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.
