L'ottavo Storia: Il Primo Ballo
Amica hissed through gritted teeth with every tug of the strings that cinched the corset ever tighter. Her mouth was drawn downwards in an irritable scowl. Her discomfort was not the only abrasion on her raw nerves. A constant stream of worst-case scenarios slithered across her thoughts.
At first, she believed her role in supporting the Fortuna Navy to be a blessing. It offered not only the amnesty and protection she required, but also provided her fleet the opportunity to plunder one of richest nations of Italia with impunity. It was more than she could have ever dreamed of. All she needed to do was spread around a little of her Arcana and that fat little man ate right from the palm of her hand. It was exactly as Il Diavolo said. Just as the Governatore was about to refuse her, a simple tug of desire, and he would have eagerly signed away the entire island. It was so easy it was criminal. However, there was a downside. She gravely underestimated his overwhelming predilection for indulgence of all varieties, which was the cause of this ostentatious party. He was certainly not one to discriminate against any vice.
This carnival, and of all things, hosted in her honor! For the love of all things decent! In what ways did this contribute to discretion? Without thinking, she groaned audibly.
"La Signorina Benedetta! Is there something the matter?" the elderly maid cried.
"No, no. I'm just not used to wearing such oppressive undergarments," Amica lied. The old woman nodded sagely.
Before long, she stepped into the extravagant gown the Governatore provided her. When pressed about it, the maids would only answer, "The Governatore is indeed a generous man."
Amica could only arch an incredulous brow. Yes, generous, indeed. How benevolent of he to provide permission to do what she already had been doing?
"My lady, you are ready," the maid said, bowing and gesturing towards the mirror.
Even without the mask, she looked like an entirely different person. Her long auburn curls were now tight, glossy ringlets, piled atop her head, carefully styled to cascade downwards to caress the powdered-white flesh of collarbone. This delicate tower of curls was held in place by a string of sapphires and pearls.
Wordlessly, the elderly maid slipped the mask upon the young woman's cheekbones. Her skilled hands tied the ribbons and carefully worked them into the mass of auburn spirals, now completely invisible from sight. In its own right, the mask was a piece of art. Her nose and eyes were now obscured beneath the plaster contours of a fox's muzzle. It was painted in elaborate swirling hues of blue and white. Silver leaf pinstripes accented her cheekbones, which contributed to the illusion of fur.
The elderly maid put on the finishing touches. Her skilled fingers gently shifted the garment and moved to tighten the lace in the back. She stepped away to critique her work, and Amica ran her hands along the front of the gown, smoothing any stray wrinkles in the fabric. It was beautiful beyond compare. The gown was perfectly tailored, like it had been made for her. The royal blue silk was still cold to the touch. Each panel had been carefully embroidered with golden and silver thread, set with pearls and barely visible diamonds that captured the light, shimmering like innumerable stars.
"What do you think?" the maid inquired.
"I... There are no words," Amica mumbled in a mixture of awe and embarrassment.
"So it is. You are as beautiful as you are generous, my lady," the maid said, smiling softly. Soft pink roses bloomed in the former pirate's cheeks. It may have been the first time anyone ever spoke such words to her. "It is the least the we can do for you, Signorina. You have saved us. For that, one hundred such dresses would not suffice. We can never repay you. Ah, but don't bother with the prattling of an old woman. This party is for you. Be joyful! For tonight we are all young and free!"
The old woman clasped Amica's hands in her weathered ones, and squeezed tightly. Her smile was wide and loving. A warmth and tenderness flared in the young woman's chest, and she was glad for the contract. For the first time it was for a reason other than her personal gain. This woman reminded her that there were good people on Fortuna that needed her. Amica thought she might have done the right thing after all.
"Thank you, nonna. I will remember you in the dark days ahead," Amica said.
"La Signorina Benedetta, you will be in the hearts and minds of all Fortuna's sons and daughters," the old woman said. "Ah, but you must go! Do not tarry! La carnival waits for no one!"
Amica hurried out the door, bidding a final farewell to the kind woman. The jovial spirit of the carnival claimed her and she walked along the wide carpeted hallway with eager steps. As she neared an intersecting corridor, she heard a door open and booted footsteps enter the hall. She subconsciously paused. Muted as they were by the carpet, it was impossible to say how many there were. If pressed for an answer, she would have said two, perhaps three. A few seconds later, she heard their muffled voices and laughter echo through the hall. She sighed, and smoothed the paranoia from her mind. Tonight there was nothing to worry about. She was far removed from the threat of discovery and from the Arcana Famiglia, as well. They were leagues away, doing whatever they happened to do on that abysmal little island. There was nothing at all to worry about. Thoroughly convincing herself, she continued her journey.
She entered the foyer, and picked her way down the sweeping spiral staircase the lead to the ballroom. A little unconfident in her balance she clutched the wrought iron railing as she descended. A uniformed guard waited at the bottom to receive her. Upon closer inspection, he was what many women would have considered to be quite handsome. His neatly styled dark brown hair complimented the caramel hues of his Mediterranean heritage, offset by the crisp white of his uniform. He carried himself with the upright posture of confidence of a man all too aware of his natural blessings.
"La Signorina del Diavolo, it was my pleasure to finally meet you. Your praises are sung in every tavern across Fortuna," the guard boasted, flashing a charismatic smile. Amica blanched a bit, and hoped he was exaggerating for appearance sake. "Please allow me to escort you into the grand ballroom, my lady."
"Sì, grazie," Amica replied.
With a subtle incline of her head, she took his arm. Enormous French doors opened on to the balcony of the spacious ballroom. Crystal chandeliers glittered from the ceilings, their refracted light painting the floor in dappled rainbows. Amica's hand dropped from the arm of her escort and took two slow steps forward, resting her gloved hands on the railing. The soft, mystical melodies of the orchestra filled the air, and couples took their place on the floor. Her eyes danced across the waltzing lords and ladies that moved and swayed gracefully. The sight was so beautiful, enchanting, as if she had fallen into dream. As she watched the vibrant colored costumes shift about the ballroom like a kaleidoscope, there was something missing. Was it joy? Excitement? Their movements where choreographed to the most minute movement, a mechanical procession of beautiful dolls. A place so unlike the world she belonged in. A restless discontent swelled in her chest.
Gloved hands captured her shoulders in a gentle grasp, and she turned to face her escort leaning into her ear.
"You look on with such longing, my lady. Would you care to dance?" he whispered, in a hushed tone that would have brought any woman to her knees, but instead churned the young woman's stomach. For better or worse, such was the price for her continued freedom and her newfound popularity. Amica sighed and looked back to the dancers below.
"I don't think…" she stammered softly in an attempt to politely decline his offer, but he just smiled brilliantly before taking her hand in his.
"I insist," he pressed, and Amica struggled to stamp out the growing urge to snarl out a refusal. Instead she resigned herself to the weak smile painted across her exposed mouth. A silent jealousy blossomed in her mind towards those guests whose faces were fully concealed behind a wall of plaster. With a slight tug, he led her down the staircase and onto the dance floor.
They took their place amongst the couples. His fingers laced intimately through hers, and his arm snaked around her in an uncomfortable embrace that the former pirate wanted little more than to wriggle from. But she didn't, uncomfortable with the idea of causing a scene at the high society party held in her honor. She followed his lead with ungainly steps, silently praying for the song to reach its conclusion. Only then could she discreetly extricate herself from this overbearing Casanova.
"Just relax, signorina. Let the music guide your feet," her escort murmured. His breath tingled at her earlobes. He had no concept of personal space.
She choked out a grunt of acknowledgement, and her eyes nervously scanned the crowd of onlookers, attempting to find any possible excuse to avoid eye contact. Movement in the throng of guests caught her eye. It almost looked like an argument. An animated blonde young man was talking loudly, pointing in her direction and waving his arms emphatically as he spoke. They were just outside of earshot. His companion shook his head fervently, as they moved closer.
"You're dancing much better, my lady," her escort complimented, smiling widely and she tore her eyes from the developing scene to glance at him. She was slightly dismayed that he had spoken, because despite the fact that she was currently drifting across the floor in his arms, she had momentarily forgotten his existence.
"Look! Here she comes! Now's your chance!" a familiar voice shouted, and she turned to see the blonde man shove his companion onto the dance floor and into their path. Amica breathed a sigh of relief, when her partner halted the dance.
"What's the meaning of this?" her escort snapped, and the newcomer ignored him, turning his intent gaze on Amica. She could only stare back into his black mask that obscured all but his smirking grin from sight. Something about the view set her pulse hammering in throat, effectively robbing her of speech, as well as her ability to defuse the increasingly hostile atmosphere.
The newcomer adjusted his Italian pub-style cap that concealed the heavy fringe of his brilliant white hair. Amica had to admit that he was markedly underdressed for the occasion. His simplistic, unembellished black suit looked drab in comparison to the bedazzled peacocks that strutted around them. Amica found it shockingly refreshing. In silent defiance, her escort captured her again in his embrace and resumed their waltz, but the mysterious man placed a halting hand on his shoulder.
"La signorina is, by far, the most enchanting creature in the room. May I cut in?" he asked her, a devilish smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"No-" her escort began, but Amica raised a hand to cut him off.
"That sounds delightful," she chirped. She flashed an apologetic smile at the guard. "As the guest of honor, this is the burden I must bear, no? Thank you for the dance, signore. It was truly a pleasure. Perhaps, another time? The night is still young."
The guard nodded with a scowl and retreated from view. She stepped eagerly into the young man's arms, and they floated across the floor with a fluid grace. She found contentment in the stranger's embrace. She couldn't say if it was the easy attraction she felt for him or her anonymity, but her previous unease slipped away. She stared into his mask, wondering at the man who hid beneath. One amber eye stared back. She peered into the other eyehole curiously. The light caught and sparkled back with strange violet hues. He turned away, gazing awkwardly at his patent leather shoes.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"No. Please. You have no idea. I can't thank you enough for getting me away from that guy," she replied, laughing.
"Did he trouble you?" he asked.
"Yes!" she cried emphatically, but was assaulted by a sense of guilt. It was not as if she made her discomfort plain. The guard was not to blame. Amica sighed in dejection. "No... I don't know. Honestly, I'm not really cut out for these types of events," she confessed.
He hummed a response, and she leaned into the warmth of his unintended embrace, her chin resting on his broad shoulder. She longingly stared over his shoulder to the door. Amica couldn't imagine spending the rest of the evening of the night being tossed from guest to guest like some kind of prize. Each beat drew them closer to where she wanted to be, somewhere, anywhere else. This stranger seemed different from rest. If she were to stay, her chances were dubious at best when it came to avoiding a repeat of earlier.
"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" she asked, sheepishly. She knew the chances where pretty good that he'd misinterpret her words, but she was willing to accept the risk.
"Right now?" the stranger asked incredulously.
"Of course," Amica laughed as she tugged him by the wrist off the dance floor. Together, they pressed through the crowd towards the door. "I've had enough of these stuffy noble parties."
The stranger cast a sidelong gaze over his shoulder before they slipped through the side door and further into the mansion.
A/N: I hope things are starting to get a little interesting... And hopefully more interesting still for the next chapter.
And I am sorry that I left things on a little bit of a cliff-hanger, but if I was at a scene transition, and I knew that if I kept writing this chapter would turn into a monster. I've been trying to keep them on the shorter side.
If I am being honest here, I don't really know how to feel about this chapter when I consider the fact that I am suffering a round two of the worst cold I've ever had (I think it's bronchitis, now...). In addition to being so congested I could hardly form a complete sentence, I couldn't even really edit it all the well. So let's give a hearty round of thanks to my dear friend nish0 for doing a Beta read for us. It is thanks to her that this was posted in a timely manner.
And I know that I probably should have just took the days off (like I did from work), but Inspiration is a cruel mistress. The "movie" was playing in my head, so I had to get it down to paper before I lost it. I can't speak to how well I was able to do it. So sorry for that.
Also, I am anxious to hear your opinions of the OC supporting characters that we see here. Especially, what did you think of the guard? I wasn't sure how he was going to read. I have my own impressions of him in my head, but I am interested to hear what you think. And I really liked nonna. She seems like a really sweet, simple woman.
Translations:
La Signorina Benedetta: The Blessed Lady
L''ottavo Storia: Il Primo Ballo: The Eighth Story: The First Dance
nonna: grandmother (she isn't being disrespectful, but uses it as a term of endearment)
Si, gratzie: Yes, thank you.
signorina: young lady or maiden (analogous to senorita)
signore: sir (like the spanish senor)