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who: Undertaker, Ciel Phantomhive, Vincent Phantomhive
what: Early morning Christmas-y doings
when: Dec 24
where: The Phantomhive house
warnings: Cute

A morning person, he usually woke with the sun, but today, things were different. Today, perhaps not in this world but in their own somewhere out in the ether, was Christmas Eve, and it was the first time in longer than he cared to recollect that he had a reason to properly celebrate it.

It wasn't by intention, but maybe anticipation of that fact that had him sneaking out of bed earlier than usual, carefully and quietly. After tucking Ciel back in, he slipped from the room and into the kitchen. He took the apron from a cabinet knob and settled it over his head, then started the kettle on the stove and took out a few ingredients from here and there to set out on the counter.

He had cookies to make. Many of them.

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Just like the man. If nothing, it was amusing to see. He would like to have played around with the locks to see what else they would do, but Vincent stood and he stood back and there were cookies to tend. He would save it for later for sure.

He stepped over to the oven and checked the cookies one more time, though the timer had a very short time left, and stood back from it again. "That would certainly be something." And it got him thinking. What if they could somehow prevent true death? Would that prevent new grim reapers from being trained? Certainly over population would be a concern if humans could still reproduce then, as death followed life, but what of the existing grim reapers?

Maybe they would all be forgiven. That would be something indeed. "I would like to see that, I think."

He hummed at the nuzzle and tilted his head back against the Earl's, shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he did. This man was going to make a slow second death of him. "I don't take credit for it, but you do flatter me, my lord."

Just imagine him growing them out longer! Ciel had inherited the stubborn locks - as had his brother. Vincent found it absolutely adorable that his sons were mirror images of one another even in that respect. It made it slightly easier to tell them apart (though their personalities usually gave that away).

"You wouldn't disapprove?" he grinned and was drawn to Undertaker's side - partially in order to inspect the cookies. They smelled heavenly.

"I would too." Vincent, like many, was so very tired of dealing with death. He had never gloried in another's demise, though that might have changed if he had lived.

With their heads nestled, he slipped an arm around Undertaker's waist. "Not at all. You are the seed of it and the roots have now taken hold."

If Vincent had grown that long, dark hair out, he might not be able to keep his hands off of it or his mind off Claudia. Not that he didn't think of her every time he saw the Earl's face. He had so much of his mother in him. Long ago, that hurt dearly. It still did now, but time had done much to dull that blade, though he did have moments still where he held onto his chain a little too tightly.

"I wouldn't disapprove if it meant the end of sorrow and mourning, but... It has its complications." When Vincent moved closer to him to watch the cookies with him and the arm moved about his waist, he sighed, leaning in a little himself.

The comment drew another wince from within his chest, and he found himself glad to hear the alarm go off at last and guilty at the same time. "There we are!" And he moves gently away from the hold to get his hands in oven mitts and opens the door to remove the tray, breathing in deeply as he does. Mm, cookie goodness.

Some past Phantomhives had sported long hair - pulled back in a ponytail, of course. Vincent was blessed with a pretty face, so it was quite likely that if he followed suit, he would be the spitting image of Claudia. Only...taller. And without breasts. ~~Of course such things could be feigned in the right scenario.~~ Oh the extents the Watch-Dogs went to for the crown!

"Ah, it does." his voice was soft and a little sad, "Those who desire an end would not be able to find one." which meant endless suffering for them. Idly, Vincent drew Undertaker's hair into his hand, assisting the man in removing the cookies from the oven. It wouldn't do to singe such pretty silver.

"They smell delicious." he released the other man's hair and smiled down at the tray, "Shall we leave a few for him to decorate?"

He can't really say much about that himself. But he's not doing that in the name of the Queen, oh no. Never for her. And not any time soon at that.

He leaves that much without comment and sets the tray on the stove burners to let the cookies cool so that they can decorate them in a few minutes. "Of course we should. It'd only be fair and I'm given to a little fairness in the spirit of the holiday." Besides, he still has at least one more batch to make with the dough he has left.

They were a very attractive family. Of course that could, in theory, balance out some of their less sane traits. Like how Vincent had kept the dress and, well, he and Rachel had had their fun.

"Just because of the season? How kind of you!" he chuckled, picking up the blue icing first, "Our self-control should be focused on not eating them." which was why he was suddenly regretting not having breakfast yet.

Such torment.

They certainly are an attractive family. Every time he thought of Claudia, he was reminded of it. Every time he saw Vincent or his son, he thought of Claudia. It was a never ending cycle of aesthetically pleasing highborn people. How in the world did he ever find himself mixed in with all of that, he would ask himself one more time?

Still no answer to that. But he does find himself regretting having had only tea for breakfast. Not much sustenance in that other than the caffeine content. He picks up a green icing tube himself and removes the cap and tilts his head back to squeeze a bit in his mouth. Mmm. "Indeed, it should. I might require a bit of a distraction from that myself. My self control is... wobbling."

Well Vincent could explain the birds and the bees to him, but he figured Undertaker knew all about that. There were a variety of ways that Claudia could have become pregnant, but, let's be honest, the ending had to be the same. Little Vincent was a mischievous surprise for both of them, no doubt!

"We should rectify that." Vincent pulled himself away from the cookies and sought other food. Eggs were easy enough to make...and toast...

"How does this stove work again?"

Maybe he shouldn't be doing this.

Nobles. All so educated, the lot of them, but nowhere in that seemed to be the basics of how to keep oneself properly cared for. What a waste of money on expensive teachers who hadn't half a brain in their heads. He couldn't help but shake his head, watching Vincent in his efforts. "Ah, god help us. I know these machines aren't what we're used to, but if I leave you and your son alone for a week and forbid you from ordering processed food, I think you might starve to death."

He leaned a hip against the counter and leaned onto a palm on the surface, pointing to one of the knobs on the front. "There. That, you turn until you have it to the desired heat and keep your pan on the right burner. For eggs, you won't want it on more than a medium heat at the very best. They cook quickly."

They had cooks and butlers and maids. When were they ever in the kitchen unless they wanted to sneak a taste of something delicious? Yet, at least once, Vincent had put on an apron and learned how to cook some decent fare for his wife and little son. Love made all the difference!

Unfortunately love didn't teach him how to use this stove.

He leaned over until he was eye-to-eye with the knobs. He turned them onto medium heat and grabbed a pan. Hey, he wasn't half-bad at cracking open the eggs!

"Here I was trying to do something nice for you too."

Such a charmed and spoiled life. He looked down at the knob himself to see what Vincent set it at and watched him work. "You know I jest." He had to. Really, who would he be if he didn't? Not a proper him, that was for sure.

In a drawer he opened, he pulled out a spatula and offered it to the Earl. "It'll help you to do as you wish with them. They're fast to cook, which also makes them very easy to cook. Shall I help you with it?" He would if he had to. He hadn't lived alone and survived this long simply because he was already dead. Grim reapers had to eat too.

"My feelings are delicate." only not. In fact, his feelings were often the furthest thing from delicate. Diedrich might be taunting him when he wondered if Vincent could love at all, but there was some truth in it. He was simply not as deeply touched as others, though he could be very affectionate in the right circumstances.

"That would defeat the purpose of me doing this for you." he took the spatula and began to scramble the eggs, grinning all the while, "Would you like some cheese?"

That got a giggle and he went to retrieve his cup to finish off the tea he'd left behind. Vincent's feelings were far from delicate. He'd seen the results of the man's actions in his parlor more than enough to know as much. It took a certain kind of person to be able to pull off stunts like those. He definitely took after his mother in that regard.

"Then I'll leave you to it. Hold the cheese, please." He set his cup back down on the table, now empty, debating a third, and went to wash his hands at the sink and dry them and returned to the cookie dough to start cutting the next batch. "I haven't made gingerbread cookies in years. This is nice."

Vincent will do what was necessary. Period. He had no qualms about killing or getting his hands dirty. Furthermore, he had no qualms about embarrassing himself if it resulted in the knowledge he sought. The Queen knew what sort of man he was and she knew too that the only way to silence him - to stop him should he forget his domesticity - was to kill him.

"Mm." he scrambled the eggs with surprising ease - he had always been good with his hands - and soon he had toast to accompany them, "I can't say I ever have." he tilts his head curiously, "Good memories?"

The cookies came to form easily enough, and soon he had a little stack of uncooked dough in the shape of the delicious little undecorated treats they would soon become. His attention stayed on this, unconcerned with the cooking Vincent had to attend. Eggs were easy enough, and toast with this world's devices? A child could make this kind of meal easily.

But he hesitated at the question, taking the time to fold and roll the last of the dough first. "Not good. Not bad. Just memories." Just memories, made of boredom and perhaps more than a touch of loneliness. He baked because it filled his time and kept his mind off of other things, and that was its true purpose, but he'd become quite good at it in time. "I'll teach you one day, if you wish."

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