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May. 3rd, 2011 01:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stabilimentum[A smooth, sedulous voice answers:]
You have reached Claude Faustus, butler to the Earl Alois Trancy. How may I be of service?
You have reached Claude Faustus, butler to the Earl Alois Trancy. How may I be of service?
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-31 08:10 pm (UTC)Alois stares up at Claude through his eyelashes, so suddenly set silent. They did fit together well— of course they did, Alois had always wanted that. He wants it again, now, if only because it feels incredibly familiar, like a place he's been meaning to re-visit, pay his respects to. That's a comfort. Claude is a comfort (and comforting him is as much, too). A stinging part of Alois wants to ask, Do you love me? but he's never said that outright before and the first time isn't going to be in a coat closet.
He swallows, compulsively licks his own lips because he feels dry, and then flushes at the foolishness of doing so.]
I might, [he says, whilst already his tone oscillates between firm and not. He wants to be so strong, but he also wants to be protected.] You'll have to wait and see what happens, won't you?
[There were times, before all of this, when Alois would grow anxious and antsy during bed time stories. He'd twist his bedsheet in his hands and ask after the ending, and Claude would urge him to be patient. Alois could only wriggle beneath his blankets and try so hard to keep awake until the story was through.
Be patient, Claude. And maybe he's asking for faith in himself, too.
Not at all mindful of his fingers, refusing to consider that Claude could just eat him, could chew him down in probably seconds and swallow everything inside of him and everything about him, Alois makes lines on Claude's face. He's working like a little artist, or like a cartographer. This is an elegant peak, his fingertips say, and, This is the best valley. Tracing Claude's features is easy, because he's looked at them so many times anyway. He likes the feeling that he's drawing Claude right into existence on his own, right now. I made this.
Galatea had probably been even colder to touch than Claude.]
But whatever it is, it's for me to decide, [he says quietly, prodding lightly at Claude's chin. That decree should be enough.]
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-07 11:01 am (UTC)What this is, in this instant, for this instant at least, is the sense that Claude really is all wrapped up in Alois Trancy and the ethereal netting of nirvana. They are protected this way together; he'll keep Alois safe through the story. Behind thin, fragile webs, threaded by the spider for beauty's sake, Claude retreats into hazy dilution not unlike a waking dream, bringing Alois with him for just the time being. It's easy to see through and out of, but he wants to stay in this cocoon of pleasant sensations for sound and touch. In here, he can hear Alois' special music as clear as crystal, and for once his master's song isn't sad--it's tremulous, but not sad. It's like the flickering flame on a candle that will take the whole night to burn down. (Whenever Alois was good, Claude would light many candles in his room to comfort him during moonless nights.)
Being with Alois can lead to these spontaneous fits of synesthesia, where the demon experiences countless involuntary, cross-sensory metaphors. Claude breathes in slowly and smells bath soaps and appreciable starlight; he feels the smoothness of gold, too, even while touching handwoven white lace. It's bizarre but he likes it, because no one else but his Father has made him feel too much like this.
Overwhelmed, on a whim, he subtly crosses his fingers and starts holding his breath. There are plenty of superstitions for breath-holding, for making wishes on stars or stopping spirits from stealing it. Tunnels and bridges and cemeteries all get this reaction from humans--their breathing stopped for the duration it takes to pass by. Claude wonders which one he's bothering to do this for. His master could be the tunnel that will show him to enlightenment. This is very likely a bridge between them, and they're crossing it in order to reach better understanding. And, honestly, one of them did die; might still be dead, too. Alois might as well be trying to draw life into a phantom, since Claude feels so pale and immaterial whenever they are apart.
He doesn't even know what he's thinking anymore. It's hard to think when he's nirvanic like this. Listening to Alois' decree, reminded of Hannah telling him to have faith in them, Claude exhales when he finally realizes that acceptance does go both ways. The potential to be unconditionally happy has always been here.]
Yes...
[I should not be so docile, he thinks.]
That is your inviolable right as my master.
[I should not be so ungrateful, he thinks.]
My first name was... [Then, pausing, he slides his tongue over his teeth (which are humanlike right now, except for the pair of canines that seem sharper than is normal). He considers saying his Name in his native tongue, although it's near-impossible to repeat for a mere mortal. It required an unreal amount of practice for Alois to learn to say it elsewhere.]
Decarabia.
[The most pronounceable version, and its five syllables make Claude's own face feel warmer--there are uncertain flecks of redness patterned on his cheeks. It doesn't matter if he has said so aloud in the past (only if Alois asked), or whispered it in the subconscious hallways of mostly forgotten dreams. Saying it here, and now, feels like the very first time all over again.]
It has no meaning because He stripped it of meaning. [Refusing to lose momentum, he leans forward into Alois and his words, their lips almost meeting to pay more respects.] A very long time ago, longer ago than I'm able to tell you, He stripped me of all meaning for questioning His unfairness from on high. My master, I understand the balance of things and why strife has to exist, but not why He chooses to treat it as though it's a stage play performed for His sadistic amusement.
He has no respect for those who do worship Him.
[That's nowhere close to The End, but Claude finds himself needing to breathe.]
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-24 09:05 am (UTC)[It's at first said cautiously, like a test, like something will happen once it's out of his mouth. Nothing does. He waits, feels like shivering, and looks at all of Claude's face. His lips, previously soft and hopeful for another touch, are almost pursed.] Decarabia, [he then says again, with a measure of certainty this time.] It's pretty.
['Pretty' wasn't the right word to use, he realizes, as soon as he says it. Beautiful would have been better, but that doesn't feel right either, and Alois doesn't want to blurt his amendment. Warm-faced, he looks down, but his fingers are staying at and near Claude's face.]
Decarabia.
[He looks up again.]
But I like your name now better.
[His hands push back a little; he plays with the edges of Claude's ears, and the dark hair near there. Claude likes to nestle in that spot, doesn't he? Alois can see why. He's almost rubbing Claude's ears like Claude is his dog.]
He sounds like a piece of shit, [Alois says honestly.] Your - Him, I mean. [He manages to give pause for only a moment before asking,] Does it hurt? Keep telling me.
[In this, Alois has started walking and refuses to stop, even if the hill is kind of steep. And he's going to make Claude walk with him. Claude is soft, and Alois wonders if maybe they could live here, in the closet. How long would they need to be gone for anyone to realize? Come morning, Luca and Ciel would, at least. Alois imagines breakfasting here, imagines making a bed of Claude's chest and then waking to find Claude in the closet's hidden kitchen. He also wonders what would happen if he kissed Claude right now, and thinks that Ciel would yell at him, and thinks he might not get anymore words, too. With a hinting frown, Alois pulls at one of Claude's earlobes, as though it might switch Claude's voice on again.]