Oh, heavens no. Grell would recognize that little voice, anywhere. She can't forget it, even if she'd like to; it belongs to the boy responsible for turning her dearly departed Angelina into a simpering, sentimental fool of a woman. The boy responsible for her death. Nevermind that it was Grell who wielded the chainsaw against the other woman; she's not to blame, not at all. If it weren't for the Phantomhive kid, those dreadful events would never have taken place.

His voice is like...squealing cats, or nails on a chalkboard, or a brick sailing through glass. Offensive. Not something she wants to hear. Mildly embarrassing, too, considering the puny brat sneaks up on her while she's mid-yawn. She turns toward him, eyes briefly narrowing. What does he think he's doing? Things were going so well, comparatively. Grell was really getting used to the idea that maybe Sebastian's presence didn't mean Earl Phantomhive was going to show up. Looks like she was wrong.

"I can see you take after your butler. He's taught you well, hasn't he? Sneaking up on ladies, barging into their business. You're just alike, the two of you." She lifts an arbitrary book from the shelf, flips through its pages, to give herself an air of nonchalance.