Midnight Waltz

CW: This piece contains light profanity and mentions of violence. Viewer discretion is advised.

This story and its title is inspired by the piece Midnight Waltz by David Garrett and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. I do not own anything of the piece and all rights belong to its rightful owners. 

“I said no dancing!”

“You said no distractions.”

A mischievous glint plays in Blue Jay’s eyes as he drags me onto the shiny, slick dance floor. In a panicked attempt to not crash into two other dancers, my heeled shoe snags the tool of my dress and my foot slides out from under me. Blue Jay firmly seizes my arms and hoists me up before my face can slam into the uncomfortably clean floors. 

“Good reflexes,” I mutter, eyeing the watercolor mess of guests dancing around us. 

“I know you said you haven’t worn heels in a while, Sparrow, but—” Blue Jay’s next words are cut off with a yelp as I bring my heel down on his toes. 

“Don’t. You know they’re not practical for our line of work,” I whisper sharply. 

“Ya didn’t have to step on my foot, jerk,” Blue Jay growls, his accent peaking through his words. 

The final chords of the orchestra’s current piece reverberate brightly through the ballroom, signaling for guests to end their current dances. Women smooth out their expensive dresses, hands gliding over silk and velvet and the like. Men run their fingers over their over-gelled hair and twist the cuffs of their sleeves. Cliques of young, adult girls hurry to gather and debrief, failing to hide their tittering behind their fans. Some couples slip through the crowd and vanish into darkness, presumably to lip-lock. 

“Look,” I sigh, “we’re not here to fool around and get caught up in a dance. We can’t risk getting distracted and fucking this all up.”

“If we dance,” Blue Jay counters, “we’ll blend in, look like we belong here. You don’t think it would look suspicious if we stood off to the side this whole time?”

I open my mouth to respond, but let it fall shut— unfortunately, he has a point. 

As if on cue, two hits of the orchestra’s bass drum echo through the gilded hall. The strings promptly follow with rhythms that float through the crowd and usher guests back to their dance partners. The background rhythms lightly decrescendo as the orchestra’s leading violinist steps up to take the main melody. 

“Midnight Waltz,” I breathe— the opening notes conjure up the memory from the recesses of my mind. 

“Don’t get distracted,” Blue Jay teases.

“I won’t,” I assure him, taking one of his hands in mine as he places the other lightly on my back. It’s no challenge falling into step with the music and easily gliding about the floor. 

“So, you can’t walk in heels, but you can waltz in them?” Blue Jay questions, to which I sigh and shake my head— we can argue about this later.

“What time is it?” I inquire as the percussion slowly joins to back up the main melody. 

Blue Jay pulls his and my arm up as we briefly drift apart, gliding in circles with the backs of our hands lightly touching. The other guests do the same, some drifting together to make bigger circles with other parties. He squints his jade eyes to see his watch past the dark fabric of his suit. 

“23:11,” he whispers as we switch arms.

Nodding, I mutter, “The prince is scheduled to be introduced at 23:15, but he will be out before the song ends.”

Blue Jay steals a glance at the dancers while giving a quick nod. His hand drifts down, a motion I replicate as we join hands again and fall back into the close waltz from before. The music seems to steadily crescendo above the hum of chatter from guests as more of the orchestra fills in as a backdrop to the stunning violinist. The music floats up to the tall ceilings to come soaring back down over the dancers, filling the hall with the purity of Garret’s art. 

“You’re not getting distracted, are you, Sparrow?” Blue Jay’s voice cuts through the music and pulls my attention back to him.

“Certainly not,” I retort, then mutter, “Got your JB*?”

“Loaded and muffled,” he confirms. “You?”

“Same deal,” I verify, sparing a glance at the dancers around us. 

“Pick up the pace,” I hiss, the energy swelling with the music as the main theme repeats with more power than before. Blue Jay brings us around in a quick motion and we align with the current speeds as everybody else. Some moments later, he extends his arm, urging me to briefly step away from him so our arms are in the air again, though with our hands still together this time. The scene blurs slightly as he twirls me twice before pulling me back in. The music changes, dropping down to a mezzo forte.*

“You’re quite the dancer,” he comments with a smile, which I return. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I reply, which makes his smile grow. 

As we turn through the dancers, my eyes dart up to a marble balcony with flecks of gold sparking in the warm lighting. Atop that balcony, partially hidden in shadow, stands a tall figure in a clean-cut suit gazing out over the ballroom with playful periwinkle eyes. Sitting awkwardly on his brow is a gold crown encrusted with multicolor gemstones. 

“Sapphire,” I hiss to Blue Jay, who seems to snap out of a trance when I alert his attention again. He follows my gaze to the figure on the balcony.

“In position?” He asks.

“Affirmative.” 

In perfect time with the guests, our arms float up to the air again with the backs of our hands lightly touching each other. Our other hands sit nicely behind our backs as we walk in graceful circles amongst the other guests. I carefully allow my fingers to travel through the bright red fabrics of my dress until they curl around a cold, metal piece. My eyes returning to Blue Jay, I nod. He returns it. 

The music steadily crescendos, each instrument adding a sound that did not exist beforehand. I allow my arm to drop by my side, then creep up my chest whilst my hand covers it. As the young prince steps slightly into the golden light of the ballroom, the music grants less than a second of quiet before exploding into a key change and filling the room with a fortissimo* of music. Under its cover, nobody notices what has been done until the prince has sunk to the ground, his blood splatters dripping from the velvet curtains. Blue Jay and I slip through the crowd as guests begin to scream at the sight of their beloved prince, now covered in blood.

“He’s hurt! He’s hurt!” Someone wails.

“Someone get help!” Another cries. 

We pass the orchestra members. Many are staring at the balcony, their eyes wide with fear. The violinist, however, does not look toward the dead prince. As he plays the final melody of the piece, his eyes meet mine and Blue Jay’s, a smile unfurling from his tight, focused lips. 

“To the resistance,” he mouths—an ally.

I bring the tips of my fingers over my heart and give a slight bow of my head, a movement Blue Jay copies before we take off again. 

This is merely phase one.

*JB stands for “jet black,” which is a logical color for a gun in my opinion.

*For non-music folks, mezzo forte means medium loud and fortissimo means VERY loud.