A/N: Ha! I'm back! Hmm, to answer your question, malicious_angel, ff.net doesn't post new chapters immediately after you upload them; you have to wait a little bit before it shows up in the actual chapter menu. I've been annoyed by that as well *grumble* *grumble*. Enjoy!
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Chapter 3: Sonata
Sonata: n. A composition for one or more solo instruments, one of which is usually a keyboard instrument, usually consisting of three or four independent movements varying in key, mood, and tempo.
She had been terribly bored, going practically insane, actually. Never in her life had she been in a duller situation. Rich snobs gathered all around her, like cockroaches on stale toast. They talked in false nuances, flashing their jewelled fingers and wrists. She almost felt sick to her stomach, degraded. It made her feel almost pathetic, watching other people like a hungry mutt would a steak.
She leaned against a wall, crossing her arms and scanning the crowd almost enviously. So much vanity going on in this room, she thought. So much pretence and lies. The air reeked of it. Everywhere you looked, there was another bright, expensive costume, another bejewelled mask. But that's all there was. None of these people were real. There were only the music and laughter, which created a mutual bond between every person in the room. Except her.
She stopped her observation suddenly, her ranting in "mute" mode. On the other side of the room, braced against the wall and in a similar pose as her, was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. He had chocolate-coloured hair that stuck out and fell almost gracefully into his eyes. A silk embroidered mask covered his face, though she could make out a distinct flash of raw amber. Her eyes widened and a furious blush spread along her cheeks when she saw the rest of his outfit. A loose, breezy shirt left a trail of pale skin exposed, daringly, appealingly. Two shapely, long legs stretched to cross at the ankles.
The girl gulped almost self consciously, feeling herself begin to flush at the sight of the lithe boy. A part of her brain told her to approach him, to ask his name at least. Another, and less daring, part of her mind told her to stay put, to keep away from something that so obviously could not be hers. She stole another glance at the handsome youth. She felt her stomach plummet to the floor when she caught sight of a pretty redhead dressed as Marie Antoinette approach the boy. With another sigh, she turned away.
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Eriol stood transfixed on his spot, his mind a whir with thoughts, though only one predominated: her. With an expanse of a couple of minutes – seconds even – he had been enthralled, captured. A mere glimpse of the girl in blue made his breath catch in his throat and his young, love-smitten heart flop to one side.
"Close your mouth, Eriol, before you net any flies," Nakuru's voice managed to break through his spell and he suddenly remembered where and who he was.
Catching himself at an awkward moment, he glanced at a smirking Syaoran, seeing the jeering reflect in the other's eyes. "What's wrong, Eriol? Something special caught your eye?" The amber-eyed lord said teasingly, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth.
With a slight huff, Eriol turned to Nakuru. "Aunt, would you tell me about a certain someone?" His aunt was known to be a local gossipmonger, a queen amongst her little rumour-loving ants. Anything and everything that could be spread by word of mouth, was most likely heard and dissected by her. She was the perfect source of information for a newbie like him.
"Oh? And who might that be?" Nakuru asked, spreading her fan in a very ladylike manner.
"A lady," replied the viscount, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"Ooo, did you dear that Nakuru?" Syaoran interjected, his mouth in an almost comical 'o' shape. "A lady! Our precious Eriol-chan is beginning to grow up! And here I thought he'd devote himself to celibacy!"
"Oh shush, Syaoran!" The female in the trio exclaimed, masking a giggle behind her fan. "He has a right to enjoy a pretty lady's company. Now, show me, show me! Whom did you have your eyes on?"
Eriol ignored the gleeful note in her voice, and, sparing a glare in his friend's direction, pointed to the girl with blue hair.
Standing on her tippy toes, Nakuru scanned the crowd. "You mean the one dressed as Belle? That's Lady Nadeshico. Nice girl, though–"
"No, no," Eriol interrupted her. "The one in blue."
"The mermaid? That's Countess Wilfred. Good choice. Her father–"
"That's not her either," the bespectacled lord shook his head, aggravated. "I meant the one with blue hair; Malvina."
Nakuru paused and searched the room again, removing her mask in order to see better. Eriol tapped his slippered shoe impatiently on the floor, also looking for the girl; he had lost sight of the divine creature with the disruption.
After a while, Nakuru turned to him with a grave half-smile. "That's Tomoyo Daidouji, daughter of late Lord Daidouji." The eccentric aunt had said that in a dreary, wary, almost, tone. Eriol wondered why, creasing his brows in concentration. "See that tall lady dressed as Queen Elizabeth? That's her mother, Lady Sonomi."
"And what's her story?" Inquired Syaoran, his voice losing all traces of laughter.
"There's not much known about the Daidouji family," Nakuru began. "The Lord was a famous local doctor. Although I've never met the man, I've heard some good things about him. He would accept patients at any time of the day, rain or snow. He's built himself quite a fortune, I hear. Poor man, he died some seven or eight years ago; left everything to his lady. Rumour goes, his wife had never truly loved him, used him for his money, that wench. They say that somewhere on her estate, if you look deep and hard enough, there you'll find his will, the real one."
"What does this have to do with the girl?" Eriol asked, his mouth set in a firm line.
"See, Lady Sonomi had always wanted a child of her own, like a kid wants a toy to play with. The problem is, Dr. Daidouji was impotent. Perhaps that's why she hated him. It was devastating for her, I think. To want something so much and being able to have it because of physical disability must have been crushing. The good doctor, ridiculously in love with his wife, brought a child home one day. No one knows where he got it, just that he showed up at a social gathering one day with his wife and a pretty little girl. That was more than fifteen years ago."
Nakuru managed a sigh, something not very common for her, and glanced warily at the figure in blue. "They almost never leave their estate. Rumour goes that some strange things go on in that house. The girl wears a porcelain mask; never takes it off. To hide something perhaps? In any case, no one had ever seen Tomoyo's face, only the cold, white glass. If you knew any better, Eriol, you would stay away from her. She is a different sort from what you're used to, you won't be able to handle her. And besides, you'd have to pass her mother before approaching her; Sonomi guards her daughter like a hawk."
Eriol glanced at where he'd seen the beautiful girl, but she was gone, and so was the Queen. He settled against the wall, ignoring the amiable chatter of his aunt and the joyous laughter of everyone else in the room. His mind was far away, replaying everything that Nakuru had said. This girl, Tomoyo, was able to get a grip on his mind, a task not easily achievable. She was a complete mystery to him, an enigma waiting to be unravelled, comprehended. He only knew so little of her, she'd never even heard of him, and yet, without Eriol even wanting to, this Tomoyo Daidouji had found a stable place in his thoughts.
A hand on his shoulder interrupted his musings, and he glanced up at his friend.
"The party has ended, Eriol, its time to get back."
And sure enough, the swarm of people in the grand hall had begun to dissipate, the orchestral band that played during the evening was picking up its instruments, and the festive decorations were being taken down. Without even realizing it, Eriol had missed the entire evening.
"Come, Nakuru's already left, and you wouldn't want to get lost in this city, especially during the night."
Eriol nodded, though a bit demurely. Before he left the building, however, he surveyed the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of glistening blue hair and cherubic face. He received nothing, and thus left disappointed.
On the streets, the interplay of lights was still in full force, the laughter still rung through the darkness. There were flashes of a brightly-coloured skirt here, shadows of a wigged figure there. The slight hum of the music still reverberated off the walls and the water, even the stars seemed to be dancing along to the rhythm. 'Heh. The party doesn't stop until the sun comes out,' he opined with a soft, semi-smile.
"What did you think of tonight?" He suddenly asked his friend, feeling awkward for the silence that settled between them.
"Besides the ridiculous costumes?" Syaoran's voice rang through the night. Eriol found some sort of assurance in it, like a protecting, guiding pillar. He was beginning to fear the night.
"Minus the costumes," Eriol replied with a slight nod.
The messy -haired youth thought for a moment, slowing his stride. "I had expected nothing else to come of this evening," he finally answered. "I had thought that we would come and waste our time. And we did."
"You mean that nothing productive came out of this night?" his friend challenged, the dare clear in his voice.
"Well," the other hesitated, rolling the words on his tongue, "I got to see you flustered and gawk like a zombie-eyed fool. Heh. Imagine that in the Sunday Post, 'The Great Hiiragizawa: Flycatcher'. That would leave a nice impression on you relatives."
"At least I didn't try to pretend that I was an iceberg," snorted Eriol in response. "You know, it wouldn't hurt you to try and let people in, they wouldn't bite."
Syaoran sighed and racked his hand through his dishevelled hair. "That's the point. I don't want people to get close to me, I don't want to let people in."
"Why not?"
"Because if I allow someone to break through my barrier, they would be able to know me, to touch me, to hurt me. It's a defensive mechanism of sorts. You have one, too. While I prefer to recoil from human touch, you shield your contempt behind a smile. While I shrug away contact, you use it as an excuse to hide. I understand how you feel, Eriol... about Mizuki, I mean. If I were you, I would try not to have a repeat occurrence."
"What if I can't help it?" The note in Eriol's voice was not defensive, neither was it a reproving, angry tone. It was a mere question, a weary friend to a weary friend. He didn't even mind Syaoran mentioning Kaho, though it pained him to think – remember – that name.
"Then let things flow their own path. Let come what may. Only later, when you're in too deep and too far, only then think of what could have possibly been have you chosen a different road. Without even a little bit of suffering, life loses its flavour. And if it hurts, hey, it might be worth it."
Eriol paused for a while, letting the words sink in. Syaoran was right. If life was perfect, if everything was handed out on a silver platter with a 'thank you' note, the life would be very dull. It is those challenges, those moments when you're caught unawares or when you find yourself trapped between two equally appealing points, that makes life so interesting. The thrill of not knowing what is next, what could have been, what will be, the simple blindness you have toward tomorrow, is worth a momentary flash of hurt.
"What do you think of the girl?" Eriol asked. She had been plaguing his mind since the first moment he laid eyes on her. He had wanted to ask Syaoran, but was afraid, uncertain. Of what, he didn't have a clue.
"The one you couldn't stop staring at? I'd do as Nakuru suggested; she's the expert here," Syaoran replied. "But then again, it's not about me, is it? There is no point in asking me, because, as you well know, I'm not exactly a veteran in these types of things. Further more, it's not my heart that's at stake, and I'm not about to juggle with yours," he paused, letting the night fill in all the things he could not explain. After a while, he continued, "Tell you what, you do what you want to do, as long as you promise not to get hurt. Then I'll have to step in."
Eriol smiled appreciatively, though it was concealed by the darkness. It was at instances such as this that Syaoran showed his overprotective nature. It comforted Eriol to know that somebody, at least, cared about his welfare.
"What about you? Spot any pretty damsels in distress?" Eriol asked to lighten the mood.
Syaoran sent a mock-glare to his friend, growling softly under his breath. "I also suggest you tend to your own business instead of mine."
"Aa. So there was someone. Who is she?"
Another glare, more dangerous and threatening in intensity, was sent his way. "You don't even know her name?" The brunette teased. "And here I thought you were Mr. Casanova."
"Stuff it, Hiiragizawa, and stop imagining things. I do not appreciate you putting words in my mouth," Syaoran said from behind clenched teeth.
Eriol's laughter rang out through the night, joined by other melodious sounds. His voice was a strong, rich tenor that would have sent a warm shiver to creep up your spine, resounding pleasantly in your ears. The sound was joyous, teasing in nature. It proclaimed that its owner was carefree, wild with passion and temerity, surrendered to the majestic night. And as the stars and the music guided him home, he couldn't help but agree.
(tbc)
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