Everyone was laughing, smiling, spinning, dancing,
Their splendid dresses and embroidered coats shimmering slightly, softly,
In the glow from the gilded chandeliers.
The orchestra playing a soft, slow waltz,
The instruments and their masters hidden
Behind the enormous bouquets of flowers that perfumed the room.
The guests were all
At ease, and quite comfortable in their wealthy lives.
Everyone, that is, except the boy
Half hidden in the southeast
Corner of the ornate ballroom.
His hands trembled with barely suppressed emotions,
And he had to swallow several times,
The saliva like acid in his mouth.
All this just to keep himself from exploding violently
And ranting explicitly at the lot of them.
'Those villains!' he thought,
His trademark Basilisk glare sweeping over all those present.
'How can they act like this?! How can they throw a ball,
NOW of all times?! How can they be so… so…
AGH!!'
He couldn't even think straight; the blasted feelings were
Making his head pound so badly,
Throbbing as if a porcupine was shooting it's
Prickly quills into the soft
Tissue of his mind.
He grabbed at his short, impossibly messy blonde hair
And uttered a tiny growl from deep in his throat.
His sapphire eyes flashed, betraying his inner turmoil.
'Why are they doing this, especially with the war going on?!
Why?! I just…I can't stand this!!'
"Those stupid fools."
He muttered, eyes narrowing,
Fingers still fisted in his hair.
"They dare to show such contempt for the soldiers
Who are risking their lives
At this very moment,
Just so these inconsiderate pricks would be able
To keep their lofty positions?
How dare they?!"
He knew all about it;
His best friend was a soldier in the war. And
The fact that the other people of a
Higher status,
Like himself,
Were ignoring the reality that countless people
Were dying for them right now
Was causing his blood to seethe.
His fists clenched;
He tasted warm, coppery blood in his mouth
(He bit his tongue during his fit).
He couldn't take it anymore.
So finally, just to keep himself from screaming,
Or even torching the over embellished place,
(Which would have pleased his crimson-haired
Soldier friend greatly, actually)
With a quick about-face and four long strides,
Roxas left,
And refused to turn back.