in school, but the proper quote wouldn’t surface. Something about hands.  Either way, he’d made it onto his own feet by the time Ciel was offering his hands, slumping back against the wall ad ignoring the twist in his stomach as again, he looked over the body.

“I… I want to go home first.”

      A curious thought, that anything else existed outside of this dingy warehouse. To think so much has happened in just the span of minutes, and that then several minutes-- and once Alois was good and proper, the better. Rather than wasting anymore time here, he offers his palm out, open, and to reach for Alois’ cloth covered arm. It’d only take a matter of seconds to get there, unless Alois preferred to walk.

      “Since time is of the essence,” Ciel (without blessing him) takes it under his careful observation that he’s in no mind to do so, and gets them there the old fashioned way; the way before buses and trains and even walking. A dandy trick Sebastian had taught him when he was just a fledgling. Dry heaved when he consumed too much and got dizzy when he moved places too out of his pace. ““I’d rather we not dawdle.”

     Ciel’s skills, fortunately, weren’t all that rusty; he’s had a few contracts before Alois came into the picture, though none of them were as particular as this one’s… the word escapes him, but Alois — for all that he is, cowardly and fragile — is a special sort of delicate. And they have already spent too much time here as it is.

[contemptuous-earl]

but see, you promised. you said you’d never get tired of the bad poems or the ten-page stories that never go anyplace, you said you’d always make time to read what i wrote for you because nobody else ever did, you said that you’d never get tired of my passion. you said that every morning would be a good morning if i was beside you. you said that my constant chatter was okay because you liked hearing me talk and besides, without it the silences would get so long. you said it was alright that i’m sort of a mess and kinda lost a lot and generally pretty useless.  i guess you lied about that. i guess you lied about a lot of things, like being okay towards the end when we both know stuff wasn’t okay at all. like how you found me attractive. even hot. even beautiful. i wish you hadn’t said forever. i wish you had told me that you’d eventually get tired of me like everybody else does. i wish you hadn’t let me put all of my faith into your palms because i swear i honestly believed in you, in the future, in all of it. but see. you promised.

i wish you hadn’t. // r.i.d (via inkskinned)

[contemptuous-earl]

[contemptuous-earl]

stickyspiderlips:

contemptuous-earl:

stickyspiderlips:

The fingers that wipe his cheeks become an anchor in that moment, eyes heavy and swollen from tears focused on the thin wrist that he could nearly press his mouth to if he moved his head just a touch to the side. A little move, and he could find out if there was a pulse beating under that pale skin. Alois didn’t want to do that, though, and even if he did he was distracted as Ciel spoke again, meeting his gaze. Absorbing his words.

I’ll take care of it.

We make it disappear.

For the first time since this demon had appeared in his life, he spoke gently to him, instead of with disdain. The hand cradling his cheek made Alois feel small, but safe— and why shouldn’t he feel that way? There was a dead body of a boy he’d been in school with for years now not even three meters away from him, and his head was being cradled in the hand of his murderer, but he was being promised that nothing bad would come to him. The hand that had killed would make it all disappear, until it was nothing but a nightmare playing back on Alois’ eyelids. 

"… What about his friends…? Wh-what if they say I had something to do with him going away?" The blond’s voice still shook, he sounded like a child even with his choice of words. "They won’t stay scared— they’ll get angry and they’ll blame me!"

      The calm before the storm. Right as Ciel had thought he had succeeded in getting the boy to calm down, he works himself up into hysterics. “What about his friends?” He samples, a meticulously arched eyebrow raised. He doesn’t remove his hand from Alois, seeing as he always was one to feel comfort at the touch of another’s warm hand — and his, falsely created — even though he’s never quite gotten over his issues with touch and intimacy.  ”Do you think they’ll come to hurt you? That I’d possibly allow that to happen?”

      Ciel doesn’t break promises. Least, he hasn’t yet in all his decades. And if Alois were to weave his hand under the demon’s shirt, and feel his taunt ribs and tight skin, it’d be supple and warm, heart beating as if he were alive. But he is not. And he he has not been for many years; lungs coated with dust after ceasing the beat of a working heart for so long. It’s an illusion — a trick of magic — but it’s a nice one.

     ”They can blame you all they want; let them.” He fixes, an old, lovely name of endearment on his tongue. If Alois were in a better state of mind he might make fun of him for it. “Fear feeds fear as anger feeds anger. They are mad because they are scared, and they are scared because they are terrified,” His mouth curls at the thought, cruel around the edges. The little demon flickers cold blue eyes to the faint dust of freckles over this fair haired boy. “You just have to be strong. Strong and hard plated. You can be that, can’t you?”

    Alois cast his glance downwards to the grimy concrete floor of the old warehouse, as if he truly had to contemplate the question being posed to him. It was pre-established that for all of his sass and his sour little expressions, his bark was far worse than his bite. Alois was a coward despite himself, even through the obstacles his short little life had offered him, it hadn’t done much to thicken his skin. It had just made him a little bitter and cynical. The blond crid whenever he got even a little overwhelmed.

    He risked a glance at the grisly form that lay, distorted, just meters from them. They’d already spent far too much time here and who knew what the boys had done by now— called the police? If they came when they were still here, who knew what Ciel would do to them to stop them. Alois couldn’t bear to carry more than this single death on his conscious. 

   The idea dawned on him quickly, and he lifted his head out of Ciel’s gentle touch as if in a panic. “The river— We can dump him in the river, it’s less than five minutes from here… There are rocks along the bank… Maybe it’ll look like he slipped.” it was a weak hope, and they had three witnesses to say otherwise— but who would really believe that someone as small and bird-boned as Ciel had really been able to break bones with nothing but his bare hands? Shakily, the blond stood up and pulled his schoolbag onto his shoulder. “I can’t touch him, though.”

     Ciel's skills, fortunately, weren't all that rusty; he's had a few contracts before Alois came into the picture, though none of them were as particular as this one's... the word escapes him, but Alois -- for all that he is, cowardly and fragile -- is a special sort of delicate. And they have already spent too much time here as it is.

 "We should get going now," He agrees, and moves to stand on his own too feet; offering both his hands if Alois would like to take then, and help him up. He expects that it’ll take some time and great care to get him out of his sense of shock, and he is prepared for that. “Do you want me to take you home first? If you can’t stand to touch it, I can take care of it so you don’t have to see it, either.”

        By the time the police arrive, he’d have it handled. And even if the body were found and the story that circulated, who would believe a group of delinquents without calling them crazy?

[contemptuous-earl]

phxntomhives replied to your post:        ooc. /apologizes for my absence. i came on...

(welcome back!! /waves. honestly no apology is needed for being busy c:)

ooc. well thank you for the welcome darlin!

[contemptuous-earl]

      The calm before the storm. Right as Ciel had thought he had succeeded in getting the boy to calm down, he works himself up into hysterics. "What about his friends?" He samples, a meticulously arched eyebrow raised. He doesn't remove his hand from Alois, seeing as he always was one to feel comfort at the touch of another's warm hand -- and his, falsely created -- even though he's never quite gotten over his issues with touch and intimacy.  "Do you think they'll come to hurt you? That I'd possibly allow that to happen?"

      Ciel doesn't break promises. Least, he hasn't yet in all his decades. And if Alois were to weave his hand under the demon's shirt, and feel his taunt ribs and tight skin, it'd be supple and warm, heart beating as if he were alive. But he is not. And he he has not been for many years; lungs coated with dust after ceasing the beat of a working heart for so long. It's an illusion -- a trick of magic -- but it's a nice one.

     "They can blame you all they want; let them." He fixes, an old, lovely name of endearment on his tongue. If Alois were in a better state of mind he might make fun of him for it. "Fear feeds fear as anger feeds anger. They are mad because they are scared, and they are scared because they are terrified," His mouth curls at the thought, cruel around the edges. The little demon flickers cold blue eyes to the faint dust of freckles over this fair haired boy. "You just have to be strong. Strong and hard plated. You can be that, can't you?"

    God. He only had two words to God, and those were laced in a bitter fuck you. A bitter taste in his mouth. Like he had knocked back alcohol, and now, like sulfur, since that’s essentially his essence, now, isn’t it? And the boy beside him makes such a lovely (saddening—) display. Seems so lost. A nearly perfect reenactment of a life past; with the fat opal tears rolling down his pink cheeks, and his prayers to a distant Father; perfect in his parallel that even Ciel has to grit his teeth at it.  

    (It’s funny how, he had never been good enough to save then, and now he’s the exact vile thing a God warns about in his biblical ruins. He hadn’t asked for either.)

    It’s not easy. He won’t admit. It hadn’t been easy then, and even now, it isn’t. A phantom part of his heart still beats, if only because of what had happened — had never got to happen — at what could have been. And all that he had lost. Had cared for. And at some point, that had included the boy before him. He never told a soul.

    Sebastian probably knew. He used to find it pathetic when his Alois cried. Found it childish and a waste of good time; thought himself stronger and better. Why cry when you could be doing something about it? That had been so long ago.

   Now, it’s only in microscopic gestures. He’s playing a part.

    (But does he believe it?)

     Alois would have been able to tell — and this is him, a different and yet same of him. Reincarnated. Unsure of whether it was meant to be a gift of sorts, or a cruel joke to rub salt in the wound.

     Ciel watches as the blonde comes back to his senses. Is calmer. Uses the need to touch as an excuse to do so, by wiping the tears from his cheek with the soft pads of his finger. “I’ll take care of it, remember.” Won’t even have to get his hands dirty, though he’d love it. There’s nothing more irritating that the people who have had him kill mercilessly and still claimed their innocence. Ciel tries to be gentle about it. “It’s simple, really. We make it disappear. Rather, I. There’s no cause for worry when there’s no body to be found.”

[contemptuous-earl]

        ooc. /apologizes for my absence. i came on with the intent of being here after a week and a half had past, and then i went on vacation. which i'm still on but tonight's my last night till i fly back home.

[contemptuous-earl]

    God. He only had two words to God, and those were laced in a bitter fuck you. A bitter taste in his mouth. Like he had knocked back alcohol, and now, like sulfur, since that's essentially his essence, now, isn't it? And the boy beside him makes such a lovely (saddening--) display. Seems so lost. A nearly perfect reenactment of a life past; with the fat opal tears rolling down his pink cheeks, and his prayers to a distant Father; perfect in his parallel that even Ciel has to grit his teeth at it.  

    (It's funny how, he had never been good enough to save then, and now he's the exact vile thing a God warns about in his biblical ruins. He hadn't asked for either.)

    It's not easy. He won't admit. It hadn't been easy then, and even now, it isn't. A phantom part of his heart still beats, if only because of what had happened -- had never got to happen -- at what could have been. And all that he had lost. Had cared for. And at some point, that had included the boy before him. He never told a soul.

    Sebastian probably knew. He used to find it pathetic when his Alois cried. Found it childish and a waste of good time; thought himself stronger and better. Why cry when you could be doing something about it? That had been so long ago.

   Now, it's only in microscopic gestures. He's playing a part.

    (But does he believe it?)

     Alois would have been able to tell -- and this is him, a different and yet same of him. Reincarnated. Unsure of whether it was meant to be a gift of sorts, or a cruel joke to rub salt in the wound.

     Ciel watches as the blonde comes back to his senses. Is calmer. Uses the need to touch as an excuse to do so, by wiping the tears from his cheek with the soft pads of his finger. "I'll take care of it, remember." Won't even have to get his hands dirty, though he'd love it. There's nothing more irritating that the people who have had him kill mercilessly and still claimed their innocence. Ciel tries to be gentle about it. "It's simple, really. We make it disappear. Rather, I. There's no cause for worry when there's no body to be found."

     Whether he’s referring to the aforementioned body — damaged, with broken bones jutting out of odd places; an arm bent at some unnatural angle, painful, and the whine he had made, pitiful and broken, just like the body shackled to the floor.

     Honestly, he didn’t know which he was referring too. It reminds him of the boy he used to know, someone he could have coined lover — who would have been tougher than that, crueler than that, in the bittersweet coloring of his memories. But the bitterness in his heart, the wound that still lingers tells him otherwise.

    The little demon trails blood beneath his shoes, when he saddles by Alois’ side, knees better and ready to comfort. Humans need that in times of high distress — even if it’s a partial manipulation, and he’s only gotten better as the decades have passed, like a blink of an eye. A smudge in the film reel of life.

    “Did you expect me to leave? Just like that?” He asks, eyes searching, past those salty tears and rosy cheeks. “I was referring to that. Not you. You must think I’m a terrible thing—-” Because that’s what he’s thinking, isn’t he, how terrible and home wrecking he must be right now. How terrible of an idea this was. Can’t have him regretting it. “But I’m not so plaintively cruel. It’s hard. I know. But it’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

[contemptuous-earl]

     Whether he's referring to the aforementioned body -- damaged, with broken bones jutting out of odd places; an arm bent at some unnatural angle, painful, and the whine he had made, pitiful and broken, just like the body shackled to the floor.

     Honestly, he didn't know which he was referring too. It reminds him of the boy he used to know, someone he could have coined lover -- who would have been tougher than that, crueler than that, in the bittersweet coloring of his memories. But the bitterness in his heart, the wound that still lingers tells him otherwise.

    The little demon trails blood beneath his shoes, when he saddles by Alois' side, knees better and ready to comfort. Humans need that in times of high distress -- even if it's a partial manipulation, and he's only gotten better as the decades have passed, like a blink of an eye. A smudge in the film reel of life.

    "Did you expect me to leave? Just like that?" He asks, eyes searching, past those salty tears and rosy cheeks. "I was referring to that. Not you. You must think I'm a terrible thing---" Because that's what he's thinking, isn't he, how terrible and home wrecking he must be right now. How terrible of an idea this was. Can't have him regretting it. "But I'm not so plaintively cruel. It's hard. I know. But it's what you wanted, isn't it?"

          “Oh. How piteous.”

[contemptuous-earl]

      Ciel looks back at the sweater with -- not quite fondness or love in his eyes, but more like a cat examines a human being and decides whether it likes it or not -- and clicks his tongue along the top of his teeth. Alois planned this, didn't he. 

    "Only if you promise not to take pictures. I can't have my reputation as a cold and ruthless individual tarnished."

     He steps forward, carding his fingers along the hem of fabric held in front of him, till his eyes sweep up to regard baby blues. Now there's the decision of when he should wear it -- or whether it's already been decided for him.

     "Alright. If I must. But you first. And under a few conditions."

    The possibility between his lips is incomparable to it's lack of width.

"Of course I am! We’re going to match!"

[contemptuous-earl]

          "Oh. How piteous."

[contemptuous-earl]

      "You bought -- matching sweaters."

      Why is he surprised. This is a very Alois thing to do. The conclusion of it is followed by a baffled, exasperated laugh, but a laugh no less.

      "Of course you did. Why aren't you wearing it, then?" 

'It's a Christmas sweater, everyone suits Christmas sweaters. I already bought it, anyway, so you have to wear it.”

[contemptuous-earl]

[contemptuous-earl]

[contemptuous-earl]

      "If it's unavoidable--fine. But you're wearing one too."

"Ciel! You look adorable, you have to wear it!”

[contemptuous-earl]

Yes, my Lord.

[contemptuous-earl]