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[For being the first time he has seen this man alive in far too many years, when he thought that he would never see him outside of a coffin again, this is too strange a thing. He has been around the dead and the living dead for quite some time, but this one instant has something worming around in his chest with the thought that he's essentially seeing the dead back to life. If only it could have worked that well when they had been back home. But that wasn't going to do them any good now.]

[And with the hand that just yanked him into the room, he supposes that's all the greeting he's going to get.]

[Well then.]

[He lets himself be dragged, quick enough on his feet that he won't fall, grin and giggle in place.]

Of course, my lord. What can I do for you?

{Vincent is warm, solid and alive. His return is no mimicry or farce. But he looks troubled too - and somewhat disheveled (as one might expect). Yet he is taking it in stride and, as he grabs onto Undertaker's shirt, his mind is already seeking answers for its many, many questions.}

He's not Ciel. {The words are abrupt and he relaxes his hold on the fabric of the shirt only slightly.} I have a suspicion. It would not surprise me if you shared it. I do not need to see him to...know.

{Because they are his twins, body and soul.}

Edited 2017-10-28 05:58 (UTC)

[Just like the Earl he knew. Right down to business. He doesn't bother with fussing over the man's looks. Vincent could have come back wearing not much more than the skin on his bones and Undertaker would be happy, in his own way, to see him again. But it immediately becomes apparent what the source of his concern is.]

[His grin mutes itself, voice softening.]

No, he is not Ciel. [It's the first time in years that he has even spoken the name. It feels strange on his tongue - they have always only ever been "Earl" or "milord" or any other term of rank to him.] You've been able to speak with him already, I see.

Edited 2017-10-28 11:45 (UTC)

{He is thankful to have some clothes. Becoming chilled after everything really won't do him any good. While his health is good (compared to Rachel's and his son's, at least) he is obviously not invincible.}

I thought not. {Then that must mean Ciel is... No, he cannot make that conclusion. All he knows is his weaker son; his second son is here. Smiling sorrowfully, he closes his eyes.}

He played a little game with me. I do not know if I will be able to release him once I see him. {Fourteen. His baby is fourteen.} I understand why he pretends and I can't make it better.

[Please let's not have to go clothes shopping for a second Phantomhive in near as many months. Once was enough, even if Vincent is closer to his own size.]

[He watches, waiting, letting the Earl process things, not minding the hands still holding him hostage at the front of his shirt.]

He does with everyone, milord. I wasn't sure which he was at first myself until quite some time later. But he is your son, and you are here now. Far be it for me to claim I know the depth of the bond you share, but given time, that's only bound to make some things better.

{Oh but they must do that regardless! Vincent looks good in so many outfits.

Belatedly, he remembers those hands and his grip loosens in measures. It's comforting to feel the solidity of someone else; someone he knows and trusts.}

He opened a toy store. That was never Ciel's dream. {That had begun the doubts.} I remember him being quite upset his brother wanted to part from him for the enterprise. Rachel and I had to speak with him.

Even if he wanted to remember his brother in some way, why would he choose a profession that did not interest him? {That just isn't his Ciel's nature.} I...knew...them. Four years ago.

Our bond has been stretched thin.

[Oh Earl please don't make him endure this.]

[He appreciates being freed again, but he won't move from where the Earl left him standing. What Vincent is talking about is all news to him, things that he wouldn't have known as the informant to the Watchdog, but he listens in earnest anyway.]

Try to remember, my lord, you had been dead. Your appearance here was a surprise even to me, and four years is a long time to change a person, even one so young. Your son had to make his way in the world, left to what he was, and you know as well as any of us what that sort of life can do to a person. But he's stronger than he looks. He comes from good stock, after all.

{Vincent can be strong in adversity - like steel, really - but he is not really the sort that can neatly solve problems. That had been more of Rachel's forte and, well, she's not here. He misses her, frankly, and he speaks aloud, trying to draw from his memories of her and his sons.

Yet he is in good company. Undertaker's logic brings him to Earth and he motions at a chair with his head.}

You should sit. {While he paces and frets, apparently. Vincent smirks at himself.} That is another aspect that I do not wholly understand. How did he survive? Those who broke into the mansion were well-armed and vicious.

How could a young boy stand against that?

[He sighs softly and takes the seat offered to watch Vincent pace and fret. One leg crosses over the other and he leans back a bit, looking up at the man.]

The answer to that is not so simple. Your son has suffered quite a bit. It would pain him to have to relay the tale to you, I'm sure, but I should let him decide if he wants to be the one to tell you or if he would rather I explain it all. It would settle your mind just to see him again though, milord. We should take a walk, I think.

{He runs a hand through his hair and loosens the collar of his shirt. He feels the itching need to act when he hears of his son suffering. But he is four years too late and in the wrong place besides. Finally, he claims a second chair, brow furrowing.}

I do not want to interrupt his work. He said we could meet him in his office.

{It's almost comical.}

What he went through is part of who he is now. I need to know of it, but I won't force him.

[He watches Vincent sit, noting the restlessness. It's hard not to see, even with his eyes.]

Time, milord. You have it now. Undoubtedly there is a paternal instinct in you what drives that urge to seek it all now, but it will come. We don't need to stop off by his office immediately, but let me walk you around the city a little. The air will do you some good, and we can make our way to your boy along the route. Besides, you're newly revived. This whole being alive thing must be rattling enough as it is. That's not going to help your nerves.

[He doesn't know anything about that at all, no.]

...you are right. {He tilts his head, leaning towards Undertaker.} I did not injure you when I pulled you inside? I am anxious, as you guessed, and I feel I could run laps around the city without tiring.

{What good that would do is questionable.}

...I can't say I've thought about it. Being alive. {He flexes his hands, his fingers.} My body has memory of the pain, the blood and the loss of breath, but there is not much there for me to mentally decipher.

[His smile softens, glad to see Vincent finally coming down and around a little. He does feel for the man. He knows what it's like to die and then suddenly find himself in shock a second time to see that it's not all done, and his sympathies don't just end there, but he'll keep mum on the specifics of it for now. One thing at a time.]

Don't worry yourself over me. Getting dragged into another room is the least of my concerns right now. But being that I've some experience with at least one side of death, the least I can do is offer an ear if you feel a need to talk about the other.

[He stands and gestures for Vincent to follow him.] Come, milord. Everything about your stay here thus far has been all too unpleasant. You're alive again, and this should be a happy time for you. Not many get that second chance.

{Many will say, swearing even, that Vincent has no heart; that he is a brutal tactician that kills without conscience. But that is only true when he is behaving as the Watch-Dog. His true self is far more empathetic. He loves his family and his friends - even if he gives them a hard time - and he is not taking what befell them easily. How can he?

But Undertaker has a curious effect on him - he always has - and Vincent is calming. He looks comforted by the fact that he hasn't hurt the other man.}

Something might occur to me later. I fear I am one-track-minded at present. {All he wants to do is see his son.} Yes. {He rises and moves to Undertaker's side, a little more color to his cheeks.} This is a special place where the rules of life and death are bent. Obviously others are given a second chance here. But are there cases of it in our world?

[His head lulls just so to one side and he turns as Vincent approaches, taking a step or two away before he'll respond.]

Count on it. This place gives one time enough to consider what he will, whether or not he wants. [He opens the door and gestures again, for Vincent to leave before him.] As far as I know, you and your son and I, we're the only ones from our world, or our own time, whatever the case may be. I'm rather enjoying it.

{There is an etiquette that is expected between nobles and commoners, but Vincent doesn't feel much like adhering to it. He is gentler this time when he tugs Undertaker through the door along with him, but he is just as insistent.}

I can listen too if you have need of it. {He shrugs and smiles faintly.} That does make the place more interesting. Would you say others are from the future or the past more often?

[Vincent can lower himself to the mortician's level if he likes, and he'll treat it like he always has. The man will always be an Earl to him, he and his son both. The tugging won't get any resistance.]

That's very generous. I'll keep it in mind, should I need it. [He won't ask after it.] I've found they're almost all from the future, a very distant future. We hail from the year eighteen ninety-nine. I've yet to meet someone outside of our world who came from a year earlier than somewhere near a hundred years later. Fascinating times, those.

{He doesn't see it the same way. He isn't lowering himself; he is walking with a friend. It really becomes bothersome when people set expectations for you and Vincent isn't one to listen to anyone's opinion unless he chooses to do so.}

Do as you please; the offer stands. {He walks at a leisurely pace, letting Undertaker lead.} How does one greet someone from so far in the future? Do they even communicate the same?

[They're in no hurry here and he's glad of it, though he knows Vincent is anxious to see his boy and know what's going on with him.]

Get one face to face and they're no different, but they have these neat little bothersome devices that we've already used once to talk to people across distances. [He pats the weight of his in his pocket.] Can you believe that's what they call a phone? That little thing! They probably taught you a bit about it when you got it, but there's so much you can do with it, it still amazes and disgusts me.

{Anxious, yes, but nervous too. He needs to prepare himself in the same way that "Ciel" does. Well, perhaps not in the same way. But close. His mind and his heart have definitely been thrown off course.}

I thought that was a jest! {Phones should not be without chords or wires and they certainly should not be so small!} But I saw typed words as well as moving pictures! All was clear as if I and the caller were standing side by side.

{He pulls out his phone, grinning.} I suppose it is a little nauseating.

[It doesn't take enhanced senses to know the Earl is a ball of nerves, but that will pass. What he'll do is to pretend this is all very normal, very much an everyday occurrence. Technically, it is, when new people arrive on a somewhat regular basis. It's just the first time that he himself has known one of them personally.]

[His grin turns decidedly wicked with thrill. Finally! Someone to empathize with him on this!] That's what they call it! But yes, you're very right! Through this, you can see who you're speaking with and not even be in the same building with them, and the moving pictures... Oh, Earl. [He shakes his head.] I should show you what they call movies some time. But be prepared to sit on the couch for a few hours. It's terrible.

{He is in good company. Vincent considers himself lucky - blessed - in this at least. Stretching his legs too is helping; he has often used exercise to clear his mind. If only he could ride.

Oh he empathizes heartily! These devices should not be. Their very existence is unnerving.}

Movies? {Akin to moving pictures, surely, but...hours long?} How can anyone sit and stare at a piece of cloth or canvas for so long? Or are they like the phones?

{Incredible, yet somehow it all turns his stomach.} What happened to spending time out of doors?

Edited 2017-10-30 04:17 (UTC)

[He shrugs and runs a hand down his small braid, fingers left to hold onto the strands above where the end was tied off.] Not quite like the phones. Think of a movie as a play in the theater, but instead of seeing it all performed on stage, you're watching it on a large screen in your own home. It helps to pass the time before sleep if I don't feel like reading or there's nothing more to do.

[He and Ciel had spent many a night on the couch, watching one or the other movie before eventually migrating to the bed and passing out. He hoped the tradition would continue, but in his own place would be Vincent, watching something with his son.] The first time I saw one, I had to get up and leave the building after. The performance was a good one, the story quite exciting, but milord, you would not believe some of the things these people can think of until you see them.

{He blows out a long breath, causing his dark fringe to flutter before his eyes.} Does he enjoy them? These...movies? There were certain radio programs that they attended regularly, but I did not pay them much notice.

{If his twins were calm and happy, he could attend to his work.}

I think I can imagine. People can envision all sorts of horrendous deeds. If they could not, the underworld would not exist, would it?

Edited 2017-10-30 04:35 (UTC)

He seems to. We sit down regularly in the evenings and put something on, just to sit and listen to and wind down. He'll pay attention to it but if I don't like it I'll bring out a book or something else while he finishes what's on the screen. [Modern comforts are something he can only enjoy so much of, being from a world that had nothing of the sort.]

It's not all horrible, but some of it is terribly graphic. Not that it bothers me any, but they'll put just about anything on display, these people. Intensity of a fist fight, autopsy in the morgue, passion in the bedroom... You name it, they've likely put it in one of these movie things somewhere.

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