The Devil's Bride *Sebastian Love*

Her Butler, Attending School

“Oh fuck off, Selima!” screamed Alette

“You’re being such a little shit. You know, the only thing that gets me through days with you is knowing I will get to devour your soul at the end of this horrid ordeal!” growled Selima

“They're at it, again?” Questioned Ciel, nursing a cup of Earl Grey.

“It appears so, my lord.” Alette slams the door to the kitchen, plopping down beside Ciel.

“She's really fucking moody lately.” complained Alette

“If I hear you swear one more fucking time I'll shove this fucking iron up your ass!” yelled Selima.

“You're one hell of a role model, aren't you?!”

“Dégage!” Bellowed Selima. Piss off.

“Young master, would you look at the time?”

Ciel jumps up, straightening his uniform.

“We're going to be late!” He sprints outside the mansion. He skids to a stop to wait for Alette, disguised as a young boy. She catches up, and he grabs her arm as he shoves a biscuit in his mouth. Neither butler is in sight as they take off, narrowing avoiding collision with several people on more than one occasion. Once they pass a iron clad gate, they slow to a stop. Ciel's hands fall to his knobbly knees as he pants. “We made it!” Alette is also breathing heavily, sucking in the cool morning hair made her raw throat scream and her lungs want to collapse. Once they have regained their composure, Alette turns to Ciel.

“So… We're actually here.”

“Weston College.” Alette stares up at the immaculate eloquent building. Several people here were quite literally, looking down on them.

“This is the finest public school Britain has to offer.” Recited Ciel. Alette spins around, examining the premises. The school of the elite. It was extremely complicated, large and overbearing.

“There are four dormitories.” Remembered Alette.

“Ah yes. For each sect of the school. Each with an incredible history. They value tradition above all, don't forget.”

“A lot of what they believe may be rubbish. The best ideas evolve with the times as so to keep up.”

“Its best you keep that quiet while here. Nobles send their sons here to become the perfect gentlemen.”

“I still don't understand why I had to be dragged into this.” The hat she was wearing that had all her hair pulled into it was hot. The makeup job Selima had done to make her look less feminine (talk about irony) felt thick. She wore a larger uniform to hide the curve of her hips.

“Oh please. You'd be complaining if I ever left you out of a case from this point on.” Alette cracks a grin

“You're sure you're not dependent on me now?” She japed.

“Oh, shut it. This is a school based on status. We have to make a good impression.” frowned Ciel, carelessly stepping forward. His toe crosses an invisible line, breaking a secret barrier that everyone swore to uphold.

“He stepped on the lawn!” burst an onlooker

“I can't believe it…!” cried another

“What a guy, he's not even one of the P4.” judged another one of the monochrome, identical “gentlemen” that crowded the courtyard. Alette lowers her head, to stifle a giggle.

“Ah look, there they are!”

Alette turns her head, and notices four strange men. It was a strained combination, like forcing two puzzle pieces together that had no intention of fitting together. One was shrouded in darkness, long dark hair acting almost as a curtain, hood hiding most of his face. Lips and eyes lined with raven makeup, he was quite a sight. The next man looked like he had a stick up his ass, in Alette's opinion. His posture was impeccable, face stern and tight. He could only be a teen, however stress seemed to have aged him. Golden hair was combed back and severe almond shaped eyes scanned the crowd. Beside him, was another astringent looking boy, reading a book. He was bespectacled, tall and would have been a lot more threatening if he hadn't had a bowl haircut. He had the looks of a professor, serious and intelligent. The last one, toward the front, and presumably the leader was a sight. Every move was a flourish, long flaxen hair trailed in a loose ponytail around his shoulder, so his hair cascaded down his chest. Hand buried in his pockets, small smirk blooming on his flawless face, he seemed overconfident. All of them shared a rather dull but nonetheless fancy uniform, the same except a slight variation in color.