towerofanimus | 001; intro.

Characters: Ciel and ALL OF YOU.
Setting: room 3-16 and ANYWHERE.
Format: whatever you'd like.
Summary: after waking up, Ciel has a look around.
Warnings: brief references to past abuse.

[ he thinks it's shackles, at first. that's what happens when you wake up from a nightmare--a memory--of being chained down only to find that upon waking, you can't move. it's understandable, really, how his eyes go wide and he feels his chest tighten in panic, when for a long and terrifying moment he thinks he's back there, bound and powerless. he might have screamed--or attempted to--if the paralysis had lasted any longer.

but it seems there's much more to worry about than that.

Ciel reads the letters, of course--finds the information difficult to swallow (completely ridiculous, really), can't take it as fact without confirming things for himself. he's used to being kidnapped. it's almost commonplace by now. what he isn't used to is being given free reign by his kidnappers. but the first order of business is, of course, to change out of the uncomfortable skintight clothing he'd woken up in. thankfully, just as promised, there are belongings in his trunk, including a change of clothing. he dresses himself quick as he can, though several buttons are in the wrong place, the bow is lopsided, and his eye patch is secured with what looks to be a rather hopeless dead knot. still far better than what he had been wearing, as far as he's concerned.

he lingers around the room for a bit before setting out to explore the building, curious to see if he can confirm anything else written in either letter. he's not so apt to believe anything he's been told just yet. as he walks, his fingers follow the edges of the yellow collar absently. he's tried tugging on it; no use, predictably.

it's only after he's satisfied at least some of his own curiosity by looking around for a bit that he decides it is high time that he gets a second opinion on this matter. he calls only once, quiet but firm: ]

Sebastian, come.

[ he's known since he'd gotten a proper bearing on himself earlier that the demon is present somewhere nearby. the bond of their contract is as stable as ever, after all--and besides, when doesn't Sebastian come when he calls? the knowledge that his butler is, as usual, only a word away is what's kept him this calm so far. ]

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Funny how differently Ciel sees that event. He could swear that it was Grell who murdered his aunt, and who is, therefore, the party responsible for her death. In some ways, though, it had almost been a mercy. What would he have done had she lived? She was the criminal he'd been hunting. She'd tried to kill him. She'd betrayed him. Not the first to do so, and far from the last. Ultimately, he could not have allowed that. Grell had saved him from having to make a difficult choice. Even so, he resents Grell still; it's easier than thinking about the alternative.

Which would be why he scoffs at 'ladies.' (Sorry, Grell.) "If you think him so rude, then why bother with him?" He wonders sharply. He isn't going to dignify any sort of comparison between himself and Sebastian with a response. He's nothing like Sebastian. (Except he is, in several ways; and he knows it, he does.) He also isn't buying that casual indifference of hers. He may be young, but he's far from easy to fool. His arms cross over his chest, and there's a contemptuous tilt to his head.

While Ciel speaks, Grell feigns ignoring him, in favour of the book in her hands (something dull about horticulture, with intricately labeled diagrams of leaves, on the page she's opened to). "I enjoy rude men. I could simply devour them." She claps the book shut, a puff of dust burgeoning from its pages. "You can only hope to be so lucky, to find a woman who cherishes you for your more inimical qualities."

She grins slyly at him, as she reaches to put the (boring, unsuitable prop of a) book back where it belongs (or roughly where it belongs), and crosses the aisle towards him. Look at him, acting twice his size, with his cocky little expression on his face, and his standoffish posture. If he thinks he's blocking her path out of the aisle, he's dead wrong, and she's not about to let him feel accomplished over it for more than a second. "I don't suppose you'll need to worry about that, though, will you?" Because he won't grow up, and the irony of that, she thinks, is just how sure he is that he's already grown up, now.

"Thankfully not," he replies coolly. He is well aware of what the future has in store for him--or rather, what it does not--and if she thinks reminding him of it will shake him, she's sorely mistaken. That is the ending he's chosen for himself, and he is secure in it. "I have far more important matters to attend to." At home he does, at least. He has already seen today what are supposedly the ruins of their world. He doesn't believe it for a moment. He can't. If everyone from their world is dead--including those he intends to exact revenge upon--then he has no purpose.

He allows her by him voluntarily. Ciel has no interest in keeping her there, especially if they are only going to trade verbal blows. He wonders if it's even possible for her to be useful to him. But he decides to ask, "You don't believe it, do you? That everything's been destroyed." He might dislike her, but he doesn't think her an idiot. Being so often underestimated himself, it's his policy not to underestimate others before he has a true sense of them--not out of any sense of kindness or consideration, but simply because strategically, it's a stupid thing to do.

Grell laughs, her hair streaming back over her shoulder, as she tosses her head back. That's ridiculous, the idea that any little boy truly believes the work they do is important, or that they don't want to grow up. "Ah, but if I killed you now, you'd sing a different a tune," she says, shaking her head as her laugh subsides. She's reaped plenty of boys Ciel's age, in her time. Plenty with just as inflated a sense of self importance as the Phantomhive has, little boys with dead fathers, acting as the sole supporters of their widowed mothers and hungry little siblings. Little boys with no parents at all, who had spent their lives in workhouses, with hardened hearts convinced they had no fear of dying. But in their last moments, they were all the same: children suddenly cognizant of the fact they'd never really lived, and not so happy to go to their deaths as they might have thought.

But oh, he's really going to ask her opinion? Grell loves giving her opinion, whether she thinks the person asking is smart enough to listen to her, or not. Her eyes narrow slyly, as if to say Well then, and she shakes her head. "They take us all for idiots, and plenty of us are, I'm sure. That's how they've kept a full house for so long, you know. All these sheep and fools who are so eager to believe anything you tell them."

"Of course I would," he agrees simply. "I haven't achieved my goals yet." Because, ridiculous though it may seem to others, Ciel takes his work seriously because it is serious; the Queen relies on him just as she did his father, and he understands the importance of the Queen's Watchdog in England's underworld. But the work he does for Her Majesty is merely secondary; his true goal is, of course, his revenge. He's faced death. The primary reason he didn't die during that long month is that when he realized that there is no God, and his hope died, hatred for his captors took its place and kept him alive. It was what caught a demon's eye, and enabled him to escape. The deal he made with the demon essentially grants him a last request in exchange for his soul. He knows that he shouldn't be alive now, that he is living on borrowed time given to him by his contract. He would have died then and there had he not made it. When it is fulfilled and there is no one left for him to hate, there will be no point. It's selfish of him to think that way--that other people cannot give his life meaning--but he is selfish. He is also practical enough to know that there is no way for him to escape his fate; the seal on his eye is enough to remind him of that. Ten-year-old Ciel Phantomhive wanted nothing more than to be able to grow up and be like his father. Ciel Phantomhive as he is now realizes that growing up is no longer an option. Ideally, of course, he would rather be older simply because if he were, others would take him more seriously. But that isn't possible, and as much as it may irritate him, he is by now used to having his opinions and experiences dismissed due to his age.

That doesn't mean he isn't still crossing his arms and scowling, though. "Then we are of the same mind." As much as it pains him to agree. "I met with a comrade of yours earlier today. He took me to where you can supposedly see your home in its current state. But if they can bring us here, I imagine replicating something like that would be child's play." The irony of him using such a phrase is lost on him at the moment.

On the contrary, it doesn't pain Grell, at all. It pleases her, in fact, because it's her idea, and Ciel agrees with it, and she knows he isn't enjoying being on the same page with her. It's so clear in his voice, and her grin just gets wider and wider, until it looks like she might pull a Cheshire Cat, and become nothing but smile.

"And what did you see? Did it scare you?" Of course, she knows he won't admit if it bothered him. Probably won't even admit it to himself, but once again, she thinks she knows little boys better than they know themselves. She hasn't bothered to take her own look at whatever visual lie the Tower wants to feed them, regarding London and the like. She doesn't think she needs to. It's not as if seeing it would make her any more likely to believe it's true. "You've had a look at the rest of this place, I take it. They have an indoor forest; they can conjure up anything they like, but it's all lies."

001; intro.

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and then this tl;dr got away from me i am so sorry

hahaha no problem - and sorry it took me longer than normal to reply