tampered | Closed rp

Entry tags:

Closed rp

When; February 4, nighttime.
Rating; PG
Characters; Claude Faustus

xthearaneae and Alois Trancy

ronderotarel
Summary; Alois is wandering around the Manor in the middle of the night, and he's lingering in front of Claude's bedroom door.
Log;

He originally planned to go get some milk in the kitchen, and then head straight back to bed.
However, in order to avoid walking down the darkest corridors of the Manor, he'd taken a small detour. He was walking down the corridor of the servant quarters, which has bigger windows and therefore is always lit by the City lights outside.
He'd really tried to head straight to the kitchen, to not think about whose bedroom he was walking past. But his legs had stopped moving right in front of Claude's bedroom door.

And that's where he's still standing right now, more than ten minutes later.

He'd like his pain to disappear like fairy dust, to leave him alone, to allow him to at least be able to walk down a corridor without being haunted by a thousand thoughts about his butler. Is he in his room right now? Or did he go outside? And if he did, where did he go? Is he about to kill some stranger to eat their soul? (The sole thought of Claude devouring anyone else but him makes Alois burn with jealousy).

He can't bring himself to walk inside the room. Not when he's aware that Claude hates him and probably woulnd't like his visit.
Yet at the same time he can't will himself to move and go back to bed.

Just another minute, is what he tells himself. I'll look at the door just another minute, then I'll go to bed.

Because staring at his bedroom door is as close as he can get to his butler these days.

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[Alois' eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when the door opens. He takes one step back, but he can't bring himself to bolt down the corridor before Claude sees him.

Before he knows it, he finds himself staring at Claude, which looks nothing like the proper butler he's used to. It's the first time Alois sees his butler wearing nothing more than a shirt. He gets distracted by that one open button that reveals Claude's Adam Apple.

His demon's features glow in the dim light. He looks like a statue, like the picture of a Prince Alois has seen in his fairy tale books. He looks anything but human.

And yet, as inhuman as Claude might seem, his eyes aren't full of that demonic coldness Alois got used to. He can't read the expression in them, but they look bigger now that they're not hidden behind the glasses. And they're glowing in the dim light, as if they were made of pure gold.

Alois is aware he must look like a pathetic, worthless idiot. He got caught standing there in front of Claude's bedroom door, like a child in desperate need of attention. Ciel would have never done something like this. He would've come up with something witty to explain why he was standing there, he would've found the right words to give Claude a harsh order, and he would have acted like the proper master Alois will never be. He can't bring himself to do anything of the sort.

All he does is standing there, wide-eyed, staring at Claude, too paralyzed to do anything else but wait.]

[ Surprise to surprise, it seemed but his is short lived. Certainly, the last one he'd expected standing by his doorway in the middle of the night. For what reason, buggered if he knew, really. Buggered if he wanted to know. Buggered if he was to ask. But familiarity and all around weariness keeps him from sending the boy away. Surely the dark must be getting to him one way or another. Despite the keening loathing for that child, something deeper, perhaps something connected to the contract they held shoves that aside a moment.

That look in his eyes, that glance torn between disdain and welcome is replaced by a moment of weariness that he lets seep through though momentarily. It wasn't proper for a butler to let his master see him as a figure less than perfect no matter what had transpired between them but this was all far too much for him to immediately be able to return to his usual face that seemed still and uncaring.

A breath escapes his lips and wordlessly, he steps aside as an invitation for his master to enter. ]

I apologize for being less than presentable tonight, master.

[You're always perfect to me, no matter if you're not presentable, is what Alois wants to say. Luckily, he manages to shut up.

It's weird, really, to hear Claude apologize. He never apologized for having killed Alois, yet he's sorry for not looking presentable. It makes Alois want to giggle humorlessly, but he can't do that. He's too amazed, because for less than a second he can swear he sees some kind of softness in Claude's eyes. As if he were too tired to keep hating Alois.

And then there's that silent invitation to enter the room.

Alois knows he shouldn't walk in. He knows it can be a trap. After all, this is the perfect occasion for Claude to try and kill him. But Alois doesn't care. If he has to die in exchange of getting to see those soft golden eyes for a minute more, then be it. He walks past Claude, inside the bedroom.

As expected, it's very tidy. Nothing is out of place, except for that book left open on the desk. Alois walks closer to see what it is, and is disappointed to see that it's just some boring, complicated philosophy stuff. Not that he'd hoped of having just caught Claude writing his secret diary in the middle of the night or anything.

Well maybe he did.]

He doesn't matter. [His voice is soft. He's tired too.] Weren't you in bed?

Sleep is a luxury for most demons.

[ His answer is simple, concise, straight to the point and giving nothing more than needed. So very Claude Faustus, indeed. Despite the momentary surprise, he slips so easily back into that plated armor he carried so well. No sense betraying his true state of mind to his master, after all. He was never one to show weakness to anyone, much less him. Perhaps especially him.

The door is closed behind them and he crosses the room to light a second candle in order to shed a bit more light into it. The last thing he wanted on his hands was an Alois freaking out because of the lack of light. Call it an old habit. He settles himself by the window, seemingly fixated on the candles but his chair remains pulled away from the desk and stands as another silent offer for his master to sit if he so wished to. ]

Is there something you wanted? Coming here this late, after all.

[But Alois doesn't want to sit down. He's too agitated. He feels as if he's dreaming. Claude is not glaring at him, hasn't crushed his skull yet, doesn't seem to want to do so. He feels as if one single faux pas might break the magic of this moment.

Seeing Claude lighting more candles makes his face grow hot, because he knows Claude is doing that just for him. Just so that he won't be scared.]

I didn't need anything, I was going back to bed. [He takes a deep breath.] Claude-- [And there are a thousand things he wants to ask. Are you still mad at me? Is this a dream? Will this moment last forever? But he feels like that single word already conveys all his feelings. He can't bring himself to say anything more, really. Not when he and Claude are alone, behind closed doors, in the middle of the night. More intimate than they've been in the longest time.

There's one single tear running down Alois' cheek, and he just looks at Claude. He stares and hopes Claude will understand everything he wants to say but cannot bring himself to. Because Claude always understands.]

[ He seems to pay the boy no attention afterward, glancing out the window and looking, for all the world preoccupied with whatever was going through his mind at the moment. And there was a lot, truth be told. If the momentary knot on his brow was any indication, then yes, there was far too racing in that head of his for him to have any measure of peace. So much to consider, so much to revise, plan and look over. But for what? Already he was second guessi--

Then he hears his name.

It takes him a moment to glance back and just turn his attention completely back toward Alois. The candlelight is reminiscent of the many nights he'd spent by his side, watching him, tending to him, waiting for him to sleep. He'd always associated seeing him by candlelight as seeing him far more fearful, smaller and in need of protection. It seems to stir something within the demon, something that had been buried deep beneath his sudden misplaced bloodlust.

Again, that weariness comes visible to his face. It replaces the frustration in an eyeblink as he reaches out with his hand (bare, for once. His gloves had been set aside along with his vest and coat) to brush that tear from the boy's cheek. He knows. His years of studying this boy's manner, this child who seemed to bare his heart to all had given him a measure of insight as to what went on in his head.

It was clear. He was tired. They both were. Of this, these frustrations, this silent war that had yet to come to fruition. ]

[Nighttime has always been the time in which Alois needs attention the most. He needs to be reassured because there's darkness coiling all around him, and nightmares ruining his sleep, and quietness that allows him to think of all his bad memories.

Claude always stayed in his room until he fell asleep. He cheered him up with his dorky pair of glasses if he was sad, and he read him fairy tales if Alois wasn't feeling sleepy.

But since Claude arrived in the City, he's never done any of that. Alois hasn't spent much time with him at all, and this has been driving him crazy. Day after day.

Now that hand, strong and white and with gleaming black fingernails, is brushing his face. It's such a familiar gesture. It's one of the last things Claude did right before killing Alois.

So now Alois is crying openly, and gripping to those long fingers with both his hands. He doesn't care if he's about to die, he doesn't want Claude to stop touching him just yet.]

Claude, I'm tired. [He's sobbing. Of course, this statement has a much, much broader meaning than what it might seem. He's tired of everything. He's tired of fighting for Claude's attention, he's tired of not getting anything in exchange, he's tired of this war that has been going on for too long. Yet at first sight, Alois looks just like a little child in desperate need of a nap, who's whining because he's unable to fall asleep.]

[ He was never one to admit weariness or to admit weakness but were Alois to look up from those tears, he'd see both evident on the demon's face clear as day. He is just as tired, just as frustrated but damned if he never said a thing or ever would for that matter. Things weren't going according to plan. Things never were going to, it seems but is he too far gone?

Were he capable of tears, were he even a fraction of the emotional thing Alois was, he would have let those fall a long time ago. But then, he did have quite the reputation to uphold. Even with his master, he was to be the perfect prince, the absolute paragon of strength, an unshakable pillar. Thus the finely crafted facade of an ice prince. But then, all this came at the same time and all at once. It was enough to overwhelm even the finest of ice princes.

What more could he say? What more could he do? Claude had always had a weakness for those tears. So he pulls himself away from the windowsill he's settled on and cups the boy's cheek in his palm. It's a practiced gesture, one he knows works to soothe that child's fears. That thumb continues to brush those tears away as he steps closer, just close enough for Alois to cling to as he usually does in times of distress such as this. ]

[And it's that weariness in Claude's eyes that is making Alois cry. A bit because he doesn't want Claude to feel that way, a bit because he's relieved. The closer Claude gets to him, the harder Alois cries. There are too many conflicting thoughts in his mind. He cries because he knows he's acting like the little brat Claude abandoned, and cries harder when he realizes there's nothing he can do about that. He cries because now that Claude is closer, he can see him better. He can see his strong, perfect features in the dim light, and he knows he will never be that perfect himself, so he'll never be worthy of him.

But it doesn't matter, because Claude is cupping his face and is leaning close to him. Alois, in return, leans forward and buries his face against Claude's chest. His tears are wetting the light fabric of Claude's shirt, but he's is too busy smelling Claude's scent to care.]

I haven't smelled you in a long time. [Because Claude was always close enough to him to allow him to smell his scent. But they've been apart for so long Alois nearly forgot what Claude's smell was like. It's a weird way of saying I missed you.]

You left me without your smell for too long.

[I missed you for too long. Now Alois is hitting Claude, bringing his fist against his chest over and over again. He's not putting any effort into this. The blows are too slow and weak, and wouldn't hurt anybody. Yet he keeps hitting Claude's chest because right now he's tired, and nearly hysterical, and there's nothing else he can do. If he can't find the words to express his pain, then he'll keep trying to hurt Claude, to tell him how much he's suffering.]

Edited 2012-02-04 22:45 (UTC)

[ Those tears both infuriated and enraptured him. It reminded him of weakness, of the reason why he'd abandoned this child beneath that blue moon. His sniveling and sudden desperate declaration that was soon lost and never heard from again. And yet, it reminded him of other times. The candlelight didn't help. It often accompanied tears, after all: tears from nightmares, tears from fear...those sorts of tears. But what sort were these?

His fingers absently pass through those golden strands, parting them evenly through his strokes. It was a measured motion, one he had done time and time again...perhaps even the last thing Alois felt before that crushing blow.

The memory causes a frown to crease those fine features. This entire... leaving him for too long bit makes no sense. The last time he'd been in close quarters with Alois was mere minutes before arriving in this accursed city. Apparently, the boy had been here far longer than he had, long enough to miss him and yet remembered his death. Yet another thing he constantly mulled over through the daily grind of work and avoidance. ]

How long...?

[Those two simple words infuriate him. He wants to beat Claude harder for saying such a thing. He knows the only reason Claude wants to know how long he's been in the City is to gain more information, to weave a new spiderweb.

Yet at the same time he cannot stop himself from answering. There's nothing he could ever deny Claude.]

Two months. [His voice is little more than a whisper. He's sobbing too hard to speak properly.] We were in a nice place before. You and I. Then I was brought here.

[He remembers his last moments in Nirvana perfectly well. He was resting his head on Claude's shoulder, and Claude had one arm around him. He was making a flower crown. Then he felt that pulling sensation, and he was taken away from his beloved bluebell field.

But it doesn't matter now. Because no matter if Claude doesn't remember, he's still here with him. Alois begins to calm down a little bit, and sighs tiredly as he lets Claude stroke his hair.]

[ Perhaps it was that. Both that and natural curiosity that made him want to ask. After all, it couldn't have been that long. The way Alois was, he could make two days seem like a year apart between them. Two months must have been an eternity.

As much as he loathed to admit it, there was something oddly calming about having the boy in his arms again. It brought a sense of normalcy when he so desperately needed just the tiniest hint of it. Out of habit, he finds himself resting his head against Alois' own, lost in silence and his own thoughts as he mulled over all of this. From different times, different places... this was overwhelming, to say the least, even for someone like him. ]

...unfortunate...

[This is the main reason why, even after all this time, Alois keeps loving and forgiving Claude. It's because he knows that no matter how many times Claude betrays him, there's always a moment in which Claude goes back to being his Prince Charming (His Highness).

He savours the moment, resting his cheek against Claude's chest, closing his eyes. The fabric of Claude's shirt is so thin Alois feels as if he's leaning against Claude's bare chest. He'd stay like this forever if he could.]

Don't do it again. Don't ever leave me alone for so long again. You're mine, Claude- [ His voice should be more forceful, it should express all his desperate possessiveness towards his demon. But he's too charmed by the way Claude is holding him. His voice comes out in a soft whisper, as if he were lulling himself to sleep on his feet, pressed against Claude's chest. He yawns.]

Edited 2012-02-06 16:10 (UTC)

[ These moments, however fleeting are lost to the night and to Alois' dreams most likely... save for this one moment where perhaps they both needed it despite neither one willing to voice this need. Except maybe through the boy's sudden order. Death didn't change him apparently. He was always so secure in his place, always so willful... always so stubborn with his love. He didn't know what else to say, what else there was to be said to that order. The same words, of course. ]

...Yes, your highness.

[ But what more could he do, really? Again, his weariness overcame him. Nothing tired a demon physically but there were a million and one reasons for him to feel at the least weary and burdened. There was a short breath as he found himself leaning slightly against the windowsill, still with the boy in his arms. He felt the sudden weight though and it's with one single movement that he picks Alois up only to gently set him down on his bed. It was the only move, considering the boy would probably be stubborn enough not to want to leave. ]

[Yes Your Highness. There are few things about Claude Alois missed more than hearing him say those three words. He wonders if Claude really considers him His Highness, or if he's just calling him that to soothe him.

But it doesn't matter. Everything is forgiven the moment Claude picks him up and sits him on the bed.

Alois curls up in a tight ball and looks up at Claude through his blonde bangs. He's tired, and he looks even smaller, all curled up like that. He feels vulnerable, but he's still wilful enough to order Claudd around.]

Come here with me. [It's little morethan a whisper, but he knows Claude can hear him anyway. ]

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