First and most immediate, a scoff. "Oh, you're tired of it, are you, tired of hearing a name, of Claude, Claude, Claude, Claude, CLAUDE FUCKING FAUSTUS, is that what you're tired of?!" It's shrill near the end as the blood rises to his face, and his lashes are dropping tears again. He hates hearing all of this, mostly because a lot of it is true. He wishes he could wheedle sweeter lies out of Ciel. That would be nice.
A rush of air leaves his lungs, and he feels surprisingly winded. He swallows, to steady his throat, and looks at Ciel more evenly now, with far less blind fury. "I would never mourn for Claude like that," Alois snaps. "It's not the same." He raises his chin defiantly, a challenge, eyes like dry ice at this point, his tears an odd contrast to the hard light over his irises. "That's how I'd mourn for you, though."
Hopefully that means something.
He ought to be speaking more softly. His heart should be more gentle. Don't say that, Ciel. Have a life, Ciel. But it isn't fair, that Ciel doesn't understand— "You're fucking stupid," he says defensively. "I never wanted - I never wanted you to do all that—" He bites his lip, steels himself again. "I always want you to stop working. You idiot, I always want to sit with you and see your face whether or not it's decent. And need I remind you that I still have one demon left to me?" The heel of his boot grinds against the carpet. "Do you honestly think we'd run dry, that our house would crumble to dust if you just put down your shitty pens for a while? Hannah would sooner feed you pies till you pop, stupid!"
—Oh. When did that happen? Suddenly he's crying in earnest, all anger seemingly vanished, unable to convey himself and hating everything for it. He doesn't know what to say, much less how to say it. This is a really terrifying experience. He rubs at his face fervently.
"I want to be a good reason for you, but how the hell am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to do that if I can't even convince you that I love you so much?" Many words don't come out smoothly; Alois feels like he's being punched in the ribs from the inside, and he can't stand straight for how his crying weighs on his own shoulders. "I don't—"
He covers his mouth to stifle himself - not so much his crying as his words - and then bites his palm as he makes himself stand up straight again. His tears are still coming freely, but his throat seems to be obeying him. He looks in Ciel's direction, but past him. His hands are very trembly.
"It's true, what I said. I'm sure Hannah could produce well enough on her own." His chin juts up again, and the habitual sneer is just barely making itself known. "So I won't be spending any of your earnings on this holiday I'm taking." It's like someone's pouring steak knives down his gullet. "An indefinite holiday. I'll be taking Hannah with me, but your servants will do fine without her." He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just, I need, I'm taking a holiday. I don't care."
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A rush of air leaves his lungs, and he feels surprisingly winded. He swallows, to steady his throat, and looks at Ciel more evenly now, with far less blind fury. "I would never mourn for Claude like that," Alois snaps. "It's not the same." He raises his chin defiantly, a challenge, eyes like dry ice at this point, his tears an odd contrast to the hard light over his irises. "That's how I'd mourn for you, though."
Hopefully that means something.
He ought to be speaking more softly. His heart should be more gentle. Don't say that, Ciel. Have a life, Ciel. But it isn't fair, that Ciel doesn't understand— "You're fucking stupid," he says defensively. "I never wanted - I never wanted you to do all that—" He bites his lip, steels himself again. "I always want you to stop working. You idiot, I always want to sit with you and see your face whether or not it's decent. And need I remind you that I still have one demon left to me?" The heel of his boot grinds against the carpet. "Do you honestly think we'd run dry, that our house would crumble to dust if you just put down your shitty pens for a while? Hannah would sooner feed you pies till you pop, stupid!"
—Oh. When did that happen? Suddenly he's crying in earnest, all anger seemingly vanished, unable to convey himself and hating everything for it. He doesn't know what to say, much less how to say it. This is a really terrifying experience. He rubs at his face fervently.
"I want to be a good reason for you, but how the hell am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to do that if I can't even convince you that I love you so much?" Many words don't come out smoothly; Alois feels like he's being punched in the ribs from the inside, and he can't stand straight for how his crying weighs on his own shoulders. "I don't—"
He covers his mouth to stifle himself - not so much his crying as his words - and then bites his palm as he makes himself stand up straight again. His tears are still coming freely, but his throat seems to be obeying him. He looks in Ciel's direction, but past him. His hands are very trembly.
"It's true, what I said. I'm sure Hannah could produce well enough on her own." His chin juts up again, and the habitual sneer is just barely making itself known. "So I won't be spending any of your earnings on this holiday I'm taking." It's like someone's pouring steak knives down his gullet. "An indefinite holiday. I'll be taking Hannah with me, but your servants will do fine without her." He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just, I need, I'm taking a holiday. I don't care."