breakneck.
There aren't many ways to wake up a slumbering princess, a fact he learned the hard way. It didn't take much (other then time) to coax his childhood friend from her bed, but even then her steps were rocky, and her eyes barely opened. And he still had to pull her up from the mattress (but at least now, her fingers weren't clinging to the pillows). He guided her with one hand on her wrist around the corners and down the long hallways.
They hit the walls only twice (Sonic won't admit it, but his eyelids drooped once or twice) and she slipped to the floor another time, but it was okay. She didn't seem to mind, and neither did he. She asked once or twice where they were going, and he answered that he wasn't quiet sure. The scent of coffee was pungent in the air, as were the spices of gingerbread.
.
The crown felt like a weight in her hands, pulling her down.
She didn't know many times she'd picked it up that evening, staring at it, tracing her fingers over the design, the jewels in the center and then setting it down again.
The King gave it to her last night, the crown. It's heavy in her palms, another weight she'd rather not have. It felt like a shackle around her forehead keeping her tied to the castle, her duties, her life here as a princess. Her fingers search for the glass (she doesn't know what number she's on, but there's a bunch of empty ones on her desk, not that she cares at this point). She grips the thin stem and rubs her finger along the base, up and down, up and down. Her thoughts are a clouded mess, but she really stopped caring after the third glass. She places the lip to her tongue, downing the ruby-red liquid in one large gulp.
"Okay," Sally murmurs to herself, rolling the glass in her palms, "Let's do this."
.
He whispers sarcastic jokes and perverted snorts into her ear. She understands half of the conversation (the rest loss to his fast talk), but laughs none the less. Their fingers intertwine as he leads her to her seat. He presses his lips, so soft, to her nose, and she sighs, 'Good morning.' He bids her the same greeting, adds another quick kiss and she groans, because oh god, she wants way more than just that. He throws her a spatula, and she misses. It bounces off the table, with a ping! and she makes a move to catch it before it hits the ground. She misses again. Curses.
The both reach for the utensil and bumps heads. She makes a move to say something, call him a 'dummy,' because she was about to get it, but instead her mouth finds his and they're moving against one another, over and over again.
.
Amy asks him to knock, but he doesn't, so she pulls her fingers from her gloves and does it herself. The long wooden doors pull open after a moments hesitation, by two young chambermaids dressed in their best attire. They welcome them in quiet voices barely audible over the talk and the music of the party, but Sonic doesn't bother to respond. He wont say it, not with Amy there, breathing so heavy, so excited, that her breath makes big white clouds, but he's surprised she's not there, disappointed even. He expected her smile, her eyes. He wanted to feel her hands in his, arms around his neck, her voice in his ear whispering, "I've missed you for the longest time." But there's nobody, save the maids and the other guests who turn from their partners and glasses of wine, to watch them walk in.
"Oh Sonic," his partner smiles from his side. She grips his wrist tightly, and smirks, "Isn't this romantic?"
And he has to admit it is.
The long, crystal lights above the castle's spiral staircase have been dimmed to cast an eerie light over the dancing guests, who in turn move arm in arm with one another, some close enough their practically falling over one another.
"Come on let's dance."
And so they do.
.
'Come on Sal, this is stupid.'
'It's not, dummy, now grab my waist.'
He places his hands on either side of her body. They're clammy, warm and wet on her sides and she pushes him back, trying her best not to squeak out a couple of, Ew, ew ewwwws.
'Don't be so nervous. Here,' she sighs, and places her hands on his sides, 'I'll lead.'
She moves his hands to her shoulders and they spin in circles, moving in time to each other, dancing to the music, only heard in their heads.
When she stops, he stumbles forward, taking her with her with him until they're fumbling forward and rolling over one another on the floor. She knows she should push him off and pulls away. It would be the proper way to do it. But she doesn't. She laughs. She smiles. And she kisses him one last time.
.
He doesn't see her. But she's there, lurking behind the dessert table, the tips of her ears barely visible. There's a glass squeezed between her knees, and every so often, she lifts her head and peers at the two at the door, and watches them sway to the music, her hands wrapped in his, his lips pressed to her ears.
"You okay?"
The hand to her shoulder makes her jump. But after another swing from her glass, she's calm and she's okay, if a bit drunk (okay, she's not drunk, she's just a teeny, weeny bit tipsy). The ground sways a bit as she moves, but she turns and it's Julie-Su, offering a glass of something clear, and after a moment of staring (one eye open, one eye closed), she realizes it must be vodka.
"Drink this," the echidna offers.
She places the glass to Sally lips and tips it back, as Sally parts them. The rush of water is intoxicating, and she spits it back, like it's poison, "Bleck."
"Better?"
"No," Sally retorts, but okay, her heads a bit clearer.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothin'"
"It looks like something."
"No," Sally shakes her head, and a few hairs break loose of the hairspray, and the tight-knit bun, "Nothing."
Julie parts her lips to say something else, but thinks better of it, and finishes with, "Okay."
.
They're moving faster and faster. She's standing on his toes and off his toes and on his toes again.
Her dress flutters behind her like a long train. And she smiling, smiling so big. She doesn't want the feeling to stop. It rises in her chest, a big bright feeling of warmth that rumbles inside her, building and building.
"Your Dad doesn't like me very much does he?"
He smiles when he says it, and Sally giggles. "Nah, he doesn't mind." She pauses, then adds, "He's a dad."
The lights flicker overhead, on and off, and the band's begun to slow. The drum tips back a cup of caffeine, his eye's fluttering. He's not sure what time it is, and oh god, who cares, because he just wants her body near his, and they're spinning, spinning.
The doors are open with a sickening creak, and the cold air hits Sally's barely covered body like a brick. She shivers in his arms, but doesn't stop moving. They're the last two there, out on the dance floor, but no one seems to mind. The last couple of couples clap for them, when the song ends.
She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him to her and he melts in her grasp.
He wants her so badly then and there. So badly.
But not now, not then. With everyone there, watching watching.
She's a princess, and they're no time for fun and games when you're a princess.
.
Sally watches Julie's retreating figure with a sigh. Her eyes flicker to the clock, and fuck, it's too early, but she'll have another glass anyway. She tips back her head, and there's a sickening crack as the crown tumbles from her head. She turns, looks, and it's there, cracked right down the middle, the jewel no where to be found.
But there still out there, dancing, dancing. And they don't stop. Don't look. And she doesn't pick up the crown.