Ciel Phantomhive wakes to a silent, but brightly-lit room. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, he scans his bedroom for that damn butler of his.

"Sebastian!" he shouts. "Godammit, Sebastian, where are you, you useless bastard?!"

Climbing from the bed, he staggers to a desk in the corner. Opening the leather-bound diary, he pulled the ribbon bookmark, and the page fell open to….

"31st October?" Ciel says aloud. "Tsk. Should have realised."

Every year, on 31st October, Sebastian Michealis would busy himself with a task of some sort, be it carrying out an errand on behalf of the Queen's Watchdog or the Funtom Company. Those were the excuses he'd used the past two years, anyway. Did he really think that Ciel was credulous enough to miss a pattern such as this?

But now, Ciel has a problem. He is a teenage aristocrat, brought up in the upper class; he couldn't do anything for himself.

"Now…" he says to himself, "what does Sebastian do? He opens the curtains."

Ciel gathers up the material, and flings them apart in the same flamboyant way Sebastian does. And….nothing happens.

After a couple more failed attempts, he decides to move on. "I don't want any paedophiles watching me get dressed, anyway."

Ciel opens the cupboard, and slumps his shoulders in defeat. He can't fasten buttons, he can't tie laces; he can't dress himself at all.

"Lizzie…" Ciel mumbles.

Padding back to the desk, and, picking up the phone, rings in the only phone number he knows; Lady Elizabeth Middleford.

"Hello?"

"Hello. May I speak with Lady Elizabeth?"

"…Earl Phantomhive? I'm sorry, milord, she's in Wales today."

"What? Why!"

"She's having tea with the Duchess. Shall I leave her a message?"

"…I just rang to say Good Morning."

Ciel hangs up, and sighs, slumping forwards onto the desk. There's no one to help him. Still, he can't wander around the mansion in just his- well, [1] Sebastian's- work shirt. Ciel plucks a pair of blue [2]britches from the cupboard, and studies them. Just one button; it shouldn't be two difficult.

**Ten minutes later**

Alright, the britches are on, now for a fresh shirt. Except…buttons.

Ciel thinks for a moment. His shirts are white, Sebastian's shirts are white; no one will notice, and he's not going anywhere today anyway.

Ciel shoves the shirt into his britches, and reaches for a pair of black braces. "Now, how the hell does this work?"

**Half an hour later**

The braces are on, if a tad [3]skewwhiff. Now, for a waistcoat. Then a jacket. Then a tie. Then socks, shoes, eye patch… Ciel sighs, yet again. He really is helpless without his butler.

**[4]A while later**

Ciel saunters downstairs, after scrapping the idea of wearing his tie, jacket and eye patch. His socks are trailing around his ankles, the buckles of his shoes are loose, his waistcoat has been left open, and his hair has simply been smoothed down with his hands. And, the pink insignia on his eye is visible, but the servants have seen it before anyway.

Ciel gazes at the walls, as they become plainer, and plainer, and plainer. He's never been in the servant's quarters before.

"Bard!" Ciel barks. The Yankee whirls, confused, and the cigarette drops from his mouth as he gawps at the Young Master.

"Bo… Bocchan… what are you doing down here?"

"I came to get breakfast."

"Where's Sebastian?"

"Out."

"Where?"

"Buckingham Palace!" Finnian shrieks, appearing at the garden door. "Her Majesty requested his presence."

Her Majesty requested Sebastian, but not Ciel? Something's off, even if the stupid servants are too dopey to realise it.

"Well… uh…" Bard grabs a pan, "what would you like for breakfast, Bocchan?"

Ciel frowns. "Excuse me?"

"What would you like for breakfast?"

"You're giving me… a choice[5]?"

"Yes. What would you like, Bocchan?"

"Uh…" Ciel stare at the stone floor. "I… I don't know."

"Oh, oh, oh!" Finnian jumps up and down, "Have you ever had a [6]Full English before, Bocchan?"

"A Full English?"

"Yeah," Finnian nods wildly, "Tanaka made it for us once. Bard, you know how to make it, right?" And all of a sudden, Finnian's eyes grew ten times bigger.

"Of course I do, kid!" Bard ruffles the boy's hair. "Would you like a Full English, Bocchan?"

"What on Earth is it?" Ciel asks, feeling alienated. 'Am I uncultured?' he asks himself, 'no, I just don't know much about commoner's food, that's all.'

"Come watch him make it!" Finnian dashes forwards, and, wrapping his arms around Ciel's, drags him to the fireplace.

Bard's eyes grow wide, not from hope, but from fear. His gaze switches between the two boys, sending a hint to Finnian.

The hint hits home, and Finnian leaps back, as if he'd been burned. "Gomenasai!" he cries, bowing so deeply his head almost hits the floor.

Ciel pauses. "It's perfectly alright. After all, I would kill any man who said the Phantomhive family was not accepting of all classes. And, I am curious as to what this 'Full English' entails of."

Bard releases a shaky breath, and Finnian's face grows bright with relieved joy. Within minutes, the kitchen is filled with the delicious smell of sausages.

Author's note

[1] Sebastian's work shirt; Ciel sleeps in the shirt that Sebastian wore during the day. More on that later.

[2] Britches; Shorts.

[3] Skewwhiff; Yes that really is how skewwhiff is spelt.

[4] A while; "If you tell your reader the exact amount of time it took Bocchan to dress himself," Sebastian smiles sweetly, "I will kill you. It is a part of my service as a butler to the Phantomhive household, and, after all, I am one hell of a butler."

[5] Choice; Victorian maids and butlers did everything, so children were never given a choice of food, clothes, or even daily activities. Trust the History nerd.

[6] Full English; Bacon, sausage, egg, tomatoes, beans, mushrooms, fried bread, black pudding.

I do not own Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji) or any of its characters. Nor do I own any britches. And at this precise moment in time, I don't have any Full English either.

-Laurel Silver.