InsaneJournal

[ D. Gray-man ] Royal Soiree [ 24xmas ]
SEVEN of TWENTY-FIVE for 24xmas 

+ Title: Royal Soiree

+ Prompt: Parties

+ Fandom: D. Gray-man

+ Characters: The Noah Family

+ Rating: OT

+ Word Count: 796


My wife…

The queen, is there nothing that can be done?

A miracle. It’s simply miraculous, how suddenly the recovery occurred.


Azure, violet, ochre, jade, and rust, swirling around in silk and velvet cyclones through dizzying crowds of magical guests. Gold adorns the ceiling and walls, embellishing the wood that has been carved by the hands of famous artists of years long past. There is a top hat among the crowd taller than the rest, but the world is spinning around, the glow of the lights of Firenze outside windows that are taller than the tallest man inside this giant room. Drinks on trays, servants in white, and the world spinning in a dizzying series of steps as the musicians pick up a fast paced waltz. Warm arms wrap around her waist, and she tightens the hold she has around her partner’s neck as the violin sings a song of holidays past. His smile is the best thing in the world in these moments, with the scent of tobacco and alcohol fresh on his breath and the taste of wine on his lips as he pecks her affectionately on the lips. She squeals as he sets off for another turn about the dance floor, holding on for dear life as the world falls away into the rush of air about her face.


Every time a member of a royal family dies, there is one person who will certainly be on the scene before the news of their passing away can spread. He will stand at the foot of the deathbed, watching the solitary mourner by their bedside, and as they look up at the sound of his voice, he will smile with comfort in his tone.

Would you like to bring them back, he asks?

They accept, of course.

Royal invitations to parties are always welcome by their new master.


Paris, in a garden large enough to fit a thousand people in the mazes of hedges and flowerbeds, a pair of twins pick over the refreshments, whining softly as all the chocolates are shoved into the pockets of a holiday dress for later. They find the fountain and frisk about the edge, laughing at the dresses and silly coats of the Frenchmen promenading about the grounds. Their own outfits are not much more reasonable, but they have been dressed in the sense of local style, little ruffled sleeves and collars making the heathens look like innocent gentlemen of class. Pawing at the blonde one’s coat, the boy with darker hair adjusts his buttons carefully as an attractive young woman struts past, casting a come-hither glance at the pair. Dark hair streaks after the filly with a purring sound, leaving the blonde to stumble along with a yowl of annoyance. That top hat turns slightly in its spot across the party, facing that direction for only a moment before returning to the conversation at hand.


Help me, they plead.

Their internal organs rip as metal crawls inside, and he stands and watches, waiting for a birth.

What have you done?

Welcome to the world.

Come, now. We’ll take care of this troublesome incident right away.


The wallpaper in London is always rougher when you’re not admiring the pretty texture from afar. Back rooms are shadowed, windowglass steaming with heavy breaths and gasps as he pushes a tiny frame against a wall. The sounds of the party are just beyond the door, only a thin piece of wood and a flimsy lock keeping a member of Parliament from bursting through to witness the adultery of the princess. His dark skin flushes with a low sound as he braces himself against the wall with a hand, legs aching from the effort of holding her up. It’s over soon enough, as it always is, the red glow of the outdoors casting a deathly pallor on her face as she whispers his name as though he is a god to be addressed in prayer. He draws back, adjusting his trousers and coat with no sound, face shadowed by his hair. She calls for him as women will, wanting to know if he’ll come back, but he’s already to the door, turning the lock and stepping out into the bright lights again. He scoops up the little girl who comes running to meet him, hoisting her to rest on one hip with an exclamation of surprise at the mess she has managed to make of her hair. The woman comes from the room behind him several minutes later, once he’s far gone, smile as false as ever and skirts as perfect as could be.


What have I told you about those sorts, Tiki?

I don’t have any idea what you’re ranting about, old man. I’ve been with Rhode this whole time.