[ So this is him, is it? This Alois Trancy he's heard about? It shouldn't surprise him that he's his age--or close to it. But somehow it does, and as he watches him speak--poetic, fanciful language, lilting tone--and slouch and suddenly start, he thinks that he'd been expecting someone else. He doesn't know who, exactly; but Alois Trancy surprises him, and it's neither pleasant nor unpleasant.
Dainty fingers curl against his cheek as he rests his palm under his chin, and thinks for a long minute about Alois: about watercolors, long blond eyelashes, and the way his lips so carefully form the word 'love,' like he's cradling that soft syllable in his mouth and pushing it up and out with his heart. Like it's something he thinks about all the time. Like it's as important to him as the word 'hate' is to Ciel.
He turns on the video setting to reply. ]
And here I thought you had been avoiding me, Alois Trancy.
[ After all, Faustus had said that his hospitality was on behalf of his master, and it is rather strange to leave a guest--can he really be considered a guest in this situation?--in the care of one's butler without making an appearance oneself. ]
I'd been on the verge of demanding to see you. How considerate of you to save me the trouble.