[ Ciel has at least one thing to be thankful for today: he doesn't have the ball and chain to worry about anymore. Freer movement is always a plus. He supposes he should also be thankful that Mister Faustus, who isn't even his butler or remotely obligated to aid him, had prepared both his breakfast and his clothes this morning. Though he'd seemed only too happy to do so, oddly enough. Still, the clothing is plainer than he's used to, and he looks more like a schoolboy today than a young nobleman. He'll have to remedy this soon. At the moment, though, he's occupied with something else--that is, standing in front of the ice cream shop and contemplating whether to go inside or not. It would spoil his luncheon, he knows; but he doesn't have anyone to caution him against it, and he would much rather eat ice cream. Decisions, decisions.
He's been catching a glimpse of something in mirrors and windows today: a short, interesting scene, if rather graphic. He sees himself standing in the middle of a circle of corpses. He's splattered with blood, but unruffled. He lets the revolver in his hand clatter to the ground as he turns to face an unseen figure in the shadows. 'It is done,' he tells this figure calmly. 'You may collect your payment.' There is a flash of sharp white teeth in the darkness--a predatory smile--and the brief vision is over. ]