Squire Kelandry of Mindelan paused practicedly on the landing of the lush, red and gold carpeted staircase to glare warily out

Author's Note:
Edited something that I wrote back in January. Without giving my hidden agenda away, I will tell you that it is a Kel fanfiction, but you know me, I would never write just a piece of fanfiction! These things must have a message!

I shall call it...

"Balls"

A Fanfiction of Sorts

By Em
a.k.a.
~Cycle Pinsetter~

[My Blanket Disclaimer: All of these characters belong to Tamora Pierce, and like borrowed Barbie dolls, I have played with them for a while, dressed them in clothes possibly foreign to them, set them into a house that may not be their own, and driven them around a pink 57 Chevy convertible, when really they would have preferred the white Ferarri. Please, let me indulge myself, and perhaps my readers, for this moment's fancy.
Thank You,
Em]

Sir Kelandry of Mindelan paused practicedly on the landing of the lush, red and gold carpeted staircase to glare warily out at the crowded ballroom floor, posing. This was usually something most people not wanting to be noticed avoided, but Kel, being stunned by the lights and music, forgot to remember to forget. She rolled her eyes hiking the skirt of her long emerald-green silk gown up ever so delicately (with her fist) so she wouldn't fall on her face as she descended the staircase. It was pure Yamani silk (the dress, not the staircase), of course, showing off her womanly figure flatteringly, but not enough for her to notice herself and feel immodest. The bards were warming up; the dissonant din of tuning instruments flooded the air. She could hear a spattering of Court Laughter every once in a while from different positions of the room. Court Laughter, that is, practiced laughter used when the subject of the laughter is not very funny, was considered an art form.

Not another ball, She sighed. I am stone. Kel plastered on a look of contentment, or at least polite disgust, as she stepped on to the painted floor. Tortall needs more wars.

She clutched tight the skirt of her dress, trying to navigate the thick crowds of the midwinter ball. It wasn't that she disliked balls necessarily, but there had been so many of these lately, she was ready for a change. They were all the same. Sure, they were called something different every time. Midwinter Ball. Midsummer Ball. King Jonathan's Illegitimate Cousin's Laundress's Proctologist's Ball. Superfluous Generic Isn't It Time We Had A Ball? Ball. They were so convenient. It seemed, whenever one of her friends felt the need to confess their undying love for her, there was another ball. Funny how these things work.

Who will it be tonight? KeI drifted to the wings, pausing innocently to fix her slipper. She does this artfully, studying the floor, counting to ten. As she reaches 10, a shadow is cast over her. She straightens, as elegantly as a female with an agenda can, that is.

Hello my beauteous blossom. Would you care to dance, Kel my sweet? Cleon offers a hand. He is dressed simply in a red dress tunic with gold embroidery around the collar. His tights, she can see, have been mended a few times, but over all he was dressed nicer than some of the other ones.

A little taller than the last one. Not bad though.

Kel scowled. I just got here Cleon, give me a minute.

A minute, dear, I will give you the rest of my life. He cracked a smile. There was something in his eyes that gave her a funny feeling.

Accept, grudgingly.

Fine, Cleon. She let him drag her out onto the floor and profess his love for her. After he was done, Kel stepped on his foot.

He whimpered, limping.

Geez, Cleon, I didn't mean to. She stood there, pouting slightly. Bad move though, pouting only makes them want to profess their love to you even more. Even more unfortunately, Cleon saw, and well, it just went downhill from there.

I love you Kel. I can't imagine spending my life without you. He had the most awful look in his eye, like he was about to sneeze.

Um. I'll go get some ice. Kel navigated away from Cleon, in favor a hiding place to pass the evening.

She ducked into an alcove, without looking, breathing a sigh of relief.

Uh oh.

She had just entered the lion's den.

Sure, by light of day alcoves branching out into balconies are perfectly harmless. Actually pleasant, really, in an ivy strewn, bench laden, balconyish alcovey sorta way. But at night they have a habit of appearing when you least expect it, and always sporting one of three things: A) many loving couples lost a passionate embrace, oblivious to anything but the night and the glory of the stars, B) one would-be (or more, depending on the time spent lingering on the balcony) dashing lover-type character, hell bent on turning you into one half of a loving couple lost in a passionate embrace, oblivious to anything but the night and the glory of the stars, and finally C) all of the above.

And, I quote the law of extremes when I say that to the unsuspecting victim, C is usually the case.