Jeux du Coeur
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+. to F › Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,637
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4
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+. to F › Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,637
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Kuroshitsuji is the property of Square Enix and Toboso Yana. I do not own Kuroshitsuji or these characters, nor do I make any money writing this.
4
Jeux du Coeur
Chapter 4: Anxious
In which certain characters become agitated.
+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+
I must say that I am impressed by Grell’s change in behavior over the past few months, but I must also say that I am not entirely pleased. His personality has changed very little, but he has gained the ability to reign himself in once we are out of the office. Granted, the fact that he actually carries out his assignments in a timely and proper manner is acceptable, but he should have been like this all along. I can’t comprehend how he was even selected as a reaper in the first place. His reckless tactics and erroneous side trips have miraculously ceased. It’s obvious he wants to finish his work as quickly as possible to be elsewhere. Of course he still refuses to follow proper dress code, but his harvests are pulled off flawlessly and his paperwork is impeccable. He knows that should he make a mistake, I would not stand for it. So, somehow, Grell has become amazingly efficient. The irritating fact is that it is not proper guidance and chastising that has disciplined him so well. No. He did not take the mandatory route the rest of us have with decades of hard work and study. Somehow Grell has come into his own through, dare I say it, emotional means. Ever since he became intimate with…
Even admitting I notice this sentimentality is incommodious. Not to mention completely ridiculous.
All this thinking is a nuisance. No. Grell is a nuisance. His mere presence sets off an unwelcome reaction. I nearly cannot abide to hear him speak. I would say that I am angry, but it has been proven I am impervious to such a base emotion. Anger cannot control me, nor do I have a logical reason to be angry…
But my thoughts are interrupted by the flamboyant reaper inviting himself into my office, as is his usual custom. Previously his visits would consist of him begging for me to proofread and correct his terrible reports, but as of late, it has only been to idle away the last hour or so of work…milking the clock in a wasteful manner. I grit my teeth.
He saunters into my office with his usual devil-may-care attitude, reports ready to turn in once it is time to clock out, and a stream of the same babbling nonsense I’m used to hearing flows from his mouth. He makes himself right at home in the chair beside my desk. There hadn’t always been a chair there. I put it there to keep him from sitting on top of my paperwork, and made the mistake of allowing him permission to stay in the office so long as he sat in said chair. It’s probably the only rule I’ve set forth that he hasn’t ignored. In turn, I ignore him as I catch up on my own paperwork, feeling the beginnings of frustration at my own inefficiency.
Grell, of course, busies himself with rifling through the drawers, stealing all of my red ink, and painting his nails with my white-out. And his chattering never ceases. But it is no longer him begging for advice or lenience in his work, it’s just typical annoying Grell chatter. As if I am no longer capable of giving him the advice he avidly sought before…
I frown as I watch him straighten out a paper clip to scratch tiny skulls designs into his now white lacquered nails…He can be quite industrious when he wants to be. So why wasn’t he before? Were all of my lectures a waste of time if all it took was…
Why won’t he stop talking?
I find myself staring at him (glaring, really) as I watch him waste more office supplies making origami flowers and cranes. He babbles on and on, ceaselessly folding and fidgeting. His day’s work is complete, and yet he sits here playing games distracting me from my own work so shamelessly. If he doesn’t need my help anymore, then why is he still here?
And why won’t he stop talking?!
The next thing I know he’s right in my face, eyes wide and tense. The only reason I am able to stop from scowling is the fact that he has finally stopped talking. I let go of a small sigh of relief and quickly realize that it’s not my breath alone I feel brush my lips. There is a warm softness against my mouth…almost pleasant…
His eyes begin to drift father away, brimming with confusion and fear, and he takes that pliant warmth with him. I blink in confusion myself.
What just happened? What did I-
Oh no.
He stands up and backs away, keeping his eyes trained on me as if I am a threat, which makes me feel rather inexperienced and, consequently, embarrassed. Decades of self control can’t stop my skin from flushing as I realize the gravity and implications of my subconscious action to shut Grell up.
Oh no.
“I…think you’re confused.” is all he says before walking out of my office. As I hear the click of the door shutting, I have the great urge to indulge in what the academy freshmen call: headdesk.
I indulge.
Repeatedly.
Maybe it will knock some of the stupidity out of my brain.
A half hour and a blessed headache later, I have come to realize that my rash action was the convoluted result of a temporary fit of madness. I was simply confused and, dare I admit it, frustrated at Grell’s sudden turn around in performance. With his obvious lack of enthusiasm and abhorrent disobedience in his initial training, who could possibly fault my confusion?
One just cannot improve so greatly in such a short amount of time without assistance. His chosen partner evidently has much to do with this great transformation. Grell is obviously receiving guidance, and that is grossly biased considering other juniors have asked for such valuable advice and been denied.
That must be remedied.
_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+
A/N:
I think William is still very confused, don’t you?
About this chapter:
I see the shinigami as being modern and bureaucratic to the max. So, yes, they have all modern office supplies (paper clips, white-out, post-its…), but use fountain pens and/or quills, and maybe typewriters. And probably some wonderfully archaic clockwork copy machine made of brass and gears that gets wound by zombie minions named Mr. Snugglepuff and Nommy McNommerson. *sigh*
And, yes, I adore the idea of a shinigami academy. Bite me.
Chapter 4: Anxious
In which certain characters become agitated.
+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+
I must say that I am impressed by Grell’s change in behavior over the past few months, but I must also say that I am not entirely pleased. His personality has changed very little, but he has gained the ability to reign himself in once we are out of the office. Granted, the fact that he actually carries out his assignments in a timely and proper manner is acceptable, but he should have been like this all along. I can’t comprehend how he was even selected as a reaper in the first place. His reckless tactics and erroneous side trips have miraculously ceased. It’s obvious he wants to finish his work as quickly as possible to be elsewhere. Of course he still refuses to follow proper dress code, but his harvests are pulled off flawlessly and his paperwork is impeccable. He knows that should he make a mistake, I would not stand for it. So, somehow, Grell has become amazingly efficient. The irritating fact is that it is not proper guidance and chastising that has disciplined him so well. No. He did not take the mandatory route the rest of us have with decades of hard work and study. Somehow Grell has come into his own through, dare I say it, emotional means. Ever since he became intimate with…
Even admitting I notice this sentimentality is incommodious. Not to mention completely ridiculous.
All this thinking is a nuisance. No. Grell is a nuisance. His mere presence sets off an unwelcome reaction. I nearly cannot abide to hear him speak. I would say that I am angry, but it has been proven I am impervious to such a base emotion. Anger cannot control me, nor do I have a logical reason to be angry…
But my thoughts are interrupted by the flamboyant reaper inviting himself into my office, as is his usual custom. Previously his visits would consist of him begging for me to proofread and correct his terrible reports, but as of late, it has only been to idle away the last hour or so of work…milking the clock in a wasteful manner. I grit my teeth.
He saunters into my office with his usual devil-may-care attitude, reports ready to turn in once it is time to clock out, and a stream of the same babbling nonsense I’m used to hearing flows from his mouth. He makes himself right at home in the chair beside my desk. There hadn’t always been a chair there. I put it there to keep him from sitting on top of my paperwork, and made the mistake of allowing him permission to stay in the office so long as he sat in said chair. It’s probably the only rule I’ve set forth that he hasn’t ignored. In turn, I ignore him as I catch up on my own paperwork, feeling the beginnings of frustration at my own inefficiency.
Grell, of course, busies himself with rifling through the drawers, stealing all of my red ink, and painting his nails with my white-out. And his chattering never ceases. But it is no longer him begging for advice or lenience in his work, it’s just typical annoying Grell chatter. As if I am no longer capable of giving him the advice he avidly sought before…
I frown as I watch him straighten out a paper clip to scratch tiny skulls designs into his now white lacquered nails…He can be quite industrious when he wants to be. So why wasn’t he before? Were all of my lectures a waste of time if all it took was…
Why won’t he stop talking?
I find myself staring at him (glaring, really) as I watch him waste more office supplies making origami flowers and cranes. He babbles on and on, ceaselessly folding and fidgeting. His day’s work is complete, and yet he sits here playing games distracting me from my own work so shamelessly. If he doesn’t need my help anymore, then why is he still here?
And why won’t he stop talking?!
The next thing I know he’s right in my face, eyes wide and tense. The only reason I am able to stop from scowling is the fact that he has finally stopped talking. I let go of a small sigh of relief and quickly realize that it’s not my breath alone I feel brush my lips. There is a warm softness against my mouth…almost pleasant…
His eyes begin to drift father away, brimming with confusion and fear, and he takes that pliant warmth with him. I blink in confusion myself.
What just happened? What did I-
Oh no.
He stands up and backs away, keeping his eyes trained on me as if I am a threat, which makes me feel rather inexperienced and, consequently, embarrassed. Decades of self control can’t stop my skin from flushing as I realize the gravity and implications of my subconscious action to shut Grell up.
Oh no.
“I…think you’re confused.” is all he says before walking out of my office. As I hear the click of the door shutting, I have the great urge to indulge in what the academy freshmen call: headdesk.
I indulge.
Repeatedly.
Maybe it will knock some of the stupidity out of my brain.
A half hour and a blessed headache later, I have come to realize that my rash action was the convoluted result of a temporary fit of madness. I was simply confused and, dare I admit it, frustrated at Grell’s sudden turn around in performance. With his obvious lack of enthusiasm and abhorrent disobedience in his initial training, who could possibly fault my confusion?
One just cannot improve so greatly in such a short amount of time without assistance. His chosen partner evidently has much to do with this great transformation. Grell is obviously receiving guidance, and that is grossly biased considering other juniors have asked for such valuable advice and been denied.
That must be remedied.
_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+
A/N:
I think William is still very confused, don’t you?
About this chapter:
I see the shinigami as being modern and bureaucratic to the max. So, yes, they have all modern office supplies (paper clips, white-out, post-its…), but use fountain pens and/or quills, and maybe typewriters. And probably some wonderfully archaic clockwork copy machine made of brass and gears that gets wound by zombie minions named Mr. Snugglepuff and Nommy McNommerson. *sigh*
And, yes, I adore the idea of a shinigami academy. Bite me.