something precious.

Of course the servants worship the ground the insufferable little shite walks on; it was foolish of her to even ask. Grelle has experience as a servant, after all, and knows that it’s improper to speak poorly of your master, even out of earshot from them. (Not that she ever would have spoken poorly of Angenlina back when they were in the peak of their relationship.) Clearly she’ll get no good gossip from Rin today.

“So he’s perfect, then, is what you’re saying. A flawless little angel.” Grelle gives a harsh scoff, then fishes a pack of cigarettes from her purse, not asking before she lights one up indoors. “Certainly not Sebastian’s type.”

The nicotine doesn’t help with her bad mood, but at least the cigarette gives her something to focus on.

“You could say that.” 

A century and a half would likely be considered long to most people. But it isn’t as though they were ever friends; enemies, yes, and occasionally begrudging allies, but never friends. Even when they were very briefly lovers, they weren’t really friends. She sighs, watching the smoke curl up from the end of her cigarette, wondering where the time has gone.

“Not to worry, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. I’ve got more productive things to do than stand around listening to everyone tell me the sun shines out of his Lordship’s arse.”

Add a headache to the list of things she’s dealing with today.

Rin opens her mouth to protest when Miss Sutcliffe lights her cigarette, but quickly thinks better of it. She knows when to pick her battles, and this—this just isn’t worth it. Lady Shiori probably won’t mind terribly, in the grand scheme of things. If she even comes back to this part of the house soon enough to notice in the first place.

No—there are more important things than that.

“No one is perfect,” Rin says carefully, steadying her voice as best she can. She is a servant of the Genpō family—Mr. Sebastian would surely tell her that that includes far more than physical threats. “But—Lord Kiyoharu is a good person. I-I don’t see what’s wrong with being a good person.”

Sebastian’s type. That makes Rin flush—with what? Discomfort with the notion? Embarrassment on Mr. Sebastian’s behalf? Or—she’s not really sure. But it’s inappropriate to be talking about, surely—

“I-It’s not my place to—it’s Mr. Sebastian’s business what, um, what his type is.” Still talking about it. Stupid, stupid, get it together— “I apologize, b-but I shouldn’t be speaking of such things...”

Some deeply buried part of her wants to tell Miss Sutcliffe everything, all about the tension that’s been hanging like smoke in the air since Lady Hanae’s death, about how strange she’s found the change, how off-balance she’s been left by the way Mr. Sebastian seems to almost guard every private moment with Lady Shiori with a jealousy Rin doesn’t think is like him at all—

But it wouldn’t be proper. And there wouldn’t be any point, when even the little she thought she knew about the man is probably far from the truth.

She wonders what he was like when Miss Sutcliffe used to know him. She doesn’t think she wants to know.

She swallows the questions that linger in the back of her throat and bows her head.

Servants drive her absolutely mad. They did when she was a child (not that they ever had such extensive wealth as the Phantomhives, but they had Hiram, and his kiss-arse attitude toward her mother drove her absolutely insane), and they certainly do now. It would be nice to have someone waiting on her hand and foot if she thought they actually wanted to, but servitude of this nature always feels so forced to her.

Grelle sighs. She’s just as bad as Will these days, apparently, about keeping her identity under the radar. There are always human ears listening in.

“I’m not going to bite you, for God’s sake.”

There she goes again, being irritable for no discernible reason toward someone who doesn’t deserve it. She reins in her temper, taking another pointed sip of her tea as she tries not to continue pressing at the bruise of nobody loves me and nobody ever will, knowing that’s a path she’s gone down far too many times in the past, and is unwilling to go down again. Particularly over some— snobby little brat.

“What’s your master like?” she asks, trying to be conversational and probably only coming off as unapproachable and demanding. “Sebastian seems to admire him quite a bit more than other masters he’s served.”

“I’m sorry,” Rin stammers out again, even knowing that apologizing too much is probably just going to irritate Miss Sutcliffe more. But what is she supposed to say? Why does this—this—she’s not really sure what she is and it’s easier to just say guest—want to talk to her in the first place?

She keeps thinking of the pistols concealed beneath her petticoat, how quickly she could get to them if she needed to—of whether she could stop Miss Sutcliffe getting to Lady Shiori if it came to that—and that inability to compartmentalize her duties as a bodyguard and her duties as a maid is what trips her up at the best of times, what leaves her stuttering and fumbling and dropping dishes, and this is certainly not the best of times. This feels like a trap, but lying feels even more dangerous than telling the truth.

Rin shifts her weight from one foot to the other, trying to formulate an answer that won’t just make things worse.

“His Lordship is, um—he’s very kind, and selfless. I-I don’t think he thinks of himself that way, but that’s, um, that’s how I’ve always known him to be.”

Lady Shiori had thought of her, when so many other lives were on the line. Very nearly at risk to her own, she had thought to save Rin, and considered her precious.

Maybe she’s biased.

“I admire him as well, I-I think we all do—but my family has been serving the Genpō family for generations, s-so maybe that's because I feel that it’s my responsibility...” It’s not. “And of course Mr. Sebastian, um—cares about his Lordship very much.”

Rin smiles politely, trying her best to seem completely fine, collected.

“No, God forbid. I’m staying elsewhere.” 

Grelle almost bites the head off the poor girl, barely restraining herself even though the maid has done nothing remotely wrong to her. In the past, that wouldn’t have mattered, and the impulse to shout at anyone who will listen is still there, but she has better control over it now. At least, she would like to think so. She watches the tea slosh slightly over the edge of her teacup and her lip twitches in annoyance.

The rubs her thumb over her cell phone, waiting for William to text her back. It’s been a full twenty-four hours, and no word from him. Perhaps he’s angry with her. She brings her cup of tea to her lips, blowing gently on the steaming surface before taking a sip, leaving bright lipstick smudged along the edge.

His Lordship. Gag her with a spoon.

“I suppose you heard all that in there, then.” Grelle looks at the maid – what was her name again – from over the rims of her glasses, and there’s the barest hint of amusement in her expression. “Oh, there’s no need to hide it from me, dear. I was the one doing all of the screaming, after all.”

In an ideal scenario, she’d make a joke about Sebastian being the one to make her scream, a pretty little innuendo wrapped up nicely in a bow. Today she just sounds… flat. She’s exhausted herself with this entire mess and can’t even back out of it now that she’s here.

“What’s your name, darling?”

“Not—all of that. —Please forgive my rudeness.”

Rin bows her head, glasses slipping down her nose. She’d heard enough that she really does not want to consider the implications of, not fully—it’s one thing to know, in the sense that it would be impossible not to realize, that something is not quite normal about Mr. Sebastian, it’s another to... know.

But he’s not a threat. Rin would not say she trusts him, but she trusts that Lady Shiori trusts him, and Lady Shiori’s trust is not easily earned. He’s... devoted. At least.

She wasn’t supposed to hear any more than that, either.

—But Miss Sutcliffe is unpredictable and things that are unpredictable are always more problematic. If she were a direct threat to Lady Shiori’s safety, Mr. Sebastian wouldn’t have left her unattended, but it’s clear the woman has a grudge. And yet Lady Shiori hadn’t instructed Rin to do anything but wait on her as any other guest—it’s leaving her at a loss for how to proceed, and that unsettles her. Mr. Sebastian being genuinely upset, or—angry, or whatever it is—unsettles her more still.

But she knows better than to think it’s her place to ask for answers.

“Your, um—your tea, miss...”

Or should it be milady? Lady Shiori has called “Miss Sutcliffe”, but Mr. Sebastian hasn’t said a word, like he’s pretending she’s not even there, and Rin’s never known him to be so—so—rude. It’s not like him.

It’s not like to raise his voice at a guest, either. Even one who’s screaming at him about things that, well—

What’s so lovable about that brat! He’s nothing! He’s a pathetic little human!

—It’s not Rin’s business what she’s heard. It’s her business to pour tea and represent the household well, and protect her Lady from harm.

Her guns feel heavy in their holsters and her hands shake as she pours the tea into Miss Sutcliffe’s cup.