A/N: the southern part of Ontario and where I live in particular is going through the SARS epidemic (it's a new disease to which immunity hasn't been developed yet). And so, I'm (and 200 or so other students from my school) now officially under a 10-day quarantine from the rest of the world because, apparently, I've been to a hospital recently and there were cases of the disease there, so I'm at risk of catching it. But anyway, this means that I have a ten-day vacation and hopefully I'll be able to get some writing done.
Thankies at the bottom of page.
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Chapter 5: Accent
Accent: Stress of one tone over others, making it stand out; often it is the first beat of a measure
Syaoran stalked to the refreshment table where he caught sight of the pretty girl, being careful to seem inconspicuous, a small piece of a whole. He had absolutely no idea as to why he was coming over to her (it might have been teenage hormones, coming to play after years of laying dormant), nor why it was her, and her only, that attracted his attention over a hundred other ladies. He bit his lip and tried to steel his nerves, to keep on a steady pace, but his feet felt like lead, each step a tedious process. As it was, Syaoran had to ball his hands into fists and keep them clutched tightly at his side. It was either that, or he'd bolt from his spot faster than if he was chased by the seven hells.
The Little Wolf reached the table, which was laden with different assortments of foods and beverages. He grabbed a glass, just to seem as if he was doing something other than stealing glances at the pretty girl. He never actually considered talking to her; oh, no, he was much to shy for that (even though at his age that should have seemed ridiculous). Syaoran just wanted to get closer to her, to maybe catch a glimpse of her eyes, and if he was really lucky (and he didn't consider himself to be) even have her look at him.
"Oh, excuse me, will you pass me a glass?"
Startled, Syaoran looked up from the half-empty glass in his hand and into the face of the speaker, and almost choked on his tongue. There she was! Right in front of him, looking at him! He forced himself to stay cool, to keep eyes from staring and reached for an extra glass. He was terrified to note that his hand shook slightly when he handed the utensil to her.
"Thank, you," she replied in a soft voice. Syaoran forgot how to breathe, blushing furiously while staring at his feet. She sounded like an angel, much like she resembled a goddess.
The girl did not move away but remained standing by him, turning to watch the dancing crowd while taking small sips of her vine. The lord just stole furtive glances in her direction in-between glancing at his feet and at the gathering.
Truly, he was amazed. Syaoran was beginning to think that he would never find the One; heck, that he wasn't even capable of feeling anything but humility and remorse toward the opposite gender. When he was still in school, there had been many girls coming over after the curfew hours for the parties that other guys secretly held. Syaoran couldn't remember feeling anything for those girls; he couldn't even be bothered to take note of their names. Other times, when Eriol purposely set him up on a date with a wealthy matron, he'd always find an excuse to lose the lady as fast as possible and retreat. He was notorious for his cold nature and prided his tolerance of the female species. Why, then, did he suddenly feel this magnetic pull toward this girl, when so many in the past had failed? And why did his heart suddenly leap in his throat when she glanced at him?
"I haven't seen you around. Are you new to the city or just visiting for the festivities?" The girl asked, glancing at him.
Her eyes were an astonishing green, Syaoran determined, dazed. Remembering his tongue (which he might have lost during the first few minutes in her company), he replied shakily, "Oh! N-no, and yes. I am visiting, but I'm here for my friend. H-he's here hoping to find someone."
She smiled and Syaoran thought it accentuated her eyes and sparkly white half-mask very much. "Then welcome to the city," she said laughingly, extending a hand to him.
The young lord didn't know what to do at first, was afraid of doing anything, but then hesitantly took her hand in his own, shaking in gentlemanly fashion; he forgot that gentlemen were supposed to kiss the lady's hand. Her hand was warm and soft, just like he imagined it to be.
"Do– do you come to these types of gatherings often?" Syaoran asked after a lengthy period of silence.
"Yes," she said with a sigh, which Syaoran, for reasons unknown to him, found a pale and painful contrast to her smiles. "It is my duty, so to say."
"You say it as if it's a bad thing," he replied, feeling the heat from his cheeks abate and his usual calmness settle in.
"It is."
"But, how can that be?" The lord asked, perplexed. "Every night you dress up, pretend you're someone else. Enjoy the music and the merriment. What's wrong with that?"
"But that's the problem," she intoned with a small frown and another sigh. "Everything," she gestured around the gathering, "is one big pretence."
"Isn't that the point?"
"It is," the girl replied, " but after a while, you lose yourself. You forget who you are and know only what you're supposed to be. Look at the people around you. Do they seem real? No. They're playing this... game, and they can't help it... Oh! What am I saying! I'm not making any sense, am I?" The pretty girl had abandoned her glass, placing her hand against her cheek in distress, as if checking for temperature.
"I understand what you mean," Syaoran replied and, for whatever reason, fighting the beginning of a smile. "But, that's what makes these nights so special. For once in your life, you're not you. You don't have to act like you usually do, because it's not expected of you. You don't have to question whether you are being true to yourself because that's not the point of the occasion."
"I suppose," she said, "but you would see this masquerade differently if you had to live through it every single day of your life."
Syaoran nodded absent -mindedly, lost in his thoughts. He didn't understand what she meant, was wary of what she implied, but now was not the time to dwell on it. Suddenly, feeling a bit risky and just daring enough, he said in what he hoped was a charming note, "Would you let me thieve a dance, O Aphrodite?"
"I–" he saw the girl falter, nibbling on her lip, "I don't know, sir–"
"Li Syaoran," the Little Wolf said, bowing slightly. "But please, call me Syaoran."
She smiled nervously, inclining her head as if to hide her face. "Sir Syaoran... I-I'm afraid I... uh..." the beauty was stuttering like a schoolgirl, her face flushing a delicate pink. Syaoran found it endearing and almost smiled at her nervousness.
"Kinomoto!"
The girl was interrupted abruptly. Syaoran noted the widening of her emerald orbs, as if in fright. She glanced behind her, searching for the voice. "I must go," she breathed out, taking his hands in hers. "Thank you for your company, Sir Syaoran." With that, she rushed off, leaving Syaoran bewildered and tingling where her hands had touched.
"Wait, Miss. I don't even know your name!" He called out on instinct, forgetting that there were over two hundred people around him.
The girl paused in flight, her skirts coming to a gentle swoosh around her. "Sakura," she called back with a smile. "Kinomoto Sakura."
Sakura. Syaoran mentally repeated her name, storing it away in his memory until he was alone to dwell on the sweeter nuances of the sound. Unbeknownst to him, a gentle smile tugged at his lips, a first real one in a long time. Sakura. Sakura. He chanted the name to himself, drawing a hand to place it on his chest, just above where his heart was supposed to be nestled. His heart beat steady and strong against his palm, drowning out every other noise but the reverberation of her voice. Sakura.
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Eriol caught a glimpse of blue, a mere hint, no more than a flicker of colour at the corner of his eyes. Still, it drew his attention, peaked his curiosity and reeled him in, like a moth entranced by the beautiful flame. Only this one was an enchantingly cool, magical in colour.
Eriol wove through the crowd, feeling like it was parting before him like tides. Every now and then, he caught that same blue, like a whisper, a promise of something he wanted but couldn't name or reach. He didn't doubt for a moment that it was Tomoyo he was chasing; in his mind, there could be no other, for no one had ever exerted such magnetic force on him. The question on his mind was: why? It seemed to him that there was just something magical in the situation, something surreal and horrible and beautiful at the same time. Or maybe it was just Fate, playing with him like with a string-drawn marionette.
In a blink of an eye, it seemed, he had left the party and ended up in a deserted alleyway. Eriol stood for a moment, breathless and weary of the seemingly narrowing street around him. He removed the purple and black mask from his face, feeling as if it was suddenly threatening him. The houses towered over him, making him feel small and insignificant; he couldn't even see the night sky. There was practically no sound about him, only distant murmurs from the party, he assumed.
Eriol strained his ears and eyes, spinning on his spot, seeking the blue pallor that first attracted him. For an instant, he thought that everything was a dream, one that enveloped him whole while he searched in vain for an exit. He fancied that everything moved in slow motion. That shadows danced around him, playing amongst themselves, pointing at him and then moving away before he could catch them. They were laughing at him, the silence their voice, pointing at him jeering fingers and smirking cruel and wretched smirks.
Suddenly, he caught that same blue radiance at the corner of his eye. Eriol spun on his heal, attempting to catch it, but instead was meat with an entry way to some sort of a tunnel-like path, a sliver of moonlight painting the way. He then heard the clicking of shoes against the cobblestones, the sound resonated around him but concentrated on the passage.
"Wait!" He called, shrinking back as the alley – or the shadows – echoed his voice. "Tomoyo?"
There was laughter in response, cruel and melodious at the same time, beautiful but harsh. The clicking of shoes sped up in rhythm, as if the person was running.
Eriol edged closer to the pathway. "Wait, Miss Tomoyo?" He called out again.
He glanced behind him but found that his entryway wasn't there, sealed off, disappeared as did the music and the merriment. Eriol gulped, feeling the shadows creep closer to him, almost touching him with imperceptible claws. His breath caught in his throat, the young lord ran into the passageway, the moonlight his guide.
Dazedly, Eriol realized that he was running through the narrowed street, no longer fleeing from the darkness, but chasing the footsteps and the ringing laughter. His mission was clear now; Tomoyo was ahead of him, running, though he didn't know why, and he had to catch her. He desperately wanted to hear her, to have a good look at her, and he didn't care that that wasn't the most sensible thing to do at the time. He just wanted one look, that's all, that's all he promised himself.
The alley twisted and turned, every corner had another one after it, and still the moon guided him. Eriol could hear the steps ahead of him grow louder, closer to him and he almost smiled, victorious. Another bend in the path and he saw blue cloth almost slither by; he followed it, determined. Suddenly, the path ended in a pier, his feet barely touching the water. Confused, he stared at the waters of the Grande Canal, blinking back astonishment. He swore he saw her come this way, further still, there was no other way to go.
A movement to his left caught his attention. Turning, he saw a nighttime gondola glide away. One dark figure stood in the centre, cloaked in darkness, the large oar plunging into the dark waters soundlessly and coming out just the same. For a moment, Eriol thought it was Charon transporting the un-dead across the river Styx. What really caught his eye, though, was a small figure in the boat. It was hunched, seemingly wanting to shrink along with the darkness of the night and the oarsman. Eriol wouldn't have given it a second thought if it weren't for a piece of blue cloth sticking out underneath and over the side of the boat, touching the water.
"I'll catch you one day, Miss Tomoyo!" He called out into the night and the small figure, which was very much unlike him. "Promise me you'll wait!"
Only silence answered him, though he fancied he caught sight of a pale hand reach out, to him maybe. And so, unsatisfied, indeed, feeling his desire to see the girl intensified, Eriol turned back the way he came. Now, the shadows didn't seem so menacing, and he was beginning to think himself insane for ever actually considering that the darkness was laughing at him. Darkness could only speak inside the mind, at night and when you don't have the reassurance of somebody by your side. Eventually, he reached the party, which was still in full swing, but he didn't care for the celebrations any more. So he left for home and bed and more thoughts of the mysterious Tomoyo, completely forgetting about his aunt and best friend.
(tbc)
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Now, I've finally set some important things in motion. All the key characters have been introduced, and now I can finally concentrate on the conflict. *sigh* Woopty-doo! Oh, ya! I should probably mention that this story was originally horror, so it will have some influences of that genre. (Actually, should I make this into a horror story with a romantic twist?)
AznSage: Thanks so much for the review (you think I have a nice way with words? Really?) Sure, you can archive my fic, any of them for that matter. You probably won't believe me, but I've been to your site before (about a month or so ago), that's were I got my Tobira~Door~ mp3 ^___^ I like it, I like it! You're a shounen-ai fan, too o_O Gah! I swear, fangirls are going to dominate the world, there are so many of us! I'll most likely start writing more shounen-ai stories a bit later on. Thanks, again.
MoMo-ChAn: *sob* Not flame-worthy? Aa. I don't think this story is that good, but thanks for your nice comments. And I weep for my lost stories, too. Oi, there were so many and all not finished!
d u s t y . w i n g s: Thankies for your comments, I appreciate them very much, they keep me writing, ya know ^^
Sakura Scout: Aa, I'm glad that I've cleared some things up. Sorry I didn't write anything in Tomoyo's POV in this part but I was afraid of the length and because she doesn't think much of Eriol until after this chapter. Actually, I'm having some techincal difficulties with Tomoyo's persona. Right now, it's a tie between fragile-doll-ish and rebellious-doll-ish (I know, confusing). If you won't mind terribly, can you give me some pointers? I'd love to know how readers expect my stories to come out, or give me some advice. Thankies! Hugs go out to you!
KyteAura: Ooooh, you've been with me and my endeavours since almost the beginning! Thank you so much, I really appreciate your comments. Yes, I do feel like quitting. In fact, I feel like giving up on all of the stories that were erased because I'm afraid that I can't recreate them. *sniff*
SVZ: Another regular! Wai! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I use AOL, too, so I know what pain it could be sometimes. Of course Eriol will win Tomoyo! But before that, there will be this little conflict (or major, considering that it's eating up the entire plot), just to mix things up a little.
Dana Daidouji: Sorry I couldn't get them to met in this part; I'm saving that for a rainy day ^^. And sadly, I can't retrieve all my lost files. It's like my entire computer have been erased and re-formatted. Thanks for the reviews, by the way!
