A/N: Ano... sorry I made everyone wait for this chapter -__-' [Author's Block, thou art a villain and a coward; I defy thee! I swear upon the stars and the very bottom of my soul, that I shalt conquer thee! And henceforth, the gift of pen wilt be granted to me with full vengeance! And thine gift, pen, I'll use to ours advantage.] Sakura Scout: I don't play any instrument (I chose to follow visual arts path) but if I did play, it definitely would have been the violin. I love the violin! The musical terms are from the time that I took music in elementary school and research.
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Chapter 7: Serenade
Serenade: n music played or sung to a woman by a lover.
Eriol glared at the air, though it was invisible, wishing to sink into the floor. The previous party had ended in disaster for him, so why did he bother coming to this one? Partly because he felt obligated to Nakuru – for everything that she had done for him, for the hellish time he gave her while growing up – and partly because he was hoping to see Tomoyo again. He had, after all, promised to catch her, and he, being a man of honour, never backed down from his word. And tonight, he was determined to capture the little blue bird.
The youth's heart picked up speed at the thought of the girl. What would she think of him? Last night she had had a mere glimpse of him, if that much at all. Would she like what he had to offer? Even though he was a renowned heartthrob, would that be enough to charm her? He didn't like being appraised on exterior value, like a toy being bought for a spoiled child. He hoped that she would see through and beyond his pale skin and sapphire eyes and see the him inside. He wished that she would be able to find his heart and appreciate it for what it was. And if not, then his obsession will be fruitless and vain, like an empty promise.
One day had passed since Eriol declared his vow to Lady Tomoyo, mere hours since he saw the haunting figure in the window of that ancient-looking house. During that expanse of time, lord Hiiragizawa had not been able to rest, tormented by strange thoughts and memories he'd rather forget; he managed a short nap, but that, too, felt strange and oddly distorted. They'd been invited to wealthy patron's ball this evening – one Lord Tsukishiro, Nakuru had said – and were now observing the crowd from atop a wining staircase.
"Stop fidgeting, Eriol," Syaoran said, mildly irritated, from beside his friend. "You're acting as if you stepped into cow dung along the way and are trying, fruitlessly, to cover it up. You've done this before, so this time does not make a difference."
"Pardon me, Your Highness," said Eriol with a mock bow to his friend. "I did not mean to offend Your Graciousness. Would you prefer me to shrink away from Your Magnificence?"
"No why would I want that, hm?" Syaoran asked with a lopsided grin. "If you were gone, then I'd have no one to take my insults."
Eriol scrunched his face, "Insults? Ha! I take them as compliments."
"I was only stating the truth. You're so high above the clouds; it's a wonder you don't touch the stars."
Eriol grinned at the innocent jest. To tell the truth, he very much liked these verbal duels with his best friend. They started when they were small, all in good nature. Syaoran was a very... deep person; he didn't like to express himself unless he had another way out. These small jibes were his way of showing his concern. 'You're a dork,' meant: 'Why are you acting so strangely, do you feel sick?' 'You look like somebody had smashed your face with a shovel,' turned out to be: 'You look like crap, what happened to you?' and the famous, 'Hiiragizawa!!' meant 'You better explain yourself, Eriol, before I beat you to a bloody pulp.'
"If I'm above the clouds, then you're up the creek without a paddle," he retorted with a small smile, ignoring the indignant look he received from his best friend.
"Boys, boys, boys. Stop acting like children, people will be staring," Nakuru huffed, coming over to them in her heavy Joan of Act armour.
"Then let them stare," said Eriol dismissively.
"And ruin my reputation? Not on your live." She frowned. "Now look what you did, your costume is all messed up!"
The youth rolled his eyes at his friend when his aunt began to rearrange the lapels on his tunic. He was dressed as a Matador, in a tight black jacket with golden trimmings around the front and hem, a little bow on the small of his back. The collar was high and stiff, jutting almost painfully into the skin on Eriol's neck, a lacy white tie spilling to lie just below his collarbone. The jacket ended at a point a couple of centimetres above his naval, a thin, snuggly cotton shirt peeking underneath. He wore skin tight black breeches (which was a very painful, and obviously so, fact) that clung to his every curve and ended at his knees, white stockings running from then on to black leather shoes.
Eriol didn't seem able to escape the stares he received, he just wanted to die of embarrassment. He just felt so... naked, as if everyone at the ball would be able to look at him and single out his fears. He envied Syaoran and his costume. His friend was one of Dumas' Musketeers (d'Artagnan, he declared with a scowl). And though he, too, wore ridiculous tights, at least the blue front-to-back cape with a white cross covered Syaoran's private parts.
"Now come, I want to show you someone," Nakuru said, finally satisfied with the appearance of his outfit.
Both boys were dragged through the crowd by the zealous aunt, apologizing hastily to the people they accidentally rammed into. She stopped abruptly, hiding behind a faux Venus de Milo. "There," she whispered gesturing to an indiscernible spot on the dance floor. "On the dais."
"Who? The lady dressed as Cleopatra?" Eriol whispered back, amused by the little game.
"No, no. The slender man with pale hair and face, the one in mismatched clothes. The Mad Hatter," Nakuru hissed, irritated. "That's Lord Yukito Tsukishiro (people call him the Snow Prince), he's the proprietor of several hotel chains in France and our host tonight. If you get on his good graces, he will invite you again tomorrow."
"And that?" Asked Syaoran, also whispering. "Behind our host."
"The tall and dark one, the Black Knight?" Nakuru asked softly, sighing. "That's Touya Kinomoto. He's a local shop owner and pretty-boy extraordinaire! Rumour goes that him and the host are close friends, if not more, if you understand what I mean. They're nearly inseparable, incomplete without each other." She sighed again and continued. "Oh, look at his body. Isn't he gorgeous? What I wouldn't do for a piece of that."
Her comments were lost on the two lords who had long since abandoned her in search of certain pretty damsels. And so, she continued to sigh and coo from behind her tree, wishing that it were she that received the handsome man's woeful glance instead of the Snow Prince.
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"Tomoyo! He's the most wonderful person on the face of the Earth!" Sakura exclaimed, swooning, imaginary stars and hearts dancing in her eyes.
The two young ladies were standing off to the side, away from the main activity, hoping that they'd be able to escape Sonomi's shark-like eyes. Tomoyo was quietly brooding in the corner when Sakura came rushing to her, flushed and giddy. The raven-haired girl always thought that her friend had too much energy for her own good, surely too much for her to handle. At the same time, however, Tomoyo appreciated that energy, drew from it, savoured it.
Sakura had met a beautiful boy last night, or so she said to her best friend. A certain 'Sir Syaoran Li'. The blonde couldn't go through the entire day without uttering his name, softly like a secret. Sakura even went as far as to seek him out during the masquerade, though not actually intending to talk to him.
"Oh, he's so handsome and magnanimous!" Sakura gushed. "Oh, what I wouldn't do to be touched by him!"
"Oh hush, Sakura. Don't be silly," Tomoyo said heaving a sigh. "Don't you remember what Mother has taught us? Men want nothing from us but our bodies and our money. All men are swine. Pigs, bred to make the lives of people like you and me miserable. If you give into them, they'll just use you and your fragile heart as a money -making machine and then after, when you have nothing more to give, they'll leave you penniless and alone."
"But, Tomoyo! Sir Syaoran is nothing like that!" Exclaimed Sakura, frowning. "He's kind and gentle. I know he is, I saw in his eyes!"
"What you saw there was just him trying to charm you, to seduce you," Tomoyo stated coolly. "That's what they always do; look at you with pretty eyes and smile charmingly, call you 'beautiful' and that they knew they loved you from the first go. And then you, swooning, fall into their waiting arms, only to be used and abused. I'm telling you, Sakura, men have nothing on their minds besides sex and ways of making money."
"Pardon my interruption, fair maiden," a strong, masculine voice said, amused,"but I believe you owe me a dance."
Startled, she turned to face the intruder. It was he! A simper tugging at the corner of his lips, a cocky tilt to his head. He was, perfect, she opined a bit breathlessly. Tall and lithe in the dark costume, his pale skin and dark hair went well with the rest of his outfit. He seemed more confident now, the smirk stretched upon his lips a hint of his sheer prowess, his dark figure practically luring her toward him. And the eyes, what she saw of them, were a deep sapphire blue, a shade she didn't know existed. Those orbs compelled her, drew her; there were promises in those eyes, dark and deep vows that screamed out and appealed to her. She wanted to find out what this man would give her, despite the risks, Tomoyo suddenly realized.
"You didn't answer my request, Lady Tomoyo, so I came to find you for myself," he said, pressing a kiss into the palm of her hand.
Wincing, Tomoyo pulled at her hand. Screw manners, he had no right to do that! Instead of letting go, the young lord tightened his hold on her hand.
"Oh, no, you don't, sweet lady. I will not let you run away this time," he said, smiling, beginning to guide her to the dance floor. He turned to Sakura. "I beg for forgiveness, lady, but I must steal your friend for a dance."
Sakura just nodded dumbly, not quite comprehending what was happening. Blinking, she saw her friend being led away by the strange man.
"You must really forgive him, he knows not what he does," turning, Sakura saw the young man from yesterday – Sir Syaoran – removing the large hat with a singular white feather from atop his head and performing a an extravagant curtsy. "And I believe you, too, owe me a dance?"
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"You interrupted a very private conversation," Tomoyo hissed, desperately trying to pry his warm fingers from where they were entangled with her own. She couldn't believe that he caught her at such a compromising moment, saying things like that. And his hand had no right what so ever to feel so soft and warm!
"As I had a right to. After all, you interrupted the flow of my life," he said with an airy smile, squeezing her hand on purpose.
"If I did then I apologise," she ground out between clenched teeth. "Now will you please let me go?"
"Never."
"I don't even know you –"
"Eriol Hiiragizawa," He said with another bow and kiss on her hand. "At your service, Lady Tomoyo."
The mini orchestra began to perform a fast-beat number, a single trumpet playing the intro before a flute and a violin joined in. With another carefree smile, Eriol brought his hands to Tomoyo's waist, despite her startled gasp of protest, and pulled her body closer. Expertly, he led her around the dance floor, his feet as if gliding, flying.
Eriol thought that she looked simply divine in a simple vanilla-coloured dress, her long hair spilling along her back, and a blue sash around her waist. He thought their costumes were a bit ironic. He, a Matador, tall and slender, she, Esmeralda, fragile-looking and beautiful. He could almost pretend that they stepped out of the pages of history, two people completing one story. One part of another, a whole.
As he held her, he lost all sense of reality. He forgot who he was and where; his brained ceased functioning. Eriol felt oddly detached from the rest of his body, but simply... there at the same time. He felt a peculiar sensation of floating, of drifting through time and space and conscious thought, as well as the welcome warmth of shapely curves beneath his fingers. His vision was blurry and distorted, fragmented and scattered, a pale, doll-like face and raven-hair marring his mind.
Everything felt like a wonderful, beautiful dream, though fleeting in nature. He wanted to touch the moment, to grasp it if he could, and savour it, greedily, within his hold. She was beautiful and everything around him was beautiful because of her, a flurry of light and colour and sound. He smiled wistfully, never wishing to leave his place beside her.
Tomoyo could barely breathe. She couldn't believe she allowed a man to come so close to her, to touch her like so, but at the same time she welcomed his touch, wanted it. She forgot that she was in a public place, that a wall was separating her from everybody else in the room. It was an imaginary, invisible barrier made of ideal and thought and control. She was free from it in his – Eriol's – embrace, but not fully so. Now, more than ever, she felt her mask starkly cold against her face, harsh and unforgiving. She suddenly wanted to get rid of it, too.
And she almost forgot about her mother, standing not too far away, chatting to the host. She was exposed, see-through to the entire world.
"I told you that I'd catch up to you one day," Eriol whispered into her ear. Tomoyo shivered at the warm puff of air on her ear and along her nape. She really hated feeling so powerless in the hands of a man.
(tbc)
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This chapter's outfits have got to be my most favourite ones in the entire story. *Blush* I feel like a pervert...
