Chapter One
My name is Fuji.
These are the words that I whisper to myself as I stand in front of the mirror. He cannot hear me from the bath. Even I cannot but strain to hear myself. One might think, in a room this immense, that sound, even the tiniest, weakest of sounds, would echo and be magnified, but it is not so- not in his room. The thousand purple cushions and the velvet sheets and the heavy curtains draped above his magnificent bed eat up everything in here. I suppose I should be thankful for that, if it helps hide this little treason of mine, but, still, it's annoying to struggle to hear oneself.
My reflection turns suddenly, its masked face lifting into a smile. An imposing figure approaches in the background, wearing an elegant robe of blue with an arrogant smirk. I watch him put his arms on me, looking my body up and down possessively. Both of us smile and he takes my hands, spinning around with me in a mock-waltz. When my back is turned, the phantom's eyes flick to the mirror, and, for a second, seem to meet mine.
Atobe calls me from the bath.
"I want to go, now, Jest," he says.
Startled, I hurriedly put on my smile and my lighthearted voice, and I look behind me at where he stands in the doorway. "Ahh, well then, if you're ready…" I offer.
He grins, striding towards the mirror. "I'm not ready. What are you doing in front of this thing?"
"Waiting on you, my Lord," I reply, poking a finger at him. He grabs my wrist, quickly, pulling the finger away and leaning in towards me.
"Oh? Then why aren't you waiting on me, hmm?" he asks, his smirk widening. "Just look at the state of this robe- how am I supposed to dance in this?"
"It's quite easy, My Lord," I say, reaching down for Atobe's empty hand. "You hold your arms up… like this… and then you move your feet around… like this… and then you give your rear a little shake." I look up at him, smiling innocently as we dance.
He scoffs, dropping my wrist. "Very funny, Jester." I tip my cap at him. "Now finish me up. The other slaves are completely incapable of properly tying this thing," he complains, holding out a sash for me.
I release a puff of air through my lips, chuckling softly. The dark cloth belt dangles from his fingertips, and I take it, moving gracefully around him to put it on. "The girl has done a marvelous job again, I see. All of the eyes in the entire palace will be on you," I say, pulling the sash around his front.
"Fool, I could walk out there in nothing but a towel, and all eyes would still be on me," Atobe drawls.
"As they should be," I whisper in reply, trying not to take notice of the 'fool' part. As much as 'Jest' annoys me, it has always sounded much prettier than 'Fool', in my own opinion. But I do not tell him that. Instead, I quickly finish tying the sash and step back, allowing Atobe to view himself in the mirror.
He studies his reflection, watching it turn this way and that. Even with all of the years I have spent serving him, all the time spent in his room, I have not yet become used to that mirror. It is unnerving to see your reflection move before you do. No matter how quickly you move, how fast you turn- your copy is always ahead of you. That mirror makes me feel like a shadow.
Of course, Atobe does not mind it at all. He possesses an entire continent and all that lies within- every stone, every city, every last slave, but nothing- aside from his own body, of course- gives him more satisfaction than that mirror. And, of course, nothing in Atobe's entire kingdom, aside from he himself, bothers me more than that mirror.
It reflects the future, you see, albeit usually nothing more than the immediate future, and only what the mirror itself is within sight of. But still, it shows me what will happen next, and all that ever happens is more of the same imprisonment in this same fucking room.
Not until the last of the guests arrive do we leave Atobe's private chambers and make our way to the ballroom. No matter the occasion, he is always given a splendid entrance, but, being both the host and the man of the hour, tonight he makes a noticeable effort to be late. The celebration is supposed to be in honor of the empire, which means, of course, that Atobe must make it about himself.
When we do at last arrive at the curtain separating the Grand Hall from the ballroom, the people inside have already gone quiet at the announcer's request. I can see Atobe smirking to himself at the edge of my vision, and I am reminded to grin. Painted cheeks spread apart and unnaturally red eyes squeeze themselves nearly closed, completing Jest's face. A muffled voice booms from within, and I step forward from my place.
"… second most… in all of… … of the WhiteBlades, the illustrious Jester!"
A cacophony of music and applause bursts forward to meet my ears as I pass through the curtain. Accordingly, I raise my hands dramatically and summon forth a small breeze, twirling and levitating several brightly colored balls above my fingers as I bow- once to the awaiting audience, once to the place where Atobe stands behind the red drape. It is a simple trick, but theatrics always seem to amaze the citizenry, and that is what Jest is supposed to do.
Once I retreat to the side of the alcove, the announcer clears his throat and the orchestra quiets down and the audience settles. The emperor, unlike everyone else, needs neither title nor introduction. I believe that every child in the world knows who he is, so the absence of elaboration does not take away from his glory but allows room for its expanse. The emperor, unlike everyone else, requires but a simple:
"Atobe Keigo!"
And the crowd goes wild!
He allows them to faun over his presence for a few moments, and then- as only he can do- stops the noise with an impatient wave of his hand. I quickly take my position behind his arm- stepping with a bounce, as a Jester ought. Together we tread down the steps into the body of the ballroom.
It is, quite simply, massive. White- unnaturally white- and loud and massive. This is the largest room in the palace, quite possibly making it the largest room in the empire- if not the world- and it seems, to me, that the entire nation has fit itself in here Colors representing every region crowd themselves about the edge of the dance floor, trying to find room amongst the wide pillars that support the central dome. Atobe steps out alone onto the open floor beneath this cavernous structure, calmly striding towards the center of the room. I almost forget to stop and so have to take a hop-skip backwards, grinning abashedly as I do so. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and I can almost taste his amusement.
It's not my fault that it's such a habit… I mentally pout, bothered by my dependence on him, but then the music starts, and, one by one, each of my complaints and petulancies fall away.
At first, when the orchestra begins to spin a slow crescendo, Atobe does nothing but stand, eyes closed and body poised. The audience waits hesitantly, seemingly tottering on its heels, as if he were leaning over the edge of a cliff and they were fearful of falling with him. He tilts his head upwards, drinking in the sound, and lifts his hands, trying to embrace the music. I cling to the pillar next to me, stiffening, desperately trying not to be pulled in, desperately trying to hate this song, to hate this dance- to hate him.
Of course, even though I've had nearly all my life to become used to this dance, its performance has been a royal tradition for nearly a century, and it does it's duty to perfection, leaving me completely helpless. When the rising note comes to its crest does Atobe finally move, causing the music to explode in life. His movements are powerful, graceful, precise. They seem to be leading the orchestra on, provoking its melodies with inspiration. Every sweeping arc of his arm is a gesture that beckons forward an arpeggio- every twist of his lithe torso is a seduction that calls out a flustered series of notes- and all the while his feet dance circles around the music, pressing in on it, shepherding it, cultivating it into a symphony that grows and grows and reaches up towards the high ceiling. It is met there by the great dome, so it falls back, crashing to the floor, spilling over those who stand amongst the columns. And, in the middle of the room, Atobe dances an age old dance of domination.
Hate it. Hate it. Hate it- I tell myself frantically. Hate this stupid song- stupid dance. Hate what it stands for. Hate what it stands for. Hate what it promises. Hate what it promises the world. Hate the lies- hate the lies! Hate it hate it hate it- Over and over I tell myself what I ought to hate and why I ought to hate it. It's not a difficult thing to think when in my position, faced with a lifetime of servitude. But to believe such things when faced with him? To cling to such hatred when it is so easy to convince myself that being possessed is being held, being needed, being… …
It is a powerful spell that Atobe weaves. He believes with such fervor that imperial leadership raises good in the world- can even I, a slave to him, doubt the look in his eyes? In all of the finery and all the power he has given me, can I find it within me to hate Atobe at this moment? I cannot even tear my eyes from his figure! Hate him! Hate him! I cry to myself. But he dances so wonderfully, so powerfully…
Even when the music quiets and Atobe finishes and bows, the enchantment continues. He accepts a round of excited applause- but only for a moment. The guests slowly begin to trickle out onto the main floor, hesitantly eager now for their own turn. Atobe politely greets those who approach him, and in his every movement is an echo of the great dance, as if it had infused itself within his being. I have to return to him now.
With the tiniest hint of nervousness, I begin to flit my way through the crowd. Most of the people near me have already found their partners' arms and are quite ready to begin. I can see Atobe ahead, peering above the growing sea of heads to find where I am. Just as I catch his eye, a hand grabs at my elbow. Out of habit, I stiffen and slip out of the grasp, but still I turn and smile politely at the individual, who- I notice- wears a yellow mask over his features.
"Sir Jest," says the man, bowing his shaved head. "I apologize for disturbing you so. My master is unable to attend tonight, so he has sent me in his stead, wishing that I deliver to you a certain message." He straightens and eyes me through his mask, waiting for my permission to speak further.
"Well then let's have it," I say. "What is it your master wishes us to know?"
The man takes a deep breath, and then, strangely, he smiles. "Sir, Ryoma has been found and captured- alive. He washed up on the shores of Rikkai Dai two nights ago and was promptly imprisoned upon recognition. We are holding him and await imperial orders on the matter."
"Saa… that's quite remarkable news," I smile more fully at him. "Are you sure that it's him?"
"Quite," he affirms. His eyes flick towards my shoulder, and then he bows, retreating with a "Pardon me."
Pouting, I turn to where Atobe stands behind me. "You scared him away" I complain, doing my best to push away those earlier, darker thoughts. We begin to walk away from the center of the room- towards the outer circle.
"What did he want?'
I grin in excitement. "He wished to inform us that a certain pirate is not so dead as we had thought. Apparently a one Ryoma was captured in Rikkai Dai the other day… They want to know what to do"
Atobe's expression is one of slight surprise, but it quickly grows into one of amusement and calculation. "Ryoma… You'll see to him tomorrow. I want him brought here."
"Yes, sir!" I say, giving him a mock salute. He rolls his eyes.
"Any other news?"
"Not that's been told to me. Everyone here is only interested in you. It's so boring." I yawn, waving a hand in front of my face. He's studying me, and it's bothersome. Stupid insight. It's not fair for you to see past these masks.
"Then inform your men about Rikkai Dai. Select one to go with you in the morning. I don't want him slipping away." He nods at an approaching form. "Lady Tachibana. How have you…"
I sigh, blowing a small message across the room. It will be a relief to be gone from here again. This place is too stifling. I feel so idle- so useless with nothing exciting to do. That is to say, playing bodyguard for the next few hours isn't exactly my cup of tea Still, I do what I can to entertain myself…
Atobe moves gracefully from guest to guest, conversing with them, as a leader ought; I play a game of my own, pretending that I am a beautiful butterfly hovering over his shoulder and smiling at everyone we pass in a not-at-all-intimidating way. It's amusing to see how disconcerted these nobles can get. They chuckle nervously and avert their eyes and eventually, having had enough, scoot away like little dogs. Little dogs…
And so the accursed evening passes…
When everything is over, and the guests have taken to their lodgings, and we have seen to the organization of things being cleaned away, Atobe and I return to his private quarters.
Together we walk through the long maze of corridors that run through the palace. Atobe leads, and I follow a step behind- dutifully- ever on alert for danger, ever in possession of the falsities, the masks, that offer me slight protection. Steadily and silently, we walk along the halls. We pass through the tall doors into the emperor's wing. We pass through the elaborate entryway. We pass the sitting room and pass through the dining room and the deep bath and come, at last, to pause in front of the mirror.
"Get me out of this robe, Jest," he says, studying his reflection.
"Yes, sir," I reply obediently.
From the corner of my eye, I can see myself already moving to untie the sash.
Carefully, I slide the garment off of his body and step back, allowing him to view himself clearly. There is a white tunic underneath- one made of fine silk. Atobe raises his arms, gesturing for me to remove this as well. It is soft, while his chest is… hard. I smile at him.
"The pants, Jest." His voice is now a low murmur.
"Of course"
I lay the robe and shirt across a chair and do my best to not look at the mirror as I approach him once more. His pants are loosing fitting, and they slide off easily. Slowly, he steps out of them- one foot at a time- and then, finally looking away from himself, he smiles down at where I kneel on the floor. I wink at him as I rise, bringing the pants with me. "Anything else?" I ask sweetly.
"Aa. Bring me water and a towel."
My stomach tightens nervously- involuntarily- as I make my way to the bathing room. A wide, metal bowl sits on a table by the doorway. I carefully lift it and carry it to the pool. Crouching down at the edge of the stone floor, I dip the basin beneath the water and think. You must try your hardest not to enjoy this. Hate him. My resolve comes flooding back to me. Hate him. The water settles itself in the basin, and I rise. Hate him! There is a shelf filled with towels along one of the walls. I take the largest of them. Hate him and this stupid dance of his. I return to the bedroom.
"Here you are, sir," I say cheerfully, setting the items down on a stool. He has pulled a chair up in front of the mirror. A hand beckons for the towel, and I take it to him, wrapping it gently around his waist. The bowl soon follows, being set down on his lap.
"Come and sit by me, Jest," he demands, peering into the water. I comply, kneeling down in front of him and leaning back on my heels. His fingertip taps the water, rippling its surface. Before I can fully open my mouth to speak, the finger moves and lands upon my lips and presses them closed. "Turn around."
Damn it. Slowly, I shift around- the one with the painted face is already waiting for me- watching me. These masks are law for all slaves- a sign that even their own faces do not belong to themselves. Obviously, not having your own name isn't horrible enough. And I, of course, am not given even a truly tangible mask because I was given the name Jester and a Jester I must look the part- a Jester I must act the part- a Jester I must be- by law, by fate.
Atobe looms above my shoulders, his bare legs enshrouding my figure. He dips his finger once again into the water and then touches it to my face, spreading the water across my cheek. The pigments begin to mix and run together, creating a swirl of black and white and red color.
There is a splash just behind me and then cold- cold- on my face. Cold on my flesh and inside- deep down inside, and I have to fight away the shiver that ripples up and down and up and down my spine and then, against my will, travels lower. He begins to use more of his hand now, slowly peeling away my mask.
The tall mirror ensures that I see everything- that I am reminded of the inevitability of my position. Every command he utters I give thought to denying, but- too late! It is already done! I try to hate him, I have tried all my life to hate him, but, as close as I have sometimes come, he has this way- this power- that strips away everything and leaves me helpless- writhing and squirming beneath his touch. I try to hide, but he sees through everything.
It is inevitable, isn't it? Nothing will ever change here. The future is always the same… Why should I suffer for it?! No… I'm so tired of feeling this way… Enough... Enough.
So when he finishes- once the mask is gone- there is nothing left to hide. He leans over me, and I bend my neck back, and, when he takes my lips, I give them willingly. I am Jest. I am fierce. I am yours, Atobe-sama.
The only thing I am truly given tonight is this: that I am allowed fury at how he has bewitched me so.
Did you enjoy it? Was it not too weird? D : Constructive criticism would be very much appreciated, as I'm not too experienced in this area. >>;;