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if all bad children go to hell, it's because they want the fire.
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damn right,it's better than yours.
[A continuation of this. In the evening, Ciel and Alois need to talk. This post is here because we just put another log up like two days ago, but it might be a bit too tl;dr for actionspam. Just for tidiness!]

Ciel had kept his promise about not fainting again. That was a comfort in its own way, although Alois honestly would have preferred the boy's thin legs to be kept out of commission. With Ciel's head in thick London fog, he couldn't do much for himself. It left Alois working, yes, and nobles shouldn't work, but if also left Alois pulling strings, to an extent. Noble hands could really take the back seat, if only for that.

(Even if Claude had scrubbed callouses away for him and soaked him in lotion, Alois Trancy's hands were too skilled to belong to his name.)

Ice cream had been fetched, despite Alois' desperate flare for drama. He brought it, now, in two small dishes. Ciel laid in bed, the sun was sinking fully, and Alois was anxious for the taste and for the talk.

It had been a productive bath.

"Ciel. I even brought napkins." Not cloth, which was regrettable. (Even villagers kept cloth napkins, at home. Paper towels hadn't really made it around yet.)
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