IC contact

[stabilimentum]

[A smooth, sedulous voice answers:]

You have reached Claude Faustus, butler to the Earl Alois Trancy. How may I be of service?

Comments

[offline notes or smth] seth turn custom comment pages off B|

[wishgrant]

[ sometime over the course of the day, claude will be able to find a picture slipped under his door. ]

[reaction] whoops my bad

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[Claude picks up the adorable little drawing of a duck and stares at it. And stares. And stares, and stares and stares and stares.

And then the drawing abruptly disintegrates into less than a handful of ash. Yeah, he mad.

He returns to his research without a second thought.]

[faking]

[It's not very late in the morning at all, but Alois is awake anyway. It was a rough sleep, shifting against Ciel and waking a thousand times during the night, so around 7:45am he decided that he cared fuckall about trying to doze yet again, and resigned himself to butterfly books and electronic games involving throwing birds at things. He's also still in the habit of poking through to see if anyone's said anything distracting enough to keep him occupied.

Sebastian Michaelis' face is enough of a distraction that he'd rather be bored forever.

Alois should probably be praised for the self-restraint he shows. He slips quietly from the bed, very carefully so as not to call attention from a stirring Ciel, and lets his white nightgown fall to his knees. He walks across the bedroom without creaking any floorboards. He opens the door, makes it into the hallway, and closes it behind himself without slamming it.

Very controlled.

His footfalls are bare and heavy and he's irritated with the house for its size; Claude's bedroom will take him a minute to get to and he wants to stop chewing on his lips now. Upon his arrival, Claude's door is thrown carelessly open, and hit carelessly shut. The first thing Alois does throw himself onto Claude's bed— onto Claude, who is underneath covers. The second thing he does is press his face against Claude and scream. He can hear startled spiders about the room and doesn't really give a fuck.

While not exactly a common method of starting the morning, this isn't the first time Alois has woken Claude with nothing but a tantrum— however, this is very serious, and he's as afraid as he is angry.]

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[It's true that demons consider the act of sleeping little more than a luxury. They don't have any need to sleep, not when their bodies are recharged by human souls--but Claude Faustus is a skilled practitioner of hedonism. He surrounds himself with any and all luxuries, whatever he can get away with, from how much he sleeps to the food he eats to various material amenities. If he were a dragon, he'd have his own treasure hoard.

The best example of gluttony is his bedroom right here, which he has transformed from austerity into extravagance. It was unremarkable when he arrived, save for a few pieces of drab furniture and thin blinds for the windows. Now downright epicurean, it boasts ornate wallpaper in royal blue and gold, furniture crafted from pitch-black wood, heavy curtains of high-quality fabric, and more than one Ming vase of fragrant roses. The hand-wrought metalwork never stops gleaming, just like the frighteningly dense spider webs on the ceiling and in every corner.

His large bed is comfortable, and the covers he's cocooned in--more butterfly than spider, really--are thick and velvety, other than one mauve afghan he crocheted himself. He sleeps on his back most of the time, seemingly dead (oh...) to the whole world, since he recedes someplace very deep in order to trawl dreams that don't belong to him.

Of course, Claude wakes up the instant Alois opens the door. Considerate, Claude decides to feign sleep, assuming Alois just wants to crawl in beside him platonically as he's done in the past. His master's sudden mood could have resulted from pretty much anything--remembered nightmares, stubbing his sensitive toes, wanting breakfast right fucking now.]

Your Highness...

[The fear is a legitimate concern, though. Definitely nightmarish. The screaming, too, disturbs him with its desperation. Claude pushes away the covers so he can reach around Alois' shaking shoulders, trying to discern what's happened without having to ask. He plays a wide chord along the spine, vertebrae like piano keys, and receives memories instead of notes.

Blood red eyes.

Oh.

He inhales involuntarily. Under his pale green pajamas, he begins to sweat.]

[faking]

[Claude's pajama shirt is probably starting to grow damp from Alois' tears and hot-breathed babbling about how that fucking pile of shit is going to ruin everything (as though things haven't been close to ruination already) and Claude, Claude do something about it and he's going to take Ciel, he's going to take Ciel, I hate him I hate him I hate him— Alois really hates him. Alois hates Sebastian Michaelis so much, and just as Ciel had wanted Alois to burn the gifted bluebells, Alois wants Sebastian to be burned in turn. He wants Sebastian's bones to melt or burst or whatever the fuck bones do when they're exposed to the surface of the sun. He's saying all of this - burning and bones and how much he hates the things he's hating right now - and then he grips at the side of Claude's shirt and lifts his wet face to look up with reddened eyes.] Oh, [he says, and then starts to lose his breath.] Claude, Claude, if you d- died—

[Everything is gone wrong. Panic is blooming into his face more fully each second, as he goes paler and lets go of the strings of his thoughts.]

6/05 sometime in the evening.

[ferventknight.livejournal.com]

[After the entire fiasco at the restaurant a few hours ago, Elliot had finally returned home. But as a side trip, he ran to get a few meals for the younger people within the house..

Give or take a few of the adults, which brought Elliot here to Claude's room. He had just a few small boxes in his hands (the happy meals, obviously) and a seperate bad that was in the other. Pausing, he slowly knocked on the door in the attic before looking around.

Ah.. This wasn't weird, right? And Elliot couldn't really help but feel the slightest intimidation from Claude ever since he punched Alois in the face. But since Claude had actually cleaned his room since the incident that involved more than just a small amount of blood, Elliot should feel better.

Keyword: Should.]

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[Claude's bedroom is tucked into one corner of the attic, as far away from the other servants as he can possibly get. Even in front of the doorway, the heavy smell of his room's special roses should be apparent; they're underscored by what must be dark chocolate. On the door there are several obvious metal locks, deadbolts and combinations, which will only open on their own for his master. A pale pink Post-It Note rests smack dab in the middle of the door, bearing a crudely drawn sigil on it that has no obvious meaning.

Silence. No answer at all.

It could be Claude is sleeping, or maybe he--]

Mr. Nightray.

[--is standing right behind Elliot. Adjusting his glasses curiously. Like master, like servant--except Claude seemingly came out of thin air.]

Is there something I can help you with?

[Claude hasn't shown any enmity toward Elliot, aside from that non-confrontation weeks ago. Really, he was quite quick and discreet about cleaning up Elliot's room of spilt blood; he hasn't breathed a word of that strangeness to anyone. All he left in his wake was the pleasant, soothing scent of pine oil cleaner.

... oh, speaking of smelling... it's above the roses, and...... enhancing the chocolate........... Happy Meal? Nnngh. Claude looks down at the bag and squints slightly.]

[ferventknight.livejournal.com]

[What?!

Elliot had visibly jumped on the spot the moment he had heard his name. Shit, this man gave Elliot the creeps. That was completely unnecessary, Claude. Quickly turning around, he glanced up at the taller man.]

S-sir. I came here to thank you-- [If you can even call it that. Elliot realizes what Claude had been looking at before raising it awkwardly. Presenting it to the male, the Nightray calmed down from the slight scare given to him not even moments ago.]

I ran an errand [not even that.] and figured I'd get something for you as well. For what you did for me; I really appreciated it, sir.

06/01

[snakeofaguy.livejournal.com]

[To say feelings are conflicted would be an understatement. The entire night had been consumed with trying to understand the meaning of the gifts that had been settled for him in front of his door. Even once nighttime came and he swattled himself in a thick robe to keep warm, those gloves stayed on his hands. Even once sleep overcame him, warm and comfortable in his bed with his family surrounding him, they were there, his fingers curled around each other, cheek to hand. Morning came and he laid in bed, lethargic with the storm the night before and the small cold front it brought with it. For a long time, his thoughts fumbled around the gloves as he rubbed his fingers together to feel the softness more completely, the warmth more reassuring than anything he'd ever known. Inside a house of turmoil, and safe under his covers with these little gifts and thoughts of...

His face has been flashing with heat since the night before and it's around midday that Snake takes it upon himself to resolve this. Perhaps he's sick, and if he is, the he needs to let Ciel know. He's never felt quite like this before but this world is strange, so there could be many explanations, right? Once dressed, despite it being afternoon when he rises, he makes his way down the stares, listening to the hissing songs of his family. The house is safe. The house is clear of danger. Everything is normal.

Green eyes cast outside at the rumbling clouds. Weather. It might be the weather. It's been so gloomy and sunless, the faint chill of winter somehow still sneaking its way into the summer breeze. Maybe his body is reacting to that. A convicted nod comes when the clouds part just a little, giving a beam of sun. The garden, he will sunbathe in the garden. The glass patio doors are pushed open in silence, his passage through the house as silent as the rest of his family's. There's one spot he adores, and his mind is focused no that, not on the gloves that are settled in his bedside table drawer upstairs. Not at all.]

Re: 06/01

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[There is a gigantic caterpillar out in the gardens. It's a sleek, black, plush-looking creature currently resting on a decorative circle of asphalt that absorbs heat very well compared to other walkways and patios. Set amidst blooming wildflowers and sandstone garden spheres, the caterpillar is positioned exactly where the sunlight is strongest and therefore the warmest. It soaks up the heat greedily, basking while the clouds allow it, squirming slightly in pleasure. Grotesque, maybe, but it's peaceful.]

Good afternoon, Mr. Snake, [says Claude Faustus.

His quiet voice carries when he wants it to. So does his scent, which for now is cool and hinting at crisp, reminding passersby of freshly-made cucumber salad. The caterpillar begins to wriggle more and more, scraping its bottom half over the asphalt, until it's able to sit up and turn around and look at Snake.

--Oh, it's none other than Claude Faustus wrapped up in an extremely cushiony sleeping bag. His entire body, except for his face, is covered and framed with the thick black fabric. Instead of his usual glasses, he's wearing dark designer shades that complement his bizarre inspired-by-Kafka appearance. For a spider, he sure seems ready to spin a cocoon.

His expression is so damn serious, it's stupid and silly. Here he is, sitting in a sleeping bag, presumably soaking up all the heat he can get from it and the absorbent asphalt beneath him. His mouth is a thin white line, almost a frown, although that's due to how his insides ache rather than any approaching snakes. Weather this depressing isn't unfamiliar to him, and it isn't helping his waxing moodiness any. Sebastian Michaelis recently returned to Siren's Port--somehow, he doesn't remember anything about Claude. The general idea was valuable for renewing his vows with Alois Trancy, but Claude didn't expect to ever be forgotten after everything.]

The sun should remain like this for approximately one more hour.

[The demon's blood runs cold these days; his biology is somewhat consistent with a poikilotherm, or an organism that derives heat from environmental sources. The sun is one of his favorite methods to warm up, which is why he's out here while the warming is good. A long time ago, he'd do this in Alois Trancy's company on sunshiny afternoons.]

If my presence is an inconvenience to you, I'm perfectly willing to move elsewhere.

[Given the ridiculous drama inside of the household--for example, Ciel Phantomhive trying to murder him--Claude doesn't want to be seen as the antagonist. He's holding off on provoking Ciel any further, hoping resentment will fade over time and Ciel's servants will just leave him alone. Spending his days outdoors is how Claude gets away from the temptation to ruin Ciel even more.]

voicemail;

[cursestained.livejournal.com]

Claude Faustus. [The syllables are smooth over Naoya's tongue--and amusing. Faustus, Faustus. It makes him wonder what Mephistopheles is up to these days, but the less he knows the better. ]

You had asked for an estimate of my expenses. The living expenses come to...[Rent around 600 for a small place in sector 4. Easy to keep an eye out, didn't attract much attention. 400 for utilities. Food...

...Naoya was the sort of man who survived on cheap tastes.]

$1800 a month will cover all of my needs. The equipment will be 10,000--I will assemble it myself. [Naoya is quietly building you something powerful and something--modifiable for his own needs. He doesn't need expensive parts or high specs initially--what he needs are things that don't fail under what he does to them.

A true artist can create beauty with worthless tools. Naoya doesn't think of it quite that way, but he knows how to work with whatever he has.]

As for a time to teach you...please pick something that works for yourself.

return phonecall;

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[Whether his return call is answered or forwarded to the inbox:]

Mr. Naoya, I thank you for being prompt in this matter.

[Claude has listened to Naoya's voicemail almost a hundred times over, picking out every single nuance in it to get a better feel for the sort of person Naoya is. A voice can only say so much about someone, of course, but Claude does know he needs to be cautious going forward. For example, the price tag on that system is definitely higher than he expected overall. Either Naoya is interested in plainly overpriced parts, or there's more going on than meets the eye, either good or bad. This wouldn't be the first time Claude has lost money on an investment due to pure human greed.

It's a good thing greed is one of his favorite sins. As long as he's amused, he is willing to deal with it.]

$1,800 per month is sustainable for the long-term. If you require advance payments, or additional allowances, please don't hesitate to request readjustment. [Claude seems more generous than not when it comes to money. While money is technically meaningless to him, he feels better when he has more and believes others tend to feel the same way.]

$10,000 for the equipment is also doable; however, I will require more time to amass that amount in hard currency. It would be in our best interests to minimize reliance on the city's banking systems.

[There are many reasons for his mistrust, but he moves on:]

My schedule varies from day to day due to the nature of my work, with more time afforded to me at night and in the early morning hours. If you have any nocturnal tendencies, that arrangement would be ideal for me.

voice.

[bosomist.livejournal.com]

[Hannah almost doesn't call. She almost locks herself in her room to wallow and be miserable; but she has never done very well with being alone. So when she calls, she sounds meek, quiet and a little sad.

It's a few hours after this (http://bosomist.livejournal.com/1025.html?view=1537#t1537) conversation and she's still so very uncertain.]

Claude, [and she pauses to sigh.] Do you have a moment?

voice.

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[Claude doesn't need to ask what this call is about. Like any other conversation in the manor, he overheard it when it happened. Since then, he has spent the last few hours perusing legal documentation, studying and then discarding every option he finds. Really, when it comes right down to endgame...]

Hannah.

[In the past, Claude having this tone of authority, of I know what I'm doing, could have been a grating thing to hear. He always did manage his household very well, no matter the crisis outside or within.]

Would you care to join me on the roof? I've arranged for a small sitting area where there is no chance of being overheard.

["Small sitting area" is actually a cathedral-skirted open tent in sandy colors that camouflages with the rooftop. Inside are a couple plush lounge chairs and a larger couch, which Claude is sitting on with one of his laptops and idly clicking his way through some .PDF file or another. Every so often, various spiders crawl up his arm to inform him of any new movements. On top of the glass table in front of him are several NVs--not just his pocket watch, but a handful of basic models that he has registered with false identities.

Yeah, Jack Vessalius. Claude can see that filtered post to the Network.]

[text]

[goldilocked.livejournal.com]

Claude. Call me back.

[return phonecall]

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

Good afternoon, Mr. Vessalius.

[faking]

[It's late enough to have crawled into bed, but not really so much that Alois was ready to have gone to sleep. Ciel is beside him, too lethargic underneath the covers, and Alois is content to lay awake and watch him rest, until it suddenly feels like he's been chewing on ants. His tongue burns; his throat feels dry.

...What the hell is suddenly so wrong?

It feels a little like a hurricane in his head and chest and mouth, and he creeps out of bed and to the bedroom door, but he nearly runs downstairs and to the front of the house. When he finds Claude in the vestibule - why is he fetching a coat from the coat room - Alois clings to the edge of the wall, wide-eyed for reasons he can't figure out.]

Claude?

[He's not sure why it's frightening.]

Where are you going?

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[Right now, Claude really fucking hates how their connection is a two-way street. It's not often that he feels enough to be felt across it, however. Might be why it's frightening for Alois. Not even Claude getting a bullet to the head felt this torrential, and he seems to be clean of blood besides.

Turning around, heavy raincoat in hand, he stares at Alois and then remembers to bow, belatedly.]

Your Highness, you ought to be in bed.

[Without missing a beat, he pulls on the coat and begins doing up the buttons on the front. The fabric is solid black and flat, perfect for slipping away into the shadows.]

[text]

[goldilocked.livejournal.com]

Claude, can you tell the household - Alois and Ciel especially - that I am not to be bothered for the meantime? I will be taking meals in my room.

Thank you.

[text]

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[This is pretty much the greatest soap opera in the world.]



[A beat.]

[deathknellgrell.livejournal.com]

[ A certain stony-faced Grim Reaper would have an absolute fit if he knew Grell was sending an invitation to this person. ]

[Video]

[littlest_lord]

_{[Bitty baby is in his nightgown and clearly not asleep. If anything, he seems ridiculously high strung.]}

I need you to do something.

[Video]

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[Claude has kept himself busy by doing whatever he can in order to suppress the prevailing nightmares. Even now, he's mixing together some alchemic solution off-screen that's necessary to cast stronger psychic nets over the household. Once the nightmares are under control, he's going to go directly to the source of them--come hell or high water.]

Master Ciel.

[Two more drops of his blood...]

Warm milk with honey?

[No, that's a pointless guess: he knows what this call is about.]

[text]

[shifting]

This is a mass text: my birthday is tomorrow, and I want a full day of birthday sex. Send me your availabities. Time slots begin at noon

[text]

[stabilimentum]

That sounds exhausting.