Hey, there was a little confusion involving what Zidane was doing while
he was gone. He did not "cut" down the Iifa tree, that bit was Garnet being
sarcastic. As I said before, the idea is a carry-over from "Between the Lines,"
but instead of making people read all 60,000 words of that, I'll just quickly
explain. The idea was that the Iifa tree held the life-streams from both planets
in its roots, and once it had gathered all the souls from Gaia, it would
switch the two. Zidaen spent a year and a half freeing the two lifestreams
from Iifa, giving Gaia back it's original souls and Terra back hers. In the
process, the genomes were inhabited by Terran souls, much like some of the
Black Mages eventually got souls, and the Terran nation was reborn, only they
live now on Gaia. The whole theory if covered in chapters 18 "En Memorium,"
and 19 "The Root of Change," if you want the whole story. Phew. Now on with
the story.
~Enjoy!
(I am the)
Blue canary in the alley by the light switch
Who watches over you.
Make a little birdhouse in your soul.
(Not to put too fine a pine on it)
(Or say I'm the only bee in your bonnet)
Make a little birdhouse in your soul.
(from "Birdhouse in Your Soul," by They Might Be Giants)
After half an hour of formal greetings, the banquet started. And by this time, Garnet was beginning to wonder just where Zidane had gone. After assuring the queen that everything was quite all right, Beatrix set out to find the missing lover. It didn't take long, for after she boarded the theatre ship, she simply followed the voices. When she came in through the partially opened door, her jaw dropped. Zidane, in a completely different outfit, turned to look at her.
"Hey," he chided, whipping his tail around. "It's rude to stare." Beatrix kept on staring. She had been expecting to find Zidane in noble's style from last year, for most theatre companies got their costumes either on sale or donated from nobles who were bored with their old clothes. What Zidane was wearing only reminded her of Kuja's outfit. The top was navy blue, made of a thick, shimmering material that Beatrix could not place. The sleeves were of a slightly paler blue and tapered to flare at the wrists. Square-necked in the back, the vest had a v-neckline in the front, which brought a certain sophistication to Zidane's fairly rounded features. It fit snugly to his form all the way to where it abruptly ended, it's cut following his ribcage all the way around, revealing his belly and the small of his back to the eyes of all. The pants picked up again just below his navel, fitting snugly again as the vest did over his slightly-wider-than-a-normal-guy's hips and down to the knees, where it faded into the same blue as the sleeves before disappearing into black boots that rose to half calf length. All that and the tail frisking back and forth nervously…
"You look," Beatrix could think of no nicer word, "outlandish."
"Otherworldly?" laughed Blank from the opposite wall. The others began to laugh as well. Zidane rolled his eyes back into his head.
"I know what it looks like," he said, annoyed. "I was Gaian once too you know." The laughter intensified anew, but Beatrix quickly calmed down.
"What has possessed you to dress in that?" she asked him.
"Look, lady," he snorted, "this was not cheap. It's formal wear in New Bran Bal." Beatrix held up her hands defensively.
"Okay, I apologize." Suddenly, Zidane wrinkled up his features in a perplexed expression.
"Does it look all right?" he ventured. Beatrix looked him over again, only to find herself staring intently at his navel. She shook her head to get herself to look away.
"If that's the look you're going for, sure," she finally answered. "But the hair…"
"Eiyexactly, the hair!" Ruby interjected with a hyperactive nod.
"What's wrong with the hair?" asked Marcus.
"It's all 'eh,'" Ruby decided.
"Very 'boy-next-door,'" Beatrix translated.
"Oi…" Blank and Marcus replied, not understanding. Zidane, by this time, was starting intently at the mirror, running his hands through the ruddy blonde locks in question.
"Come on," he muttered. "There can't be something wrong with looking cute, can there? How boring is this party going to be?" Beatrix came forward and pulled all of his hair away from his forehead.
"Hmm," she contemplated. "If we slicked it all back, and secured it down here…"
"Siddown, Zidane!" Ruby commanded with excitement as she rushed forward to help Beatrix. The two women struggled with the nonconformist tresses for fifteen minutes before they finally had all of Zidane's hair pulled away from his face and secured at the base of his neck in a withered looking ponytail. Zidane took one look in the mirror before tossing his head. Immediately, his bangs fell forward again.
"Zidane!" groaned Ruby.
"Oh," he quickly made his way for the door, "you know you love it. I am one late date! Bye!" he waved to everyone as he bolted out the door. Beatrix followed after him.
"So," she said as she caught up to the smaller figure, "you actually intend to go out like that in public." Zidane looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Beatrix?" he waved her closer. "Let's you and me get on the same page. You were watching the play, right?"
"…yes."
"Tell me, why did Blank's character want Cornelia to marry Schneider?"
"Because…" Beatrix trailed off to think, "because the marriage would have ensured peace between the two kingdoms."
"Bingo."
"Zidane…" Beatrix gave him an odd look. "You're from Lindblum but—"
"Nooo," Zidane shook his head with a smile. "Beatrix, I am a Terran. My sister is the governess of the Terran people. How do we stand among the Alexandrian people? Or even all of the Gaians?"
"Well," she considered this too. "We're rather suspicious of you."
"Not scared at all?" he glanced her way as they came upon the door to the castle. "Or nervous or whatever?"
"Maybe," she shrugged, then in a low voice, "clean up your speech, nonetheless, Mr. Ambassador."
"Aye, aye," he winked.
"I want the queen to be happy," she continued in a hushed tone as they proceeded towards the grand hall, "so I'll try to help you, yet there is much I cannot do."
"I'm prepared," he smiled jauntily, offering her his arm. And so the general entered the Banquet hall on the arm of a man nearly half her size.
The meal went well, although Zidane did have to excuse himself during one idealistic nobleman's address to the company. Actually, by the time the man had been listing reasons why decreasing military employment was a good idea, Zidane was forced to bolt from the table to avoid the recognition of the others that the champagne he had been drinking had come out his nose. Upon the Queen's request, Beatrix went to see to the young savior of the world. She found him split between laughing and complaining about the bubbles in his nose, but by the time he had calmed down, Beatrix was still trying to catch her breath from both his dilemma and his remark:
"Yeah, if I were a thief, the best way to get me to behave would be to take the patrol off of the street." And it was then that she was convinced that the country would not suffer from his influence on the throne.
But the opposition had an agenda as well, and their primary tactic was "divide and conquer." The second the celebration began, half of the suitors went to gain Garnet's ear, and the other half came to interrogate her object of affection. At first, Zidane managed to comfortably keep them friendly at arm's length, but then one man joined their ranks.
"Zidane Tribal," he said as he slipped past a few peers, "I've heard so much about you."
"Really? I haven't the faintest clue whom you might be." A jab, Zidane had to admit, but a good-natured one. Or as good-natured as Zidane could get with these spoiled, stuck-up, lousy, nosey, no good…
"I am the son of Count Frederick de Granville, Peter de Granville," the man bowed formally. "Her Majesty's husband-elect." Zidane felt his tail go rigid, but the rest of him remained relatively calm. You could be Cid Fabool the First for all I care, Zidane felt like saying, but he played the game.
"Does the Queen know about this?" Zidane asked casually, drawing a chuckle from the surrounding noblemen.
"She does," he smiled, although his eyes now bore a sneer. Zidane lashed his tail once, just because he had to fight the urge not to say something that he would regret. And it was his move.
"Funny," he scratched his chin. "She told me that she hadn't made a decision."
"Not formally, no," Peter agreed with a haughty expression. "She requested that I hold my proposal for that reason. In any event, why should she confide such things in you?" The man was trouble; Zidane did not wish to speak with him further.
"Because I am a trusted friend," he replied bluntly.
"Oh?" the look on Peter's face made Zidane sincerely want to slap him. "She told me that you were simply a common thief." Damn, Zidane thought as the surrounding suitors began to murmur amongst themselves.
"Garnet has called me many things, but 'common' was never one of them."
"With or without the adjective, a thief you are," Peter finished. Zidane nearly reached over to wipe the smile off of his face. Instead, Zidane racked his brain for some bullshit.
"Correction," Zidane held up a finger and an eyebrow. "A thief is what I was when I was forced to conform to your close-minded society. In reality, the most I've had to do with this planet was deliver it from imminent destruction." This brought a hush to the murmuring, but the man who wanted Garnet's hand did not cease.
"As I recall, you were the Terran translator, brought along so that the Queen and Captain Steiner could save the planet from the threat that is Terra," the slime continued, although Zidane wasn't too angry to notice the collective cringe at the mention of Terra. The people might be anxious for peace with the alien race after all.
"You might want to cease you're ranting while you still have credit to your name," Zidane shot back. "True, I was part of the party of eight that fought of the destruction of all life. But her Majesty was here while I was dealing with what I was referring too."
"Zidane? Are you preoccupied?" came a feminine voice from behind him.
"Mikoto!" Zidane returned happily, trying to hide the relief from his voice. He quickly went to embrace her. "Ah, where are my manners?" he apologized lightly. "This is my sister, Mikoto, Governess of New Bran Bal."
Would it kill you to smile? he asked her in private telepathy.
Such action is overrated, she answered, but a gorgeous smile broke out upon her dainty features as she nodded her greetings.
"I have no time to chat now," she apologized. "I must speak with Regent Cid. And wish Queen Garnet a happy birthday, of course."
"I'll come with you," Zidane said quickly, offering his sister his arm. She was quite used to this action by now, but her two advisors, who were standing right there, exchanged glances. Zidane was quite relieved to be free of the situation. Cid could tell.
"Worn out already, my boy?" Cid asked with a laugh.
"Naw, bring it on." Then Mikoto and her top advisors began to discuss relations with Cid. Zidane slinked off to find Beatrix, for it was impossible to get close to Garnet.
"Who does that Grainy Peter guy think he is?" Zidane complained, interrupting a conversation between Steiner and Beatrix. Steiner didn't get what he was asking at first, but Beatrix understood at once.
"Oh, I probably should have warned you about him…" she apologized.
"Hell, yes," Zidane nodded, upset.
"Shhh!" Steiner waved frantically, trying not to have a heart attack.
"Are you rare, medium, or well-done?" Beatrix asked.
"Let's just say I'm going to have to hide behind a lot of skirts," Zidane groaned.
"It is quite possible that Peter de Granville is going to be the next king," Steiner added, catching on. "He's wealthy, well-educated, and has the Queen's favor."
"Yes, but can he dance?" Zidane asked jokingly.
"Can you?" asked Beatrix, looking off towards the dance floor, where Garnet was swirling with some rich pig. Zidane watched the procession for a moment before elbowing Beatrix's side.
"What's her favorite piece?" Beatrix thought for a moment, as did Steiner for it was he who said:
"Is it not that one waltz?"
"Oh yes!" Beatrix smiled. "A string quartet waltz entitled 'Fragments of Memories.'" *
"Thanks," Zidane nodded with a grin and ran off to talk with the conductor.
***
Garnet gratefully made her way to the punch bowl once the orchestra was taking a break. Again, she glanced around anxiously for any sign of Zidane, but there was none. She sighed, not expecting to see him at all that night. Life was almost like a torturer, who only tormented you as much as you could stand, but tormented you nonetheless. Garnet loved life, but she did not want to be living it with these men at her side. She saw Peter making his way toward her, a usually relieving sight, but not any more. What was she to tell him?
"Happy Birthday, Your Highness," he had pushed through the crowd to take her hand in his and kiss it deeply. "I trust you are enjoying yourself." Garnet withdrew her hand to help herself to some punch, ignoring several offers to help her with it.
"Hardly enough," she answered. The orchestra had started playing the next song. They had only gotten through five notes of it when Garnet's face lit up. Several suitors began to make their moves as she exclaimed, "Why, it's that song!" But as Garnet turned around towards the dance floor, she came face to face with Zidane.
"There you are," she breathed softly. I should have expected him to be right behind me… she thought with a smile. As the tune began to elevate into a slow waltz, Zidane's bare hand rose, palm up.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, slyly. Garnet nearly shouted "yes" with enthusiasm, but instead, she merely curtsied and placed her delicate fingers in his larger, stronger ones. She ignored the angry stares from the richer men as Zidane led her through the crowd of finely dressed upperclassmen and straight through several already moving couples to the center of the dance floor. Zidane then twirled Garnet around herself before taking her hip in his hand. Dreamily, Garnet lifted hers to his shoulder. And as the tune picked up, Zidane set the pace, his first step passionately connecting their hips. Garnet nearly gasped as he led at a flying pace, the two of them gliding and weaving perfectly through the slower, less animated couples. They covered the area in half the time I took any of the other couples, and yet, their speed was no different.
It didn't take Garnet long to realize what set them apart from the rest. Zidane was dancing for performance, as he'd been trained for work on the stage, which set the pace slightly different. But what was truly special was that neither of them was dancing for show at all, as the more refined couples were. Zidane danced for the fun of it, and for sharing the happy moment with her. Garnet quickly abandoned herself to the dance, releasing her mind from all the troubles. Every focus rested on Zidane's face, his touch, and his movement. The feet and the music were something that just happened. Garnet found herself giggling with delight as they improvised a quickstep routine to a faster section in the music before settling themselves back into the sensual waltz.
After nearly three minutes of freedom, the dance began to subside, and pair slowed down to the mood of the cello, each staring intently into each other's eyes. But the piece ended, and the few remaining couples that had not backed off to watch them cleared the floor. Zidane and Garnet were quickly pulled out of their reverie when they discovered themselves alone in the center of the room, while everyone else was waiting for the ensemble to change their pages. Red-faced, Zidane led his Dagger off the floor and towards the egress, keeping her hand enclosed in his the whole time. But despite his attempts, Peter intercepted them, accompanied by a few others that Zidane didn't like either.
"Ah, my beloved Garnet," Peter started towards them. Well, the guy certainly has nerve, Zidane thought begrudgingly. "Before I get cut off again, I'd like to ask you for the next dance." Zidane felt the Queen squeeze his hand as she replied:
"Certainly, Peter. I need to talk to you." Zidane nearly laughed when he saw the new expression on Peter's face as he relieved Zidane of his lover. However, he was severely disappointed not to be with Dagger any more. Zidane quickly went off to speak with Freya so that he could avoid any more contact with the vast number of Noble's sons. Sadly, he doubted he would see the Queen again that evening.
*(A/N: that would be track 13 from the Final Fantasy VIII Orchestral Collection, Fithos Lusec Wecos Vinosec. I love that piece myself...)
Pray for me to have time to write, seeing as I'll probably be cast for this semester's production of Ulysses. That's five nights a week right there. -_-
Oh, and please review. :D
~Enjoy!
(I am the)
Blue canary in the alley by the light switch
Who watches over you.
Make a little birdhouse in your soul.
(Not to put too fine a pine on it)
(Or say I'm the only bee in your bonnet)
Make a little birdhouse in your soul.
(from "Birdhouse in Your Soul," by They Might Be Giants)
After half an hour of formal greetings, the banquet started. And by this time, Garnet was beginning to wonder just where Zidane had gone. After assuring the queen that everything was quite all right, Beatrix set out to find the missing lover. It didn't take long, for after she boarded the theatre ship, she simply followed the voices. When she came in through the partially opened door, her jaw dropped. Zidane, in a completely different outfit, turned to look at her.
"Hey," he chided, whipping his tail around. "It's rude to stare." Beatrix kept on staring. She had been expecting to find Zidane in noble's style from last year, for most theatre companies got their costumes either on sale or donated from nobles who were bored with their old clothes. What Zidane was wearing only reminded her of Kuja's outfit. The top was navy blue, made of a thick, shimmering material that Beatrix could not place. The sleeves were of a slightly paler blue and tapered to flare at the wrists. Square-necked in the back, the vest had a v-neckline in the front, which brought a certain sophistication to Zidane's fairly rounded features. It fit snugly to his form all the way to where it abruptly ended, it's cut following his ribcage all the way around, revealing his belly and the small of his back to the eyes of all. The pants picked up again just below his navel, fitting snugly again as the vest did over his slightly-wider-than-a-normal-guy's hips and down to the knees, where it faded into the same blue as the sleeves before disappearing into black boots that rose to half calf length. All that and the tail frisking back and forth nervously…
"You look," Beatrix could think of no nicer word, "outlandish."
"Otherworldly?" laughed Blank from the opposite wall. The others began to laugh as well. Zidane rolled his eyes back into his head.
"I know what it looks like," he said, annoyed. "I was Gaian once too you know." The laughter intensified anew, but Beatrix quickly calmed down.
"What has possessed you to dress in that?" she asked him.
"Look, lady," he snorted, "this was not cheap. It's formal wear in New Bran Bal." Beatrix held up her hands defensively.
"Okay, I apologize." Suddenly, Zidane wrinkled up his features in a perplexed expression.
"Does it look all right?" he ventured. Beatrix looked him over again, only to find herself staring intently at his navel. She shook her head to get herself to look away.
"If that's the look you're going for, sure," she finally answered. "But the hair…"
"Eiyexactly, the hair!" Ruby interjected with a hyperactive nod.
"What's wrong with the hair?" asked Marcus.
"It's all 'eh,'" Ruby decided.
"Very 'boy-next-door,'" Beatrix translated.
"Oi…" Blank and Marcus replied, not understanding. Zidane, by this time, was starting intently at the mirror, running his hands through the ruddy blonde locks in question.
"Come on," he muttered. "There can't be something wrong with looking cute, can there? How boring is this party going to be?" Beatrix came forward and pulled all of his hair away from his forehead.
"Hmm," she contemplated. "If we slicked it all back, and secured it down here…"
"Siddown, Zidane!" Ruby commanded with excitement as she rushed forward to help Beatrix. The two women struggled with the nonconformist tresses for fifteen minutes before they finally had all of Zidane's hair pulled away from his face and secured at the base of his neck in a withered looking ponytail. Zidane took one look in the mirror before tossing his head. Immediately, his bangs fell forward again.
"Zidane!" groaned Ruby.
"Oh," he quickly made his way for the door, "you know you love it. I am one late date! Bye!" he waved to everyone as he bolted out the door. Beatrix followed after him.
"So," she said as she caught up to the smaller figure, "you actually intend to go out like that in public." Zidane looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Beatrix?" he waved her closer. "Let's you and me get on the same page. You were watching the play, right?"
"…yes."
"Tell me, why did Blank's character want Cornelia to marry Schneider?"
"Because…" Beatrix trailed off to think, "because the marriage would have ensured peace between the two kingdoms."
"Bingo."
"Zidane…" Beatrix gave him an odd look. "You're from Lindblum but—"
"Nooo," Zidane shook his head with a smile. "Beatrix, I am a Terran. My sister is the governess of the Terran people. How do we stand among the Alexandrian people? Or even all of the Gaians?"
"Well," she considered this too. "We're rather suspicious of you."
"Not scared at all?" he glanced her way as they came upon the door to the castle. "Or nervous or whatever?"
"Maybe," she shrugged, then in a low voice, "clean up your speech, nonetheless, Mr. Ambassador."
"Aye, aye," he winked.
"I want the queen to be happy," she continued in a hushed tone as they proceeded towards the grand hall, "so I'll try to help you, yet there is much I cannot do."
"I'm prepared," he smiled jauntily, offering her his arm. And so the general entered the Banquet hall on the arm of a man nearly half her size.
The meal went well, although Zidane did have to excuse himself during one idealistic nobleman's address to the company. Actually, by the time the man had been listing reasons why decreasing military employment was a good idea, Zidane was forced to bolt from the table to avoid the recognition of the others that the champagne he had been drinking had come out his nose. Upon the Queen's request, Beatrix went to see to the young savior of the world. She found him split between laughing and complaining about the bubbles in his nose, but by the time he had calmed down, Beatrix was still trying to catch her breath from both his dilemma and his remark:
"Yeah, if I were a thief, the best way to get me to behave would be to take the patrol off of the street." And it was then that she was convinced that the country would not suffer from his influence on the throne.
But the opposition had an agenda as well, and their primary tactic was "divide and conquer." The second the celebration began, half of the suitors went to gain Garnet's ear, and the other half came to interrogate her object of affection. At first, Zidane managed to comfortably keep them friendly at arm's length, but then one man joined their ranks.
"Zidane Tribal," he said as he slipped past a few peers, "I've heard so much about you."
"Really? I haven't the faintest clue whom you might be." A jab, Zidane had to admit, but a good-natured one. Or as good-natured as Zidane could get with these spoiled, stuck-up, lousy, nosey, no good…
"I am the son of Count Frederick de Granville, Peter de Granville," the man bowed formally. "Her Majesty's husband-elect." Zidane felt his tail go rigid, but the rest of him remained relatively calm. You could be Cid Fabool the First for all I care, Zidane felt like saying, but he played the game.
"Does the Queen know about this?" Zidane asked casually, drawing a chuckle from the surrounding noblemen.
"She does," he smiled, although his eyes now bore a sneer. Zidane lashed his tail once, just because he had to fight the urge not to say something that he would regret. And it was his move.
"Funny," he scratched his chin. "She told me that she hadn't made a decision."
"Not formally, no," Peter agreed with a haughty expression. "She requested that I hold my proposal for that reason. In any event, why should she confide such things in you?" The man was trouble; Zidane did not wish to speak with him further.
"Because I am a trusted friend," he replied bluntly.
"Oh?" the look on Peter's face made Zidane sincerely want to slap him. "She told me that you were simply a common thief." Damn, Zidane thought as the surrounding suitors began to murmur amongst themselves.
"Garnet has called me many things, but 'common' was never one of them."
"With or without the adjective, a thief you are," Peter finished. Zidane nearly reached over to wipe the smile off of his face. Instead, Zidane racked his brain for some bullshit.
"Correction," Zidane held up a finger and an eyebrow. "A thief is what I was when I was forced to conform to your close-minded society. In reality, the most I've had to do with this planet was deliver it from imminent destruction." This brought a hush to the murmuring, but the man who wanted Garnet's hand did not cease.
"As I recall, you were the Terran translator, brought along so that the Queen and Captain Steiner could save the planet from the threat that is Terra," the slime continued, although Zidane wasn't too angry to notice the collective cringe at the mention of Terra. The people might be anxious for peace with the alien race after all.
"You might want to cease you're ranting while you still have credit to your name," Zidane shot back. "True, I was part of the party of eight that fought of the destruction of all life. But her Majesty was here while I was dealing with what I was referring too."
"Zidane? Are you preoccupied?" came a feminine voice from behind him.
"Mikoto!" Zidane returned happily, trying to hide the relief from his voice. He quickly went to embrace her. "Ah, where are my manners?" he apologized lightly. "This is my sister, Mikoto, Governess of New Bran Bal."
Would it kill you to smile? he asked her in private telepathy.
Such action is overrated, she answered, but a gorgeous smile broke out upon her dainty features as she nodded her greetings.
"I have no time to chat now," she apologized. "I must speak with Regent Cid. And wish Queen Garnet a happy birthday, of course."
"I'll come with you," Zidane said quickly, offering his sister his arm. She was quite used to this action by now, but her two advisors, who were standing right there, exchanged glances. Zidane was quite relieved to be free of the situation. Cid could tell.
"Worn out already, my boy?" Cid asked with a laugh.
"Naw, bring it on." Then Mikoto and her top advisors began to discuss relations with Cid. Zidane slinked off to find Beatrix, for it was impossible to get close to Garnet.
"Who does that Grainy Peter guy think he is?" Zidane complained, interrupting a conversation between Steiner and Beatrix. Steiner didn't get what he was asking at first, but Beatrix understood at once.
"Oh, I probably should have warned you about him…" she apologized.
"Hell, yes," Zidane nodded, upset.
"Shhh!" Steiner waved frantically, trying not to have a heart attack.
"Are you rare, medium, or well-done?" Beatrix asked.
"Let's just say I'm going to have to hide behind a lot of skirts," Zidane groaned.
"It is quite possible that Peter de Granville is going to be the next king," Steiner added, catching on. "He's wealthy, well-educated, and has the Queen's favor."
"Yes, but can he dance?" Zidane asked jokingly.
"Can you?" asked Beatrix, looking off towards the dance floor, where Garnet was swirling with some rich pig. Zidane watched the procession for a moment before elbowing Beatrix's side.
"What's her favorite piece?" Beatrix thought for a moment, as did Steiner for it was he who said:
"Is it not that one waltz?"
"Oh yes!" Beatrix smiled. "A string quartet waltz entitled 'Fragments of Memories.'" *
"Thanks," Zidane nodded with a grin and ran off to talk with the conductor.
Garnet gratefully made her way to the punch bowl once the orchestra was taking a break. Again, she glanced around anxiously for any sign of Zidane, but there was none. She sighed, not expecting to see him at all that night. Life was almost like a torturer, who only tormented you as much as you could stand, but tormented you nonetheless. Garnet loved life, but she did not want to be living it with these men at her side. She saw Peter making his way toward her, a usually relieving sight, but not any more. What was she to tell him?
"Happy Birthday, Your Highness," he had pushed through the crowd to take her hand in his and kiss it deeply. "I trust you are enjoying yourself." Garnet withdrew her hand to help herself to some punch, ignoring several offers to help her with it.
"Hardly enough," she answered. The orchestra had started playing the next song. They had only gotten through five notes of it when Garnet's face lit up. Several suitors began to make their moves as she exclaimed, "Why, it's that song!" But as Garnet turned around towards the dance floor, she came face to face with Zidane.
"There you are," she breathed softly. I should have expected him to be right behind me… she thought with a smile. As the tune began to elevate into a slow waltz, Zidane's bare hand rose, palm up.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, slyly. Garnet nearly shouted "yes" with enthusiasm, but instead, she merely curtsied and placed her delicate fingers in his larger, stronger ones. She ignored the angry stares from the richer men as Zidane led her through the crowd of finely dressed upperclassmen and straight through several already moving couples to the center of the dance floor. Zidane then twirled Garnet around herself before taking her hip in his hand. Dreamily, Garnet lifted hers to his shoulder. And as the tune picked up, Zidane set the pace, his first step passionately connecting their hips. Garnet nearly gasped as he led at a flying pace, the two of them gliding and weaving perfectly through the slower, less animated couples. They covered the area in half the time I took any of the other couples, and yet, their speed was no different.
It didn't take Garnet long to realize what set them apart from the rest. Zidane was dancing for performance, as he'd been trained for work on the stage, which set the pace slightly different. But what was truly special was that neither of them was dancing for show at all, as the more refined couples were. Zidane danced for the fun of it, and for sharing the happy moment with her. Garnet quickly abandoned herself to the dance, releasing her mind from all the troubles. Every focus rested on Zidane's face, his touch, and his movement. The feet and the music were something that just happened. Garnet found herself giggling with delight as they improvised a quickstep routine to a faster section in the music before settling themselves back into the sensual waltz.
After nearly three minutes of freedom, the dance began to subside, and pair slowed down to the mood of the cello, each staring intently into each other's eyes. But the piece ended, and the few remaining couples that had not backed off to watch them cleared the floor. Zidane and Garnet were quickly pulled out of their reverie when they discovered themselves alone in the center of the room, while everyone else was waiting for the ensemble to change their pages. Red-faced, Zidane led his Dagger off the floor and towards the egress, keeping her hand enclosed in his the whole time. But despite his attempts, Peter intercepted them, accompanied by a few others that Zidane didn't like either.
"Ah, my beloved Garnet," Peter started towards them. Well, the guy certainly has nerve, Zidane thought begrudgingly. "Before I get cut off again, I'd like to ask you for the next dance." Zidane felt the Queen squeeze his hand as she replied:
"Certainly, Peter. I need to talk to you." Zidane nearly laughed when he saw the new expression on Peter's face as he relieved Zidane of his lover. However, he was severely disappointed not to be with Dagger any more. Zidane quickly went off to speak with Freya so that he could avoid any more contact with the vast number of Noble's sons. Sadly, he doubted he would see the Queen again that evening.
*(A/N: that would be track 13 from the Final Fantasy VIII Orchestral Collection, Fithos Lusec Wecos Vinosec. I love that piece myself...)
Pray for me to have time to write, seeing as I'll probably be cast for this semester's production of Ulysses. That's five nights a week right there. -_-
Oh, and please review. :D