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Warnings: Rather risque -- that is, by VICTORIAN standards. (So really, not at all. Probably actually a little funny)
Effects: Awkward anxiety, racing heart, dry mouth, and a hard-to-pinpoint want.
( Ciel's dreams were rarely so straight-forward, and far from pleasant. )
Effects: Awkward anxiety, racing heart, dry mouth, and a hard-to-pinpoint want.
( Ciel's dreams were rarely so straight-forward, and far from pleasant. )
Warnings: Gruesome.
Effects: Panic and Nausea.
It was impossible to remember how long ago it had all started, but Ciel was certain it would never end. The floor was cold, hard, and dirty -- they lived in their own filth, cowering in cages at those masked villains looked in on them, smiled lighting devilish faces. The world blurred. Every time they came closer, it felt the same -- the panic rushing through his little body, stomach churning, as they picked one, or another, for some new means of 'ritual'. He'd been out there before, and he'd seen things he cared not to remember. But they were all he knew now, and so remember them he did.
Mother. Father he whimpered to himself, pulling his knees up, holding himself in the tightest ball he could manage, and all was dark. He shivered not with cold, but fear, as he felt that hot breath on his face, the hands around his arms, pulling.
no he mentally protested, and as they continued, his internal protest wrestled it's way from his throat. He kicked, as screamed, but there were too many of them, too many sickeningly sweet and 'soothing' voices, too many hands, dragging him across the floor. He was thin, and their finger left bruises, he knew they would, he'd had them before. But still he kicked, and flailed, and screamed. But he was so much weaker than all of them.
And then they held him down on the table. That stone slab in the center of the room, where they did all of those things. He heard a hiss, and for a moment, he dared to look.
Metal shouldn't be so brilliantly orange.
Panic rose within him so quickly that it tore screams from his raw throat. But it was all for nothing, The writhing and world-blurring panic, all of it coming down to focus on one single point. His flesh seared, and he cried, squirmed, tried to get away from the hot metal burning into his ribs. The world darkened, and reddened--
[Ciel bolted upright in his bed, still screaming the last of the breath from his lungs. The flailing sent the dreamberry flying across the room, where it collided with the wall. And then, all was static.]
Effects: Panic and Nausea.
It was impossible to remember how long ago it had all started, but Ciel was certain it would never end. The floor was cold, hard, and dirty -- they lived in their own filth, cowering in cages at those masked villains looked in on them, smiled lighting devilish faces. The world blurred. Every time they came closer, it felt the same -- the panic rushing through his little body, stomach churning, as they picked one, or another, for some new means of 'ritual'. He'd been out there before, and he'd seen things he cared not to remember. But they were all he knew now, and so remember them he did.
Mother. Father he whimpered to himself, pulling his knees up, holding himself in the tightest ball he could manage, and all was dark. He shivered not with cold, but fear, as he felt that hot breath on his face, the hands around his arms, pulling.
no he mentally protested, and as they continued, his internal protest wrestled it's way from his throat. He kicked, as screamed, but there were too many of them, too many sickeningly sweet and 'soothing' voices, too many hands, dragging him across the floor. He was thin, and their finger left bruises, he knew they would, he'd had them before. But still he kicked, and flailed, and screamed. But he was so much weaker than all of them.
And then they held him down on the table. That stone slab in the center of the room, where they did all of those things. He heard a hiss, and for a moment, he dared to look.
Metal shouldn't be so brilliantly orange.
Panic rose within him so quickly that it tore screams from his raw throat. But it was all for nothing, The writhing and world-blurring panic, all of it coming down to focus on one single point. His flesh seared, and he cried, squirmed, tried to get away from the hot metal burning into his ribs. The world darkened, and reddened--
[Ciel bolted upright in his bed, still screaming the last of the breath from his lungs. The flailing sent the dreamberry flying across the room, where it collided with the wall. And then, all was static.]
You have reached Ciel Phantomhive. If you have personal business with me, please leave a message. If we are not acquainted, please contact my Butler, Sebastian Michaelis, for all scheduled meetings and arrangements.
[Hello Somarium. It's been a while. Bear witness to a very put-together looking young boy, perhaps about 14-years-old, hair falling over one side of his face, barely obscuring the black eyepatch. He's wearing an appropriate autumn suit, obviously a bit dated (late 1800's) but still sharp looking. He clears his throat, then faces the camera squarely, and when he speaks, it's with a British accent.]
Good Afternoon, residents of Somarium. I wished to apologize for my absence, and any inconvenience my condition may have caused to anyone who wished to speak with me. Sebastian has assured me you were all seen to, so I hope there are no hard feelings. Should anyone wish, I would be happy to make accommodations for anyone who wishes to come calling.
[Then, he hold up an envelope, and does his best to look congenial] Edward, I received the note you left. If it's tea you wish, I'll have Sebastian make the arrangements.
Good Afternoon, residents of Somarium. I wished to apologize for my absence, and any inconvenience my condition may have caused to anyone who wished to speak with me. Sebastian has assured me you were all seen to, so I hope there are no hard feelings. Should anyone wish, I would be happy to make accommodations for anyone who wishes to come calling.
[Then, he hold up an envelope, and does his best to look congenial] Edward, I received the note you left. If it's tea you wish, I'll have Sebastian make the arrangements.
[Character Name] Ciel Phantomhive
[Canon] Kuroshitsuji / Black Butler
[Point Taken from Canon] After Chapter 49, the completion of the Murder Mystery arc.
[Age] 13 years old (14/15 according to time in Somarium -- he arrived only a couple months after his 13th birthday, only to have ANOTHER birthday, and he's spent a year in Somarium, so his precise age is kind of a thing of debate.)
[Gender] Male
[Sexual Orientation] Too Young -- default hetero.
[Eye Color] Blue
[Hair Color] Dark grey, with a blueish hint.
[Height] SHORT. Erm... Maybe around 4'6"? (Guessing. He's a skinny little 13 year old boy.)
[Other] Ciel wears an eyepatch over his right eye, giving the impression he must be horribly scarred and/or missing an eye. when the eyepatch is removed, the only oddity is that his right eye is scarred with a mark in shape of a pentacle.
[Clothing] Victorian, usually something like This, sometimes accompannied by cloak and top-hat. If going out, usually he has a walking stick.
( Rest under the cut. )
[Canon] Kuroshitsuji / Black Butler
[Point Taken from Canon] After Chapter 49, the completion of the Murder Mystery arc.
[Age] 13 years old (14/15 according to time in Somarium -- he arrived only a couple months after his 13th birthday, only to have ANOTHER birthday, and he's spent a year in Somarium, so his precise age is kind of a thing of debate.)
[Gender] Male
[Sexual Orientation] Too Young -- default hetero.
[Eye Color] Blue
[Hair Color] Dark grey, with a blueish hint.
[Height] SHORT. Erm... Maybe around 4'6"? (Guessing. He's a skinny little 13 year old boy.)
[Other] Ciel wears an eyepatch over his right eye, giving the impression he must be horribly scarred and/or missing an eye. when the eyepatch is removed, the only oddity is that his right eye is scarred with a mark in shape of a pentacle.
[Clothing] Victorian, usually something like This, sometimes accompannied by cloak and top-hat. If going out, usually he has a walking stick.
( Rest under the cut. )
Tags:
The floor before him is a giant series of checkerboard; black, and white, alternating, back and forth across the endless floor. For reasons he can't remember, he's walking. The pieces, rooks and knights, and pawns in black and white, lay on their sides, cracked, broken, silent. This is a battlefield, that much he's certain of. But the battle seems long over, and the winner is unclean. His fine shoe kicks as chunks of soldier-rubble as he passes, the smaller pieces of marble crunching beneath his sole. His every foot-step echoes in his ears.
For the first time he can remember in many years, he's alone, utterly and completely. After a while, he no longer sees the chess pieces, or hears the sounds. All of them are drowned out, by the sound of a heart, beating, slow rhythmic drumming. He can feel it in his chest, his head, his ears.
In the end, it doesn't seem to matter who the winner was, for none of them remains. For a moment, he sees in the broken marble knight, a flash of his mother. He turns, and yet another broken piece somehow reminds him of his father. The further he goes, the more faces he sees, as though watching his reflection a thousand times in a broken mirror, but it is not his face he sees this time. It is May Linn, and Bard, and Finnian. It is Madam Red, and Lau, and Prince Sohma, and Agni. Further still, is his Aunt Frances, Uncle Alexis, his cousin Edward, and...
He stops cold in front of the broken form of the black queen. Reflected in that marble crown, he sees the face of Elizabeth. It's only for a moment, only the faintest image, but it burns his soul in a way he can't comprehend.
Come, says the velvety voice in his head, the thing calling him beyond the rubble of the battlefield. He feels compelled toward it. He knows what is to come. He knows that voice. He climbs, slowly, over the broken queen who no longer shows him Elizabeth's face, stumbling, no more than a clumsy child.
The darkness creeps in, the further he goes. Soon, he is walking on shadows, and nothing else. As he slows to a stop, he can feel the breath on the back of his neck. His end does not involve light, or singing angels. It's thin fingers snaking around his throat, hot breath against his ear.
We had a deal
He closes his eyes, accepting.
---------------------------------------
When Ciel opens his eyes, he's surprised by the ease with which air fills his lungs. The room is dim, but certainly not the oppressive darkness of before. It's his room.. . and wouldn't you know it, the damn dreamberry is on again. He sighs, and reaches over to shut it off.
For the first time he can remember in many years, he's alone, utterly and completely. After a while, he no longer sees the chess pieces, or hears the sounds. All of them are drowned out, by the sound of a heart, beating, slow rhythmic drumming. He can feel it in his chest, his head, his ears.
In the end, it doesn't seem to matter who the winner was, for none of them remains. For a moment, he sees in the broken marble knight, a flash of his mother. He turns, and yet another broken piece somehow reminds him of his father. The further he goes, the more faces he sees, as though watching his reflection a thousand times in a broken mirror, but it is not his face he sees this time. It is May Linn, and Bard, and Finnian. It is Madam Red, and Lau, and Prince Sohma, and Agni. Further still, is his Aunt Frances, Uncle Alexis, his cousin Edward, and...
He stops cold in front of the broken form of the black queen. Reflected in that marble crown, he sees the face of Elizabeth. It's only for a moment, only the faintest image, but it burns his soul in a way he can't comprehend.
Come, says the velvety voice in his head, the thing calling him beyond the rubble of the battlefield. He feels compelled toward it. He knows what is to come. He knows that voice. He climbs, slowly, over the broken queen who no longer shows him Elizabeth's face, stumbling, no more than a clumsy child.
The darkness creeps in, the further he goes. Soon, he is walking on shadows, and nothing else. As he slows to a stop, he can feel the breath on the back of his neck. His end does not involve light, or singing angels. It's thin fingers snaking around his throat, hot breath against his ear.
We had a deal
He closes his eyes, accepting.
---------------------------------------
When Ciel opens his eyes, he's surprised by the ease with which air fills his lungs. The room is dim, but certainly not the oppressive darkness of before. It's his room.. . and wouldn't you know it, the damn dreamberry is on again. He sighs, and reaches over to shut it off.
Tags:
[The image starts with a jolt, and a bit of a rattle. Ciel has just tossed his Dreamberry onto a nearby table, turning it on without his knowledge. He's never been fond of the thing, so it' not surprising he treats it so roughly. He's secretly hoping to break it, probably.
And then he half throws himself into a chair, crossing one knee over the other, and slumping in a most undignified manner. With the hot summer weather, he's taken to staying inside more and more, where the climate can be somewhat controlled. On this afternoon, his hair is a bit messier than usual, and he looks unhappy, though that's nothing new. He reaches for the book on the small table beside his chair, and leafs through the pages. He seems to be reading for a while... but then just huffs, shuts the book, and tosses it back where he found it.
Is he... bored?]
And then he half throws himself into a chair, crossing one knee over the other, and slumping in a most undignified manner. With the hot summer weather, he's taken to staying inside more and more, where the climate can be somewhat controlled. On this afternoon, his hair is a bit messier than usual, and he looks unhappy, though that's nothing new. He reaches for the book on the small table beside his chair, and leafs through the pages. He seems to be reading for a while... but then just huffs, shuts the book, and tosses it back where he found it.
Is he... bored?]
Note: Dated to the night before the flooding begins.
The ship was elaborate, to say the least. The finest in architectural detailing, and the strongest in mechanical engineering. It was like dancing through a dream, a ballroom floating on the ocean. Ciel pushed his way through the crowds of people, his heart hammering. This beautiful place hid a dark secret, though he coudln't think of what it was. He descended the long, spiraling stairs, down to the belly of the ship. Clang, clang, clang were the sounds of his footsteps on those steel stairs, echoing through the hull. And the walls were leaking. Yes, leaking, with water trickling in rivulated between the cracks of the metal sheeting, droplets collecting around bolts. And still he went further. Down, down, down, sure that the answer he was looking for were at the bottom.
The walls groaned, and bowed. The gentle trickling turned to a harsh spray, and Ciel yelped, sheilding his face from one of the many appearing fountains. Finally, he made it to the bottom. A inch of water, no two, maybe more, covered the floor. Splash, splash was the sound of his footsteps through the shallow pool. He had to be around here somewhere. who was he?
With every step, the water was rising. It was up to his knees, up to his thighs, every step becoming more and more difficult. He just had to cross to that other staircase, but his body was having none of it. The water pulled at his clothes, dragged him back. He leaned forward, attempting a half-hearted swim through water, his his boots, and his coat, none of them made it easy. He tasted salt, and he sputtered, feeling the chill spread through his body. For a second, he bobbed beneath the growing pool. A flash of heels, and skirts, and other heavy garments unsuited for the water. But as he moved to straighten up, plant his feet along the bottom again, he found his eyes no longer broke the surface. The sound of the water rushing in her ears drowned out all else, and he pushed against the floor, paddling in vain attempts for the surface. What had he been thinking?! His hand clawed for the large crates and their soap rope netting. He climbed them with all his might, towards the top. But the top eluded him. As he went higher, so did the ocean water. Higher, and higher, climbing and swimming. He reached behind him, grasping for a hand, gloved and laced, and he pulled, pushed, that person ahead of him. Light hair drifted in the water in front of his face as he pushed her toward the surface. Moments later, in his blurring vision, Lizzie was gone. His lungs burned for air, and finally, he could take no more of it -- he gasped, and choked, the salt filling his mouth, the water filling his lungs. He was going to drown. He was going to drown and he was panicking,as his eyes grew dark, and his arms and legs grew numb, heavy, immobile.
"Sebastian" he tried to say, but words did not come. His grip on the ropes came undone, and he sank. Slowly, the weight around him crushing, an impossible darkness slowly creeping into his eyes.
Ciel awoke with a start, a gasp, as he reached for his throat, coughing as he inhaled sweet, sweet air. He flailed aimlessly, his free hand knocking the dreamberry to the floor. What had that been about?
The ship was elaborate, to say the least. The finest in architectural detailing, and the strongest in mechanical engineering. It was like dancing through a dream, a ballroom floating on the ocean. Ciel pushed his way through the crowds of people, his heart hammering. This beautiful place hid a dark secret, though he coudln't think of what it was. He descended the long, spiraling stairs, down to the belly of the ship. Clang, clang, clang were the sounds of his footsteps on those steel stairs, echoing through the hull. And the walls were leaking. Yes, leaking, with water trickling in rivulated between the cracks of the metal sheeting, droplets collecting around bolts. And still he went further. Down, down, down, sure that the answer he was looking for were at the bottom.
The walls groaned, and bowed. The gentle trickling turned to a harsh spray, and Ciel yelped, sheilding his face from one of the many appearing fountains. Finally, he made it to the bottom. A inch of water, no two, maybe more, covered the floor. Splash, splash was the sound of his footsteps through the shallow pool. He had to be around here somewhere. who was he?
With every step, the water was rising. It was up to his knees, up to his thighs, every step becoming more and more difficult. He just had to cross to that other staircase, but his body was having none of it. The water pulled at his clothes, dragged him back. He leaned forward, attempting a half-hearted swim through water, his his boots, and his coat, none of them made it easy. He tasted salt, and he sputtered, feeling the chill spread through his body. For a second, he bobbed beneath the growing pool. A flash of heels, and skirts, and other heavy garments unsuited for the water. But as he moved to straighten up, plant his feet along the bottom again, he found his eyes no longer broke the surface. The sound of the water rushing in her ears drowned out all else, and he pushed against the floor, paddling in vain attempts for the surface. What had he been thinking?! His hand clawed for the large crates and their soap rope netting. He climbed them with all his might, towards the top. But the top eluded him. As he went higher, so did the ocean water. Higher, and higher, climbing and swimming. He reached behind him, grasping for a hand, gloved and laced, and he pulled, pushed, that person ahead of him. Light hair drifted in the water in front of his face as he pushed her toward the surface. Moments later, in his blurring vision, Lizzie was gone. His lungs burned for air, and finally, he could take no more of it -- he gasped, and choked, the salt filling his mouth, the water filling his lungs. He was going to drown. He was going to drown and he was panicking,as his eyes grew dark, and his arms and legs grew numb, heavy, immobile.
"Sebastian" he tried to say, but words did not come. His grip on the ropes came undone, and he sank. Slowly, the weight around him crushing, an impossible darkness slowly creeping into his eyes.
Ciel awoke with a start, a gasp, as he reached for his throat, coughing as he inhaled sweet, sweet air. He flailed aimlessly, his free hand knocking the dreamberry to the floor. What had that been about?
[When Ciel appears on the screen, he look far from pleased -- his expression, noteably more sour than usual, is emphasized by the slightly unkempt hair that makes him look as though he's just rolled out of bed. The kid apparenlty is also incapable of dressing himself; his shirt is buttoned crooked, and his thin bow tie, is more of a knot than a bow.]
Has anyone seen my butler? He's mysteriously absent as of this morning, and I've been unable to contact him.
Has anyone seen my butler? He's mysteriously absent as of this morning, and I've been unable to contact him.
[When the feed kicks on, it's mid-motion, the viewer thrown into a tumble. There's the flash of velvet draperies, a polished oak desk, windows, and then the ornate carpet as it bounces against the ground, and finally settled there, turned on it's side. The device had been thrown against a wall, the collision there-in flipping the feed on. Now, finally still, the room tilted sideways, all is oddly silent... save for the sound of heavy breathing. So far across the room, just at the fringe of the camera's view, a pair of scrawny legs, a pair of trousers, the bottom of a suit jacket. Slowly, he backs further and further away from the device, bringing more of himself into view. It's barely a second though, before young master Phantomhive turns and dashes from the room, slamming the door behind him.
He'll be back to retrieve the device later. For now, it lays there on the carpet, in the empty room.]
He'll be back to retrieve the device later. For now, it lays there on the carpet, in the empty room.]
Warnings: Blood, brutal imagery.
Effects: None, save for whatever reaction one might have by seeing these things.
( It was the only way to erase everything. )
Ciel awoke with a start, in a cold sweat. He reached to wipe his brow, and then noticed the tiny blinking light on his bedside table.
Damnit not again -- he grumbled, reaching for the thing and shutting it off.
Effects: None, save for whatever reaction one might have by seeing these things.
( It was the only way to erase everything. )
Ciel awoke with a start, in a cold sweat. He reached to wipe his brow, and then noticed the tiny blinking light on his bedside table.
Damnit not again -- he grumbled, reaching for the thing and shutting it off.
Warnings: Blood, Gore, and other grossness.
Effects: A feeling of disorientation, nausea, and fear.
The night is cold. Not as cold as the Frozen wasteland that Somarium had become, but a familiar cold -- when the end of summer bleeds into autumn, and the rains set in again. He's wearing clothing inappropriate for the weather, but it's necessary, always necessary not to draw unwanted attention. The stone against his back doesn't keep the chill away, but at least it blocks the night breeze. Sebastian is nearby, a shadow himself in the shadows, and the buildings seem to climb up, up, until they vanish into the dark sky.
If we stay here, that person is sure to come. This is the only entrance. So we'll wait. All night if we have to.
It's that person, isn't it? This will prove it. I don't know if I want it proved.
There's papers all over his room, fluttering through the air. Settling on the carpet.
Make your move
She screams, the sound piercing the sky, and he whirls, the street dancing into darkness. No! Impossible! No one went inside, they would have seen them, Sebastian wold have--
Let's go are the words in his ear, and he's already running, towards that door, hands outstretched, flinging it open on rusty hinges. It squeals loudly, high and teeth-scraping, and he feel the droplet against his face. He knows what he's going to see, has seen it many times before, but it's never different. He only gets a glimpse, but it's enough to turn his stomach -- she's flayed like a fish, here, and there, and so many open lines oozing, splattered red. Blood, so thick he can smell it even after his eyes have been covered, arms pulling him back from the door-frame.
Don't Look, but he's already looked, and the smell alone is enough to make him sick. It's the same every time he sees it, over and over again. This isn't the first time, it won't be the last, but like a film reel, he can't stop the images. He doesn't have that power.
Quite a mess you've made, Jack the Ripper... No... Grell Sutcliffe.
Well, I've been captivated by a woman.
The sick feeling is clearing, the darkness pervading, the voices mixed with the sound of the rain falling. When did it start to rain? And that woman is... Sebastian prompts, but it's unnecessary.
The sound of a second pair of heels against the cobblestone. He doesn't want to look, but he's pushing the darkness from his face, he's seeing those red shoes.
No, I don't want to see this again He struggled, to push it all away. It recedes, the images dark, distant, their voices as if through a tin can and string. Grinding sounds, screams, the feeling of a hand around his throat. I don't want to see this again! he thinks, as hard as he can.
The world is red. Red, red, red.
Like Blood.
Like her.
Ciel forces himself to wakefulness, sitting up, a hand flying to his throat as he gasps for air. His hair a mess, in his eyes, and he doesn't care one bit. There's no hand at his throat but his own, not a speck of red in the room. No smells of rain or metal, or blood or sick. A moment later, he's calm, and then frantic again for a whole other reason. The Dreamberry ... it's on. He reached for it quickly, pushes some buttons. Although it's not his real intention, he shuts it off.
Effects: A feeling of disorientation, nausea, and fear.
The night is cold. Not as cold as the Frozen wasteland that Somarium had become, but a familiar cold -- when the end of summer bleeds into autumn, and the rains set in again. He's wearing clothing inappropriate for the weather, but it's necessary, always necessary not to draw unwanted attention. The stone against his back doesn't keep the chill away, but at least it blocks the night breeze. Sebastian is nearby, a shadow himself in the shadows, and the buildings seem to climb up, up, until they vanish into the dark sky.
If we stay here, that person is sure to come. This is the only entrance. So we'll wait. All night if we have to.
It's that person, isn't it? This will prove it. I don't know if I want it proved.
There's papers all over his room, fluttering through the air. Settling on the carpet.
Make your move
She screams, the sound piercing the sky, and he whirls, the street dancing into darkness. No! Impossible! No one went inside, they would have seen them, Sebastian wold have--
Let's go are the words in his ear, and he's already running, towards that door, hands outstretched, flinging it open on rusty hinges. It squeals loudly, high and teeth-scraping, and he feel the droplet against his face. He knows what he's going to see, has seen it many times before, but it's never different. He only gets a glimpse, but it's enough to turn his stomach -- she's flayed like a fish, here, and there, and so many open lines oozing, splattered red. Blood, so thick he can smell it even after his eyes have been covered, arms pulling him back from the door-frame.
Don't Look, but he's already looked, and the smell alone is enough to make him sick. It's the same every time he sees it, over and over again. This isn't the first time, it won't be the last, but like a film reel, he can't stop the images. He doesn't have that power.
Quite a mess you've made, Jack the Ripper... No... Grell Sutcliffe.
Well, I've been captivated by a woman.
The sick feeling is clearing, the darkness pervading, the voices mixed with the sound of the rain falling. When did it start to rain? And that woman is... Sebastian prompts, but it's unnecessary.
The sound of a second pair of heels against the cobblestone. He doesn't want to look, but he's pushing the darkness from his face, he's seeing those red shoes.
No, I don't want to see this again He struggled, to push it all away. It recedes, the images dark, distant, their voices as if through a tin can and string. Grinding sounds, screams, the feeling of a hand around his throat. I don't want to see this again! he thinks, as hard as he can.
The world is red. Red, red, red.
Like Blood.
Like her.
Ciel forces himself to wakefulness, sitting up, a hand flying to his throat as he gasps for air. His hair a mess, in his eyes, and he doesn't care one bit. There's no hand at his throat but his own, not a speck of red in the room. No smells of rain or metal, or blood or sick. A moment later, he's calm, and then frantic again for a whole other reason. The Dreamberry ... it's on. He reached for it quickly, pushes some buttons. Although it's not his real intention, he shuts it off.
Warnings: none
Effects: a feeling of warm happiness.
This wasn't the first time he'd seen this, but it had still been quite some time. The familiar gardens of his family home, bright and green in summer sunlight, thin wisps of clouds striping the blue sky. It looked the same as it did every summer, but even now, he could tell it was from a time, removed from time. Nothing but a distant memory now, but somehow so familiar it surged in him feelings he'd long forgotten.
There was laughter in the air. A little girl, in ringlets and lace. A young woman, sitting to the side, with a parasol in hand. The sun obscured her face, but the single ringlet of strawberry blonde fell over her shoulder. He was so close to the ground, couldn't recall feeling so small in quite some time. More laughter. And there he was, a dog, lean and long haired, black as night. How he missed that dog. Sebastian.
And there was the little girl again, eyes bright like emeralds, a smile so wide it nearly split her face.
"Ciel, Ciel, come on!" she squealed, grasping his hand, pulling him along. And he ran with her. More laughter, and he recognized it as his own -- young, high, a sound he hadn't made in what must have been years. He could feel it in his chest, his throat, a light and dancing feeling.
And then, there was that splash of red against the green. A set of arms around them both, and over his beloved aunt's shoulder, the light lifted from his mother's face. She smiled, the parasol resting over her shoulder. Days like these had always been his favorites. All his most loved people, all in one place. The only person missing was--
"Good afternoon! I see I've been missing out on all the fun."
And Ciel turned, his eyes landing on the tall, dark-haired man, Sebastian already at his side, tail wagging. His mother's head turned, and he felt as though the smile on her face was the direct mirror of the one on his own.
"Father!"
The man smiled, knelt down, held his arms out.
And Ciel felt like he was running. Running...
* * *
[ And the light faded. The sunlight disappeared, and everything he was running into, running away from, melted into shadows and silence. When Ciel opened his eyes, the garden was far away, and all those faces and sounds were gone.
Ciel reached over and grasped his dreamberry, before sulking and turning it off. ]
Effects: a feeling of warm happiness.
This wasn't the first time he'd seen this, but it had still been quite some time. The familiar gardens of his family home, bright and green in summer sunlight, thin wisps of clouds striping the blue sky. It looked the same as it did every summer, but even now, he could tell it was from a time, removed from time. Nothing but a distant memory now, but somehow so familiar it surged in him feelings he'd long forgotten.
There was laughter in the air. A little girl, in ringlets and lace. A young woman, sitting to the side, with a parasol in hand. The sun obscured her face, but the single ringlet of strawberry blonde fell over her shoulder. He was so close to the ground, couldn't recall feeling so small in quite some time. More laughter. And there he was, a dog, lean and long haired, black as night. How he missed that dog. Sebastian.
And there was the little girl again, eyes bright like emeralds, a smile so wide it nearly split her face.
"Ciel, Ciel, come on!" she squealed, grasping his hand, pulling him along. And he ran with her. More laughter, and he recognized it as his own -- young, high, a sound he hadn't made in what must have been years. He could feel it in his chest, his throat, a light and dancing feeling.
And then, there was that splash of red against the green. A set of arms around them both, and over his beloved aunt's shoulder, the light lifted from his mother's face. She smiled, the parasol resting over her shoulder. Days like these had always been his favorites. All his most loved people, all in one place. The only person missing was--
"Good afternoon! I see I've been missing out on all the fun."
And Ciel turned, his eyes landing on the tall, dark-haired man, Sebastian already at his side, tail wagging. His mother's head turned, and he felt as though the smile on her face was the direct mirror of the one on his own.
"Father!"
The man smiled, knelt down, held his arms out.
And Ciel felt like he was running. Running...
[ And the light faded. The sunlight disappeared, and everything he was running into, running away from, melted into shadows and silence. When Ciel opened his eyes, the garden was far away, and all those faces and sounds were gone.
Ciel reached over and grasped his dreamberry, before sulking and turning it off. ]
It was hard to tell where this began, and when. How he knew what it was at all was somehow unimportant. There he sat on a chair, ornate and detailed, but black as starless night. He felt the weight of a crown on his head, and his clothes were the same color as his throne. Yes, it was a throne, now he realized it. All around were people, all dressed different, but all of their clothes the same midnight hue, and each stood in their own Square -- the entire floor was covered in them, alternating black and white.
A chess board, he thought, but not in a way that seemed surprised or alarmed. No, he was rather accepting. This was the place of battle, a war he'd been fighting since the day he'd taken up this throne he sat upon. He saw Meilin, Bard, Finian, his rook, his knight, his bishop. The pawns, they were faceless, expendable... members of the yard, of the dark underground of England -- Lau, Ran Mao, Undertaker... They barely glanced at him.
In the distance, he could see them -- the ones in white, faces old and dead and gone. Grell Sutclife. William T. Spears. Madam Red (so inapproriate, dressed all in white, her hair like a bloodstain on the board). More and more faces, his mind unable to comprehend their positions; Dagger, Joker, Beast, Freckles...
He felt a twinge of something painful when he watched her fall.
All of them protected their King, an unseen shadow beyond the edge of the board. And all the while there Ciel sat upon his chair, one leg crossed over the other. The advancing faces grew older, more obscure. Masked nobles with malicious smiles, and gleams in the holes meant for their eyes. The black and white of Ranks and Files were becoming smattered in red.
What's black and white and red all over?
Slowly, he rose from the chair. His legs tremmbled, his hands clenching the rests. The more they advanced, the more his heart raced. This was it. This was what he'd waited for. Then, somethign was there -- at the back of his neck, in his hair. Something loosened, slipped, the patch falling from his eye. The world doubled, and reasembled, depth revived. And then, he glanced up. His Queen, the ultimate piece. Able to move in all directions, unlimited, unhindered. Even taken, all it would take to revive the Queen was a persistant pawn. The Queen could never truly die.
Kill them he felt himself mouth. Fire burned in his skull.
And in a dark blur, Sebastian was gone from his side, the black and white tiles all coated red.
------------------
[ Ciel awoke with a jolt, a choked gasp, his hand flying to cover his right eye. Breathing heavily, he fummbled one-handed for his dream-berry, and shut it off. ]
A chess board, he thought, but not in a way that seemed surprised or alarmed. No, he was rather accepting. This was the place of battle, a war he'd been fighting since the day he'd taken up this throne he sat upon. He saw Meilin, Bard, Finian, his rook, his knight, his bishop. The pawns, they were faceless, expendable... members of the yard, of the dark underground of England -- Lau, Ran Mao, Undertaker... They barely glanced at him.
In the distance, he could see them -- the ones in white, faces old and dead and gone. Grell Sutclife. William T. Spears. Madam Red (so inapproriate, dressed all in white, her hair like a bloodstain on the board). More and more faces, his mind unable to comprehend their positions; Dagger, Joker, Beast, Freckles...
He felt a twinge of something painful when he watched her fall.
All of them protected their King, an unseen shadow beyond the edge of the board. And all the while there Ciel sat upon his chair, one leg crossed over the other. The advancing faces grew older, more obscure. Masked nobles with malicious smiles, and gleams in the holes meant for their eyes. The black and white of Ranks and Files were becoming smattered in red.
What's black and white and red all over?
Slowly, he rose from the chair. His legs tremmbled, his hands clenching the rests. The more they advanced, the more his heart raced. This was it. This was what he'd waited for. Then, somethign was there -- at the back of his neck, in his hair. Something loosened, slipped, the patch falling from his eye. The world doubled, and reasembled, depth revived. And then, he glanced up. His Queen, the ultimate piece. Able to move in all directions, unlimited, unhindered. Even taken, all it would take to revive the Queen was a persistant pawn. The Queen could never truly die.
Kill them he felt himself mouth. Fire burned in his skull.
And in a dark blur, Sebastian was gone from his side, the black and white tiles all coated red.
[ Ciel awoke with a jolt, a choked gasp, his hand flying to cover his right eye. Breathing heavily, he fummbled one-handed for his dream-berry, and shut it off. ]
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