The dinner party was low-key but it did not take away from the successful, pleasant atmosphere as the upper-crust mingled together, chuckling and speaking softly in groups about their daily affairs and the world's agenda.
It would have been an amazing party—it was without snobbery or ill-talk. It was held in the finest mansion the country had ever seen. Owned by the most wealthiest and generous Reiss family. All who was anybody and anybody who was all were invited to this fabulous night.
It truly would have been the best party to attend.
But for a six year old it was boring.
As boring as having to stand still and trying to hit octaves the tutor adamantly demanded. It was worse than having to listen to the instructor insist it was beneficial and highly recommended to do the vocal exercises.
"This sucks," Historia muttered, sitting on the chair in the parlor, waiting for her parents to eventually come over and introduce her to others.
They even made the maids keep Skitters in the laundry room for the night. Saying that cats should not be out during parties.
Skitters loved parties.
He loved them so much that he'd jump on the catering table and help himself to the various dishes.
Historia didn't blame him—his food tasted terrible. She would know. She tried it out because she wanted to make sure Skitters got the best food. The maids and her parents were repulsed, though.
Who else was going to try it if they weren't brave enough to?
Poor Skitters! Having to eat such vile stuff.
"Sweetness," Historia's father came over, smiling, "how are you doing? Having fun?"
Historia huffed, crossing her arms to show her displeasure like her father often did.
"No." She swung her feet about on the chair.
"Can I get Skitters? He's probably lonely." Historia begged, looking up at her father and puckering her bottom lip out.
To any the demonstration would be fatal but Historia's father became immune over time.
"No, honey, no," he shook his head, chuckling, "Skitters… he's a little devil. He'll gobble all the food up and then chase down Miss Duboir's mini-poodle."
"Good," Historia glared over at the cheeky woman and her shaking, growling poodle, "I hate that poodle—it looks like a rat that has curls!"
Historia's father bellowed in laughter.
"That it is! That it is! You are definitely my child. Such exquisite taste," he chuckled, sipping his cocktail.
"I'm so bored," she groaned. She wanted to go limp and fall to the ground to show poorly stimulated she was, but her mother would disapprove. Her mother said she was a 'sweet little cherub' (whatever that was) and must continue to act like one.
"I know you are, but you are doing so well. In fact, I came over here to relieve you of the oh-so-dreary boredom," Historia's father nodded as she grinned, hopping up and taking his hand.
"What is it? Is there a performance tonight?" She skipped near him, earning grins and nods from the charmed guests.
"Oh, no, not till late past your bedtime, my sweetness." He said and Historia slumped.
"Am I meeting someone?" She asked, dismayed.
"You are," he laughed a bit as he lifted his arm, pulling her off the ground and swinging her in stride. She giggled, unable to keep up her sour façade.
"I think you'll like them. They've been a family friend since I was your age," he said, swiveling his words with excitement, making his daughter look surprised and equally so.
"Really? They must be really old!"
"Now, now, I am as sprightly as a spring chicken," he defended himself and Historia was going to quip back but he stopped. She looked ahead of her to see a tall, dark couple, staring down at her with fondness.
"Oh my, Rod, she is an angel!" The man grinned, putting his hand out for Historia to take.
Politely, Historia obliged and he leaned down enough to kiss the back of it.
"Are you sure she's yours? A bit too pretty for you," the woman chuckled and Rod pretended to be hurt, laughing.
"What is your name, little one?" The woman asked. She had a beautiful red dress and speckles all over her cheeks of pretty brown. Her eyes were dark and warm, too.
"Historia Reiss, daughter of Rod Reiss," Historia curtsied and stole their hearts away.
"Charmed, I'm sure," the man winked at her and straightened up, "but I'm sure you don't find old people interesting, yes? I've brought someone you might like to befriend."
Friend?
"A kid?" Historia asked, delighted.
"Why yes, we have a daughter of our own. She's two years older than you—you're six? Ah, yes, two years older, she is—"
"Eight?"
"What a beautiful and smart girl." The woman complimented as the man glanced behind him.
"Well, she was here," he muttered and the mother frowned a bit.
"Always wandering, she is—"
"There she is!" The man waved towards someone in the throng of people. Historia couldn't see until a tall, lanky child scampered over with a beaming, toothy smile, and some cake on her cheek and hairs misplaced.
Historia only knew she was a girl because her parents said so. Instead of a party dress she wore a suit.
"Oh?" Rod seemed equally as surprised.
"It's a lot easier." Her mother explained, used to people's questioning.
"She destroys her dresses by playing explorer in the garden. The poor rose bushes!"
Historia simply stared at the girl who stared back as her mother licked her thumb and cleaned the cake off her cheek.
"Mum!" The girl grunted half-heartedly, too focused on staring at her.
"Oh, be still."
Historia wasn't sure what to do—the girl looked like she had received her legs only yesterday, wobbling something clumsy like a newborn fawn when she walked.
She felt her father pushed her back a little and she remembered quickly what her instructor taught her.
"I'm Historia Reiss, daughter of Rod Reiss," she did a curtsy to the other girl who only watched.
"Ymir." She held out her hand and her father let out a breathy chuckle and her mother sighed a bit.
"Ymir Langnar, daughter of Asmund and Ilse Langnar." Her mother reminded and Ymir didn't even respond. She just kept watching with a frown, hand outstretched.
Hesitantly, Historia took it and—
"AH!" She cried out as she felt something gooey and squirming.
Ymir began to laugh loudly as her parents had wide eyes in shock and embarrassment. Rod grabbed his crying daughter as they looked down to see a long earthworm somehow hidden in Ymir's grasp.
Ymir kept howling as Rod joined in, unable to stop himself as Historia squealed.
"IT ISN'T FUNNY, DADDY!"
"Oh my God, Rod, I am so sorry!" Ilse profusely apologized and Ymir's father took the earthworm, lightly scolding her and going to release it outside.
Ymir was on the ground now with all the party's attention.
"YO—I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND!" Historia accused at Ymir.
Ymir pointed back at Historia, laughing.
"You fell for it! HAHA!"
"I—I never want to see you again! Yo—You are filthy! So filthy you were born with spots on your face!" Historia cried out and Rod's eyes widened and Ymir stopped.
"WHAT!? I—you—you are so stupid t—that you have blonde hair!"
"OH MY GOD, YMIR! No!" Ilse cried, covering her daughter's mouth and Asmund came back, red-faced.
"Asmund! What did I tell you about saying those kind of jokes in front of our daughter!?"
"Th—There was no harm in it!"
"I am so sorry, Asmund and Ilse. Historia is usually so much more mannered than this!" Rod covered Historia's mouth, too, as they held their bickering children back.
Historia and Ymir struggled and glared at each other.
Stupid blonde!
Dumb spot-face!