I actually wrote the majority of this chapter last August (yikes) and just finished it today, a year later, in July. It's shorter than I anticipated, but I really wanted to get it out tonight. Please excuse me if the writing style changes near the end. Thanks for hanging in there! I appreciate it.

Here's to chapter four– please enjoy! And remember, reviews and critique mean SO much to me.

Sundown

When the food cart comes by for its fifth round, Ciel isn't even interested. He already knows how much of everything they have: nine different flavors of cola, five brands of iced tea, three types of alcoholic beverages, one brand of coffee (and not a particularly good one at that), raspberry and cashew granola bars, extremely salty trail-mix, and navy packets of ladyfingers.

He is so bored that he's spent the majority of time learning the names of most of the people in the area. The freckled kid behind him is named Jim, and his mother is named Martha. She has a temerarious boyfriend named Philip. There's an elderly man sitting in front of Ciel who snores loudly and likes those disgusting granola bars. He's also a drunk. As is his son who has downed about five bottles of Bud Light and two whole packets of Trident gum within the past seven hours.

The row of three across from the old man are friends that are going to Las Vegas for some fashion event. They're obsessed with cartoons, Tumblr, and Facebook.

For the many hours he's been on the flight, he's gone from finishing the first Sherlock Holmes book, to looking out the window at one of the Missouri lakes, to playing Bach on his iPod, to eating through one pack of ladyfingers and downing one cup of bitter and stale-tasting coffee as a makeshift breakfast.

There are movies that play on the flight– most, though, are boring family ones that have no analytical or stimulating plots.

At 3:36, he remembers turning over and talking with Sebastian– conversations about how the photoshoot will play out and where it will take place.

But now, he's bored again. He wants a change of scenery, and the only place he can get that is in the bathroom or in his dreams. However, he's already killed two (out of the ten) hours of the flight by sleeping, and he isn't tired anymore.

'This could all be resolved if I had a game to play on my phone,' he thinks, and out of the corner of his eye, he spots Francis. For the past four hours, she's been reading through the books that she brought– law and order books and makeup and nutritional books. Never once has she looked up at the snack cart woman, and never once has she gotten up to go to the bathroom. At least... Ciel doesn't remember if she did. She might have while he was sleeping...

She looks like a stone carving with her head down, and her pale, slender fingers paused on the page and hardback cover. Her face doesn't change expression at all, and the only movements are her breathing, her blinking, and her hands when she turns the page.

He is very much reminded of a gargoyle or some other kind of creature when he looks at Francis Midford. Her eyes are always piercing, even when she's just reading. She always has a biting stare, even when there's nothing to be angry about. She seems to be permanently in a cold mood, even when she's just doing the day-to-day activities.

Ciel remembers this very well when she took his phone not too long ago. And this brings him back to his boredom. If he had his phone, he would've played tons of games by now. He might've beat that newest one he had downloaded Saturday evening, and then he would've started that new German one that he had planned on purchasing.

Instead, he was stuck listening to the loud drunken laughter and the gum-smacking of the pair in front of him. Delightful.

That's not to say that he didn't think of trying. In fact, it was during the fifth hour of the flight that Ciel considered asking for his phone back. But he had quickly decided against it; that would be suicide.

There is nothing left to do but begin reading again. With a mostly inaudible sigh, Ciel takes out the scarlet book, flips past the title page and table of contents, and apathetically stares down at the first page.

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case–

"Ciel."

The boy glances over towards his agent. Normally, he's irritated when someone interrupts him while reading, but right now, an interruption doesn't sound bad at all. He moves away the fist that is propping up his chin.

"I would have told you earlier, but you had fallen asleep," Sebastian smiles at him as usual, and for a second, Ciel gets sucked into that gaze. Why is Sebastian always so buoyant? Always smiling and being in such a pleasant mood? He'd probably even have that face if the plane was crashing. He'd smile and go to the pilot and offer to help in some way. Yes. That sounds about right. Sebastian is always calm, always agreeable and always seemingly optimistic. He never panics, never raises his voice, never wishes the worst on others. At least, that's what he makes himself out to be. But Ciel knows better. Anyone that just takes things as they look is dense. Everything is beneath the surface, tucked away in obscurity. Everything.

"What?" Ciel grumbles, shifting so he's looking into Sebastian's face.

"My phone number– I bought a new phone and I've changed the number." Sebastian produces a nice, sleek, black iPhone. The finish is completely clear, while the screen is devoid of any irksome fingerprints or scratches. It reminds Ciel of his own iPhone, though his model is older whereas Sebastian has the newest one. Ciel regards it with slight interest for a while before he notices a cellphone charm on the end. A charm of a black cat.

'Figures.'

"If you have a pencil available I'd like to give you my–"

The intercom crackles at that minute and everyone's told to buckle their seat belts.

Ciel starts for a moment, then straightens out. He feels around for his own seat belt that he had removed while attempting to offer a dropped handheld game to the freckled boy behind him. When he finds it, it just so happens that he hears another loud clacking noise against the end of his chair, and turns around to glance at the freckled boy.

The same freckled boy, brown eyes wide and nervous, utters, "I'm sorry, I lost my game again."

Ciel spies the brightly-colored device a few inches into the aisle, and just as he's about to reach for it, he's stopped by Sebastian.

"Please, allow me."

Sebastian reaches over and collects the game while Ciel buckles back in his seat belt. The plane is touching down very soon, and he can see that they've lowered their altitude slightly. As he begins to gather his things in his arms, he hears a shrill whisper of his name from across the aisle.

It's Alois.

The boy is smiling cheekily at him, waving a small wave. Ciel can feel his body tense as he glares right through him, then grits back, "What?"

"Did you get enough sleep? You napped for quite a few hours, Sleeping Beauty."

"What's your point?"

"Nothing. It's just that you were the one blathering about being dignified and holding up a good image."

"Again, what's your point?"

"You didn't seem to be holding up a good, dignified image, drooling on yourself and all."

Ciel can feel his cheeks growing hot, though whether it's from anger or embarrassment he doesn't care to know. He feels almost sickened, watching Alois' smile widen and his blue eyes squint in delight. He wants to vomit at that sight.

He can't stand that face.

So he doesn't look at it for long. Instead, he finishes gathering up his belongings and glares straight ahead until they're released from the plane.

By the time they land for the last time in Las Vegas, Nevada, Alois can't help but feel the utmost excitement. Sure, the whole news about leaving the country was thrilling, and then there was that ten hour flight, and the layover, but now they are actually there.

He walks off of the plane and stretches. He relishes the sound of his stiff muscles as they pop and crackle. His fingers reach out towards the ceiling, they flex, then close together, then flex again, until Alois feels the last burst of extra energy drain away. Then he yawns and glances around at the huge airport.

Tiled floors, rushing bodies, colorful digital lights– it looks mostly like the London Heathrow Airport. He turns towards Claude.

"Well, what now?"

"We go through immigration."

The five of them trek to immigration, each person gripping their passports and other papers they might need. There's a large sign displayed on the wall in front of the immigration booths that exclaims, "Welcome to America" in red, white, and blue letters. Alois smirks inwardly. He loves that sign. He's over 1,000 miles away from home. One-thousand miles! And Las Vegas, almost like a mini New York, is right outside the airport doors.

Every one shuffles into line behind a group of gabby tourists. And Alois watches as Sebastian smiles, veering off to side and says, "Mrs. Midford, please go in front of me; lady's first." The bulldog woman steps forward and mutters something under her tongue that Alois can't make out.

Ciel's agent is so debonair, charming and gentlemanly. He looks like a model but acts like a butler. What a strange combination, but it seems to describe Sebastian well. He seems like the type that's very structured, probably the type that has a sock drawer organized by colors, Alois thinks and laughs inwardly. He's what some call the 'cool type.' He'll drink coffee in the mornings and use big, complicated words, yet he probably spends hours on Twitter and wears the coolest brands of shoes.

Yeah, that seems like him. Totally genteel and courteous on the outside, but when he's alone, he's probably the coolest person you'd ever meet.

Or maybe Alois' perceptions are totally off. He's never a good judge on outwards appearances. He doesn't even know how to describe himself.

He turns his gaze back to Sebastian and Sebastian looks right at him.

"Mr. Trancy, Mr. Claude, please, would you go ahead of me as well?"

Alois glances at Claude, as if only Claude can answer. But Claude just shakes his head and responds, "No. We'll stay where we are."

They shuffle through the line until they meet the lady at the desk. She looks like she's having a bad day (and sounds like it, too) but she just asks the necessary questions, looks at their passports, then directs them to baggage claims.

Claude leads the way there, and as they watch the conveyor belt twirl round and round, Alois can't help but feel pleased. It's nice to see Claude leading instead of falling into place behind Sebastian. So, he smiles, and glances around at the conveyor belt, waiting for his plum-colored trunk to show up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can hear Ciel's voice. He's talking with that bulldog woman about calling a cab.

'Whatever', Alois thinks. 'I don't mind walking.' And it's true, because Alois hasn't moved his legs for hours –minus the hour layover– and he would rather walk or run all over Las Vegas. He shifts the weight from one leg to the other as he turns his head away from Ciel and back onto the conveyor belt. And he notices something interesting.

A black shoulder bag wrapped with a baggage tag. It looks familiar.

Alois takes a step forward, crouches over, and inspects the tag.

To: Las Vegas, Nevada 5:45 PM

From: London, England 5:22 AM

Name: Sebastian Michaelis

Additionally, the man's address is labeled on the front.

He unzips one of pockets, the one on the front, and reaches through it. There's nothing much in the front pocket– just a few books and sheets of paper. When Alois retracts, in his hand he holds a daily planner with a bunch of kittens on the front cover.

'So he's a cat lover? What a weirdo.'

Alois reaches his hand back inside, finds another book– one without any words on the cover. It's crimson in color, and when Alois opens it, his eyes are met with a nice scrawl of cursive handwriting and the words: Last seen on July 15– 4:30, England. Phantomhive...

He doesn't read anymore because he hears footsteps coming. So he quickly unzips and shoves the book back into the shoulder bag. And as soon as he straightens up, he notices his trunk rotating around the conveyer belt, so he goes towards it and picks it up. The footsteps halt directly behind him.

"We're going to call a cab." It's Ciel, and Alois is slightly surprised he's talking to him. Ciel's seems like the type that doesn't hold a grudge over petty things like being called "Sleeping Beauty." He's beginning to form a picture in Alois' mind. He's shrewd, sophisticated, and often grouchy. He's extremely confidential (Alois can't help but want to rip that eyepatch off) and secretive; he's mature, stable, industrious, focused, laconic, like Claude.

He finds Ciel shooting him a jaundiced eye, narrowed and as cold as ice.

"Did you hear me?" he repeats. There's that lingering sternness in his voice. "I said we're going to call a cab."

"Yeah, I heard," Alois replies, turning around. "I heard you the first time."

Ciel turns to the side and Alois notices that glacial eye scrutinizing him. Ciel's eagle-eyed– Alois adds that to the ongoing list of adjectives. He also thinks that 'reserved' might be another good one, so he adds that to the list, too. He tries to decide if Ciel can or cannot be considered impolite, but Ciel interrupts, slicing his train of thought in half.

"You were spacing out. Do you have all your things?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go."

Before Ciel can leave, Alois snags his sleeve and points in one direction. "There's less people blocking this exit." Ciel shoves his hand away, but obliges. They both walk a short distance, away from the baggage claims, evading the currant of rushing businesspeople and cranky mothers. Eventually, they reach the exit. Alois is right, this one, unlike the others, is not too crowded. The people are ushering in and out like clockwork. Alois' relieved; he hates waiting.

Once they push open the doors, humidity claims them. It's sundown, and the temperature is much higher than it had been in England. It feels around 29˚C, maybe 30. Right in front of the airport are the busy Las Vegas streets– most cars possibly packed with workers trying to rush home or trying to rush to a bar.

Honking horns, raucous laugher, and screeching tires are all part of the soundtrack to the amazing scene of blinking lights against a twilight sky that rolls out in front of them. Alois stares at it all in wonder; Ciel couldn't be more bored.

Walking down the sidewalks in the opposing direction of traffic, the airport eventually becomes a backdrop. Ciel walks in fast, persistent steps, always moving forward and lingering in an area for no more than a second. He's probably trying to find the nearest sign, probably eager to escape the inevitable and oncoming disarray that comes with nightlife.

Alois keeps up as best he can, until he realizes his bag is slipping. He hoists it up higher upon his shoulder. It's heavy– how did he not notice it before? Oh, wait, yeah, Claude was holding it earlier. Wait...

"Where are they?" Evidentially, Ciel is thinking the same thing as Alois, but he just gets to voice his thoughts first. "Where did they go?" Ciel glances back and forth, his eye follows a cab as it surges down the street before disappearing into the sea of cars up ahead.

"Don't tell me..." he trails off, narrowing his eye. "They left without us?"

Alois' not sure if he should be excited or startled by that, but he chooses, for a moment, to be startled. "Oh? They already left?"

"I'm not sure."

"How long ago did you decide to call for the cab?"

"Five minutes ago, more or less," Ciel tacks the last part at the end as an afterthought. "How did they not realize we weren't in the car?" Ciel sounds distressed– his voice isn't exactly a whiny-distressed, though; it's more on the verge of an exasperated-distressed. Alois forces his smile to stay down, but he can't help but enjoy this. There's a bubbling in his stomach, a warm glow that ebbs throughout his abdomen as he beholds Ciel grumbling in frustration. It's funny, evidently, to see Ciel pissed-off. So funny that his laughter almost tumbles out of mouth. Almost.

He watches as Ciel sighs once more and then turns his eyes towards him.

"We'll walk a bit further and see if we can find them."

They walk for a while longer with Ciel eyeing each cab with quick but thorough glances only to produce the same results– the faces of strangers. The airport is nothing but a distant memory at this point, as they've walked so far they've changed streets three times.

By this time, Ciel has lost track of time– whether five minutes or fifteen have passed, he's not sure, and he's not the type to wear wristwatches, either. As they both walk, Ciel in front with Alois trailing behind, Ciel regards every face he can. Still to no avail.

"Well, what a waste of time," he mutters, and pauses for a moment. At that moment, a lady clad in black leather hastens nearer, cellphone in hand, cigarette in mouth, glass of beer between her fingers. And Ciel remembers his phone.

The one he doesn't have. The one that was confiscated as his punishment. The one he needs, right now.

"Hey," Alois' voice breaks his pattern of thought. "Why'd you stop? The street's going to be crawling with boozehounds; if you don't want to be in the middle of it, start walking–"

"Do you have a cellphone?"

Alois seems to be taken aback by Ciel actually asking something of him, but Ciel disregards it. If they're going to get anywhere, he needs to use what resources he has. Even if he has to ask Alois Trancy.

"Yeah."

Ciel reaches out a hand for it. "Give it to me."

"Wha–?"

"I'm going to call Sebastian."

Ciel watches as Alois recoils, cradling the tiny white phone. "I'll do it."

"Just let me, you don't know the number."

"Then tell me the number and I'll put it in."

Ciel advances and grasps the phone, but he realizes Alois doesn't let go so easily: he tugs back harder, almost causing Ciel to bumble forward. With his grip slightly diminished but not nearly relinquished, Ciel yanks back, and it turns into a mini tug-of-war.

Alois certainly is strong, Ciel notices, but his disadvantage is the heavy bag weighing down upon his shoulder. Ciel yanks a bit harder, and flashes Alois a glower. And just as Alois almost loses his grip on the phone entirely, Ciel feels a rough thud against his back, and he's taken off-guard. He lunges forward, losing his balance on the ground as well as on the phone, and he watches the device fly out of both their hands, soar upwards a few inches, and take a dive into a nearby storm drain.

Ciel catches his balance and immediately jerks around to see the same black-leather-jacket smoker swaying and laughing, waving her arm in the air before she turns around and slurs with alcoholic breath, "Sorry, hunnnn."

Ciel doesn't accept her apology.

Instead, he turns back around to see Alois glaring down the drainage well on hands in knees. Ciel notices he's very much in the street, but if Alois doesn't care for his own safety, Ciel doesn't either. He's been nothing but trouble, anyway.

"This is all your fault," Alois scathes, his voice like verbal acid. The eyes that once gleamed with impudence and arrogance have been polished into an irate glower. But Ciel is fine with that, in fact, it's perfect. Maybe this new-found rage will alter him enough to be serious about what's actually going on. Or not.

"If you had just let me do it, this wouldn't have happened." Ciel makes his voice sound cool. "Now look– your own foolishness caused this to happen."

"Me? You really are a bloody joke, aren't you? I wasn't the one that got rammed in the back and stumbled over my own two feet!"

"Arguing about this isn't doing anything for our current situation. The phone's gone and it's almost night." Ciel shoots a glance at the darkened sky painted in orange and dark blue. Traffic, in some areas, has picked up, and then in others it hasn't. He can hear booming trance music spilling through the doors of clubs. Soon the streets will be filled with partygoers and drunkards, police men and reckless teenagers. Finding shelter is top priority.

"The phone's gone for good; just forget about it. We'll just find another place that has a phone. Then we can call–"Ciel pauses, and realization hits him hard.

He didn't even get Sebastian's number. Their earlier conversation had been interrupted by the plane's intercom and he had gotten distracted and Sebastian hadn't gotten to finish. No number, no one to call, no use for a phone.

"'Then we can call' who?" Alois barks back, ripping Ciel away from his thoughts, and Ciel hates it when Alois does that. Ciel places a finger underneath his lips as he tries to remember the name of the hotel they were going to stay at.

"Nevermind. We're going to go find a hotel," Ciel says instead, and glances around the dark streets for a cab. It seems a bit late, but he knows that in a city that operates exclusively in the night, there should be a few patrolling around. He waves one of the cabs cruising down the street, and watches the car ease to a stop.

Alois takes a step forward, having finally removed himself from the street. "Where are we going?"

"The hotel."

"What hotel?"

Ciel gives Alois a once-over. It surprises him that Alois was so shut out of the trip's plans. First he arrives practically late to the airport, and at that moment, Ciel's surprised he hadn't even heard about their arrangements.

"Just get into the cab, I'll tell you on the way." Ciel opens the door and slips in first, and he notices Alois, after lingering for a moment with a look that can only be described as perplexity, steps forward and slides in beside him.

The cab driver eyes them suspiciously, probably wondering why two teenagers are wandering around Las Vegas alone at the nighttime hour. Ciel gets himself situated as he eyes him back. And frankly, Ciel finds that man much stranger. He's wearing casual clothing. Casual, dirty clothing, Ciel corrects himself as he takes in the sight of either a coffee, chocolate, or pizza stain lining the man's white cotton lapels and collar.

The inside of the cab reeks of cigarette smoke, pungent ale, and, for some strange reason, bananas. The man is holding a cigarette between his two stubby, ash-covered fingers, and Ciel notices the ale bottle not too far away. It's half-empty, the ring of the bottle glistens with saliva.

His face is quite scraggly, half-shaven with messy bangs sprinkled with dandruff. And his eyes look droopy and half-lidded.

He looks drunk.

Ciel takes a quick glance at his name tag, just to be sure that he really is an employee. It's marked with the words Timothy.

And the tag is pinned upside-down.

In addition to that, he's wearing a shiny flat cap with the words 'Las Vegas Cab' printed on the fabric half of the front.

Ciel instantly feels uncomfortable. He watches the ale bottle wearily before asking, "Are you drinking?"

"Nah," the man picks up the bottle and waggles it back and forth like a pendulum, liquid sloshing and bubbling. "This is diet coke. I just put it in my favorite ale bottle."

His hiccup isn't reassuring.

"This car smells like alcohol."

"That's my cologne." The man replaces the bottle after he takes another swag of it and gulps audibly. Then he reaches up to fix his cap and straighten out in the chair before he cranes his neck back to look at them.

"Where to, boys?" His words slur.

"The Wynn Hotel," Ciel begins, eyeing the door. "3121 Las Vegas Boulevard."

"I know, kid, I've got a GPS. I've been in this business for..." the man pauses to count on his fingers. "Fifteen years. Or maybe... thirteen, whichever."

"How many miles does it take to get there?" Alois asks, shifting in his seat. He has his palm planted underneath his chin and he's gazing out at the window sourly. Ciel wonders if Alois' noticed the driver's odd behavior.

But Ciel reconsiders. 'He couldn't. He's probably still upset about the phone.'

Timothy taps his hand against the GPS. "Thirteen minutes, 4.3 miles."

Ciel responds back fast. "Cost?"

"$20.13," he says. "And don't forget the tip– it's 15%." Timothy's eyes roll up into the back of his skull for a moment. "$23.15 should be your total."

"Alright," Ciel responds, relaxing against the cushion. "Go on."

Timothy snorts, wipes his nose and starts up the engine again. He eases off down the street. He's going only fifteen miles per hour. Before they can move very far, they stop at a red light.

Timothy takes another swag from the bottle and picks up his lighter before glancing in the rearview mirror.

"You mind if I smoke?"

Ciel's appalled to say the least– that a cab driver would smoke in the car.

"Yes."

The man chuckles a bit over whatever Ciel's not sure, but he drops the lighter and begins fumbling around in the glove compartment for a bit. His fingers continuously scrabble with the handle before the compartment pops open, spilling maps, packs of Marlboro, ties, Starbucks coffee cups, and even the man's underwear.

"Ahh, crap." He shoves aside the plastic cups and lids before giving up on whatever he was looking for. "Hey, pirate-boy, what was the zip code to the Win again?"

"The Wynn. Besides, I thought you said you knew the directions?"

"I do. I just need the zip, blasted GPS won't work without knowing the zip."

"But I thought you said you knew."

"C'mon, eyepatch, just give me the digits."

With a sigh, Ciel decides it's virtually useless to argue. Not only that, but the light will be turning green soon and it's better to know the address before the meter starts tallying up. "89109," he replies quietly. Timothy inputs the number, and there's the ding and a voice that says, "Route to Destination found."

The light changes green and the car actually speeds up from fifteen miles per hour to a casual twenty-three miles per hour. As they pass the sidewalks filled with colorful bystanders and pedestrians, Ciel hears Timothy clear his throat and shoot a glance up at the mirror at him.

"You're going to quite a ritzy place, aren't you? You kiddies got money?"

The thought of being mugged by an unkempt cab-driver enters Ciel's head. "Not as much as you may think," he retorts, and the man guffaws hoarsely. At that point, Ciel actually smells the diet coke lacing his breath.

"And those accents. You from Britain?"

"Yes."

"You posh people must think of us Americans dopes, don't ya?"

"Not necessarily," Ciel responds.

"And do you guys really sit around and drink tea all day in your castles?"

"Not all day. ...And I don't live in a castle."

The man guffaws hoarsely again. "Well, I guess not, Buccaneer."

Please stop with the pirate jokes. Ciel cringes inwardly. Fortunately for him, the man does quiet down and continues the rest of the trip in silence. For Ciel, he's already planning what to do when they get to the Wynn. They'll get their room keys and once they reach their rooms, Sebastian, Francis, and Alois' agent will all be there waiting. Yes, that sounds about right. They'll go for dinner, come back, Ciel will get a nice bath, and then, they'll go to sleep and wake up in the morning for the photoshoot. Yes, that sounds good.

Lights begin to flicker across Ciel's face. The sky is completely dark now, making the lights from beyond more visible. Ciel refocuses his attention on the street and his surroundings.

"Hey, Jack Sparrow, your stop is coming up on the right."

The sign for the Wynn hotel appears, and Ciel's whole existence lets out an exhale. Never has he been so happy to see a building and to get their in one piece. When the car stops, Ciel begins to turn to Alois to ask if he has any money, but decides not to start. It'll just explode into an argument anyway, and Ciel really wants to leave. So he just pays the tab, thanks the man and stumbles out of the cab with his luggage. Alois follows behind.

The man drives off after giving them a tip of his cab, and as soon as he's off down the street, Alois makes a disgusted face.

"What kind of sick person keeps their boxers in their glove compartment?"

Instead of answering, Ciel tugs on the handle of his luggage case and hauls it off toward the front entrance. Again, Alois follows behind, like a child with its parent, and it might as well be just that, since Alois has the attitude of a toddler.

Once they enter, Ciel stomps right over to the desk and inputs his name.

"Ahh, sorry, Sir, but there's no one by that name here. But there are other rooms available, would you like me to give you a room for tonight?"

Ciel's stumped and it's as if all the air has been knocked out of him. Wait, wait, wait. He's sure, no, positive, that the Wynn hotel was the one that was booked. There shouldn't have been a mistake. Unless... he really hadn't booked the Wynn and there was some other hotel instead.

He tries again. "Are you sure my name, Phantomhive, P-h-a-n-t-o-m-h-i-v-e, isn't in the system?"

She types the name in again before offering him a wrinkled frown. "Sorry, Sir, no one by that name booked a room."

Ciel slaps a hand to his forehead. "Alright, then can we just book a room?"

"Just for tonight, Sir?"

"Yes."

He's actually quite surprised she's not questioning his age, but at this point, he really doesn't care. He just wants a room and a bed to sleep in.

"Alright, you're all settled. Check-out is tomorrow at 8:00." She offers him two keys, as she spots Alois in the distance (even though Ciel tries and fails to explain that they aren't here together) and waves them off. "Please enjoy your stay."

Ciel rolls over toward Alois with his luggage and practically shoves the other key into his hands. Frankly, he doesn't trust him with it, but if something happens and Ciel loses his key, at least they can rely on that one.

"Okay, the next matter of business," Ciel begins but Alois just coughs irritatedly.

"'Business'? Seriously? Stop being so fancy."

"The next matter of business," Ciel continues with gritted teeth, "is... dinner."