Disclaimer: Nope.

Notes on this Collection: So this collection is, essentially, a bunch of mini-fics and ficlets that I wrote and posted on livejournal for one reason or another, but never published here because I didn't feel they were long/good enough to stand alone as one-shots. (There are actually a few that I did post as one-shots that, looking back, I wish I'd saved to put in this collection. "Oh My," for instance. But oh well.)

So yeah. That being the case, these aren't my best pieces work. Still, they amused me for one reason or another, or else I wouldn't have posted them at all. X3 I hope you enjoy!

Author's Note: These two "prequels" to the first episode of the anime were originally written as writing samples for an RP I was hoping to join. Those of you who RP can see that I clearly had no idea what I was doing. XD; But I still like these as ficlets.


Dinner Games



He sat quietly at his desk, fingers steepled, left leg crossed loosely over his right. There was a lengthy report splayed over the mahogany tabletop, but he no longer seemed to be reading it; rather, his visible eye had settled on some invisible point in the distance, half-narrowed in evident disgust.

It was a familiar story, at this point: conmen worming their way into his factories, vying for his favor, kissing up until they'd managed to climb the corporate ladder—their efforts spurred by the hopes that they might manage to trick a spoiled child out of his millions. They were a stupid, oafish bunch: never thinking up new tactics, never able to veil their true colors… never intelligent enough to wonder why they'd never heard back from their brethren, once they'd entered the Phantomhive estate. In all aspects, it was as familiar of a predicament as it was tedious; Ciel allowed himself a single, half-silent sigh, lamenting over the upcoming loss of so much free time. But even as the exasperated sound escaped his pretty lips, he could feel a small smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. It had been quite a while since they'd last had a guest for supper (take that as you will); they were certainly due for some company.

"Sebastian," the boy said quietly, not bothering with the summoning bell; his butler would hear him no matter where he was in the house, and appear within moments. He was probably already listening in the shadows. "Begin the preparations for an honored guest. The finest china, the best meat."

Here he paused, leered; his blue eye shone like a sapphire, alight with sardonic laughter and cruel amusement. "Oh. Do be sure to take out my favorite board game while you're at it," he added, leaning back in his gilded chair with an easy hum. "The rules of decorum dictate that we provide him with some entertainment. And it has been so long since I've enjoyed a good game…"


My favorite part of the evening is the scream. It always comes, as inevitable as sunrise or darkness— it's just a matter of when, and how. Every idiot is different, after all; accordingly, so is every scream. But they're each a pleasure, in their own right.

Damian is the guest tonight. Italian. Middle age. Has the look of a beloved uncle, and tries to patronize his way through the evening. As he oozes oily words and condescending complements, I mentally compile my knowledge of his character and use it to predict when I'll hear his own unique screech. Evening, is my bet. After Sebastian has let him loose upon the grounds. Perhaps as he's stumbling away from whatever torture the demon has concocted for him. Yes, that sounds about right…

I've long-since fashioned my prediction-making into a game in-and-of itself; I've grown quite good at it over the years, though it has been quite some time since I was last able to practice. Back when the Phantom company first returned to the scene, it felt as if we had a 'special guest' over every night. Now a visitor like Damian is a treat indeed; I find myself waiting, almost impatiently, for the shriek that my butler has promised. My annoyance only grows as time presses on: as we play a board game, as we munch through dinner, as he blathers on and on about new products and fake factories and tries to force-feed me blatant lies. I half-listen, face blank, and grace him with the occasional nod. But in my mind, I am already eagerly anticipating the moment he comprehends the grave he's dug for himself—the instant he understands the line that he's crossed—the second that he realizes that Ciel Phantomhive is not one to be trifled with.

And then he will scream. And then I will laugh.

I will laugh because he will sound ridiculous. I will laugh because he'll have gotten what he deserved. I will laugh because I will think of the future—think of the day when my true enemies are the ones screaming, screeching, and writhing on the ground, begging for forgiveness.

Only a few more minutes now…

I can hardly wait.