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To Whom It May Concern,
As the Charmony Festival approaches, it is important to thank the members who served the Family for their continuous efforts and dedication.
With that it brings us great pleasure to formally invite you to the Iris Family’s Masquerade Ball sponsored by the IPC.
Join us as we dine under the moonlight and dance with the orchestra.
We hope you will grace us with your presence on this festive night held within the evening three days from now.
After reading the contents, Gallagher couldn’t help but scoff. “Hey birdie what is this?” he asked lazily, waving a small blue envelope around. He sat leaning back against the chair only sitting up after reading the comical letter.
“An invitation for a masquerade ball that’s held by the Iris Family this coming weekend.” Sunday replied, not looking up from his papers.
“Yes I can see that. But why is it addressed to me?” Gallagher made his way across the room, stopping in front of Sunday’s desk, looking down at the man absorbed in his work.
“Well it was sent to all members of the Family, so I think that includes you?”
“I hope they are aware I am merely a security guard, not an official member or representative of the Bloodhound Family.” Gallagher tore up the invitation, sprinkling the pieces of paper on Sunday's wide desk.
Sunday frowned at the mess presented before him. He paused his work, giving his full attention to the muscular man throwing a small tantrum in front of him. “Well it did say ‘members who served the Family’-.”
“Uhhbababa” Gallagher interrupted, clearly feigning ignorance to fuel his annoyance.
“I know you don’t exactly like those in the Family-”
“I despise them.”
“Yes,” Sunday nodded, not entirely disagreeing with the other party. “But humor me and accompany me?”
“No-” Gallagher began, turning around when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“But I want you to be there with me.” Sunday said softly, standing up and making his way around his desk to Gallagher.
“You don't have to speak with anyone and instead act as my bodyguard?” He proposed in a small voice, fiddling with Gallagher’s tie.
Relenting to Sunday’s pleading eyes, Gallagher exhaled,“Fineee, but just letting you know, I don’t intend to socialize with anyone.”
Sunday offered a smile, “Deal. And thank you.”
On the day of the Ball, Sunday came out of his room dressed in his prepared clothing. He stood in front of a tall mirror making sure everything was aligned and wrinkled free. Once he was satisfied, he left his room to the main hall awaiting for Gallagher to arrive.
Compared to Sunday’s daily clothes, that's defined by his formal white suit, Sunday chose a darker outfit to fit his mask. Like the elegance of the night sky with stars that swam in it. He wore a buttoned purple dress shirt, covered by a black vest with silver decor. A royal blue breasted long overcoat decorated with intricate gold chains that hung off the side of the coat enveloped his wear. He chose grey pleated trousers with two parallel black thigh straps on his right leg tucked into his knee high black boots with silver buckles. A golden metal eye laid atop of his white cravat. The only things that remain the same are his glowing halo and the two golden studs that pierce his ear wings.
In his hand held a half face mask shaped like a raven.
Gallagher stumbled in as he adjusted the length of his sleeves.
Unlike Sunday, Gallagher chose a simpler outfit. Going for a long black sleeveless coat over a wrinkled half opened turquoise dress shirt with a high collar. A thick belt with a gold hound symbol centered around his torso. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows revealing the various scars that line his arms. He wore a white pleated trousers with a thick thigh strap on his left leg and thigh high boots with flaps that folded over the edges, with a dog symbol fixed at the center. He held his mask, which was a metal black opaque muzzle that hid the lower half of his face, between his teeth.
Sunday sighed, holding a hand to his head. “Oh my Xipe. Why are your clothes wrinkled? Can you button up your dress shirt at least? Comb your hair, it looks like a mess.”
“What are you? My mom?” Gallagher mocked. But he stood still allowing the other man to fix his attire.
“The others are going to judge you.” Sunday reached out buttoning the top button and smoothing out the wrinkles.
“They always judge me. What difference is another event going to make anyways?” Gallagher huffed. “Also the vest is too tight around the chest area, so I left it open.” He flexed his arms, showing how tight the dress shirt is. The buttons holding on for dear life.
Sunday stared for a moment, assessing Gallagher's pectoralis. Allowing his imagination to go wild, Sunday looked away, his wings flapping flustered. Gallagher grinned, “Like what you see?”
Caught in the act, Sunday had no words but “Be quiet.” But he unbuttoned the buttons anyway.
Once Sunday was satisfied, he double checked everything was proper. The two walked to the limo that awaited their presence outside.
Despite being a "masquerade ball”, the masks were truly useless. Everyone knew who was behind the mask. They simply play with the aesthetics, some not even bothering to hide their own identities.
As the limo arrived at the venue, various presses and photographers surrounded the car eager to see who was within this vehicle. Already feeling irked, Gallagher frowned as he got out of the car and circled around to open the door for Sunday.
As soon as the man excited the car, flashes of camera went off. Gallagher had to raise an arm to block the blinding lights. A cacophony of voices spoke over one another all raising microphones and cameras and all demanding Sunday’s attention. Some complimented Sunday’s outfits, some asked questions, and others demanded his opinion on the event.
Sunday gave his usual kind and professional smile. The one that radiates confidence but masks what he is thinking. He struck poses to the cameras, thanked people for their compliments, answered questions with pleasantries, and struck up small conversations with other big shots.
Meanwhile, Gallagher was pushed outside hoarding paparazzi, watching afar as Sunday was swept away by the crowd. He was seen as nothing but a background character, someone unimportant, which he was fine with.
At long last, an announcer told everyone to enter the venue as the main event was starting. Eager, people began to disperse, excited to see what was awaiting for them indoors. As Sunday was gradually left behind, waving his hand and telling a lady to enjoy herself, Gallagher approached the man.
“Parasites. That’s why I can’t stand the Family.” Gallagher commented, looking ahead to the venue where people entered. “I don't understand how you can pretend for so long.”
“It’s false pleasantries.” Sunday simply replied. “Better to give false hope and alliance than to make yourself seem weak and targetable.” He shrugged. “Shall we enter ourselves?” Without waiting for a reply, he wrapped an arm around Gallagher’s arm and led him in.
As dinner was served, people spoke amongst themselves in groups. Some toasted wine to each other. Some told jokes which made the table erupt in laughter. Some ate in silence. Waiters walked around refilling water, taking orders, and retrieving items for the guests. One would say it was the calmest period of the event.
“Now I present the dance floor to the attendees!”
A loud exclamation rose throughout the crowd. Some people stepped onto the floor with their lovers. Their bodies entwined as they looped around the dance floor. Some nervously asked strangers to be their dancing partners. They were left either ecstatic that the other party accepted their invite or disappointed and embarrassed that the other declined.
Many guests, men, women, Intellitron, Pepeshis all crowded Sunday to ask for his hand to a dance. They all glared at each other praying for the other's downfall.
But Sunday politely declined them all. Just as they all left crestfallen at the chance of elevating their status from Sunday, a tall muscular shaggy haired man approached him.
The other guests scoffed in their heads at the unruly dressed man. If I didn’t have a chance, YOU wouldn’t even come close to having a chance. They all snickered.
The brown haired man got down to one knee holding out a hand looking up at Sunday with adoration, “Mr. Oaks” his gruff voice spoke, “May I have your hand for this dance?”
A pause. Sunday looked down at the man. He broke into a small smile before accepting the outreached hand. “Of course.” He replied lightly, but to the crowd his words rang echoes.
NO WAY the crowd thought, their jaws dropping to the ground.
They watched with bitter and burning jealousy as the two went to the dance floor, fingers interlacing together. The taller man had a hand on Sunday’s waist as he led him through the dance. They glared as the taller man spoke with Sunday through hushed words, watching Sunday reply with a large smile on his face.
HOW DARE THAT INSOLENT LAPDOG A flurry of curses ran through their heads, all aimed towards Gallagher.
Meanwhile on the dance floor, Sunday tenderly held Gallagher’s hand. The two gazing fondly at each other, their gaze never leaving each other’s figure as they navigated across the dance floor, lost within the rhythm of the orchestra.
“What took you so long?” Sunday asked, a fake pout on his lips.
“Hahaha sorry ‘bout that birdie.” Gallagher chuckled, “I needed a quick breather from this stuffy room.”
Sunday hummed, “That’s reasonable.” He rested his head against Gallagher’s shoulder aware of the burning stares of the crowd, but paying no mind to them.
As the music came to a stop, the announcer exclaimed, “That was a beautiful dance. Everyone put your hands together for our participants.”
The room exploded in a round of applause. Many clapped ecstatically while others clapped slowly in annoyance.
A masked woman approached Sunday, “Mr. Sunday, your performance on the dance floor was truly stunning. I couldn’t stop looking at your figure as you waltzed.” She paused, batting her eyes, “It truly is an honor to be blessed by your presence.”
She took a bow, one hand on her dress in greeting. “My name is Lettice Head, a member of the Iris Family.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I hope you are enjoying your time here, Miss Lettice.” Sunday replied courteously with a polite bow in return.
“Though the performance of your partner was rather…” She casted a long disapproving look at Gallagher’s direction, looking at him up and down.
Gallagher, already used to the scrutiny and scorn of those in the higher position in the Family, wasn’t bothered by her implications. He looked away from the two, minding his own business.
But Sunday's eyebrows furrowed and a frown made its way on his face. He was about to say something when he felt a small tug against his sleeve. Leave it be, I’m already used to it. Gallagher silently said with a shrug.
Sunday relented, though not without feeling iffy and irked at this woman.
Seeing how neither Gallagher or Sunday spoke up against her words, Lettice Head felt confident. Taking Sunday’s silence as silent agreement and Gallagher’s words as restraint obedience. She gave a mocking giggle, “Awww aren't you quiet, as expected of a lapdog.”
Around them, guests began to listen in. They covered their face with accessories and averted their gazes, but their ears were tuned in. All desperate to see a spectacular show unfold before them.
Gallagher was taken aback at this woman’s audacity as she kept taunting the man, “The mighty hound has lost his fangs, why bare his teeth when he's nothing but a sitting lapdog?” She laughed to herself as if she was telling a funny joke.
She huffed, hands on her waist. "It seems the lapdog is too loyal, he wouldn't even bite the hand that feeds it even after being beaten. Where’s the pride?" She tsked, batting her eyes in false pity.
At those words, Gallagher tensed. He knew the higher up has always belittled him behind his back. But he dare not say anything in order not to bring shame to the Bloodhound Family. But to speak about it so openly in front of him and in front of others, it brings another level of humility and insult. Gallagher felt his breath hitch and his hands clenched. If there wasn’t a crowd, he wouldn’t mind swinging at this woman.
The lady kept talking her head off, unaware of Gallagher's itching desire, her voice dipped from the false pleasantries and was laced heavily with poison.“You lowly lapdog thinks you have the right to stand with us? Why don't you get on all four and lick my-”
"Enough." A simple word but held so much weight especially when said by someone of power.
A piercing ring rang through her head, Miss Lettice physically winced, clutching the side of her head. She fell silent as the room began to swim and colors began to mesh with each other. She took small deep breaths, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. The ringing continued, throbbing endlessly throughout her head.
Is this… tuning she thought, horrified to herself.
A clear voice spoke in her mind. “You will NOT degrade my lover like that.”
Looking up, Lettice saw that Sunday had stepped in front of Gallagher as if shielding him. He has removed his mask, revealing his dark and disgusted expression. His ear wings have tripled their amount displaying his full authority. He glared at Lettice as if daring her to continue her thoughts.
Sunday slowly approached the lady, leaning over to her ear. “Miss Lettice Head, I would say your words aren't up to par with your manners. Speaking of someone so belittling in front of their face, I'd say it's rather of little class, no? ” he asked threateningly.
Miss Lettice was surprised by Sunday’s actions, she stepped back, eyes nervously looking at the ground. She pursed her lips and gave a short chuckle then tried, “Hahah Mr. Sunday I merely jest. No need to over think my words or take them at face value.” But her words fell on deaf ears.
“Silence.” Sunday coldly said, turning away and taking Gallagher’s hand. “This banquet is an utter joke. Rather than thanking those who offer their services to us on a day to day basis, you mock and spit on efforts. All your behaviors have brought nothing but shame to the Family.” His eyes traced the sea of people that surrounded them, all who feigned ignorance for those who don’t have status.
“Gallagher, let’s go home. We shouldn’t be amongst these circus performers.” Without another word, Sunday stormed out of the venue taking Gallagher with him. Tonight, it doesn’t matter what the press would say. No one. And Sunday means NO ONE is going to belittle Gallagher like that.
Feet tapping impatiently and the throwing glares at random things, Gallagher could tell tonight has truly left Sunday displeased. So displeased that he was willing to toss away the professional and fake mask for his true emotions and thoughts. Gallagher’s heart swelled with joy and pride at Sunday’s protectiveness towards him.
“Hey birdie. Hey, look at me.” Gallagher said gently. He took a hold of Sunday’s hand, holding it tight in his. Sunday exhaled sharply before looking at Gallagher. “Even though today was a mess. I had a lot of fun dancing with you.” Gallagher began.
“We could dance anytime together.” Sunday fumed. “That doesn’t mean you should be disrespected like that. Augh, never trust those who aren’t yourself.” Sunday grumbled to himself, replaying Lettice’s insults.
“Aye aye aye. But I’m so glad that you stood up for me.” Gallagher said, pressing a kiss on top of Sunday’s hand, moving it press against his cheek. “I felt so loved and seen when you spoke up.” He continued his praises, with his clumsy words. “From the bottom of my heart, I truly truly truly love you, birdie.”
Sunday breathed out. He moved his other hand to Gallagher’s cheeks, squeezing them between his hands. Seeing Gallagher’s soft and bashful expression, Sunday forgot all his anger (for a split moment of course). “And I love you too.” He pressed his face against Gallagher’s, giving him a kiss. Gallagher embraced him from the sides, returning his kiss with eagerness.