Welcome...

I hate to say it, but I don't own YGO! I DO, however, own my other characters.

A word to those who hate Mary-Sue stories - PLEASE let me know if any of my own characters are veering into that teritory! I really want them to be proper, three dimentional characters.

That's all for now... enjoy!

Last note: This story was inspired by and is dedicated to Evening Lilacs!

Dusk Angels

"Hey… uh, what are you again?"

"I'm a dragon, idiot." Joey rolled his eyes at the knight by his side.

"But, I'm supposed to kill dragons. Aren't I?"

"No." Joey took a deep breath. "You're just pretending to be a knight."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, shut up."

"That's no way for a knight to talk."

"Then keep your idiot mouth shut. I'm incognito, remember?"

"In what?"

"How on earth do you become a squire?"

"I'm a fair actor." The man beside Joey pushed up his visor and saw the knight's expression. "You should let go. Laugh a little. You take life too seriously."

"And you should stop playing the fool and get off that horse. You'll be saddle-sore tomorrow as it is."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." The tall man slid from his saddle. "This bloody armour!" he muttered. "That's another reason why I'm not a knight."

"Now you know what I go through. Now, to the party. By the time we get there, it'll be over."

"I don't understand you, you know that? One minute you're all serious, next thing you want to go to a party. Knights!"

"Yes, yes, you've had your fun. I got an invite, and it IS the prince's Betrothing."

"Yes, milord."

"Oh, shut up."

"Yami?"

The brightly coloured bird turned and smiled. "What is it, father?"

"The party… your party… is about to start." The man took off his top hat and gestured at the door. "Ready?"

"Yes, alright." Yami smoothed his feathers and followed his father out of the door. As they walked down the corridor, he looked at his father. Dressed in a dress-suit and top hat, his father certainly looked the part. Him, on the other hand… He tugged moodily on a feather that was a particularly bright shade of magenta.

"Something on your mind?" asked his father.

"Why do I have to be a bird?"

"Tradition! When I was your age, I went as a bird, and my father before me went as a bird, and… well, you get the point."

"But why do I have to be a bird? Why can't I be something interesting, like an Earthian?" Yami looked at his father, who shrugged.

"Tradition," he repeated. "And, of course, the fact that the costume is already made, and the guests are already here." He smiled at his son. "I wouldn't worry about it. You're already betrothed, so who do you have to impress?"

"I wish you'd tell me already. I hate this waiting, wondering."

"No, no, my son, patience is a quality of a fine king."

"No, father." Yami smiled. "Patience is a virtue, virtue is a grace, and Grace is a little girl who wouldn't wash her face!"

His father stared at him, and then burst out laughing.

"Come on, father. You don't want your spring chicken to be late for his own ball!" Yami couldn't resist adding.

His father grinned at him. "And your Earthen father needs to get ready for his announcement. See you at the ball, young chicken."

"Au revoir, Earth-father."

The older man began to walk again, lengthening his stride so that he was soon out of sight. Yami watched him go, his smile fading. That was one thing he was not looking forward to. The announcing of his Betrothed. He straightened his plumed headdress, braced himself for the comments of the knights and others his age and made his way into the ballroom.

"Meera! Meera! MEERA! Where is she?" Allara began to swear profusely.

"Now, now, that's no language for such a lovely young lady." A tall man stepped out of the shadows. He leaned on a cane, and his right foot jarred every time it hit the floor. His wavy brown hair was streaked lightly with grey, but his bright blue eyes were piercing. He wore his beast costume with grace, making it look as if it were a part of him.

"Oh. It's you."

"Yes, it does seem to be. Have you located Meera?"

"Evidently not. When are we on?"

"Twenty minutes by the hand of the water-clock tower."

"Well, Meera had better find herself before then, because she and Martten are thesecond act."

"You had better go warm up with Joharr. I will continue the search."

"Alright, Master Gasket." Allara turned and headed for the tent erected behind the Great Hall. A tall, broad-shouldered youth ran up to her. "Al, we have to – "

"Practice, I know."

Joharr nodded, pushing his fringe behind his ear. "May I have this dance?" he asked, mock-seriously.

"Don't push your luck," smiled Allara, all thoughts of Meera fading away as Joharr took her hands. This was what she lived for, the amazing thrill that was dancing. As she spun slowly on the spot, she thought about all the dances she would perform. The cara, a lighthearted dance by the men to begin with, and then would come the dances for the prince. Maladya the dance for happiness, a quick dance with many turns and twists to represent the full circle of life that Meera and Martten excelled at; maligna, a slow, reverent dance for the favour of the gods, the dance she and Joharr were doing, and her favourite of the three, hatcha, the dance for prosperity. Then would come the elenyara, the love dance, by the prince and his Betrothed. That was the most difficult and potent dance of them all. There were no rules, only to use the music as the mood commands. The music was always composed the night before, and never heard by either of the dancers until the crucial moment.

"Allara, left, not right. It's not the repeat yet." Joharr's patient correction pierced her thoughts.

"Sorry… just thinking about tonight's line-up."

"Well, don't worry. You'll be fine." Joharr grinned and patted her on the shoulder. "You'd better get changed… so have I, come to think of it."

"I'll see you later." Allara went to the tent and slipped into the girl's section.

"You're not changed yet. Of course," the black-haired woman on the bunk sneered. "You have no inclination of the importance of the dance you are going to do."

"Darelgi, please. Master Gasket chose me to do this dance because you and Sal are better at the hatcha. That's the only reason." Allara opened her trunk and began to pull out her costume, mask and shoes.

"Yeah? Well, I think that seeing as I'm the top-ranking female here, I think that should count a little, too."

"Always have to bring that up, don't you? We're all dancers; we're all low level. You just happened to have a captain as a father, and that only raises you slightly. You're still a dancer." Allara was doing all she could to keep her voice light and friendly. She pulled her silver dress on and smoothed the ruffled skirt, watching her reflection in the mirror.

Darelgi opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the entrance of a petit, pretty girl, whose china-doll features always made one think that if she fell over, she might break. She wore a bright pink dress, with ruffles and bows on the skirt, and flared sleeves.

"Meera!" exclaimed Allara, spinning around.

"The very same," said Meera, smiling at Darelgi in greeting and then turning to the silver-clad Allara. "You look nice."

"Thanks. You do too. You're so lucky you can wear pink without looking like a prat."

"You could."

"Not with this hair, I can't," pointed out Allara, tugging on her messy, red waves.

"Speaking of which… can you do my hair? I'll do yours."

"Oh, thanks. I was going to ask you that same thing!"

"Great minds, great minds."

"True enough. Darelgi, can you show me how to do that plaited bun? You're so good with hair…" wheedled Allara.

Darelgi sniffed and smoothed her golden dress. "I suppose so…"

"Thanks Darelgi!" Meera flung her arms around the surprised woman in an impulsive moment. Darelgi looked caught off-guard, and she hesitated before murmuring, "Pleasure."

"Girls! You decent?"

"Yeah, come in, Mart!" called Meera. A man built exactly in proportion to Meera with a shock of red hair and friendly green eyes entered. Immediately, his graceful movements and poise marked him as a dancer, and he carried it off so well he caused one to wonder why dancers were so low on the social chain.

"You guys ready yet?" he asked, smiling.

"Nearly. What is it?" Meera asked. She and Martten had a strange relationship. They seemed to be just friends, but the minute they got on the dance floor they appeared to be one being, connected by the barely concealed passion that propelled them through every dance.

"Master Gasket sent me to tell you that the dancing is being pushed back. We'll have twenty minutes more to mingle with the crowd."

"So does that mean we have to get changed?"

"Yup." Martten indicated his own clothing. "Incognito, that's us."

"Cool. I'll meet you in a moment. I have to see if I have anything grand enough." Meera grinned, and Martten ducked out of the tent.

Allara nudged her friend in the ribs. "And what was that?"

"What? Stop imagining romance, lark, 'cause there ain't any."

"You can borrow my lime outfit. It doesn't fit me any more." Allara pulled a lime dress out of her trunk. It was one of her old dance dresses, but it was still a perfectly good dress for mingling in.

"Thanks," Meera said, pulling her pink dress off and pulling the lime one on. All three of the women disliked zips and ties, so all of their dresses could be pulled on and off over their heads.

"I'm going to practice with Sal." Darelgi got up and swished out of the tent. Allara shook her head and let out an explosive breath of air.

"Subtle," commented Meera, rummaging in her trunk for a hair ribbon.

"Silence in the peanut gallery, please."

Meera raised an eyebrow. "You going to this ball?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I think so. I know I should practice, but – "

The two girls recited together, "I don't want to over-practice and spoil the performance."

Allara smiled wryly. "You know it better'n I do. What should I wear?"

"Maybe… your black dress. That's so gorgeous on you."

"It's black."

"And so?"

"Alright…" Allara pulled a long black dress out of her trunk, and pulled it on. It hugged her curvy figure and flared out at the bottom, with lace ruffles poking out from under the edges.

"Stunning," proclaimed Meera, pulling a black hair ribbon out of her trunk. "Turn around. Allara spun around obediently so that Meera could pull her hair back into a high bun. "Wear those long silver earrings, and your silver shoes. And the necklace."

"You're having fun, aren't you?" Allara asked the diminutive whirlwind that was her friend racing around pulling things from her trunk, and decorating her like an Almara festival tree.

"Me?" Meera arranged her face into a completely insincere innocent look.

Allara looked at herself in the mirror. "Yuck."

"What?"

"I'm fat."

"No, you are not. You can't be, you dance almost all the time. What you are, my friend, is CURVY!"

"Right." Allara gave her friend a sceptical look.

"'Tis true! Come on, let's get masks and crash that ball!"

"But we're invited," pointed out Allara.

"Call it a figure of speech, okay?"

Giggling and talking, the two girls exited.

So, what did you think? This is my first non-humour fic on so PLEASE give me feedback!