This Slow Dance

A/N: I'm sick! I have strep throat and have to take this horrible pill 3 times a day to get rid of it. I'm tired and cranky and annoyed because I haven't finished my Christmas shopping and still need to buy my boyfriend something but I don't feel like getting out of bed.

I always have the worse Christmas times. I hate Christmas...

Anyway... enough of my complaining. Thanks everyone who commented on the other chapters. It's so much appreciated you have no idea :) it actually makes my day a little better, so please, PLEASE keep them coming. -hug-

Chapter 4

I tug, for what feels about the thousandth time, on the high collar of this shirt Dryden has me dressed up in, but I see the reasoning in him wanting to dress us in the local clothing. We're getting far less strange looks in the streets, and far less passes from the prostitutes who seem only most interested in hooking a foreigner. Once I'd put this costume on, long vest-like shirt that hangs to the knees and baggy pants, I'd been surprised to look in the mirror and notice I look just like the natives here with my darker skin and dark features. If it weren't for my wider eyes and tall stature I would fit right in.

Dryden, however, acts like a clown dressed up like this, as if it's some great joke and a reason for amusement. He's sitting next to me in this chair on wheels -- being pulled along by a ox-like, shirtless man that smells a little foul -- laughing his way along and pointing out little things with the attention span of a 5 year old while I try feverishly to ignore the growing tension I feel coiling in my stomach at the thought of what this night could bring.

"Fanalia, you look like a stiff tugging on that collar this whole time." Dryden is a little drunk as well.

I turn and regard him quietly a moment before breaking into a smile of my own. He looks... too pathetic. "And you, Asturia, better sober up quickly before you make a fool of yourself."

"Lighten up..." He sinks into the cushions at our back and I turn to take in the scenery we're speeding past. Brothels. Markets. Private housing. "You will enjoy yourself as much as me by the end of the night." I turned to catch him waggling his eyebrows at me. I glare at him.

"You better not be insinuating what I think you are. I am not-"

He laughs and thumps me rather roughly on the shoulder and I realize we're slowing to a stop. "You amuse me beyond words, Van. Ever faithful."

He clambers out of the makeshift carriage and I follow, stepping into the stone streets and smoothing out any folds in my clothing before glancing up at our destination...

...and instantly feel both nervous and amazed.

It looks like a giant tent made of expensive, bright fabrics, twisting up a point about four or five stories up, breaking off into smaller points along the side, all covered by a giant tarp made of a thick fabric connected to the tall buildings the tent was wedged between. Torches burning colorful flames to match the tent led the way to the dark entrance that people were already pouring in through.

Dryden stood waiting, gesturing grandly with his arms, and I hurried forward, if not to avoid an embarrassing situation.

"I didn't expect this..." I walk along beside the shorter man, ignoring the people walking along with us. I smell expensive perfume and hear different languages mingle together. Aristocrats? World leaders? Rich traders?

"What did you expect?"

I say nothing, and after a moment of gawking at a man on stilts near the entranceway, shrug and look down at the King of Asturia who is looking up at me in amusement. "This is a good show?"

"The best." He smiled.

"What... exactly is it?"

He laughs and once again thumps me on the shoulder as a man quickly approaches us as we near the entrance of the tent. "Relax." He suddenly throws his arms up wide and laughs as the man approaches us. He's skinny, aging and a little red in the face -- possibly drunk -- and Dryden and him embrace like brothers a moment before pulling away.

I stand awkwardly by until Dryden introduces me as the King of Fanalia and watch as the skinny man folds himself into a surprisingly elegant bow before pulling a pouch from his side. I'm never offered his name.

Curious, I step forward as he deposits two brown seeds in Dryden's open palm before smiling a very wide grin and disappearing.

"Here's the stuff..." Dryden pops one, casually into his mouth before handing me the other. I stare at him in confusion and he makes a motion telling me to copy him. To put it into my mouth.

"What? No." I furrow my brow at him and glare. "I don't even know what this is, or who that guy is."

"Ah, he likes to stay anonymous." He began to lead me into the tent. "Swallow that Van, or the show won't have it's full effects." I frown. "Trust me."

I do, because of what we'd been through together. Because I knew he wouldn't try to poison me. Because he was a King too and the husband of a friend of mine.

I don't chew, but taste definite bitterness in my mouth as I swallow, suddenly submerged in the darkness and sweet smelling area at the opening of the tent. There is a hall, and we push along with many other people obviously eager to see the show -- whatever that might be -- and come into a large room that must be the center of the tent. It's all divided into sections, broken up into balconies covered with cushions and decorated with ribbons and expensive looking bottles of wine and glasses.

There's a stage in the middle, below everything else and I wonder if it was dug into the ground. Fabrics drape from the rise in the ceiling, and I now see the whole thing is held up by cables and wooden structures. Lanterns lined the stage and went up with the rest of the tent so that it all looked like some bizarre fabric chandelier.

I'm ushered into a spot right near the stage and Dryden greets Mar Ritka who bows formally towards me before sinking into a spot beside Dryden on the silken pillows and I slowly follow suit, crossing my legs and quickly reaching for the bottle of wine that's been set before us and pour myself a rather generous amount into the crystal glasses provided.

I'm on my second glass before some of the lights are put out and the music starts. Slow drums, the sound of clacking wood instruments and a low sound of a wind instrument that comes out in a sort of whine. A deeper drum comes in to steady the beat and the main floor is suddenly flooded with dancers.

Beautiful women wearing hardly any clothes. Shirtless men breathing fire and doing acrobats. Jugglers. It goes on and on and I'm relieved when I realize that this really isn't something dirty and perverted.

As the dancing continues I'm swept up in a sea of pulsing colour, -- reds, blue, greens, pinks, yellows, purples -- bare skin, dark hair. Elegant fabrics of silk or cotton. Sweat shines on skin in the light of the lanterns and it feels like my heart is beating along the music. It feels like my veins are pulsing with every step the dancers take.

I'm hardly aware of Dryden at my side. Of Mar Ritka clapping and laughing as an fire-dancer swings a ball of flame around his body.

Everything feels like it's tilting sideways. Spinning. Dancing. I feel numb and happy and stare around me, away from the stage a moment.

All the women are wearing masks. Empty holes where their eyes should be. Their hands are claws clinging to fans made of feathers and paper.

I feel like I'm falling sideways and I turn back to the stage. Blink slowly. Keep my eyes closed. It feels like the world is moving.

Open my eyes.

The world has stilled. The music has changed. Everyone is still.

There is a woman on the stage. Bare skin past cotton skirts of green. Anklets with bells. An umbrella rolling across beautiful collar bone, fabric, large with birds painted on it in yellow. Honey colored hair cascading down tanned shoulders. She's masked. Her body twists and moves to the music. She'd different from the other dances. She doesn't move like them, she doesn't seem as practiced, but I can't keep my eyes off her.

My heart beats to the rhythm she moves to. My body feels numb.

She spins, and the cotton dress fans out and falls around her again, twisting, hugging her body like a skin, her bare feet sliding along the wooden floor. The umbrella twirls in her hands.

Suddenly there is a great roar from the audience. Clapping that splits my brain open. Whistles and calls before I somehow managed to push out all the noise. She'd thrown up the umbrella and caught the end in her hand. Thrown it into the crowd.

It exploded into a burst of feathers. A burst of live birds that swooped over our heads and up towards the ceiling where they rested on the rafters.

I'm not sure if I watch where they go, as I can't bring myself to look away from her. She suddenly has a long piece of fabric in her hand that twists around her body. Her legs. Her arms. Suddenly it's a snake. Fabric again. A beautiful white bird as she let's it fall through the air.

I stare intently at her face, masked behind an emotionless white face of plaster held on by black ribbon. Her eyes are dark holes like the other women, but it only intrigues me.

Everything shifts sideways again.

Suddenly she's in front of me. Right in front of me. I open my mouth to say something, but see my words slip away from me like water. Her hair falls over her shoulders as she leans towards me.

Surges of color. People cheering.

Her white plaster lips press against mine and I don't move. Her hands slide down my arms, across my back. Long nails against my shoulderblades, in my hair. Breath on the side of my face. In my ear. I'm breathing deeply.

I can't move.

More sounds. Clapping. Cheering.

My eyes shoot open, and I didn't even realize they were closed. She's on the stage.

I shoot a quick look to Dryden who has his fingers in his mouth to give a loud whistle. Mar Ritka is cheering as well.

I don't move, only stare at everything around me.

I can still feel her hot hands on my skin. I can still smell her perfume, and hear the movement of her clothes as she shifted closer to me.

Did they not see it happen? Did it even happen?

The woman is suddenly gone, and I yearn for her to come back on the stage. I wish she wouldn't ever leave, and I'm suddenly flooded with a familiar sensation that makes me feel warm inside.

I stand stiffly as Dryden indicates we should leave and float through the crowd, being hustled along in the flow. The world is tilting. Spinning. Dryden has his hand on my shoulder but I shrug it off as we come onto the street.

I feel a sort of tug at the back of my mind, and hardly notice when Dryden looks up into my face, waving his hands in front of my face.

Everything feels like it's slow motion.

I feel a sudden need to go back, and I do, rushing back towards the tent ignoring Dryden's calls to me. Everyone surges around me. Curious faces. Masked women. Expensive perfumes. Vibrant colors. Vibrant fabrics.

I come around the side of the tent, slowing. Breathing heavily. The world surges with every breath I take. Everything jumps out and me and for a moment I reel, pressing a hand to my mouth to stifle a shout as I stumble sideways, pressing into the sturdy, stone building the tent is beside. I breath heavily through my nose and continue, coming up to a wall of draping fabric that moves like waves. Someone is behind it.

Finger indents sliding along. I feel I need to be here. This is where I should be. I follow the moving fabric to the end.

The woman is there. I realize what this is before she even removes her mask, but I can only stare.

She holds the plaster mask in her hand, an impression of her own face. I knew. I knew.

The same honey blonde hair. The same beautiful, disorientating emerald eyes. She hasn't grown much since I last saw her, but had taken on the appearance of a women. Long limbs. Smooth skin. Her hair is longer. Her eyes show more then their share of hardships.

I remember the wall I faced when I last tried to contact her.

I breath in and out, and can only stare at her while an amused expression replaces her look of amazement. Her look of adoration I knew. One eyebrow arches up in the most beautiful of movements and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

I'd pictured this meeting for years. Only, it was never like this.

She's realizing I'm high. Thus the amused expression on her face.

Breathlessly, I wish to say something, but nothing comes out.

I want to reach out to her, but I can't move. Move. Move damn it!

Her smile disappears, and she peers quickly at something behind her. Her hair slides over her shoulder. I want to touch it, wondering if it's as soft as it looks.

She turns back to me, reaching into the front of her dress, she pulls out something and takes my hand in a forceful movement. Something paper presses into my palm. Her hand lingers. Soft fingers slid over my callused ones. Her eyes look up at me imploringly before she turns and in an instant is gone.

For some reason I can't will myself to follow her, but I look at the tiny slip of paper she'd slipped into my hand.

There was only one thing written on it, in quick scrawl. Asha Batrice.

I frown, and stare at the spot Hitomi just occupied as I hear Dryden calling my name from somewhere behind me.

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A/N: Aaaahhhhh... that was interesting to write XD I pictures it far more... drunk-like when I was imagining the chapter, but meh. I think it came out ok. What do you think?

So, Hitomi is BACK! bwhahaha! more of her and from her POV in the next chapter.

Review please!