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[stabilimentum]

[A smooth, sedulous voice answers:]

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

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let me be ridiculous at you for a sec here. 1/2

[stabilimentum.livejournal.com]

[Claude has never felt this much like he has a heartbeat of his own. Every irregular smack and stroke of his master's heart is being repeated inside his own chest, striking up more uncontrollable notes to knock about unholy hollows. When he said, As you wish, he intended it like a prayer; his tone would have fit with Agnus Dei. The notes are accompanied by soft-strange violin resonance, which Alois had noticed when they met again and confused for secret singing. As he lies here and lets the orders sink in, the music sinks even further through him, increasing in volume from pianississimo into fortondoando. The louder it gets for them, the more it resolves and reveals what it is: his love.

And nothing about this music is anything like those bullshit hymns that praise God.



Fuck no.

If he knew how many Biblical references were being used to describe their relationship, he wouldn't nearly look and feel so damn pleased with himself. He relaxes with Alois secure against him, letting his master's fingers go free, letting his own modestly curl up in the bedding. They aren't doing anything too physical, and yet he does feel like they're dancing at the hips to some sinful rhythm. His skin is slightly damp from emotional exertion, causing his scar to feel slicker and silky to the touch. Lævateinn's darkness distorted this flesh when it raced through his veins faster than adrenaline, leaving behind a bizarre scar as a constant reminder of what his indiscreet hubris got him in the end. The rest of him here, the remainder of his body with demonic eyes and black nails, is an even more enduring memento of what happened when he lost faith--or had faith in the first place--in the Father.

The Holy Bible is dripping in blood, Alois Trancy, but it's mostly a collection of legends--merely trivia for dealing with daily dilemmas. All this shit about Job and Bartimaeus and other miracles is founded on fallacy and historical revision. Your demon was there for what really happened, for as far back as mortals know. Claude can tell you that God was dipped in honey and sugar in even the Old Testament, by humanity desperate to believe in something. While Claude wasn't one of the first celestial beings, he was created to deal with the first and worst of God's many atrocities: the splitting of humanity from few genders into many. God tore them asunder in a paranoid fit, right down the middle, and separated the children of the sun, moon, and earth. The transition wasn't the easiest, needless to say; it wasn't like humanity wanted to forgive God for that. Having run out of ideas, God created a slew of new angels and told them to fix it.

If Sebastian Michaelis is the "originator" of hatred, then Claude Faustus is responsible for--]

As you wish, master.

[It was an ingenious solution at the time. Claude spun special threads out of light and used them to mercifully suture shut the God-given wounds, ending the screams of asymmetrical, bleeding, quivering beasts. He sewed love into every human being, straight up their backs like corset ribbons. Though he lost touch with it, even though he ended up hating it for a while, Claude will never stop valuing love and the hope it provides for a future. Not even God could imagine that for His People.]

If you have no preference... [Pale eyelids lower a subtle amount, long lashes catching sultry red and glimmering like a star-filled nebula.

He pulls aside the heavy velvet blankets before they can offend Alois any further. (He kind of wants to burn them, too, since nothing unwanted should come in contact with his master.) Before too much cold air can accost them, he grabs on to another blanket--a large afghan he idly crocheted right before Hannah arrived.