Disclaimer: I own nothing. Which shouldn't be a surprise, at this point.

Author's Note: There's been so much hype for this fic… I really hope it lives up to peoples' expectations! ^^; I plan to have fun with it, anyway~ (MWAHAHAHA.)

Warnings: SebaCiel (and CielSeba, heck yeah). Sexual situations/humor. Season II logic, haha. Fail editing. Part of the "Bicentennial" series ("Bicentennial," "Inevitable," "Five Thousand," "Timetable," "Coffee Break," "Cats and Dogs," "Surely Someday," and "Turn"); Takes place immediately after "Five Thousand." Also references "Turn" and Neocloud9's fic, "Hallowed Ground." Links to all of these stories can be found on my bio.

Dedication: To my Bicentennial babes, Maddie, Hannah, Sarah, Nene, and Caitlin. LET'S KEEP THE FUTURE-LOVE ALIVE, MY DEARS~

XXX

Hitches and Knots

X

Something Old

XXX

9:22 AM

Sebastian wasn't quite certain when the amusement park that he and Ciel so religiously frequented (no pun intended) was first constructed, and to be honest, he didn't particularly care. But even still, he had to extend his compliments to the crew who'd worked on it—and on the men's room, in particular. This theme park was practically an antique in this day and age, and the lavatory stalls likewise; they must have been built out of lead or steel or industrial-strength aluminum (or whatever it was they used to make rocket ships; the devil couldn't quite remember, right then) in order to withstand the frenzied barrage of fists and knees and backs and fronts that pounded ever-so-rhythmically against the walls and locks of the narrow cubicles. True, from the outside, it sounded a great deal like the building was about thirty seconds away from collapsing in upon itself—a fact that had one or two park patrons fleeing for cover, and kept a good number of others from entering the restroom at all— but that was more of a help than a hindrance. Ciel keened and whimpered and mewled so desperately it might have been their first time; his black-coated talons carved familiar patterns into flaky green paint: jagged scratches reminiscent of scuff marks on ancient hotel floorboards. It was all too much for Sebastian, sensations so carnal and pure… With a clatter and a hollow thud, he pulled them back against the toilet, collapsing atop the seat without missing a beat. At first, the relocation induced a whine; the little one longed for leverage, something to cling to— but then his spine arched and his eyes flew open, head tipping backwards to fall upon Sebastian's shoulder. As Ciel spasmed and hiccupped, rolling along with wave after wave of pleasure, he nuzzled into the crook of his butler's— no, fiancé's— neck, feeling all the warmer and fuzzier inside as the word tumbled around in his brain. And when he murmured it (possibly on accident, possibly on purpose) into the shell of Sebastian's rosy ear, Sebastian's response was a moan and a buck, arms coiling so tightly around his master that he very nearly squeezed all of the air from his lungs. But Ciel was demon, and breathing was more of a luxury than a necessity; he continued whispering and nipping and sighing until Sebastian was done, and they were both left panting atop their makeshift throne. Sebastian recovered first, peppering ticklish kisses up and down the camber of his lord's love-marked throat, smoothing sweat-dampened hair from that precious little face. Ciel, for his part, enjoyed the ministrations with a purr and a snuggle, but upon finding the strength to do so twisted around in his servant's lap to indulge in a proper kiss.

They broke apart with a flutter of butterfly lashes and a silent snap of crystalline saliva.

"You must think you're awfully clever," Ciel teased in a husky hush once his mouth was his own again, toying with the decorative scarf that lay draped across Sebastian's shoulders. It had once been artfully wound around his neck; now it was more like a lasso for his tamer to play with. And play Ciel did. "Coming up with a picture game like that…"

"It wasn't a matter of 'cleverness,'" the butler corrected with a small smirk, briefly brushing his nose against his Contractor's. "It was an issue of necessity. I couldn't very well demean you by perpetuating outdated traditions, could I? Putting jewelry in a glass is rather trite. Not to mention I rather doubt it would work well with tea, and I can hardly imagine what would happen if I took you to some stuffy restaurant and put a ring at the bottom of your Champaign flute."

"Considering my 'age,' and all," Ciel agreed, grinning widely enough to show a flash of ivory fang. "Which do you suppose they'd arrest you for first? Buying alcohol for a minor or for attempting to marry a child?"

"Perhaps as they waffled over which charge was graver, I'd manage to make a daring escape with you. You know, dodging bullets, jumping through windows. That old shtick," Sebastian cheerfully returned, arms still coiled around the boy's skinny waist. "All of which I duly considered, naturally. But then I thought, though narrowly avoiding arrest with you sounded thrilling, it somehow didn't feel like the proper way to ask for your hand."

"Clearly doing it outside of an amusement park bathroom was the classier option."

The elder devil nodded sagely, somehow managing to maintain his somber façade even when his little one giggled and squirmed against the touch of lips upon his chin. "Only the best for my young master."

In response, Ciel smiled— wide and unreserved— his apple cheeks flushed a healthy shade of cherry rose in the aftermath of gratification and delight. Slender fingers continued twisting bolts of plaid fabric 'round and 'round, drawing the servant closer and closer. "Now tell me, honestly," the once-child then drawled, trying to sound bored and nonchalant but succeeding only in suppressing the most obvious of his exuberance. His tone was carefully casual, but his bright blue eyes shone like freshly cut sapphires, full of stars and sparkles. "How long have you been planning this? France was ages ago, and I can't remember the last time we went to the zoo… Three years ago, maybe? Four? That time when William spilled his soda on Ronald, and then Ronald got chased by a hoard of hungry bees. Or did you go out roaming the countryside for farm animals more recently?" The once-boy arched an inquiring eyebrow, straightening his spine to stare imperially down at Sebastian. Ever the little king, he was… even with a bandage slapped across the bridge of his nose. It made Sebastian chuckle.

"I have been thinking on this for far longer than I would care to admit. You'd call me a coward for not doing it earlier," he confessed, almost sounding a touch sheepish. Again, no pun intended. "But I admit, the oldest of the pictures is the one from France. Soon after, though, Grelle and I took a daytrip back to the zoo and—"

Much to Ciel's confusion, Sebastian chose that moment to pause—grin melting into a faint frown of sudden recollection. "Oh, that's right," the butler muttered to himself, one hand slipping from Ciel's hip and instead burying itself in the pocket of his loosened jeans. When the younger demon made a bewildered sound in the back of his throat (well, equal parts bewilderment and disappointment; he did not want to see Sebastian touching anything else, right then), his servant smiled ruefully and offered an explanation. "I'm sorry, Ciel," he apologized as he slid his cell phone open, clicking out of a cheerful notice that read 'Photo message sent!' "I've just remembered… I promised Grelle that I would let her know your answer as soon as you gave it."

"Did you?" Crossing petite arms over his chest, Ciel's eyebrows leapt upward in a show of mocking impudence. "I don't recall ever giving you an answer," he thus retorted, the very picture of haughty insolence.

"Really?" Sebastian velvet voice remained pleasant and conversational; he held the phone to his ear with one hand and rubbed loving circles into the crook of Ciel's thigh with the other. "How odd. I distinctly remember hearing the word 'yes' thrown around a number of times… Quite exuberantly, to boot."

"Yes, well. That was in answer to a… different question, let's say," the little one rebuked lightly, though no less snootily. In reaction to his butler's coaxing ministrations, he spread his legs a wee bit wider, humming in vague approval as he struggled to keep from grinning. "I never used that word, if you'd recall, in direct response to your original query."

The demon made a show of considering this, and in the end was forced to nod in agreement. "Indeed," he admitted, readjusting his grip on the cell, "you did not. Well, the phone is still ringing… if you could please make your decision before Grelle picks up or it goes to voice mai—"

9:37 AM

That was always the way, wasn't it? A girl could sit by the telephone all day and all night—painting her nails, reading her magazines, polishing her scythe— and it would never do so much as twitch, let alone vibrate or ring. But as soon as she left to whip up a batch of her famous Longing for DEATH chili for the neighborhood potluck, the call that she'd been waiting for years to receive finally came through. It was only by sheer luck that the ravenous roar of Grelle's vegetable cutter faded to a dull buzz when it did; as diced and sliced chunks of peppers, onions, and jalapenos fell to the bottom of the plastic pot, she caught the softest strains of Bon Jovi's "Shot Through the Heart" echoing from her bedroom.

Behind the frame of scarlet glasses, electric green eyes widened. Sebastian-darling's ring tone.

Death gods, as a species, were known for their agility and grace—much like many of the other supernatural residents of the realms Above, Below, and Middle. But there were times in Grelle's life that made it clear that her butler-act had been based, to some degree, on personal experience; in her rush to reach her phone, she managed to tangle herself in her own apron (consequently smearing tomato juice all over her face), trip over her beloved Samoyed ("Ow! Cardenio, love, please get the hell out of mummy's way—!"), and nearly broke her elbow when she dove for her bed, almost missing the quilt for one of the frame's four mahogany posts. Panting heavily, quietly grateful that she hadn't accidentally killed herself, Grelle looked up to find her husband watching wordlessly from the jamb of the attached master bathroom. Newspaper under his arm, still tousle-haired from slumber, the sleep pants-garbed Will regarded his wife with his usual expression of affectionate exasperation before closing the door between them.

Grelle decided to ignore that momentary interlude. With an energetic press of a crimson-tipped thumb, she managed to catch the call just before the final strains of you give looooove, a bad name~ faded into silence. "Well?" she squealed into the mouthpiece, deciding not to bother with such trivial niceties as standard salutations. Everyone knew that some things were more important than good manners. Gossip, for instance. "Well, Sebastian-darling? Did you ask him? What did he say?" Grelle demanded, spinning onto her stomach and kicking her slippered feet to and fro. "C'mon, c'mon—don't leave a lady waiting! Ooo, I've got goosebumps just thinking about this! Tell me everything, I simply need to know!"

Eventually, it occurred to Grelle that Sebastian might actually tell her what she wanted if she'd give him half a second to reply. With difficulty, the reaper bit down on her tongue and swallowed back the barrage of questions clawing at her serrated teeth… but her admirable patience was rewarded by nothing but silence. It would have been enough to infuriate her (after all the help and support she'd shown? How dare he ignore her!) had it not been for one little thing: the silence wasn't really silent. No, through the thin veil of static came a quiet, wet smacking and a deep-throated moan… the rustle of clothing and subdued purrs.

Grelle raised a shapely eyebrow as her ruby lips curled back in a leer. "A little soon to be consummating the marriage, isn't it?" she teased, cheerfully dropping her chin in her palm.

That, at least, got Sebastian's attention. His black-satin voice invaded her ear with all manner of devious huskiness, and although she was a happily married woman, the delight in the chuckle was enough to give her vicarious butterflies. "There is no need to be crude, Grelle," the devil corrected with an audible smirk. She could hear the brat in the background giggling, but whether his amusement stemmed from their conversation or from some secretive touch or glance, she didn't know. "Ciel was merely giving me his answer when you picked up."

Answer. Answer!

Upon hearing the word "answer," the reaper visibly perked, body tensing with nerves and glee as she bounced onto her knees. "And he said yes?" she squeaked, practically jumping on the bed in her uncontrollable enthusiasm. (The only think that kept her from whole-heartedly doing so was remembering her husband's displeasure after she and the not-child had gotten into a rather high-spirited pillow fight, resulting in their need to purchase a new mattress.) "He said yes, didn't he? Of course he said yes, how could he not?"

"Well, since you already seem to know the answer, I suppose there is no need for me to convey it," Sebastian said amiably, the amusement in his voice obvious. "If that is all, then, the young master and I have much to… discuss."

"Oh, he said yes!" Grelle cheered, pumping a delighted fist into the air. "Willy!" she shrieked— flinched, thinking apologetic thoughts when both Sebastian and Ciel hissed on the other end of the line— then placed her hand over the cell phone's mouth piece and screamed again: "Willy, the brat said yes! Sebastian-darling and the tiny terror are getting married~!"

From the bowels of the bathroom came the sound of William humoring his wife. "Woo-hoo."

"I know, right? Oh, this is so exciting!" Grelle sang, removing her palm and cooing into the phone once more. "You sweet, sweet lovebirds, don't even worry about a thing. Just leave everything to me, and I will personally see to it that you enjoy the grandest wedding of the millennia!" Deep in the throes of purest happiness, the death god rolled back and forth atop the coverlet, like some sugar-high addict on the floor of a candy shop. "I've already got so many ideas, ooo, I just can't wait to share them with you! I'll run right over to your apartment now, Sebastian-dear, so we can start discussing all of the necessities~"

"We can— what?" For the first time in a long while, Sebastian sounded genuinely taken aback. "Er, to be honest, Grelle…" he ventured carefully, as if trying not to alarm or worry the one sitting with him, "as much as I appreciated your help when it came to this proposal, I had rather hoped—"

But Grelle heard none of it: not the tone of disapproval, not the hint to let the subject drop—not even the words themselves, apparently. She was too far gone in her own fantasies to pay attention to anything else.

"Oh, wait, I forgot, I've got some food on the stove, don't I? Silly me," she chirped, hopping off the bed and smoothing down her summer dress. It, too, had been spattered in seeds and juices, but she no longer cared. (Will probably would, though, when he noticed the stains she'd left on the comforter. Then again, both the veggies and the blanket were red; maybe she'd get lucky. Or maybe she'd just have to ravish him that night as an excuse to change the throw. Either would do.) "That'll work out perfectly, though—you two have probably got to get back home, too, don't you? Right. Let's meet at your apartment in forty minutes exactly, shall we? Now, I know it's hard for you two to keep your hands off of each other, but try not to be late! We've got so much to do!" She tittered in a show of elation, so full of pent up energy and eagerness that the tips of her pixie cut danced. "See you then, my darlings! Love you two to death~"

9:49 AM

Beeeeeeeeeep.

For a long moment, Sebastian simple stared at his phone—feeling his mouth get dryer and dryer as the ring tone's drone seemed to grow louder. Still seated atop his servant's lap, Ciel cocked his head to the far left, frowning as if to match his fiancé.

"What's wrong? What happened?" the once-earl inquired, plainly puzzled by the abrupt air of gravity and dread that had wrapped itself around Sebastian. Concerned, he reached out and touched the smooth slope of his cheek; the elder devil caught that hand and leaned into it, pressing a fleeting kiss to the base of his palm.

"…you'll find out soon enough," he then sighed. And though he managed to relocate his missing smile, it had already gained a telling trace of weariness.

10:54 AM

Although the newly-engaged couple managed to return to their apartment by the deadline that they had so recently been assigned, it took them a good few minutes to actually make it into the house. Not only did general unease keep Sebastian's hand still upon the knob, but so did the sounds of insanity and demolition echoing from inside: shattering and yowls and the scrabble of nails on linoleum, mad barking and general shouts.

"RRRROW~!"

"No, please, don't tip—!"

SMASH.

"Oh, that one was tacky, anyway. Good job, precious~"

"Mrs. Grelle—!"

"…we could always go back to the amusement park," Ciel joked (or maybe he was serious), flinching as another destructive-sounding bang resonated from the depths of the suddenly-ominous residence. They didn't even have that much in the way of furniture and decorations; what the hell was that? "I'm sure we could forge a happy life there, if we tried."

It wasn't a bad idea. But just before Sebastian had a chance to commit to it, all hell decided to break loose… by way of a black cat crossing his path. Meowing and hissing as if her life (or, at the very least, her virginity) depended upon it, an incredibly unhappy Georgina managed to push her way through the unlocked door, jostled open a fraction by the demon's wavering movements. The ebony streak practically clawed her way up Sebastian's leg in her race to escape from the furry bundle of love that bounded after.

"Ack—!"

"No! Bad Cardenio!" Ciel scolded, grabbing hold of the puppy's claret collar and wrenching him away from Sebastian's crotch. The smitten Samoyed, however, resisted mightily, attempting to follow the feline up the devil's body with every ounce of strength that it kept locked inside of its fluffy form. Wincing slightly with every other backwards step, Sebastian nevertheless cuddled his precious kitten close to his bosom; master and pet leveled the dog an identical glower, oozing with condemnation and disgust as they helped Ciel shove the poor creature out of the complex hall and back towards their dwelling's entrance. The effort would have been entirely in vain if it wasn't for Finny, who was quick to follow the animals out the door. Though he, thank goodness, did not attempt to shimmy up any of Sebastian's extremities, his emotions seemed to be running just as high as the cat's and the dog's.

"Um, Mr. Sebastian," he muttered, shooting worried glances over his shoulder as if he were somehow able to see through whitewashed wood, "did something happen to make Mrs. Grelle more insane than usual?" Before he'd even finished speaking, he cringed in unspoken remorse for such rudeness (not that Sebastian or Ciel's blank stares encouraged him to do so), and then lifted the whining Cardenio into his arms. "I mean, she just burst through the door a few minutes ago—I didn't even have a chance to let her in, you know? And in less time than that, she just… took over the apartment. I'm not sure you want to go in there…"

It was a safe bet, Sebastian thought. He, too, was fairly certain he didn't want to go in there… But he was equally certain that he didn't really have a choice in the matter. Not if he wanted to salvage any of his plans, not if he didn't want to live out the rest of his life in the hallway. Or the amusement park, for that matter. "Oh, save it all—" he cursed under his breath, handing Georgina to a disgruntled Ciel ("Don't give her to me—!") before barging through the door.

Ciel heard the muted cadence of a choked gasp, a frustrated growl, and then a muffled snap of "What is it with you death gods and sitting on my countertops?" before the inner workings of the apartment faded to white noise. The former earl and the ex-gardener exchanged a long, uneasy glance, made all the more uncomfortable by the high-strung critters struggling in their arms.

"So, um… ouch," Finny began conversationally, grimacing when Cardenio's dulled talons bit into the pale skin of his wrist. "What happened to make Mrs. Grelle so… cheerful… this morning?"

"Oh, uh— freakin'—! Stop that, Georgina!" Ciel hissed, whapping the cat's pink nose when she began struggling and swiping at the distant dog, inadvertently attacking her carrier, instead. "Sebastian asked me to marry him. And I accepted."

"…oh. That would… er, make sense." Startled, Finny blinked wide, credulous eyes at his once-young master, cheeks gaining a shock of color in surprise. Ciel wasn't quite sure how to interpret this, as he had never truly known what the blonde thought of his and Sebastian's relationship. Though he was under the impression that Finny approved of it, it also seemed to fluster him whenever it was brought up. Maybe because of who Ciel had been, or who Sebastian had been… or what they two had represented during the days of yore. Whatever the reason, it kept the immortal's face an endearing shade of magenta for a long while, even after he smiled and offered a demure congratulations. Cardenio serenaded the well-wishes with a succession of yelps and yaps and playful baby growls, all of which Georgina answered with the scorn of a displeasured noblewoman. And as soon as it started up again, there was no stopping it; the pets' feral bickering escalated from snarls to howls to a deafening squalor in less than a minute, one so earsplitting that even the animals in adjacent apartments began to join in.

Finny and Ciel were finally forced to concede that if they didn't want their neighbors to hate them, they should at least try to stifle the noise by going inside. And upon doing so, it began immediately apparent why the young devil's announcement "made sense:" during their absence, it appeared as if the whole of the kitchen and living room had been remodeled to match a bridal boutique. Rather, a bridal boutique that had recently suffered an explosion of some sort: magazine pages had all but replaced the tasteful wallpaper, flapping in a breeze from an open window; volumes on everything from flowers to food to dresses to gift bags were littered across the floor— some open, some closed, some playing bookmark for other books. There was a small mountain of cakes upon the dining room table, each still carefully packaged in its original box, with a plethora of knives and forks littered about, as if in preparation to scale it. Bolts of raw fabric had seemingly been used to reupholster the sofa and armchairs: linens and tablecloths of all different shades and textures; at least three mannequins had been erected near the television, simultaneously guarding and blocking the screen by way of the ruffles they wore. It was enough to make Ciel want to run away and hide in his room, but he was barred from doing so by a jungle that had virtually sprouted in the foyer; both he and Finny were kept carefully corralled by rows of white and red roses, dangling fuchsias, sprays of diamond frost, rainbows of silken petunias, and a growth of Easter lilies so tall that it almost seemed more like a tree than a flower. With difficulty (and with writhing pets), the pair carefully leapt over as many floral blockades as they could, managing to knock down only one vase of marigolds. (Finny worried aloud that the shorn beauties might be his, but Ciel doubted it. These looked far more plastic in their perfection than Finny's had in his picture of them.) Once Ciel had cleared the last patch of gardenias, he unceremoniously dropped Georgina— who bolted as soon as her paws had touched ground— and charged Finny to lock Cardenio somewhere. Like the coat closet. Or oven. (Finny opted for his room, instead. To each their own, the devil supposed.)

While the blonde busied himself doing that, Ciel, in turn, busied himself trying to find Sebastian and Grelle. Based on the scuffmarks covering the tile, Sebastian had literally dragged Grelle away from whatever she'd been doing in the kitchen— either flipping through brochures or mixing up some drinks or examining a collection of crêpe paper decorations, or perhaps all three at once— and had confined her elsewhere, so they could, presumably, talk. Or shout, if the stifled sounds coming from Sebastian's quarters were any indication.

"I don't understand what the problem is, Sebastian-darling!" Grelle was pouting, the discontent in her tone (much like the words themselves) leaking through the barrier of the closed door. "I'll have you know that I'm the best wedding planner around. Why, did you hear the other death gods rave about my wedding? I was the talk of the town for centuries!"

"I'm quite sure it was very popular with the reapers, Grelle, but if you'd be kind enough to recall— a very specific and important demon did not like what you did for your wedding," Sebastian pointed out, his voice so low and rushed that even Ciel had a difficult time catching it. Like the child that he hadn't been for centuries, the little one succumbed to the temptation to lean closer to the door, obviously eavesdropping and feeling no shame for it. He was a demon, after all. "And once again, as I've told you, I already—"

"Oh, he was biased," the woman interrupted with (Ciel was willing to bet) a flippant wave of her hand. "And he didn't even see the ceremony! He just got his knickers in a knot that I held it in the same church as his aunt's funeral. Seriously. Some people just don't know how to let things go…" A soft ruffling sound, like someone scrubbing at the back of their head. "Besides, I don't think he ever quite understood the reasoning behind that choice. It wasn't out of mali—"

"To be frank, Grelle, even if I tried, I couldn't give less of a damn about your reasons, right now," Sebastian bit out curtly, sounding increasingly irate. "I'm sure your wedding was lovely. And I am sincerely grateful for your assistance in crafting my proposal, and for all of the support you've shown thus far. But this is my wedding to Ciel, and it means a great deal to me—too much to allow you to use it as an excuse to play coordinator."

"But that's exactly why I have to do it!" Grelle shot back, undeterred. The click and clack of her modest high-heels was smothered by the bedroom's ivory carpet, but Ciel could still hear her move across the room; he imagined that they'd been debating with one another from across the expanse of Sebastian's bed, most likely to keep the demon from reaching out and strangling the redheaded annoyance that he was stupid enough to call his friend. "Because it means so much to you! Because it has to be perfect! You're a man, Sebastian-darling, and matters of romance and amore are things that only a woman can truly understand, let alone bring to life. Why don't you see that I'm helping you? Let me help you, love," she begged, her stubborn slating softening as (it seemed) she clasped his hands in her own. "I swear, I won't go overboard. Oh, don't give me that look— I won't! I know things look crazy right now, but that's just because we're in the planning stages. It will be so tasteful and elegant and fabulous when we're done. And I'll let you and the brat make all of the final decisions. I promise. I really do. Please?"

Silence.

"Please?"

More silence.

"Pretty please?" Grelle tried one more time, voice stained with the desperateness of a toddler asking for a second helping of ice cream. Sebastian, in response, released a strained and strangled sigh.

"…even if I say no, you're just going to take over, aren't you?" he droned, sounding wholly unsurprised when the reaper chirped in cheery affirmation. The demon somehow managed to swallow back a groan, but still sounded like a condemned prisoner being led off to the gallows as he grunted a submissive, "Fine."

And that was all of the warning that Ciel had before Grelle came barreling out of the door, screeching her gratitude and joy like a six-year-old who'd just leapt off of Santa Claus' lap. After, apparently, stealing his summer clothes, taking all of the scarlet in her outfit into account… but that wasn't anything new or unusual. Ciel had about a third of a second to gag over the red-and-white heart encrusted jumper before Grelle noticed him, squealed once more, and buried his head in her breasts, spinning him in vigorous circles— much like his beloved cousin once used to.

In fact, there was a lot about Grelle that currently reminded him of Lizzie— and her rambling played a big role in that.

"Oh, little brat, aren't you just over the moon? Don't even worry a single, un-conditioned hair on your dry, flaky head! (Honestly, Bassie, you let him go out in public like this? For shame!) Just leave everything to me. I've already contacted the local boutiques and ordered some outfits you can try, and did you see the cakes? We can have a taste-testing party after I whip up some tea. You'll love my tea; I've been practicing since the old days~ Maybe I should serve it prior to the ceremony? Just to keep everyone relaxed. Oh! And we'll need to talk participants. It goes without saying that I'll be your maid of honor, of course, but what about a ring bearer? Flower girl? Bride's maids? Best man? Since you're certainly going to have a train, maybe we should ask someone to follow along behind you and carry it? And since your father can't lead you down the aisle, would you rather walk alone or do you have someone in mind to replace him? Oh, and while I'm thinking of it, where shall we host this? It obviously can't be in a church—haha— and city hall seems pretty boring, not to mention you wouldn't be able to wear your own face if you got married there, on account of your age. Maybe we should rent a place? What do you think? No, wait, don't tell me— the amusement park? That would be—oh, but you're too young to get married anywhere, really, aren't you?" Grelle babbled, even-now twirling them 'round and 'round. But somehow, Ciel knew that even if they'd been standing perfectly stationary, he'd still be feeling faintly nauseous.

11:02 PM

Very rarely was Ciel intentionally cute.

Of course, in Sebastian's eyes, adorableness was incontestable —it didn't matter what Ciel did or didn't do. He'd always be a charming creature who the demon loved to poke and prod and snuggle, even more so than he did the plump pink pads of Georgina's bitty feet. But more often than not, that charm was unconscious, or even birthed from his heated insistence that he wasn't sweet, so be quiet. It was only on days when Ciel most desperately wanted attention (and, of course, didn't feel like verbally asking for it) that he calculatedly amped up the cuteness. Based on the Godzilla-inspired footie pajamas the once-child currently wore, Sebastian was willing to bet today was one of those days.

"…oh dear. This must be serious," the butler chuckled, leisurely eyeing the innocent vision lurking in the doorway of his bedroom. Ciel responded to the gentle tease by poking out his bottom lip, mismatched eyes half-shadowed by the hood which made up the monster's toothless mouth. Sebastian laughed again, gently, as he closed the novel he'd been skimming and set it on his nightstand, opening up his arms. They were hardly empty for long.

"Whatever is the matter, young master?" the elder demon asked once Ciel had settled down, cuddling into the embrace with a wiggle of his rump. (As he did so, the decorative fabric tail flopped contentedly once or twice.) "Did you have another nightmare?"

Face buried in the warmth of Sebastian's stomach, the younger devil snorted. "How can I, when I can't even fall asleep?" he muttered, wrapping lithe arms around his servant's middle. He exhaled deeply— something close to a sigh— and then relaxed a bit more after an equally deep inhale. His efforts to calm down were further assisted by Sebastian, who eased back his hood and began running tender fingers through his silvery locks. "It's not that dealing with Grelle didn't leave me tired… After a whole day of dealing with her at her most hyper, I'm exhausted. But I can't seem to make my brain shut up."

"Nerves?"

"I guess so."

"At the idea of getting married?"

"At her idea of getting married," Ciel corrected with a grumble, turning over to gaze upward and into Sebastian's concerned eyes. His head remained in his fiancé's lap, but he un-looped his arms; they fell heavily atop his own stomach, clenching in the jade-and-tan material that they found there. "I dunno, it's… it's hard to explain," he complained, nose scrunching as he struggled to find the proper words. "But I mean, this is supposed to be our wedding, right? And the way she's going on about it… it reminds me of Elizabeth, really. All this pomp and ceremony and extravagance that just isn't really our style. Or my style, anyway. And since it is our wedding, it should be about us and what we want, not what Grelle thinks would be the most romantic."

"Mmm," Sebastian hummed in agreement, removing the half-moon spectacles that he liked to sport when reading. Not that he needed them; he'd just always liked glasses. "I assure you, my lord, I agree completely. But you know Grelle just as well as I do—when she's got her mind set on doing something, nothing short of killing her will make her stop. And for some reason, I don't think Will would take too kindly to us attempting to murder his wife."

"He might understand where we're coming from," Ciel tried weakly, only half-kidding. It pulled a grin from Sebastian, but still, he shook his head after kissing his master's temple.

"I am sure he would. But we'd still spend the rest of eternity dodging his Death Scythe at every corner. And that isn't exactly how I dream of spending my married life with you. Besides," the devil tacked on in afterthought, as if in some attempt to hearten his charge, "we can still make this wedding about us. We just have to be creative about it."

"And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?" Ciel returned with a bleak scowl, though the expression did soften when Sebastian continued nuzzling against him, whispering innocent kisses down his cheek. "At this point, I doubt Grelle will even let me walk down the aisle by my own power. She'll probably insist on doing it for me, so I don't screw it up."

"…well now. That was a horrifying mental image," Sebastian said with a shiver, lip curling back in illustration of his revulsion. "But I'm sure even William would put his foot down before that happened. And if she truly did dare to make such a suggestion, well, you can tell her that I'd refuse to go on with the ceremony. Oh, my lord, my young master, my precious little one," the demon murmured reverentially, bodily lifting Ciel to straddle his waist—eye to eye and nose to nose in the deepest show of sincerity that either could physically muster, "my baby bird Ciel, all I care about is marrying you. Everything else is secondary to that. I don't care if it happens here, or on the moon, or in that grungy bathroom stall— just so long as it's you and me, that's all that matters. I don't want to pretend for a moment that I'm not wedding you—and I don't want you to have to pretend for a moment that you're anyone else. So long as Grelle respects those wishes, we can make du—mmm…"

For the second time that day, Sebastian's assurances were silenced by the press of sugared lips upon his own, the lap of a hungry tongue and a sinfully wanton groan. It was such a pleasant way of being cut off, he didn't even particularly mind being interrupted; in any case, it seemed that he'd gotten his message across, and that was all that truly mattered. With an encouraging sort of sound, he allowed his master to have his way: grinding and pressing low, low, low until Sebastian had slid fully down the headboard and lay caged within the embrace of a faux-dinosaur.

"Oh my…" he gasped when Ciel finally broke away, chests heaving in tandem as spidery fingers danced beneath the band of his sweatpants. "Is it the master's intention to share a bed before we have officially tied the knot? How scandalous," he taunted, the last syllable hitching on a moan. The mattress creaked and shifted as he willingly lifted his hips, head falling to the side as his master fingered his puckered prize. "What will the neighbors think…?"

"Hm. Well, if you're quiet, they won't be any the wiser," Ciel whispered, mouth latching onto the succulent slope of his servant's alabaster throat. A suckle, a nip; Sebastian rolled up into the ministrations, shallow breaths wafting against the child's ear and resounding like a sultriest of pleads. It was nearly as noisy as the rumbling hiss of Ciel's front zipper, tugged downward by large, obliging, eager hands. "And if—rather, when—you're not…" the once-earl leered, helping his butler out of his slacks, "they'll probably assume they're living next to a couple of godless blasphemers. And they wouldn't be wrong."

7:19 AM

"Alright then! Let's begin," Grelle decreed, clapping her hands as if to garner the attention of wily kindergartners, or perhaps a collection of CEOs at a morning meeting. (Same difference, really.) The only issue being that there was only one person seated with her at the table, so such theatrics were more patronizing that anything else. "Today's agenda is jam-packed with all manner of things to attend to, since you've only given me a few days to prepare the most beautiful wedding in the world."

"Grelle," Ciel groused, glowering down at his cereal as if the manufactured flakes had somehow offended him, "can't this at least wait until I'm done eating?" To demonstrate his disapproval with the situation, the little demon flipped up the hood of his pjs; Grelle was forced to direct her glare at the fangless head of an itty, bitty, sleepy Godzilla. Said Godzilla brought a spoonful of sugar-coated grains to his mouth and chomped down on it, the grinding of his teeth drowned out by the sound of Finny making tea in the kitchen.

"No, this cannot," the redhead retorted, today looking very serious in a pleated burgundy skirt and matching suit top. She readjusted her glasses in a way that reminded Ciel very strongly of her husband, and reassessed the clipboard in her hands. "Like I said, we don't have the luxury of time, my dear brat. And what are you so grumpy for? It's not like you're the one doing most of the work." She huffed for a moment, as if looking to garner sympathy from Finny, but the blonde merely offered a stressed smile as he came over with the tea tray and handed her a cup. After all, he was inclined to agree with his former master… But Grelle's emotions were as elastic as ever, and with a dainty sip of her sweetened Earl Gray, she went right back to beaming. "You can just sit there and growl, little monster, if that's what you wish. Or we can have a decent conversation over breakfast and check a few boxes right now, and finish today's schedule all the sooner."

Hunched over his bowl, Ciel snorted and stirred the remains of milk and high fructose corn syrup. "You almost sound like Sebastian, way back when," he muttered, rolling his eyes at the memory. Of course, speak of the devil and he shall appear; Sebastian chose that moment to come strolling out of his bedroom, wrestling to pull a jade green apron over his button-down shirt and dark slacks. He only looked dimly surprised to see Grelle grinning at him, teacup lifted in greeting.

"Sebastian-darling, what do you think?" the redhead posed, swinging her feet in dreamy consideration as the demon wandered past the breakfast table, pausing only to press a kiss to the back of Ciel's head. He then proceeded to feed Georgina, who was being nearly as loud and obnoxious as the reaper. (Must be something about women in the morning, Sebastian mused privately, even as he gave his pet a loving stroke.) "I was just about to ask Ciel here his opinion on outfits, but he's being a stubborn little stinker. So we might as well start with you. What do you think he should wear to the ceremony?"

With all manner of gravity, Sebastian spared a moment to muse on this—glancing over at his pajama-clad fiancé and standing from his cat-inspired crouch. After a long pause, lips pursed and brow furrowed, he answered with a somber: "…I would suggest clothes."

Finny spluttered into his tea with a noise like a clogged drain; Ciel merely grunted, affecting an attitude just as sober as his servant. "Oh sure," he complained, flopping against the back of his chair as if indulging in an authentic sulk, "take all the fun out of everything, why don't you…"

"Well, we could have a nude wedding."

"It would save on tailoring costs, for sure."

"But would many people come if they were required to be naked?"

"Depends on which definition of 'come' you're using.'"

"Okay boys," Grelle snapped, shooting a narrow-eyed glare from one devil to the next, blatantly ignoring the choking Finny. "That's enough. Unless you have a legitimate suggestion about what Ciel should wear—"

"Well, there's still the pink dress. It's in the closet. You know the one I'm talking about, don't you, my lord?" Sebastian offered, chuckling to himself as he danced towards the door. This time, Ciel joined Grelle in frowning; the butler only-just managed to dodge the retaliating seat cushion chucked his way. But evade it he did, blowing the once-boy a kiss goodbye as he disappeared into the hall with a wink and a smirk.

"Stupid jerk," Ciel griped as he blushed, settling low in his now less-comfortable seat. He then noticed (much to his horror) the curiosity in Finny's stare… as well as the swirling ideas in Grelle's eyes. "Don't ask," he ordered one, before turning to the other and biting out an authoritative, "No."

"Huh? What?" At the sound of the unprovoked chastisement, the reaper started, straightening. For a moment, her countenance was consumed by a burst of confusion; a heartbeat later, one and one made two in her mind. "Oh, no! No! Of course we won't be using that dress," an appalled Grelle agreed, sticking out her tongue in a very mature show of distaste. "Really, do you think I've no class at all?"

Ciel was willing to bet she didn't really want to hear his answer to that. "Well, at least we agree on one thing," he mumbled to himself, but even as he spoke he knew it was all too good to be true; he nearly bashed his own head against the table when Grelle continued with a jovial, "After all, that dress isn't the proper color for a wedding! Now, if it were darker—perhaps a shade of scarlet and burgundy…"

"Grelle…!" the petite demon moaned in weak protest, massaging his temples as he shot her a cynical stare. "I don't think you get it…"

"I should say she doesn't," Finny tacked on, sounding almost affronted. He was still moping spat-up tea from his face and the countertops; Ciel wasn't sure how much hope to place in his subsequent statement. "Red isn't the proper color for a wedding dress, either. The young master's gown should be white, obviously. Even I know that."

Clearly not much.

"Finny!" the little one censured in exasperation, piercing the blonde with an icy glower. "No! It's not an issue of color, it's that I don't want to wear a dress! I'm not a girl!" He was starting to regret his choice in pajamas; they worked wonderfully for getting what he wanted from Sebastian, but it was difficult to exude authority and clout when you had a fabric tail attached to your bum, and the booties on your feet were bedecked in spongy claws. "We can discuss wedding outfits if we must, but there are some lines I will not let you cross, and that is one of them."

Ciel punctured this statement with a steady glare, ready to continue fighting if need be. But Grelle, to his notable surprise, let the subject go with nothing more than a small shrug.

"Oh… fair enough," she conceded, dropping her pen and clipboard atop the table in favor of lifting her teacup with both hands. "It would be hypocritical of me to argue with you on the subject of clothes… considering all the carping that resulted when I announced what I'd be wearing on my wedding day." Under Ciel's stunned gaze, Grelle rolled her own eyes and sighed, as if still slightly perturbed by all of the initial heckling she'd endured. "Honestly, I can't believe how surprised they all were; I wouldn't be me if I wasn't wearing my favorite color, you know?" She beamed then, in a gesture of genuine understanding. "We'll simply have to add finding you the perfect outfit to the list. I was already planning on dragging you along when I went dress shopping— the maid of honor has to have the bride's approval, after all! We'll just go hunting for an outfit for you, too, while we're at it. Okay?"

The devil blinked once, slowly. Maybe Grelle wasn't quite as… well, anyway. "…okay," he agreed tentatively, loosening his tightly-laced arms. "I guess that's acceptable."

"Lovely!" the reaper cheered, and in half a second all of her solemnity had been lost in the reemergence of her boundless optimism. It was almost literally dizzying, enduring all of these 180s with her… "In that case, just one more matter to discuss before I let you go to brush your teeth and get changed."

"…and what might that be?" Ciel asked warily, suspicion tensing every muscle in his body as he watched her hop to her feet and clip-clop over to the radio. With a sing-songs sort of hum, she popped open the CD tray and plopped a disk into the player—one that she'd just-then pulled from her purse.

"Well, you have to choose a song, don't you? A special one, for the couple's dance. And possibly to play during the ceremony, too," Grelle reminded, with a pointed beam and flurry of her finger. As the CD player whirled to life, both the demon and the blonde couldn't help but notice how inordinately pleased the woman seemed with herself in that instant. It was enough to fill them both with a certain degree of trepidation. "Now, I don't know if you and Sebastian-darling already have a special song—I somehow doubt it— and to be truthful I was going to let you and Sebastian-darling make this decision on your own… but then I was rifling through my old CDs and ran across this little song by The Police, and I couldn't help but notice how perfect it was for you two~"

…right. This could only end well.

With that as a very dubious lead-in, all three fell silent, allowing the rhythmic thrum of the base-fueled melody to fill the small kitchen. A very smug Grelle leaned closer to the speakers, head in her hands as she bopped a foot along to the tune; Ciel and Finny exchanged sidelong glances as the husky voice of the male soloist began crooning out the lyrics.

"Every single day… and every word you say. Every game you play, every night you stay, I'll be watching you."

Finny bit his lower lip, frown deepening. Inside, Ciel echoed that voiceless sentiment, but for the time being kept his expression schooled and vacant.

"Oh, can't you see you belong to me? How my poor heart aches with every step you take. Every move you make, every vow you break, every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching y—"

"That's quite enough of that, thank you," the young demon said crisply, having sidled over to island with his empty cereal bowl. After depositing his dish in the washer, he spared a moment to unplug the radio, apparently having decided that simply pressing the stop button wasn't dramatic enough to demonstrate his disapproval. Finny, at least, look relieved; Grelle, on the other hand, looked markedly offended.

"Hey!" she protested, face scrunching in objection as Ciel flounced away, fake tail swaying back and forth with every step. "That was unnecessarily rude!"

"And that song was unnecessarily disturbing," the not-boy countered, sitting heavily back down in his chair as his features contorted in an expression of utter disbelief. It was an expression mirrored by Finny, though his rendition swung more towards "scarred-for-life," while Ciel chose to flavor his with incredulity. "A song like that? For a wedding? It sounds like it was written by a stalker!"

"Wh- what?" Grelle gawked, and for a minute she couldn't seem to decide if she wanted to laugh out of genuine amusement, or due to sardonic skepticism. Either way, there was a note of mirth in her retaliation, and it kept her voice breathy and hoarse. "Don't be absurd!" she chided, spinning 'round to face the once-earl with a fist upon her hip. "People used to use this song for their weddings all the time! It's terribly romantic— all about watching out for one another, and always being there…"

"Following them home at night and slitting their throats…" Finny mumbled under his breath, watching his own terrified gaze stare back at him from the bottom of his teacup. Ciel nodded in animated agreement, regardless of whether or not Grelle actually heard his commentary. (It seemed likely that she had, if her mope was anything to go by.)

"You two are just deranged!" the reaper huffed, crossing her arms over her ample chest and scowling at the seated pair. "I'm sure anyone else who heard the song would find it indisputable touching!"

7:39 AM

"…I'll be watching you."

"Ugh. Fuckin' creeper song." Sebastian glanced down at his shuddering coworker at the same moment she turned her glower upon the ceiling, as if trying to bring shame to the radio system that dared project a song that she did not approve of. Not that it mattered; it was barely audible over the clatter and chatter and general hullaballoo of the waffle house. "I hate it when they play the oldies all day."

"Well, if you have enough time to stand around and listen, then you're clearly not doing your job correctly," Sebastian retorted lightly, lifting a large brown tray from the bespeckled girl's splayed hands. In response, his colleague redirected her glare upon the demon, but he brushed it off as easily as he would dust. Madeline was her name, and she was almost always irked at him, for one reason or another—always suspicious, ever since the day he was stupid enough to bring Ciel to the restaurant. (He supposed, in retrospect, it wasn't wise to follow a supposed thirteen year old to the bathroom and then leave their booth suspiciously empty for twenty minutes.) And yet, for as aggravating and unfounded as her irritation often tended it be, it was almost refreshing, in a way… considering all of the mindless, dreamy gawking he endured from the other female employees. "I'll take this. It's on the way to my last table."

For a spell, Madeline looked tempted to snatch the platter back, just to keep Sebastian from doing something that he wanted. But then she reconsidered, realizing she didn't particularly want to serve that table… Shops like this always got their fair share of weirdos, so it was inevitable that she should have to deal with some; still, she tried to evade the freaks whenever she was able. And whether she liked it or not, this was a perfect avoidance tactic. "Fine, then. If you really want to. I'll go sweep in the back… and hope someone changes the damn radio station," she added in a grumble, waving a vague goodbye as she wandered off. Sebastian barely paid her any heed as she did so, too distracted by the order upon the tray he'd nabbed. He'd almost missed it, in his rush to keep busy—but then he'd noticed the cloying scent of sugar distinctive to one particular dish Wendell's served: the Honey Bunny. A stack of three buttered pancakes dripping in its namesake, with ears made of graham crackers and facial features constructed of assorted seasonal berries. Normally it wasn't a sight that would faze him, but next to that particular plate was a dish he recognized all too readily: the Funfetti Ice Cream Bonanza waffle set. And when those two orders were made simultaneously…

"…shit," Sebastian whispered, for once not caring about professionalism.

Good thing Madeline wasn't there.

7:42 AM

"Dare I ask what you two are doing here?"

Will regarded their server with his usual dark stare (ironic, as always, considering the vibrant gold of his irises), as he readjusted the frames of his glasses with his left hand. His right hand, it seemed, was still sticky with peanut butter residue; he had a number of empty complementary packets scattered beside his napkin roll. "Is that any way to speak to a paying customer, demon scum?" he droned in return, shooting his tablemate a slanting glance. "Especially in present company…?"

'Present company,' dressed in an odd combination of skin-tight pleather pants and an overlong black sweater, was busy cackling at his meal, flexing willowy fingers as if greeting the edible rabbit face. Sebastian regarded the juvenile performance with as dry a glance as he was physically capable of producing. "…he may be a big shot amongst your kind, William," the devil intoned flatly, inclining his head in wordless greeting when the ponytailed creature glanced up with a jingle of decorative chains to leer at him. "But to me, he's the same bizarre, nut job mortician as always."

"Oh, Mr. Butler~ Has no one ever told you flattery gets you nowhere?" the Undertaker sniggered, waving a bejeweled hand in a dismissive motion. Then, with equal gusto, he tucked into his pancakes, intentionally dragging the dull knife of his cutlery packet up and down, up and down the decorated porcelain of the plate—as if to imitate the animal's final death-squeal. Sebastian winced at the noise, and half-considered asking him to cut it out, but the customer was always right… sadly.

"Indeed, flattery as an entity does not serve very well as a mode of transportation," the devil agreed, lowering the empty tray to his jutted side and folding his empty fist against his hip. "But apparently it's enough to motivate someone to fly across the Pacific. At least, I assume I play into your reason for being here. Why else would you have left your shop? It's been nearly two decades since your last vacation."

The Undertaker snickered as he listened to Sebastian's tired tirade, popping a juicy blueberry into the too-wide slit of his maw. "Ah, that's the thing about the dead: if you leave your post for any decent while, they just pile up, up, up! Never a stop to 'em," the reaper mockingly lamented, licking thin lips that were nearly as white as his teeth. "But you know me, my dear devil. No matter how much I love my patrons, I'm a slave for a good joke. No matter the distance, there are some sights so amusing they simply must be witnessed by one's self…"

The pallid worm of that sneer curled higher and higher, nearly splitting that laughing face in two. There was an intention in the unseen, but probing stare that radiated from the chuckling Undertaker— something pointed and piercing. But for once, Sebastian was forced to concede that he'd missed the punch line. "...I am not entirely certain I follow," he scowled, turning from the elder reaper to the younger in a quest for answers. His need for a hint further tickled the mortician; both demon and death god ignored the sharp bark of laughter that resulted, muffled as it was by syrup-drenched breakfast food.

"Every tier of the Other Realms are buzzing with the news," William explained brusquely, carefully slicing his sprinkle-riddled waffles into perfect squares, then decorating each bite with a small globule of his complementary vanilla ice cream. "That the spawn of Asmodeus, Prince of the Second Circle, the devil formerly known as Malphas, is further fortifying his blasphemous covenant and connection to his eternal master, the newly-birthed hybrid abomination, Ciel Phantomhive."

"I…" For a full minute, Sebastian could do nothing but gape feebly. "…what?"

"The whole of the supernatural world is in a tizzy about you marrying our little lordship!" Undertaker helpfully translated, tittering like a madman as he bit down on a honey-sodden graham cracker. The overdose of sugar, it seemed, had succeeded in a task long thought by the rest of the world to be impossible: it had somehow made the reaper's hyperactive funny bone all the more oversensitive. He could barely stop giggling, now—not even to spit out a simple sentence. "Heard it through the grapevine, as it were—heeheehee! We death gods are in contact with all sides, you know; gossip has been flying about the two of you since yesterday morning! Why, I just recently had a long chat with Gabriel about how nice it is to see you settling down… He remembers you from when you were just a—a wee thing— pfffffft!" Whether the mental image of a baby Sebastian was too much for the mortician to handle, or he simply couldn't contain himself after processing the look of shock on the face of the demon before him, nobody could say. It didn't really matter. When Undertaker was no longer fit to spill the beans, Sebastian turned bodily towards Will, jaw clenched and lips twitching as he regarded the suited reaper.

Rather than feel at all threatened, however, William just shrugged. "You told my wife," he reminded dully, gingerly lifting the first bite of his breakfast to his waiting mouth. "You really should have expected as much. Idiot."

It took every ounce of Sebastian's not-inconsiderable willpower to keep from smashing the dishful of waffles right into the reaper's arrogant face. But succumbing to that temptation would likely get him fired, and that was something he couldn't afford—not if he wanted to keep his nice apartment and collection of George Clooney DVDs. In a rather vain attempt to calm himself, the devil sucked in a steady breath, mentally reassuring himself that this was not the end of the world. Just because (apparently) every single paranormal creature assigned to Earth had been made bitingly aware of his personal affairs, didn't mean that would change anything. He didn't even personally know a good lot of them, and of those he did, well, he'd just have to reiterate to Grelle that they wanted their wedding to be a small, private affair. And if that decision offended any of their acquaintances, big deal. They were demons. That was their prerogative.

Even still. Sebastian suddenly found himself feeling very drained, very bothered, and very much wishing for a tall Bloody Mary. Which really wouldn't do, seeing as his shift had only just begun. And speaking of…

"I have other tables I must attend to," the demon eventually managed, in a voice somehow torn between anger and weariness. It was an emotional cue that the Undertaker either deliberately ignored or failed to pick up on (it was sometimes hard to tell with him), and waved the demon a perky farewell. "Seeing as I've been your friend for so very long, I do hope I merit an invitation," he cackled when Sebastian spun away, and—undeterred—continued yammering even after the devil tromped dutifully on towards his next collection of customers. "And I wouldn't be surprised if I ran into any more familiar faces, if I were you, heehee~"

Despite himself, Sebastian snorted. Right, he thought surreptitiously, pulling out his notepad and the pen behind his ear as he approached the final booth in his section—the far back corner near the bathrooms, half-hidden by the sheer mass of clientele. More familiar faces. Well, it's a good thing that neither Ciel nor I keep much in the way of friends. I can hardly think of anyone else who'd see our marriage as more than an interesting conversation starter. With some effort, he bit back a bitter sigh, allowing the white noise of the waffle house to wash over him as he submissively made his way into the bowels of the shop.

"—and then I said to him, I said—"

"—bitch thinks she's so tough, you know? So—"

"—want juice, Momma! No, not milk! I hate milk! I won't—"

"—pass me the syrup, dear? No, the maple—"

"—an I have the strawberry waffles, please?"

"You can have whatever you'd like, sweetheart," the child's caretaker returned with a smile, settling herself comfortably against the adjacent wall. There was something in the tranquility of the reply that niggled at Sebastian's ear; he glanced up, and the first thing he noticed was a waterfall of white. Long, silvery hair that had been swept into a low ponytail, resting against the curve of the young female's throat and spilling down her side in a casual sort of way: like a mother who didn't have much time to care about her appearance. Dressed in a blouse of lilac cotton and an airy, full-length skirt, she looked up in time to see Sebastian stop dead in his tracks—eyes nearly as wide as the platter that had slipped out from underneath his arm, falling with a clang atop the checkered floor. The sound caught the attention of the other in the booth, a little boy too tiny to be seen over the back of the seat. With a scramble of flailing limbs, a head of rumpled brunette tresses popped up over the lime green vinyl, framing a pair of wide, hazel eyes.

He stared at Sebastian. Sebastian stared at him. The woman stared at Sebastian. Sebastian—a believer in equal treatment of the sexes—stared at her, as well.

"…hello," Hannah then greeted, genial and relaxed, as she turned her sunny beam upon the flabbergasted Sebastian. "We'd like a strawberry waffle set, a Spring Fling waffle set, one coffee, one apple juice, and four wedding invitations, if you please."

XXX