Paper Faces
Disclaimer: All characters and places etc are the property of Yoshiki Tanaka, KKS and others. No money being made here.
OK, I feel like a bit
of a hack answering my own challenge:
The scene:
A masquerade ball at court some time after Arslan has been crowned King. No one knows who is who.
Narsus picks an interesting method to disguise himself... as a woman. Of course his path crosses Daryoon’s at the ball.
The challenge:
How does Daryoon react? Does he even realise that it's Narsus?
Shounen-ai, comedy.
In the late afternoon of a long Pulsian day a solitary figure lurked outside the chambers of the King’s strategist. In all the average bustle of the palace no one really spared him a glance; expect perhaps to wonder why General Daryoon was outside Lord Narsus’ chambers for a change. Fully aware of the passing scrutiny, Daryoon turned sharply in his pacing and moved to stand in from on the closed doors again. Surreptitiously glancing about him, he raised a hand and knocked.
“Will you just go away!” Came the familiar voice from behind the doors.
“Narsus!” The General hissed as a few servants tittered behind him.
“Go away!”
“Damn you, let me in!” He tried the door to no avail. “I’ll break this door down!”
“No you won’t.”
Daryoon checked the urge to try because there’s was something entirely too smug in Narsus’ tone, presumably because the Devil’s Strategist had barricaded himself in and Daryoon for all his aggressive instincts knew when retreat was best. He glowered silently at the still closed doors instead.
“Really Daryoon, you’ll see me this evening.” Narsus called out, as if he could actually see Daryoon’s glare through the panelling.
“Fine.” Daryoon yelled in reply.
“If you can find me, that is.” And Narsus’ playful laugh faded as he moved further into the recesses of his chambers, leaving Daryoon still on the other side of the door.
Back in his own quarters the General’s scowl was back as he examined his supposed costume for the King’s Grand Masquerade tonight. At least it wasn’t really a costume in any theatrical sense of the word, more a collection of clothing in styles and colours that he wouldn’t normally tolerate. Daryoon did not wear scarlet, nor cloaks that dragged behind him or masks with feathers in. In fact he was beginning to wonder if this entire evening was Arslan’s idea of a joke.
Unfortunately, joke or otherwise, he was obliged to attend just like the entirely of the court. He couldn’t imagine someone like Pharangase being happy with the idea of all this dressing up but Narsus has taken to it with such enthusiasm that Daryoon found himself wondering if his love might have found a better profession on the stage. Which brought him back to his earlier banishment from Narsus’ chambers. He’d decided to find out what Narsus’ costume might be in advance, merely to assure himself that he’d recognise the strategist, though of course he wasn’t going to admit to also wanting to be sure of Narsus’ modesty for the evening. Yet it would seem that Narsus had already anticipated his plan and had not only hidden his costume from sight but had thrown Daryoon out of his chambers in advance of dressing. Which, Daryoon reflected, was a shame from a voyeuristic point of view.
Returning to the trouble of his own clothing, Daryoon inspected the garments before him and sighed. They were the best of a bad lot, as far as he was concerned. Though perhaps garishly obvious to the extent that no one would believe that it was him. Daryoon sighed again. As he began to strip off his normal, reasonably coloured he added mentally, clothing, Daryoon tried not to think about the approaching evening. After all, what was the worst that could happen? He’d look daft in red and Narsus would laugh. He could live with that. Unless… unless it was that awful courtesan titter that Daryoon had nightmares about. Maybe he’d find some excuse not to go after all, anything to silence that horrible vapid, little laugh.
Daryoon fell limply back onto the bed, draping an arm over his eyes. That was it; he wasn’t going anywhere, though even if he wasn’t going to leave his chambers perhaps he should put some clothing on just in case the servants came in. It might be rather distressing, particularly for some of the younger ones to find the esteemed General Daryoon lying naked on his back with his hands over his eyes.
But if he wasn’t going to the ball then he’d never see whatever it was that Narsus had decided was far too fine to have him peeking at earlier. Other people would see of course and perhaps might mistake his absence for… something, which would never do. And after all, it was the chivalrous thing to do, to put up with this silliness simply to be there to defend Narsus’ honour once the strategist had consumed one drink too many. Yes, Daryoon decided, he would suffer through this evening for Narsus’ sake. And if they happened to tumble into the same bed afterwards that was hardly his fault now, was it?
Daryoon took his time arriving for the evening’s festivities, choosing to wonder in through the large doors of the hall with several other groups of people. Glancing about he noticed that surprisingly the King’s dais was empty. It seemed that Arslan had chosen to fully take part in the masquerade. Moving slowly through the crowds Daryoon wondered if he’d even be able to spot his errant monarch among the sea of paper faces. Everywhere there were splashes of outlandish colour, elaborate gowns and masks hiding familiar faces and forms. Yet, even the most unusual costumes couldn’t quite hide the obvious mannerisms of certain soldiers. Daryoon didn’t find it difficult to spot Qubard laughing uproariously or Quishward flirting in a slightly bemused fashion with some woman. He briefly wondered who she was.
A few circuits of the room found him Pharangase, whom he’d had a brief conversation with about the oddity of the whole evening, Elam strutting about like a smaller version of Narsus and holding court among several girls, and Alfreedo who was complaining that she couldn’t find the strategist at all. Glancing across the room towards Quishward, Daryoon discovered that the other general seemed to still be caught up in conversation with the same woman. Judging from the soldier’s attitude it appeared the he was trying to figure out just who she was. Daryoon chuckled to himself and moved towards another figure observing the pair, who certainly looked to be their errant King.
As it turned out Arslan wasn’t surprised to be recognised by his general.
“Lady Pharangase has already been over to check on me.” He confided, smiling a little.
“Understandably, Your Majesty.”
The smile broadened. “And I almost didn’t recognise you, Daryoon.”
Daryoon shrugged. “I suppose that’s the point though.”
“Yes, it is. No one is supposed to know who anyone else is but it’s not quite working out.”
An exhaled puff of air was the response.
“In fact, are you sure you’re not Narsus?” Arslan looked at him slyly.
“I doubt it.” Said in a tone perfectly mimicking the strategist’s drawl and accompanied by a typically elegant wave of the hand.
The King frowned “But if you were Narsus that would mean that Daryoon is missing.”
“Who says that anyone is missing?” Came a voice softened in the effort to hide its true tones, over Daryoon’s shoulder.
Arslan looked backwards and forward between the two masked figures, took in the costumes that distorted normal body shapes, masks that distorted height. “You’re supposed to be Daryoon and Pharangase but now I’m not so sure.”
Daryoon raised a hand in the typified gesture of so many courtesans and pantomimed laughing behind it, while Pharangase rolled her shoulders in the familiar shrug of a battle-hardened soldier. And as they turned to move off in separate directions, Daryoon with his usual precise efficiency of movement, the Priestess with her natural grace; Arslan was left behind chucking in amusement at the antics of his advisors.
Continuing on his way in another lazy circuit of the hall Daryoon found his attention again drawn towards the woman that Quishward was seemingly having trouble ridding himself of. Deciding that the situation needed closer inspection he moved to join in their conversation and immediately found himself the object of the mysterious woman’s scrutiny. Daryoon peered back at her through the eye-slits of his mask, taking in her elegant yet slightly conservative gown, in tastefully muted silks that covered her just so; her matching jewels, predominantly amethysts glinting in the light; her mask adorned with peacock feathers which gave the impression of a myriad of eyes. Yet strangely in her modest costume, she was still quite alluring. And when she turned to take a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant Daryoon took the opportunity to pass the sentiment on to Quishward only to have the other general quickly whisper back that he didn’t actually know who she was though.
Daryoon let the conversation drift around him, taking part when required but mostly using his time to study the woman before him. She carried herself like a lady used to respect and attention when she spoke, though her voice was surprisingly quiet and low. Her movements were not too dramatic or theatrical, certainly the natural gestures of a regal matriarch rather than a flighty courtesan. An older woman possibly, one who had lived long at court and had earned her place so long ago it was practically unassailable by any of those younger ladies who might vie for it. She was married perhaps, because for all her faint flirting with Quishward it was politely and gently noncommittal. Yet without a man at her side and she certainly wasn’t watchful of a jealous husband, Daryoon wondered if she might be a widow. Beside him, Quishward was making tactful enquiries only to have her reply, laughingly that her husband’s mistress was his duty to the empire.
“Do you mind it so much, lady?” He found himself asking, in response to that laugh.
“Oh, no. He does as duty must…” She trailed off, watching him with a curious smile now.
“As long as he comes home to you and your child then.”
“Do I look so terribly like a mother then, dear sir?” She smoothed her hands over the skirts of her gown.
“You look… radiant, my lady.” And Daryoon made a little bow in her direction.
She laughed delightedly. “I think I have been found out.” She confided to the other general beside her.
“Indeed, if you will excuse us General Quishward, I should like to have some words with my errant wife.” Daryoon nodded to the other general before turning his steps towards the edge of the crowds with his lady on his arm.
“That was a beastly thing to do.” She said as they walked.
“Just as beastly as locking me out of your chambers?”
“You knew all along.” Narsus turned an accusing gaze on Daryoon.
The general chuckled but said nothing.
“Honestly, it takes the fun out of the whole idea. The point is that you’re not supposed to know
who- I do hope that you’re not drinking anything
stronger than the fruit punch this evening, young man.” Narsus cut himself off
to turn his piercing gaze on
“Ignore your mother; she’s just prickly because I caught her
out earlier.” Daryoon called over his shoulder and
heard
The strategist let out a huff, “Really, dear husband, it’s no small wonder that your son is learning such atrocious manners…”
“Why is he my son now?”
“Because.”
“Because?”
“Just because.”
“Well, my darling wife, I can’t say that I regret it.”
“Typical! The poor boy will have his father’s appalling manners-”
“And his mother’s sardonic humour?”
“Well, yes, that too but-“
“Hush, woman! Must you always have the last word!”
Narsus chuckled and leaned in closer to the General. “Surely you can think of some way to keep me from talking?”
Daryoon matched the teasing smile with a roguish grin of his own. “Let’s just say that if I wasn’t such a gentleman, I’d already be lifting your skirts in some secluded corridor.”
“I’ll hold you to that but later, my husband, later.” Was Narsus’ reply before he pressed a quick kiss to Daryoon’s lips and turned on his heel to move back into the throng.
“Later.” Daryoon muttered to himself with a smile, already anticipating the feel of soft silks and even softer flesh beneath his hands.
Daryoon wasn’t meant to turn out quite so perverted, honestly…