Someone has mentioned that tabasco sauce probly wasn't around at this
point, and that is probably true, but hey, poetic license- bear with me!
Thanks a bunch for your reviews and please, please keep them up.
It was a beautiful but lazy afternoon, I decided, as I lay on my bed,
with the operative word being "lazy." Decidedly too laz...err, beautiful,
to waste doing those dull exercises in Latin that Darien had assigned
me that morning. The perfectly blue, cloudless sky seemed to beg me to
come outside and admire it for a while, and never one to argue with
Nature and its impulses, I dragged myself off the bed and stepped out
onto the balcony. And yet even the captivating way the light breeze
blew over the grass wasn't enough to keep my mind off, well, him, and
here I grimace.
Only two months had passed, and yet it seemed to me as though we'd been
fighting for years. Hundreds of barbs, insults, and practical jokes
later, we were growing to understand each other very well, as we (most
unfortunately) spent most of each day together, but it did nothing to
lessen our aggravation and utter resentment of each other's presence.
He never failed to point out my "utter immaturity," "disgusting
laziness" and "amazing ignorance," and I was always more than happy to
counter his remarks with my own biting ones about his "remarkable
insensitivity," arrogance and "affinity for unfailingly stupid remarks."
Suddenly I giggled, remembering the look on his face on that day weeks
ago when he brought a glass of red wine to his lips after I oh-so-
surreptitiously poured tabasco sauce into it especially for his benefit.
He had miraculously managed to swallow the disgusting concoction
without any indication that it tasted a lot like tar. What had followed
his smooth recovery, however, made the newly formed crease on my brow
show itself once again.
He'd proceeded to casually suggest that I supposedly needed to learn
how to properly sip wine and there was no time like the present for me
to do so. Then, as a true and perfectly innocent gentleman, he'd offered
his own cup of tabasco-ed wine to me, his mocking eyes dancing as usual,
and insisted that I first try sipping from his glass; I'd hesitated,
obviously, but my wonderful parents, completely oblivious to the foul
play, cheerfully encouraged me, and giving him a look of pure hatred,
I'd accepted, tasted, and spit the horrible liquid right back out, only
to have it project straight onto the cravat of Father's shirt. A
memorable experience, if nothing else.
And then there was the few times I'd "accidentally" toppled the bottle
of ink right onto Darien's trousers, but much to my regret, his reflexes
had kicked in after the first of these experiences, and the ink just
ended up all over the carpet. Almost I felt sorry for him, and for all
the hell I'd put him through those past few months in retribution for
his presence here...but no, never mind, he deserves it. He asked me
once, well, more like, demanded angrily, his eyes darkening furiously
after I made yet another flippant remark, why I was so bent on making
him miserable and I sweetly replied that it was the only way to make
him leave for good. Then, as usual, he'd pulled that stupid move he
enjoys so thoroughly (probably for the way it throws me off balance)
of leaning down very close to my face and whispering, "I have no
intentions of leaving you or this estate until I get exactly what
I came for." Leaving me to figure out just what that meant and why
he really did come here.
But nevertheless, I wonder now what would happen if my wish came true,
and I did wear him out to the point of leaving forever and finally
giving me some peace of mind. What would it be like, to wake up in the
morning without spending the rest of it in attempts to win an argument
against that ill-bred and irritatingly sharp-witted creature? Without
eating breakfast in a deliberately sloppy way just to aggravate him,
and have him fix me with that look of mixed amusement and annoyance,
which would inevitably result in each of us trying to stare the other
into submission? Without riding our horses over the rolling verdant
hills as he told me about the state and the history of our province?
Without the wind blowing through his thick, beautiful black hair and
his blue eyes snapping with energy as he raced me back to the stables?
No, no, must not go down that road, for that road leads only to madness.
You know you want to, Serena.
Want to what? I returned challengingly, though I probably knew quite
well just what the stupid voice was talking about.
Want to go down that road, see where it leads you, see if the promises
in Darien's eyes are real, and if they're for you, forever...
"No they're not for me, and... and they never will be, which is j-just
fine, because I don't want them, I don't need them!" I sputtered angrily,
not even realizing that I was speaking aloud.
"Don't need what, princess, more intelligence and class? Hm, somehow
I beg to differ."
A velvety voice spoke suddenly into the silence after my angry
declaration and I spun around to see who dared interrupt my
contemplation. Take a wild guess who was leaning lazily against the
doorframe.
"What the hell are you doing up here? Who gave a piece of scum like
you the right to come in here?" I responded furiously.
"Language, language; have you learnt nothing from me at all about what
is appropriate behavior for a girl of your age?" he smiled indulgently,
as he walked up to me, shaking his head in that infuriating way. I
wished him a crick in the neck.
"Anyway, to answer your amazingly polite and demure inquiry as to my
presence here, I'm just here to let you know that your mother has just
informed me about a ball King Diamond will be holding in about a month.
Your family has been invited, and thus it is my duty to ensure you do
not make a laughingstock of both yourself and them, a feat you could
single-handedly accomplish, I'm sure, with little or no effort," he
finished with a smirk as he stopped in front of me.
Oh, but how that stung! I had been trying, I really had, for Father's
sake, if nothing else, to listen to Darien (although I'd never let him
know that) and learn what he had to teach me. And for all my efforts,
he was just throwing my clumsiness, talkative nature and, in short,
every flaw I possessed, right back in my face. Never once had I shown
that his insults affected me in any way, nor did I intend to do so,
but suddenly it seemed hard to repress the tears in my throat, fighting
their way to my now closed eyes.
"If you're quite done belittling me in every way possible, I'd appreciate
it very much if you'd leave now, please," I said hoarsely, hating the
waver in my voice, and opening my eyes to look straight at him, which I
found was not so easy to do.
Suddenly, the mocking gleam in his eyes disappeared, to be replaced with-
what was that? Sorrow for the pain he had caused me? Hah, wishful
thinking. How could it be? Since when had he cared how I felt?
At about the same time you started caring about what he thought of you.
"Serena, I..." he started, reaching his arm out to touch my shoulder
gently, as a gesture of apology. But I would have none of it, and
immediately stepped back, away from him and his effort to appease me.
"Just go, Darien! Damn you, just go!" I said in a fierce whisper,
turning around quickly so he wouldn't see the tears now freely streaming
down my cheeks.
I felt the warmth of his body behind me as he reached out to touch my
shoulder again, but then he just let his hand drop, and I heard his
footsteps fade away as he left the balcony.
The next day was strange, and the day after that, and the day after
that, even. Finally, I decided that enough was enough, and decided to
confront him, figuring that it was silly for him to be so awkward
around me, and for us to just shift from foot to foot like we had been
doing, from a loss of words, and his inability to speak for fear of
offending me again.
So, four days after our altercation, he sat against the edge of my
father's desk, fixedly reading Shakespeare's Sonnet 149 to me, and
refusing to make eye contact with me at all.
"Darien?" I interrupted, resolving to just rush in headlong and get it
over with.
"But, love, hate on, for now...yes, what is it?" he said, not looking
up.
"Look at me."
He raised his head and stared straight at me, as though he had meant to
from the start.
"Look, about that thing, on my balcony..." I started.
"Yes, I meant to...that is, I wanted to..." he cut in, trailing off
uncertainly, bowing his head again, so that all I could see was his
straight black hair, shining in the sunlight.
"Darien?" I said softly.
"Serena, I'm sorry. I really am. I never meant to hurt you like that,
I just, I suppose I just said whatever came into my head, not even
realizing that it was completely untrue, and hurtful. Can you...do you
think you could forgive me?" he asked quietly, lifting his head and
looking straight at me.
I was startled beyond words at the expression in those eyes, flashing
brilliantly, like sapphires under the sun.
Knowing I would never be able to speak unless I looked away from those
brilliant orbs, I fixed my gaze on the sunlight shining in from the
window, past his shoulder, for the sunlight wasn't nearly as blinding
as his eyes.
"You aren't very used to apologizing, are you?"
A ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he replied, "Is it really
that obvious?"
"Actually, for someone with little or no practice in the art of
apologies, you're really quite good. But you know, someone once told
me that asking for forgiveness, doesn't make anyone any smaller, and
that the one who is willing to forgive possesses a big heart. And
while my brain may be rather small, I'd like to make up for that by
possessing a big heart, at least. So yes, Darien, I do forgive you,"
I finished, with a smile.
My acknowledgement of what had happened that day cheered him up visibly,
and we agreed that everything was all right, so we could go back to
arguing just as usual.
But things had changed, and we both knew it, though neither of us was
willing to admit it.
We were softer to each other after that, and while we had again
commenced with the insults and mockery, it was different, for we were
careful to make sure we didn't say things we didn't mean, and that
nothing we said was too harsh. We certainly wouldn't say we were
friends, for what sort of friends never spoke except to argue and
throw insults back and forth? But we weren't 'enemies' anymore either,
and that made all the difference.
We spent the month before the ball making me "presentable." I learned
how to dance, how to speak slowly and clearly, instead of breathlessly
rushing my words together, as I so often did, how to eat, how to walk,
and how to conduct myself properly with other nobles and answer any
question posed to me.
This was all in addition to my regular lessons, so in all it was quite
tiring, but if I showed signs of fatigue or illness, he would smirk
and say, "Mustn't overwork the little princess, she might break!" in
that annoying tone of his, and immediately make me eat and then send
me off to sleep, postponing further lessons until the next day.
So, after a month of preparations, secret and significant glances
while we danced in the study, and, of course, enough laughter to make
my sides ache, I was ready for the ball.
Well, as ready as I would ever be, at any rate.
Disclaimer: If you or anyone you know has a particular affection for
red wine mixed with tabasco sauce, I'm terribly sorry, and in no way
do I mean to insult you or your taste. I've never had either red wine
or tabasco sauce, nor any combination of the two, so I have no way of
knowing whether or not it does in fact taste like tar, so once again,
please accept my sincerest apologies if that assumption offended you.
Oh, and a hearty thanks to Sabra for her review- I'm so glad you liked
it, your stories are so much fun too!!
point, and that is probably true, but hey, poetic license- bear with me!
Thanks a bunch for your reviews and please, please keep them up.
It was a beautiful but lazy afternoon, I decided, as I lay on my bed,
with the operative word being "lazy." Decidedly too laz...err, beautiful,
to waste doing those dull exercises in Latin that Darien had assigned
me that morning. The perfectly blue, cloudless sky seemed to beg me to
come outside and admire it for a while, and never one to argue with
Nature and its impulses, I dragged myself off the bed and stepped out
onto the balcony. And yet even the captivating way the light breeze
blew over the grass wasn't enough to keep my mind off, well, him, and
here I grimace.
Only two months had passed, and yet it seemed to me as though we'd been
fighting for years. Hundreds of barbs, insults, and practical jokes
later, we were growing to understand each other very well, as we (most
unfortunately) spent most of each day together, but it did nothing to
lessen our aggravation and utter resentment of each other's presence.
He never failed to point out my "utter immaturity," "disgusting
laziness" and "amazing ignorance," and I was always more than happy to
counter his remarks with my own biting ones about his "remarkable
insensitivity," arrogance and "affinity for unfailingly stupid remarks."
Suddenly I giggled, remembering the look on his face on that day weeks
ago when he brought a glass of red wine to his lips after I oh-so-
surreptitiously poured tabasco sauce into it especially for his benefit.
He had miraculously managed to swallow the disgusting concoction
without any indication that it tasted a lot like tar. What had followed
his smooth recovery, however, made the newly formed crease on my brow
show itself once again.
He'd proceeded to casually suggest that I supposedly needed to learn
how to properly sip wine and there was no time like the present for me
to do so. Then, as a true and perfectly innocent gentleman, he'd offered
his own cup of tabasco-ed wine to me, his mocking eyes dancing as usual,
and insisted that I first try sipping from his glass; I'd hesitated,
obviously, but my wonderful parents, completely oblivious to the foul
play, cheerfully encouraged me, and giving him a look of pure hatred,
I'd accepted, tasted, and spit the horrible liquid right back out, only
to have it project straight onto the cravat of Father's shirt. A
memorable experience, if nothing else.
And then there was the few times I'd "accidentally" toppled the bottle
of ink right onto Darien's trousers, but much to my regret, his reflexes
had kicked in after the first of these experiences, and the ink just
ended up all over the carpet. Almost I felt sorry for him, and for all
the hell I'd put him through those past few months in retribution for
his presence here...but no, never mind, he deserves it. He asked me
once, well, more like, demanded angrily, his eyes darkening furiously
after I made yet another flippant remark, why I was so bent on making
him miserable and I sweetly replied that it was the only way to make
him leave for good. Then, as usual, he'd pulled that stupid move he
enjoys so thoroughly (probably for the way it throws me off balance)
of leaning down very close to my face and whispering, "I have no
intentions of leaving you or this estate until I get exactly what
I came for." Leaving me to figure out just what that meant and why
he really did come here.
But nevertheless, I wonder now what would happen if my wish came true,
and I did wear him out to the point of leaving forever and finally
giving me some peace of mind. What would it be like, to wake up in the
morning without spending the rest of it in attempts to win an argument
against that ill-bred and irritatingly sharp-witted creature? Without
eating breakfast in a deliberately sloppy way just to aggravate him,
and have him fix me with that look of mixed amusement and annoyance,
which would inevitably result in each of us trying to stare the other
into submission? Without riding our horses over the rolling verdant
hills as he told me about the state and the history of our province?
Without the wind blowing through his thick, beautiful black hair and
his blue eyes snapping with energy as he raced me back to the stables?
No, no, must not go down that road, for that road leads only to madness.
You know you want to, Serena.
Want to what? I returned challengingly, though I probably knew quite
well just what the stupid voice was talking about.
Want to go down that road, see where it leads you, see if the promises
in Darien's eyes are real, and if they're for you, forever...
"No they're not for me, and... and they never will be, which is j-just
fine, because I don't want them, I don't need them!" I sputtered angrily,
not even realizing that I was speaking aloud.
"Don't need what, princess, more intelligence and class? Hm, somehow
I beg to differ."
A velvety voice spoke suddenly into the silence after my angry
declaration and I spun around to see who dared interrupt my
contemplation. Take a wild guess who was leaning lazily against the
doorframe.
"What the hell are you doing up here? Who gave a piece of scum like
you the right to come in here?" I responded furiously.
"Language, language; have you learnt nothing from me at all about what
is appropriate behavior for a girl of your age?" he smiled indulgently,
as he walked up to me, shaking his head in that infuriating way. I
wished him a crick in the neck.
"Anyway, to answer your amazingly polite and demure inquiry as to my
presence here, I'm just here to let you know that your mother has just
informed me about a ball King Diamond will be holding in about a month.
Your family has been invited, and thus it is my duty to ensure you do
not make a laughingstock of both yourself and them, a feat you could
single-handedly accomplish, I'm sure, with little or no effort," he
finished with a smirk as he stopped in front of me.
Oh, but how that stung! I had been trying, I really had, for Father's
sake, if nothing else, to listen to Darien (although I'd never let him
know that) and learn what he had to teach me. And for all my efforts,
he was just throwing my clumsiness, talkative nature and, in short,
every flaw I possessed, right back in my face. Never once had I shown
that his insults affected me in any way, nor did I intend to do so,
but suddenly it seemed hard to repress the tears in my throat, fighting
their way to my now closed eyes.
"If you're quite done belittling me in every way possible, I'd appreciate
it very much if you'd leave now, please," I said hoarsely, hating the
waver in my voice, and opening my eyes to look straight at him, which I
found was not so easy to do.
Suddenly, the mocking gleam in his eyes disappeared, to be replaced with-
what was that? Sorrow for the pain he had caused me? Hah, wishful
thinking. How could it be? Since when had he cared how I felt?
At about the same time you started caring about what he thought of you.
"Serena, I..." he started, reaching his arm out to touch my shoulder
gently, as a gesture of apology. But I would have none of it, and
immediately stepped back, away from him and his effort to appease me.
"Just go, Darien! Damn you, just go!" I said in a fierce whisper,
turning around quickly so he wouldn't see the tears now freely streaming
down my cheeks.
I felt the warmth of his body behind me as he reached out to touch my
shoulder again, but then he just let his hand drop, and I heard his
footsteps fade away as he left the balcony.
The next day was strange, and the day after that, and the day after
that, even. Finally, I decided that enough was enough, and decided to
confront him, figuring that it was silly for him to be so awkward
around me, and for us to just shift from foot to foot like we had been
doing, from a loss of words, and his inability to speak for fear of
offending me again.
So, four days after our altercation, he sat against the edge of my
father's desk, fixedly reading Shakespeare's Sonnet 149 to me, and
refusing to make eye contact with me at all.
"Darien?" I interrupted, resolving to just rush in headlong and get it
over with.
"But, love, hate on, for now...yes, what is it?" he said, not looking
up.
"Look at me."
He raised his head and stared straight at me, as though he had meant to
from the start.
"Look, about that thing, on my balcony..." I started.
"Yes, I meant to...that is, I wanted to..." he cut in, trailing off
uncertainly, bowing his head again, so that all I could see was his
straight black hair, shining in the sunlight.
"Darien?" I said softly.
"Serena, I'm sorry. I really am. I never meant to hurt you like that,
I just, I suppose I just said whatever came into my head, not even
realizing that it was completely untrue, and hurtful. Can you...do you
think you could forgive me?" he asked quietly, lifting his head and
looking straight at me.
I was startled beyond words at the expression in those eyes, flashing
brilliantly, like sapphires under the sun.
Knowing I would never be able to speak unless I looked away from those
brilliant orbs, I fixed my gaze on the sunlight shining in from the
window, past his shoulder, for the sunlight wasn't nearly as blinding
as his eyes.
"You aren't very used to apologizing, are you?"
A ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he replied, "Is it really
that obvious?"
"Actually, for someone with little or no practice in the art of
apologies, you're really quite good. But you know, someone once told
me that asking for forgiveness, doesn't make anyone any smaller, and
that the one who is willing to forgive possesses a big heart. And
while my brain may be rather small, I'd like to make up for that by
possessing a big heart, at least. So yes, Darien, I do forgive you,"
I finished, with a smile.
My acknowledgement of what had happened that day cheered him up visibly,
and we agreed that everything was all right, so we could go back to
arguing just as usual.
But things had changed, and we both knew it, though neither of us was
willing to admit it.
We were softer to each other after that, and while we had again
commenced with the insults and mockery, it was different, for we were
careful to make sure we didn't say things we didn't mean, and that
nothing we said was too harsh. We certainly wouldn't say we were
friends, for what sort of friends never spoke except to argue and
throw insults back and forth? But we weren't 'enemies' anymore either,
and that made all the difference.
We spent the month before the ball making me "presentable." I learned
how to dance, how to speak slowly and clearly, instead of breathlessly
rushing my words together, as I so often did, how to eat, how to walk,
and how to conduct myself properly with other nobles and answer any
question posed to me.
This was all in addition to my regular lessons, so in all it was quite
tiring, but if I showed signs of fatigue or illness, he would smirk
and say, "Mustn't overwork the little princess, she might break!" in
that annoying tone of his, and immediately make me eat and then send
me off to sleep, postponing further lessons until the next day.
So, after a month of preparations, secret and significant glances
while we danced in the study, and, of course, enough laughter to make
my sides ache, I was ready for the ball.
Well, as ready as I would ever be, at any rate.
Disclaimer: If you or anyone you know has a particular affection for
red wine mixed with tabasco sauce, I'm terribly sorry, and in no way
do I mean to insult you or your taste. I've never had either red wine
or tabasco sauce, nor any combination of the two, so I have no way of
knowing whether or not it does in fact taste like tar, so once again,
please accept my sincerest apologies if that assumption offended you.
Oh, and a hearty thanks to Sabra for her review- I'm so glad you liked
it, your stories are so much fun too!!
