Rosy Skies (Otayuri)

Mid-Morning

The perfect night to go and see Yakov presented itself. That evening, a ball was to be hosted at the palace. Almost everyone in the entire noble court was to be present, and the party would be the perfect distraction for Yuri to slip away unnoticed. The servants began setting up before dawn, arranging ostentatious flower displays to drape over feasting tables. A rainbow of gossamer silk banners stretched over the ballroom ceiling, shimmering in the firelight. All of the doorknobs and hinges shone, and the marble floor had been polished until it was as reflective as a mirror. Huge torches rested in silver sconces along the hallways, illuminating the massive paintings hanging on the walls.

They were mostly portraits of the royal Plisetsky family, of whom only Nikolai and Yuri remained. Most of the people featured in the pictures looked rather grumpy. Yuri often wondered if that was simply due to the fact that they'd had to remain still for hours or if it was a hereditary trait.

Guests began to trickle in, wearing their finest clothing. One by one, they approached the thrones where Yuri and his grandfather were sitting. They would bow or curtsy, and both royals would dip their heads respectfully. Yuri began to develop a sharp ache in his stiff neck.

Finally, all of the company had been acknowledged.

The music began, and hired dancers emerged through the grand main doors to entertain the guests. They wore vivid red accents, a symbol of beauty.

Nikolai leaned in to Yuri. "Why don't you go and sit closer to see better?" His worried, tired eyes were pleading. Yuri knew that his grandfather was desperate to see him happy. For his sake, Yuri would move to watch with the audience. Once the music stopped, he reluctantly stood and went down the steps. Each movement felt jarring on his skull. Everyone looked up to stare at the strange boy who didn't resemble a proper prince with his freckles and frail body. He shot a few glares into the crowd and plopped down onto a velvet chair beside the dance floor.

While the dancing was beautiful, Yuri wasn't really impressed. He had seen this very routine on many occasions, and it was no different this time. The dance began slowly, with the men and women whirling around each other. They waved their fine scarves and kicked their feet.

Without warning, his head began to spin and his vision became blurry. He felt as if he was about to faint. The bright colors of the performers' clothing blended together in a nauseating display. The end of the song couldn't come soon enough. When it eventually did, he slipped through the crowd and staggered up to his grandfather. He kept stumbling over his own feet, and black spots dotted his sight.

Once he got back to Nikolai, he whispered that he wasn't feeling well and was going to retire for the night. His grandfather gently kissed his forehead and took his hand. Yuri squeezed the rough, familiar hand weakly, then left through a less-trafficked exit. Thankfully, he didn't garner much attention, and managed to struggle up all of the flights of stairs to his room. Once he got there, he collapsed onto his bed.

Somehow, Yuri was going to have to gather up enough strength to make the journey down to the beach. Fearful of falling asleep and not waking up in time, he was careful not to let his eyes drift closed for too long. He had to wait until midnight, because that would leave him a large enough window to travel down to the shore before the tide started coming back in.

Yuri found that petting his kitty was a welcome distraction. Potya nuzzled into him and was a warm, comforting weight on his chest.

When the clock struck a quarter to twelve, he rose. It took a concentrated effort, considering that his limbs felt like lead. Potya mrowed in disgruntlement when he was forced to move. Yuri picked him up and pressed a kiss into his fur. Setting him down, he began to take off his elaborate outfit and put on something more practical. He pulled on leather boots with good traction, and wrapped his warmest cloak around his shoulders.