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mtxref_fic) wrote2013-04-12 09:19 pm
mtxref_fic) wrote2013-04-12 09:19 pm
Entry tags:
[Black Butler]"His Butler, Abstaining" (PG)
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fic_promptly's Any canon set in the UK, any, fish and chips on Good Friday Ciel Phantomhive + Sebastian Michaelis (with a side visit from Bardo, Meyrin and Finny)
Ciel studied the early figures of Funtom's Easter sales: the dark chocolate Bitter Rabbits had sold better than had been projected, and the milk chocolate Rough Lambs and the white chocolate Lame Ducks were quickly becoming the best selling Easter candies that Funtom had ever carried. And the plush Springtime Bitter Rabbits had sold nearly as well as the Christmas version the previous year. Here it was Good Friday, one half day and one full day left for the Easter sales, but the books would likely be in the black, particularly when the shops opened in the late afternoon, after Good Friday services ended.
Good Friday... the day when the Christians recalled the salvific death of the Nazarene on the cross, a dark day of fasting and abstinence as the believers did their part to share in the sufferings of the God-Man Whom they worshiped. Things which Ciel no longer believed in: though he accepted the historic Christ as a fact and the founder of Christianity, he had lost his faith when he had lost his family. How could one continue believing in a God Who shut His ears to the nightly prayer of a child who had begged protection for father, mother and home, every night since he was old enough to prattle the words?
The beliefs and customs of others still had their purpose: he profited from it, and so, in a sense, he had faith in their faith. A fair trade.
The scent of fish and potatoes frying diverted his attention from these sober thoughts: fish and chips. Sebastian must have thought to make it. Ironic, a demon carrying on the tradition of humans on a day set aside for the most solemn of their holy days. He supposed that demons had their own belief in God: why turn your back on something that meant nothing to you?
Someone knocked on the hall door. "Master, your lunch is ready," Sebastian's calm voice called.
"The door is open," Ciel replied, laying down the pages with the facts and figures.
Sebastian entered, pushing a server's cart, laden with metal-covered dishes. "I have prepared a light repast for you: traditional fried fish with a light batter of corn meal, served with fried potatoes, cut into chips, with black tea, no cream, no sugar. For lunch, I've used the violet Harrods china."
"Sebastian, do you know what day it is?" he asked, as the butler set the dishes on his desk.
"My lord, it is the twenty third of March, in the Year of Our Lord, eighteen hundred and eighty three," Sebastian replied.
"I did not mean what day it was, I meant, do you know what this day is?" Ciel asked, pulling his teacup to him and taking a sip from it.
"It is Good Friday, my lord, the Christian holy day commemorating the passion and death of Jesus Christ," Sebastian replied, straightening up.
"A day that has lost much of its meaning for me," Ciel admitted.
"As evidenced by your failure to attend Good Friday services," Sebastian noted, with a flicker of a smile. "Would not my young master at least have preferred to attend out of social propriety? To be seen by the polite and the common sectors of society and set an example?"
Ciel set down his cup and took a forkful of fish, chewing on it thoughtfully before swallowing and emitting a dry snort of derision. "I would not set an example for something in which I no longer put stock," he said. "Faith is something which I feel belongs to the individual, not to society as a whole."
Sebastian eyed the plate of fish and chips. "But my young master does seem to be enjoying his meal," he said. "A meal that would not be possible without the Christian tradition of abstaining from meat on the Fridays of Lent."
"It is a tradition which I cannot let go easily: faith may lose its meaning, but tradition give life a framework from which to build and which give one something to anticipate."
* * * * *
"Ah'm surprised Master Ciel agreed to fish an' chips for lunch," Bardo remarked, eyeing the left over bits of fish and fried potatoes. "Ah was 'spectin' he'd say it wuz too common for 'is tastes, but he ate it right up."
"But 'e left us some bits t' munch awn," Meyrin said, chin on the kitchen table, snuffing at the left overs. "You think Mister Sebastian'll throw a fit if we eat 'em?" she asked, looking up at the cook.
"I don't think even 'e'd fault us for a treat: it's awmost Easter," Finny chirped, trying not to drool at the rich, salty smell of the good food before them.
"Well then, let's not let these vittles go to waster," Bardo said, portioning out the leftovers for his comrades in service.
"Funny, tho', that Ciel would have fish on Good Friday," Finny noted. "'im not bein' a believer."
"Don't think 'e ain't a believer no more: I fink 'e 'ad it out wit' th Old Man Upstairs, and decided t' go 'is own way," Bardo said, around a mouthful. "'E just don't go to church no more."
"So why 'ave fish a' chips on Good Friday?" Meyrin asked.
"Force of 'abit, ah'd say," Bardo replied.
"But it's a tradition, an' it tastes so good, why not 'ave it?" Finny asked, innocently.
"Sound good enough for me," Bardo said, with a smirk.
fic_promptly's Any canon set in the UK, any, fish and chips on Good Friday Ciel Phantomhive + Sebastian Michaelis (with a side visit from Bardo, Meyrin and Finny)Ciel studied the early figures of Funtom's Easter sales: the dark chocolate Bitter Rabbits had sold better than had been projected, and the milk chocolate Rough Lambs and the white chocolate Lame Ducks were quickly becoming the best selling Easter candies that Funtom had ever carried. And the plush Springtime Bitter Rabbits had sold nearly as well as the Christmas version the previous year. Here it was Good Friday, one half day and one full day left for the Easter sales, but the books would likely be in the black, particularly when the shops opened in the late afternoon, after Good Friday services ended.
Good Friday... the day when the Christians recalled the salvific death of the Nazarene on the cross, a dark day of fasting and abstinence as the believers did their part to share in the sufferings of the God-Man Whom they worshiped. Things which Ciel no longer believed in: though he accepted the historic Christ as a fact and the founder of Christianity, he had lost his faith when he had lost his family. How could one continue believing in a God Who shut His ears to the nightly prayer of a child who had begged protection for father, mother and home, every night since he was old enough to prattle the words?
The beliefs and customs of others still had their purpose: he profited from it, and so, in a sense, he had faith in their faith. A fair trade.
The scent of fish and potatoes frying diverted his attention from these sober thoughts: fish and chips. Sebastian must have thought to make it. Ironic, a demon carrying on the tradition of humans on a day set aside for the most solemn of their holy days. He supposed that demons had their own belief in God: why turn your back on something that meant nothing to you?
Someone knocked on the hall door. "Master, your lunch is ready," Sebastian's calm voice called.
"The door is open," Ciel replied, laying down the pages with the facts and figures.
Sebastian entered, pushing a server's cart, laden with metal-covered dishes. "I have prepared a light repast for you: traditional fried fish with a light batter of corn meal, served with fried potatoes, cut into chips, with black tea, no cream, no sugar. For lunch, I've used the violet Harrods china."
"Sebastian, do you know what day it is?" he asked, as the butler set the dishes on his desk.
"My lord, it is the twenty third of March, in the Year of Our Lord, eighteen hundred and eighty three," Sebastian replied.
"I did not mean what day it was, I meant, do you know what this day is?" Ciel asked, pulling his teacup to him and taking a sip from it.
"It is Good Friday, my lord, the Christian holy day commemorating the passion and death of Jesus Christ," Sebastian replied, straightening up.
"A day that has lost much of its meaning for me," Ciel admitted.
"As evidenced by your failure to attend Good Friday services," Sebastian noted, with a flicker of a smile. "Would not my young master at least have preferred to attend out of social propriety? To be seen by the polite and the common sectors of society and set an example?"
Ciel set down his cup and took a forkful of fish, chewing on it thoughtfully before swallowing and emitting a dry snort of derision. "I would not set an example for something in which I no longer put stock," he said. "Faith is something which I feel belongs to the individual, not to society as a whole."
Sebastian eyed the plate of fish and chips. "But my young master does seem to be enjoying his meal," he said. "A meal that would not be possible without the Christian tradition of abstaining from meat on the Fridays of Lent."
"It is a tradition which I cannot let go easily: faith may lose its meaning, but tradition give life a framework from which to build and which give one something to anticipate."
* * * * *
"Ah'm surprised Master Ciel agreed to fish an' chips for lunch," Bardo remarked, eyeing the left over bits of fish and fried potatoes. "Ah was 'spectin' he'd say it wuz too common for 'is tastes, but he ate it right up."
"But 'e left us some bits t' munch awn," Meyrin said, chin on the kitchen table, snuffing at the left overs. "You think Mister Sebastian'll throw a fit if we eat 'em?" she asked, looking up at the cook.
"I don't think even 'e'd fault us for a treat: it's awmost Easter," Finny chirped, trying not to drool at the rich, salty smell of the good food before them.
"Well then, let's not let these vittles go to waster," Bardo said, portioning out the leftovers for his comrades in service.
"Funny, tho', that Ciel would have fish on Good Friday," Finny noted. "'im not bein' a believer."
"Don't think 'e ain't a believer no more: I fink 'e 'ad it out wit' th Old Man Upstairs, and decided t' go 'is own way," Bardo said, around a mouthful. "'E just don't go to church no more."
"So why 'ave fish a' chips on Good Friday?" Meyrin asked.
"Force of 'abit, ah'd say," Bardo replied.
"But it's a tradition, an' it tastes so good, why not 'ave it?" Finny asked, innocently.
"Sound good enough for me," Bardo said, with a smirk.