Smile, Waverley, Smile
[Blindness by Metric]
Author: Lissy Doll
Rating: PG 13 – R
Note: This is a complete rewrite of my Waverley Project. The plot, characters, and setting will remain the same for the most part with some shifts in characterizations and events; there will also be additional components that I felt the original story lacked. The story also starts in 2009. So, the gang is about age 20/21 (which is the majority age in Japan, I believe).
Warnings: Boy Love ahead. Also this will and always will be a Seto/Yami story, because I hold a lot of love for these two. Puppyshippers Beware: You have been forewarned and consequently shall be ignored if you choose to gripe.
Summary: (AU) "I can't bear the idea of having to be someone else's puppet. To be thrown away and used so casually." Those were the words Yami said to Seto before he left to join a world he had learned to hate. Those were the words that initiated him into a world of deceit and hurt caused by none other than his family. But then again, Yami was strong enough to always remind himself that it was never personal. It was just business.
Disclaimer: I hold no creative rights to the Yu-Gi-Oh series.
Sunshine, or the more scientific term sunlight, is the complete spectrum of electromagnetic radiation the sun gives off. On Earth, it is not received in its entirety because the sunlight is filtered through the atmosphere. Sunlight is intangible. Emotions are intangible. So can they, too, be filtered?
Yami squinted his wine red eyes as his gaze landed directly on the brilliant orange orb that hung at half-mast in the cornflower blue sky. This sky was the same a world over; the same to the inhabitants of an obscure, crumbling structure that used to bear some semblance to a Buddhist temple an ocean away, but yet there is a distinct difference about it. There was a distinct discomfort that hung in the ambience of the sky that was bearing down on Yami's shoulder as he tentatively stepped away from the vehicle that had brought him to the giant manor sitting impassively and impressively in front of him.
Blowing a wisp of blonde bang out his eye line, he resigned himself to the short trek towards the beautiful, regal figure standing on the threshold of the Iwamoto ancestral home. As his shuffles brought him closer and closer to the woman, he noted her sleek appearance consisting of a heather gray pencil skirt that hugged her slim figure and a pin-tuck blouse belted at the middle. This woman, with her immaculate appearance that betrayed no signs of maternity, was his mother. Just like her appearance, there was nothing warm or comforting about this woman. Her poised mannerism only served to enhance her flawless façade. She looked like she was made of marble, beautiful and cold.
There she stood in the manor's shadow, where the sunshine cannot touch her. Her facial expression schooled into a perfection that would leave Pygmalion gasping in wonder and Yami in disdain. Yami had not spoken to this woman in 18 years. And he has never seen her in person either for those past 18 years. All he had ever seen were snippets of photographs that floated around the bottom of the trunk containing all of his worldly possessions.
In 1988, right when the decline of communism began, a young woman by the name of Isis DuPerron was the secretary to one of the technological world's biggest magnate, Iwamoto Sousuke. In Domino City, Japan, she ran the affairs (from personal to professional) of the most prominent man to take a dive into the technology pool. Half a continent over, the Soviet Union was attempting to prevent economic collapse with the installation of the Perestroika. Now, in 2009 that very same woman who stood before Yami was also the mistress of the noble house of Iwamoto. While Iwamoto Robotics gained more and more prominence in the business world, Isis DuPerron gained more and more notoriety as the most beautiful secretary-cum-mistress emerging from the neo-bourgeoisie class. "Yami, dearest, do not dilly-dally in the drive way," the woman called out to him. Her eyes looked at him expectantly. Perhaps she was awaiting a hug from the prodigal son. Perhaps she was keeping up appearance in front of the help. Whatever it was, it did not incite Yami to walk any faster towards her. After 18 years of waiting for this woman to love him and to want him, Yami had grown exhausted of the wait. It was arduous and tiring to know that across an ocean there was a woman who had the decency to give him life, but not the compassion to share it with him.
"Really, dearest, we must teach you how to act properly. The heir to the house must not drag his feet." Her lilting voice chastised him from across the remaining feet of gravel barrier that stood between them. She took the last remaining steps and engulfed him in a stiff hug. Yami could feel the starch of the blouse's cloth as her arms wrapped around him, surrounding his olfactory sense with an over-powering perfume. Chanel no. 5. A perfume that is perfectly manufactured for a woman that is perfectly manufactured.
Still nestled in her elegant arms, Yami intoned stiffly, choking back the years of unshed tears and frustration, "Why am I here?"
As she righted herself and brush the non-existent lint off his button down shirt, she smiled softly and said, "Your father shall answer all the questions you have."
Yami narrowed his eyes into slits of glare, "He is not my father," his voice laced with blatant anger.
"Shh, do not ever speak such nonsense in front of your father. Such disrespect will not be tolerated, young man." No longer able to keep his composure due to the over-whelming amount of disgust that engulfed his lithe figure, Yami shoved the marble sculpture of a woman off of him.
"I will speak to whomever however I wish. You are not in any position to tell me what to do. I frankly don't give a damn." Yami hissed at her.
Isis's soft smile dropped slightly as a somber reflection crossed her face, "It is unbecoming to speak of such familial matters in the driveway. Come, we shall adjourn to father's study. The lawyers are becoming impatient with the wait of your arrival." With that, she turned around and walked briskly back into the hulking mausoleum, the clacking of her black pumps echoing off of the crème walls of the vestibule. Yami lifted his downcast eyes, which were devoid of any discernible emotions. He followed this perfect woman into the mouth of the mausoleum and up the winding vine of the staircase, his steps too, echoing, with a low thud as he slowly took each endless step upwards.
Stopping short of the double oak doors, the woman straightened her back and said lowly, "Behave," before pushing both doors with her elegant hands and stepping through the bursting sunlight. A bitter smile swept over Yami's face as he slowly brought his head up from its lowered, helpless position. Yami wasn't going to let these people get the satisfaction of seeing him broken. This was a luxury he can only afford on his own time. Standing erect with anger and pride, evident in the wine colored eyes, Yami stared stoically, for the first time, at the slightly rotund man that had donated half his genetics to the creation of Yami's existence.
"I have no interest in being your heir. As a matter of fact, I have no interest in being your anything." Yami spat. The spitfire of hatred burning clearly through his red orbs. His defensive stance indicated to the other occupants in the tense room that there would still be more fire and brimstone to deal with should the matter be pressed any further. However, the man which all of the animosity was directed at remained nonchalant and uncaring of the delicacy of the situation.
"You will do as I say. As your father and head of this household, I make all of the decisions." The man's deep voice growled around the Cuban Cigar lodged between his lips.
"Please, let's all discuss this matter rationally and calmly. There is no need for any of us to raise our voices." One of the faceless, nameless, lawyer cronies said, nervous sweat slicked on his forehead.
"Well, the current situation is—" but before the profusely sweating man could finish, Yami had cut in, "I cannot run your company, I was not legitimately conceived." Eyes in deadlock, father and son assessed each other, as the room grew quiet once again.
"There is no issue with that, right Koujiro?" Iwamoto smirked as he swiveled the plush leather seat around to face the wide French windows.
Annoyed at the blatant brush off Yami gritted his teeth, "What do you mean?"
The still sweating lawyer swiped a handkerchief shakily across his forehead and licked his chapped lips before continuing, "Under Japanese inheritance law Section A, Article I, it states that the foreign nationality of an heir does not pose a problem regarding the inheritance of real property, shares, bonds, or any other types of inheritable incomes in Japan. An heir who is of foreign nationality residing abroad can also own real estate in Japan. Under the laws of Japan, Article II, it is assumed that Japanese inheritance law always applies to a decedent who has Japanese nationality, wherever his/her real property is located." Yami stared blankly at the man, his body frozen from processing the information that was just fed to his brain. As neurons raced to each synapses to deliver the message of his doomsday to the central cortex of his brain's processor, the only resounding urge that laid at the core was the urge to suddenly punch the bastard who had part in his conception in the face.
"You see, Young Master Iwamoto, the situation is applicable to you, seeing as how you are of mixed descent and have, for most of your life up till now, been residing in China—" the sweaty crony's muted voice floated in the background as Yami's mind tried to assess the situation he now found himself in.
"I refuse." Yami stated abruptly, killing the useless noise escaping from the crony's esophagus.
"Bu-bu-but, but you can't!" The oh-so-witty remark of crony number two hung heavy in the silent room.
"I could give a flying fuck," Yami growled. Now there were two profusely sweating minions cowering in the corner. Yami turned to the woman sitting primly on the beige camel leather seat and repeated with the same persistent force, "I refuse. And I am leaving." Without further ado, Yami spun on his heel and stalked towards the doors ready to wrench it open.
"Don't you want to meet your sisters?" A gruff voice called out, a small hint of self-satisfaction evident in the voice.
"Yes, Yami, dearest, do you not wish to meet Anzu and Shizuka? We can discuss this matter some other time. Perhaps when you are more settled into your new environment?" The woman's voice placated.
"Sisters…" Yami whispered to himself. He had not been aware of the existence of any other siblings. A stab of loneliness and anger, that was always pervasive during his younger years at the monastery once again made itself apparent on his pained face. Lowering his head to cover his face with his multi-colored bangs Yami asked quietly, "I have sisters?"
"They are your half-sisters. From your father's first marriage." The woman said with a small smile that was meant to put Yami at ease. Instead Yami felt irritation once again at this so-called maternal figure in front of him. This woman had no idea what he was feeling, she never did. She never put in the effort to understand, always thinking of herself and her own needs first. Both of the people that had contributed to his life were the least qualified to be parents, yet here they were, pretending to understand the inner workings of parenthood and trying to capitalize on positions of care-giving.
"I have no interest." Yami said stoically. "I have no interest in your company or your family." Yami reiterated with conviction, more to himself than to anybody else in the room.
"Yami, please, try not to be too rash." Isis insisted, this time with a pleading hint in her voice. Yami snorted to himself, knowing full well that she didn't want to upset her lord and master, or else someone prettier, younger, and more competent would threaten her position as the mistress of the house.
"Enough with this nonsense. I'll have the butler show you to your room. You can meet your sisters when you are settled and we can discuss this some more after you are more accustomed to the idea of being heir." Iwamoto stated as he took a puff of his cigar. Crushing the remains into his ashtray the man rang for a manservant, that promptly arrived at the door. With a deep bow, and in a stiff, posh accent, the servant guided Yami out into the corridor. Turning back to the closing oak doors, Yami saw a tiny attempt of a comforting smile flicker on Isis's face, her eyes shining with some unknown emotion that caused Yami's stomach to gnaw at its innards.
"And this, Master Yami, shall be your new living quarters. Should anything not be to your liking, just ring downstairs and the maids will take care of it." The man bowed once again before exiting the room swiftly and closing the double doors behind him. Yami noted the ostentatious design of the room. Painted with a deep, royal blue, the walls contained a Fleur de Lis pattern painted in bright gold. It did not escape Yami's attention how odd it was to have a French Aristocratic themed mansion in the middle of Japan. Though Yami could venture a guess or two that his mother had been having an interior designer over for tea more than enough time since she had assumed reign.
Sighing to himself, he sat down on the edge of the plush, king-sized poster bed with its gossamer curtains billowing from the breeze that escaped through the balcony doors from the outside world. Yami ran his hands up and down the soft material of the bed curtains absent-mindedly. A soft noise tinkled under the crack of the bedroom doors and towards his ear. A delicate melody was playing somewhere within the deep recess of the manor. Cracking his door open he peered down the hall towards where the music was making its melodious escape. He located the source to be from where bright sunlight filtered into the dark, ominous hallway through a pair of open white double doors. Walking out of his room and closing the doors with a soft click, Yami walked tentatively towards the lilting sound. Stopping short right outside one of the white doors, Yami peeked over the edge to catch a glimpse of two young women, both brunettes, sitting in perfectly compatible silence listening to the music.
"It is the Transcendental Etude No. 4, 'Mazeppa,' composed by Franz Liszt and performed by Claudio Arrau," a soft voice rang out. "That was what you wondering whilst standing there, was it not?" The voice asked. Yami, embarrassed at being caught, stood with his back stilled against the wall. He coughed to calm his nerves before stepping out of the shadows into the bright, sun-lit room. Sitting in high back, embroidered with obsidian swirls, scarlet velvet fauteuil chairs around an equally elaborate mahogany table laden with various trays of pastries and a tea set, were the two girls he had caught a glimpse of.
A girl with a short, stylish, chestnut-colored bob smiled kindly at him. Her eager blue eyes crinkled at the corner with enthusiasm as her smile slowly spread into a grin, whilst the other girl sat with her back ramrod straight, sipping a cup of tea. "Please sit down," the girl with the tea cup indicated to an empty seat, "We have been quite excited with the prospect of meeting you since your arrival midmorning," the girl continued as she put down her tea cup and placed her hands primly into her lap. The girl who had first spoken to Yami had mid-length, strawberry-red hair and gentle, doe-brown eyes that seemed glazed over with a shiny gloss of light.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." Yami said quietly as he lowered himself onto the seat.
"Nonsense, Shizuka is right, we have been awfully excited about meeting you since Papa said you were coming to live with us." The girl with blue eyes chirruped cheerfully, her eyes slanting upwards into slits of happiness. Yami offered her an uncomfortable smile.
The girl, Shizuka, turned her head and settled her eyes upon Yami in what seemed to be a silent assessment. Once done she picked up the china teapot with pink, floral patterns and said, "Would you care for some tea?" Before he could shake his head in polite refusal she had acquired a cup out of nowhere and set it down in front of Yami. "It's Darjeeling." She said, once again answering the silent questions in his head.
"Oh, how rude of us, we did not even properly introduce ourselves," the blue eyed girl exclaimed with a dainty gasp. "My name is Anzu and that is my sister Shizuka. Unfortunately, Shizuka cannot see, so I hope you do not mind if I were to describe you to her." Blue-eyed girl, or Anzu, said.
Yami knitted his eyebrows in disconcertion, "I wasn't aware. I'm sorry."
Shizuka smiled at him with her head slightly tilted, "It is quite alright. I have been blind since a very young age. My other senses are extraordinarily heightened, though. That is why I could hear you despite the music." Yami nodded his head, but caught himself with the awareness that Shizuka could not see.
From his point of view, Yami surreptitiously picked out the difference in Shizuka's eyes from her sister's. While Anzu's eyes held youth and enthusiasm, Shizuka's held blankness and vacancy. While Anzu's sparkled like the ocean during a beautiful sunny day, Shizuka's was unmoving and empty like the ocean on a cold and dreary day during the calm before a storm.
Anzu catching this silent appraisal from her peripheral vision giggled silently, "Yami has tri-colored hair, Shi-Shi. He has these red and black spikes and blonde bangs that frame his face," Anzu noted cheerfully from behind her cup.
Yami blushed at the sudden description while Shizuka smiled indulgently at her cheerful sister, "Really now," Shizuka replied, interest piqued. "HmmMmm," Anzu nodded affirmatively. "He also has these ruby red eyes that are big like one of those porcelain dolls!" Anzu giggled. Shizuka smiled at her sister's enthusiasm.
"Thank you, Anz. I can imagine them somewhat in my mind," Shizuka said as she reached forward with her hand. Yami, still blushing at the descriptions pouring out of Anzu's mouth, felt a flash of concern as he watched Shizuka grope for whatever it was she was looking for. Anzu merely sat back and tapped her index finger against her chin in contemplation of what to describe about Yami next. "Do not worry about me, Yami. I am blind, not an invalid. I am perfectly capable of completing a simple task as finding a spoon laid out on a table," Shizuka said, with amusement in her voice.
"Oh, he is very petite. I am almost sure he is a bit smaller than the both of us." Anzu said with a sudden burst. Again, Yami blushed.
"Perhaps we should converse about something else. I am afraid, dear sister, that we are embarrassing our brother," Shizuka said gently. Yami silently thanked the girl for her insightfulness and was glad the topic finally drifted off his appearance. "Tell us, Yami, what was it like where you grew up!" Anzu's exuberance once again making an appearance.
Yami shifted in his seat a bit before answering, "I grew up in Zhanshan temple in the northern Shandong province of mainland China."
"That must have been picturesque. There is something awfully romantic about it, don't you think, Shizuka?" Anzu's eyes drifted off into dreamy contemplation of verdant mountains with steep valleys of mist and sparkling, crystal-clear water.
"I suppose," Yami said, smiling at the girl's capacity for imagination.
"Tell us, what did the temple look like? Were there a lot of stairs like in those old kung fu movies?" The effervescence that surrounded Anzu amplified as she sat forward with her eyes sparkling at the notion of monks running up and down hundreds of stone steps carrying buckets of water for training.
Yami chuckled, "Yes, there were quite a number of stairs that led from the sea shore up to the temple grounds. After the Cultural Revolution, with the administration's propaganda about destruction of old ideals, many temples and religious sites met with desecration. But the monks did their best to keep the temple presentable. We get a lot of tourists, somewhere in the thousands, during Buddha's birthday on April 8th."
"Wow, that must be so amazing. We have been stuck here our entire life. And when we travel, Papa never lets us leave without security detail following us. So, we never get to do anything fun," Anzu pouted.
Smiling sympathetically Yami opened his mouth to comfort the girl but was interrupted by a pair of muffled clacking heels that entered the room, "Ahh—here you all are. I am glad you had the chance to meet your sisters, Yami. Your father wishes for all of you to go to your rooms and prepare for the party tonight. Yami, we, both your father and I, would like it for you to conduct yourself with decorum at your debut tonight," the woman said before making her exit. Yami's mouth thinned into a small line as he gripped the handles of his chair.
Both sisters sat in silence. "I suppose we should do as Miss Isis asks," Shizuka said softly as she rose out of her seat. Anzu stood up to go help her sister, "We shall see you tonight, Yami." Anzu offered him one last smile before leading her sister out of the room.
The Ball Room held people of all manners and types, but each and every one had one thing in common: and it was the luxury of being in the elite one-percent of the world. None of the people present understood the concept of poverty, humility, nor could they even look past the superficial, gilded image of wealth that was perpetuated by the superciliousness of their lifestyle. Yami, needless to say, had never felt a stronger urge to vomit from disgust. Sipping on some sort of expensive champagne from a crystal flute, Yami gazed around the crowded room.
Up near the decadent stage area, Isis DuPerron captivated the attention of a group of aging, over-weight businessmen from abroad. Her beauty entrenched them around her statuesque figure, which was wrapped in a slinky, black, Oscar De La Renta vintage original. Her plunging neckline displayed her ample cleavage and nestled in between was a Winston diamond necklace that was the envy of every woman present. As she raised her left hand to cover her mouth in a dainty laugh, Yami snorted and turned away in fear of retching all over his thousand dollars suit. Off to his left, Yami caught snippets of a conversation between two snooty CEOs:
"Well, hopefully the economic fallout will heavily affect the production quality of Kaiba Corp."
"Yes, that Kaiba brat thinks too highly of himself. I simply cannot stand the idea of his company being the only one that survives this recession."
"Hahaha, indeed. I hope he falls on his ass more heavily than the rest of us. Thank God I had my secretary transfer funds to my Cayman account."
"You are absolutely terrible!"
"It's only embezzlement if—"
Yami turned away, feeling too disgusted to even bear to be near such people. Walking over to an empty table near the back he observed Shizuka dancing with a tall, brunette. The man was well over 6'0 and had broad shoulders that were encased in a nice gray suit with black pinstripes. As the man twirled Shizuka around, she let out a gasp of laughter. Simultaneously, Yami widened his eyes as he looked at the man's face. An angular face that exuded all manners of confidence, with strong jaws, that held a set of deep, sapphire blue eyes more vibrant than Anzu's drew Yami's attention like a magnetic field.
The man's chocolate brown hair was slicked back with absolute perfection. The man looked to be the kind that is always composed and perfectly made together. The sort that was unruffled by unexpected events because he had already foreseen all possible outcomes. Yami stared at the man in slight awe before blushing to his roots. Yami caught himself and quickly got up to leave before anyone had noticed his momentary lapse of sanity, however a tad bit too late due to Anzu's knowing eyes following him out to the balcony.
Anzu smiled from behind her champagne flute as she quickly made her way to the dancing couple. As she neared, her eyes took in the scene of unadulterated joy before her: Shizuka was dancing with as much grace as a blind person can muster, which amounted to frequently stepping on Kaiba Seto's feet. Seto, however, being the good-natured person he is around Shizuka, merely chuckled at her inability to dance.
"Has anyone ever told you, Shizuka, you have two left feet," Seto chuckled deeply.
"Do not tease me, Seto. For I am already quite vexed with you for suggesting this idea," Shizuka chided warningly.
Clearing her throat a tad bit too loudly, Anzu waited for the two to notice her presence. As per usual, it was always Shizuka who took note first, "Anz, please tell Seto that I do not have the grace of a baboon."
Laughing at her sister's request, Anzu nodded her head, "Nope, Shi-Shi, you totally do."
Harrumphing at being double-teamed, Shizuka released Seto's hand and walked over to Anzu, grabbing Anzu's arm and dragging her to the nearest table. Seto blinked bemusedly at being left behind by the girls, and moved off to find the waiters with alcohol. It was going to be a long night after all. Now that Shizuka had been stolen from him, he was going to have to face the plethora of women that were going to shamelessly throw themselves at him, and in order to reject them with any sense of politeness, he was going to need alcohol. A lot of it.
Yami leaned forward against the stone railing and let loose another wisp of smoke. He watched as the tendrils curled into the air particles and disappeared, as if being consumed by its surroundings. Closing his eyes and lifting his face up towards the luminescent moon, he felt the soft lunar glow touching his skin. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware anyone was out here. I didn't mean to interrupt," a deep voice broke through Yami's thought.
Turning his head slight right and opening his right eye only, his eye took in the sight of the tall, brunette man he was watching earlier in the ball room. Yami gasped in shock, dropped his cigarette, and stumbled a bit before feeling the clasp of a big, strong hand on his upper arm steadying him from falling. "Th-thank you." Yami stammered.
The man chuckled lightly, "No problem. It was my fault for startling you anyways." The man took a sip of his drink as he turned to gaze up at the night sky. Yami, from the corner of his eyes, stared at the man, slowly memorizing the details of the man's face; from the quirk near the corner of the man's smirk to the pale arch of strong muscles in the column of the man's neck.
"Kaiba, Seto." The man said out of nowhere.
"Huh?"
Chuckling once more, the man said, "You're kind of slow. My name is Kaiba, Seto."
Yami frowned deeply, "I'm not slow," Yami mumbled. Puzzlement slithered across Yami's consciousness for a second; he recognized the name from somewhere. Yami was sure that he had heard the name Kaiba mentioned before but before he could ponder it any further, Seto's voice interrupted his reverie.
"And you, I believe, from that grandiose introduction at the beginning, is the new Iwamoto heir. Yami, right?" Seto inquired, his perpetual smirk still present.
Yami rolled his eyes and muttered, "Yeah, that's me."
Seto looked at Yami for a brief second before flickering his eyes back up to the night sky, "Time moves very differently at the event horizon. The image that is brought to us by the speed of light is nothing more than an after image. A photograph of the past."
"I didn't know that." Yami said, turning his head slightly to look at Seto, who was still gazing at the sky. "What brings you out here anyways?" Yami asked quietly.
"Well, same reason as you, I imagine. To escape all the piranhas that wants to devour me whole," the remark was accompanied by a wink. Yami couldn't help but blush.
Yami hummed an agreement. "I'm pretty sick of being here. These people, they disgust me so much."
Seto looked at Yami, for what Yami felt to be an indeterminate amount of time before saying, "Not everyone here is like that. That is quite a generalization you are making."
"Really? Because I feel very justified in saying what I just did. These people cannot comprehend anything that falls outside of their sphere of complacency and comfort," Yami said with vehemence, his wine red eyes narrowed in irritation.
Seto gave a barking laugh. Yami glared at the laughing man, knowing full well that he was being mocked. "You are incredibly judgmental and ignorant," the blue-eyed man said. "You come in here, sitting on your moral pedestal, thinking that everyone in the blue-blood half of the human spectrum live to make a profit off the lives of the less-fortunate. But you have no idea how black and white your ideas are."
Yami, now with a full on glare intact, said with shaking anger, "I do not think I am morally superior to all of those money-sucking, life-profiteers, but I do think that I have more of a grounded perspective than you."
Smiling easily at Yami, Seto pulled the young man close. Holding his small, heart-shaped face in his hand, Seto's eyes probed Yami's defiant face. Leaning in further till his lips are rested against the shell of Yami's ear, Seto said, "If life really was as linear as you claim, and people can be delineated into categories of good and evil based on their material wealth, then how do explain people like Shizuka and Anzu?" Yami tried to suppress the shudder that threatened to run down his spine from having Seto in such close proximity.
"You should try opening up to people more. Give them a chance."
And with that, Yami found himself alone once again, the soft moonlight shining down on his shocked form. Unable to filter out anything anymore, Yami's body became receptive to everything in his surrounding, from the noise escaping the party, to the light breeze that caressed his body, to the sound of crickets off in the distance.