The sneeziest soirée

[AceUpYourSleeve]

Contents: sneezes, sniffling, nose blowing

*~*~*
Part I

The sparkling wine hadn’t been at fault, Lord Viron realized while prickling sensations followed said liquid. It was merely a final trigger, tipping the scales of his containment. As tiny bubbles pulsed near both nostrils, his sore throat began to itch with anticipation even stronger. A unison of tingles.
He lowered the glass barely in time before his whole internal scales toppled to one side; before the sneeze broke its way through. Viron directed this outburst over his shoulder, freely but more quietly than expected, and into the hangings on the wall behind.
“Ehrg’tshuugh!”
Glad to see no attention drawn to him—a rare occasion on an evening like today’s—, he cast a final hurried glance around, then brushed one hand under his nose and some black strands out of his face with the other. Deep within the sinuses, a wall built itself up again. Sighing, which ended in a stuffy gurgle, he lamented the timing of this cold.
“Weakling, get a grip...” he murmured.
“Your Lordship?”

 

Viron jerked, making his drink splash like a storm-tossed wave. “Oh, Mister Ly. I didn’t notice you.” Furthermore, I do hope you couldn’t notice me sneezing and babbling here.
“I never meant to startle Your Lordship, please forgive such sneaking up.”
Viron accepted with one of those slight, dignified nods his younger self was taught prior to walking. It told everything as well as nothing at the same time. Additionally, this movement wouldn’t provoke his nose.
“So, are you enjoying our gathering? And leave the high titles aside, will you?” he inquired, trying to gloss over that his conversational partner might’ve just heard a not so elegant and genteel sniff.
At the level of Viron’s collarbone, Ly’s bald head eagerly returned the nod while reflecting the light of the chandelier above. “Certainly, sir. In terms of both. Feel assured: you and the Marquess are very splendid hosts. What a night thus far! I’m confident my attire matches my attitude, isn’t it?”

 

Doubtful. With another courteous head tilt, Viron looked at what Mister Ly deemed fashionable for a soirée. If this were a retro theme party in a graveyard, he’d fit in. As the role of some haunted ghost whose physical passing doesn’t prevent them from still being intent on discussing the latest tea prices. 
“I can tell, y-ehh-es.” The syllable was stretched after breaths hitched in the lord’s throat, pitching his sentence to a short wheeze. He fought down the urge that lingered inside his airways—one momentary victory.
“What did you just bless with your attention here?” Ly said, either not percieving the struggle or simply taking no account of it.
Until then, Viron didn’t know the answer himself, so he turned back to view the picture he’d blessed with an open sneeze. Hopefully, that spot in the left corner was a blister of paint rather than a mucus drop.

 

“I, err, was speaking to myself about the hero, Alcaeus, who went to, umm, slay these allegedly perfidious giants.” He used the glass in hand as a pointer. “Only to be confronted with their virtues instead. Due to his embassage—well, the rest is history.”
He interrupted himself to swallow against the scratchiness. No way that his voice, roughened like he gulped down sandpaper alongside his champagne, remained unnoticed. There were more pressing matters, though; Viron wanted to sneeze, blow his nose, crawl under a blanket where that screeching of instruments and small talk of people couldn’t reach him. In any order, but preferably soon.
Yet Mister Ly had other plans, hence sliding right in front of the lord and settling for a monologue. “Speaking of history, there’s a tale circling in my hometown, about three humans and one giant, you know—” 

 

Must keep it in, Viron thought, because he’d aim right at Ly’s halo of baldness if he sneezed this second. By rubbing his forefinger under his nose as if he’d ponder the man’s verbiage, he tried to delay the itch. Next, he fetched a mint green handkerchief from his suit coat pocket.
“All three were sent out into the world, so that each of them—”
When the order determined itself and the rush came, he managed to step aside while firmly cupping his nose in an attempt to stifle both sneezes. He felt relieved as the sounds ended in muffled discretion. 
Less pleasant was that his ears popped due to the pressure. He winced.
Shaky breaths were drawn, but it didn’t matter whichever had shattered the resistance and provided the escape of yet two following eruptions, scarcely contained in the fabric.
“—and because that first brother had made a cabin out of straw, it all flew away until the cunning giant finished—”
“IEEK’CHOO! GRSHIUU!”

 

“I was going to say ‘blowing’, although ‘sneezing’ works in the magnitude of a giant’s lung capacity as well. Bless you, sir.”
“Thanks and pardon me. Sparkling wine has such an effect on my body,” Viron responded, trying to pronounce the letters especially distinct to fight the stuffy mumble his blocked nose forced more and more upon him. “If you excuse me for now, I have to mingle with other guests too.” Better not, or else the whole room becomes witness...
“Of course”, Mister Ly said, already eyeing the buffet. “And I fancy another shrimp cocktail. Plus crusted chicken or a fruit loaf or both...”
Just when the ravenous party-goer had trotted off, the next tingle reported for duty; however, its force surpassed any previous one. It bounced against the inflamed, so delicate mucous membranes, teasing its way out despite Vion’s attempts to fend it off by twitching and wrinkling his nose like some hyperactive rabbit.
“Hgnff—” Grimassing involuntarily, he lost the battle. “HFF’KSHUUuuh!”

 

Fortunately, the rather loud shot went unheard since Ly bumped into a waitress at that moment, a tray fell down, clattering on tiles. The loss of his spilled seafood dish was bemoaned.
As people’s conversations resumed, Viron sniffled blatantly and dabbed the moisture around his nostrils.
One glimpse at the handkerchief showed the mess in all its greenish gooey glory, which a bunch of sneezes can set free, obviously.
His nose wasn’t done, quite the contrary, but that cloth might last for the duration of this event and thus, his embroidered sleeves wouldn’t be in danger.
A soft-spoken “Marquess” wafted through the crowd nearest to him while he sniffed back a still impending snot surge.
Then Viron met his girlfriend’s eyes.

 

She appeared to float over the ground in her silky dress and the indigo blue lowlights of Zadelea’s hair formed a nice contrast to its shade of blonde. A sight he could spend an eternity on. He briefly forgot the annoyance of his cold, at least.
They had parted ways after their opening dance and had been occupied with making their rounds as hosts—or hiding to sneeze, in Viron’s worsening case. Like right now.
“Heh-Egh-HRKCHUU!”
Would he need to spend the rest of this evening buried in a hankie?

*~*~*

[anachroni5m]

Please, continue!

[2SHY222]

I'm intrigued by this. I do hope you write more 😁

[plantqueen]

I always love the combination of fancy parties + sneeze. This is really good!

[AceUpYourSleeve]

*~*~*
Part II

“How’s everything going, Vi?”
The man understood her inquiry, the spoken as well as the unspoken one, and the latter got a sudden reply when he veered away to let out a volley of partly coughed, partly sneezed exhales into the handkerchief.
“Bless you. That’s answer enough,” Zadelea commented, stopping in front of the sickish lord.
“I’b fide.”
She clicked her tongue. “Indeed. Hence your beaming look, these alert eyes, this well-working nasal breathing. You seem much more worn out than half an hour ago, seriously.”
He cleared his throat, breathing a tad too cautiously for not giving the lie to his statement of well-being.
“Zadie, after my designation as lord, our country’s resolved tension with the neighbors plus the giants, we h-hnn... ha... HACHIEEW!”

 

Maybe she was right, given his sneezes became harder to subdue and were almost all noisy, even when directed into the sturdy cloth. He nearly felt the pink tinge creeping up his nose.
“We had to make a feast. And because of our... well, needless to say, right? Canceling on short notice was never an option. Besides, it’s just the sniffles. Now I pull through, contain my... Snh-Hrnns... Rgsh’spzzsh!—yup, like this—and let everyone enjoy themselves.”
With a look up and down as if comparing growth to a chart, the Marquess sighed at the walking pigheadedness of a boyfriend. “Definitely our sneeziest soirée ever. Allow me to swap this drink real quick.”
One blink later, he stared at his empty fingers before she, just as promptly, thrust a cup into said hand. Steam rose and curled faintly.
He took a few sips. They were intense with sweetness and herbal bitterness alike, while leaving a gush of soothing to caress his throat.

 

“Honey?” Viron asked.
“Yes, I’m here.”
They both snickered.
“Also yes, I noticed the samovar had been refilled, so I poured you a fresh cup of tisane with honey. It’s a better choice for you—” she gestured to his form being overcome by a coughing fit, “—than alcohol.”
The lord flashed a smile, which got a bit distorted when he sniffled like a personal war declaration against the flute player of the musicians in the back. 
Whether from steam or constant sneezes, the grip on his upper airways loosened; not with any sound or a particular moment of easing, but together with more nasal filling that broke free.
“URRFCHIOO!”
He blew his nose, wincing at the raw feeling inside and outside.
“I’ll nurse this rotten cold tomorrow. Fine?”

 

Zadelea considered him attentively. He, too occupied with stifling an invasion of false alarms, was unaware of her smirk while she patted his neck.
At least he admitted, though unbeknownst to him, that he felt wretched. A victory for the little quest she assigned to herself the moment Viron had gratefully clung to this cup filled with tea he loathed.
The clammy but warm skin under her hands told her the rest. 
“Hard to act as host if I go earlier than most guests,” he said, interlacing his fingers and resisting the urge to rub his temples.
“Likewise if your health deteriorates. Also, you’re contagious now, for sure.”
“Right... I’ve got a reason not to mingle further, that is. But you too shouldn’t stay this close.”
She leaned against a poseur table next to him, crossing her arms. “We share one bed. Have done so for the last nights. When you sneezed in my ear yesterday after we retired, I knew I was doomed.”

 

“Oh Goodness! No, rather badness. I mean... Hell!” Viron tore his hair, which had already been tousled by the strong sneezing. “I don’t remember anything like that!”
“No surprise. You were kind of asleep, didn’t even stir otherwise. It’s okay, Vi.”
“Your nonchalance about the situation doesn’t match the level of shame I f-ehh...”
“Uh, you what?”
He turned away, froze in place until a congested groan broke the stiffness. A pant surged through him and rippled the suit jacket around his torso.
Apart from those sagging shoulders, the woman couldn’t help but stare at his back since she’d explored the muscles underneath the garments quite often. However, when Viron shuffled around, the spell broke upon seeing his weary appearance from the front again. 
His hands twitched as if to flail. With a rasp, he uttered, “—feel.”

 

She only blinked while trying to remember his initial sentence. “Like I said, it’s okay. Whereas you aren’t, my dear.”
There was no response except another shudder. The lord faced a revolt in his sinuses, but this time he was fighting in favor of it—though him kneading, then pinching his red appendage seemed to her like an effort to extinguish the irritation.
Hovering on the verge of a sneeze, he got stuck in the forced dance of hitching and sniffling as it circled in his pharynx and nose. 
“It just won’t c-o-o-ohh... come...”
Unless he wasn’t better, she wouldn’t laugh about the irony. His evening was full of more or less fruitful attempts to smother sneezes, and now he despaired of one that wouldn’t erupt. Still, it bubbled under the surface. 
To get rid of this agony, she pushed his chin up without warning so that he looked at the chandelier. It shed a light enhanced by alchemical amber, much brighter than the double quantity of ordinary candles.

 

“Not bright enough to make you sneeze, evidently,” she stated, pursing her lips afterward.
Zadelea scanned the room before she moved and tugged Viron along, who startled but didn’t protest.
He was used to such a dynamic anyway.
Neither the abrupt movement nor the surprise thereof tipped his nose over the edge. 
Who could’ve guessed that a besetting sneeze menace was as terrible as a full-blown one?
Well, he could after tonight.
The hosts disappeared behind an ornamented folding screen. Viron had several of them set up near the walls. It created small shielded spaces. He was told of their usefulness during inside events, although surely not planned for whatever entered his girlfriend’s mind.
Had anybody seen them, there might be rumors darting around at this instant, faster than Mister Ly could devour all the shrimp cocktails. 

 

Out of a vase with artfully arranged decorations, she borrowed a large, iridescent feather. She gestured for him to lower the handkerchief, and Viron complied with a quizzical gaze.
It didn’t take him long to realize.
“So, how did you spend your weekend?” Zadelea mumbled to herself in a deeper manner, then proceeded in her normal voice. “With nothing remarkable, really. We had guests over, switched most of the time between dancing, gossiping and eating, I played cards against Lord and Lady Jemac only to wipe those smug grins off their faces because I won in a rout. Oh, and I helped my darling by tickling his snot-plagued nose with a peacock feather.”
He grimaced wordlessly as she let said object flutter around his nose for uncounted seconds, yet this didn’t achieve the desired effect.
The feather wandered more gingerly next, like a parent would cradle their newborn, stroking the chapped skin of his nostrils. They flared and wiggled in an unsteady pulse.
It might elicit a laugh if the couple noticed, but their eyes locked. His were becoming more watery because the tickle practically teased its way through all his nerves and made the sight of her a blurry image of golden blonde mixed with blue.
Due to Viron and Zadelea being of the same height, she had no problem reaching her target and holding this position without getting aching arms.

 

Their secluded little eternity carried on.
The man’s shoulders trembled, followed by the rest of his body.
He displays the personification of an earthquake, she thought. And the color of a blood moon.
Finally, her last touch brushing past was the straw that broke the camel’s back—or rather the defiance of his nasal passages.
Twisting away, so as not to hit Zadelea with spray, Viron bent to one side and let loose. His dark curls bobbed in the rhythm while a bunch of sneezes burst out, shifting from harsh and lacking any prelude to drawn-out and melodic.
“AGCHUU! IEECHOO! GHFF’AITCHIEW! HRRT’KSHOOooh! URSSG’SHIUUuuh!”
A fivefold relief.

*~*~*

[AceUpYourSleeve]

*~*~*
Part III

The more sneezes he fired into the handkerchief, the less he felt able to regain control. It was slipping away, just like the breaths he tried to take in between. Every other sound—voices muttering, glassware clinking, instruments being played not to disturb but to accompany said voices in their conversations—faded from the spotlight. Became muffled as if he’d buried his ears in the handkerchief in lieu of only his nose.
After Viron’s sinuses had called a truce, which he tested by snuffling, he straightened while keeping his lower face covered.
The torturous tickle was gone. 
“I love you, darling,” he sighed.
“Piece of cake. Anytime!”
He blinked tears away in order to have a clear view. A smile tugged at her lips, although it didn’t hide the worry.
Not surprising, judging from what he could see of himself in the wall mirror opposite him.
Skin flushed, eyes dripping; traits that were also found combined in a certain protruding thing adorning his face.

 

He started fidgeting with the soggy cloth. Had he really been convinced that a single handkerchief would suffice?
“I chose a green one, luckily.” Viron squeezed the hemmed borders together and deluged the folded fresh section with a draining bereft of any dignity. Then he frowned. “Pardon me, that’s all gross.”
“To be honest, I’m intrigued.”
He mouthed “Huh?”, while Zadelea shrugged. “Regardless of strength, wealth and so on; generals of triumphant armies, even our queen, will be overpowered by sneezes from time to time. We’re at their mercy, they render us equal for a moment. Fascinating, isn’t it?”
Viron snorted, or rather blurted out a heavily congested puff, giving her the side-eye. “Let me remind you when it’s your turn with this cold. The worst I’ve experienced so far.”
He sniffled, winced and barely turned a semi-circle on his heels before letting out a “YEKSHOO!” that appeared to rip through every layer he pressed against his face.

 

“How about we get this raucous-sounding cannon, and I mean you, to your chambers where you can shoot unbothered?”
“I’m still supposed to deliver one speech.” His mental persistence was bigger than his physical one because every attempt to clear his throat resulted in nothing except coughs. “That isn’t on par with croaking like a frog, I know.”
As if she had a whip to punish the folds in her dress, Zadelea tapped the feather at her side before even realizing she was still holding it. Putting the alienated decoration back into the vase, she caught a glimpse of someone nearby. 
“Gretchen, hey!”
“Mylady?”
Since the Marquess had become a frequent sojourner in Viron’s house, she was on familiar terms with a lot of people working there, especially the deputy head of staff.
“I need you to fetch me a handful”—Zadelea glanced over her shoulder—“a big handful of napkins and a cup of sage tea with honey, please.”

 

As the maid scurried off, the next person, yet an unsolicited one, made a beeline for the room divider.
“Gods and above,” Viron sputtered under his breath, teeth gritted.
Lady Jemac thanked her escort, after which the servant left like Gretchen’s delayed shadow, and the older woman faced her peers.
It was due to her bad eyesight plus the lack of glasses that she wouldn’t recognize many details even from close up. Therefore, his current state wasn’t obvious if he passed on talking much.
With the same bluntness she dealt cards, Lady Jemac said, “My brother has yet to recover from that defeat.”
“I’m sorry for inflicting that on you both,” Zadelea remarked.
“Don’t be, it was a fair game. Less fair is you monopolizing Lord Viron here, don’t you think?”
Zadelea and the purportedly monopolized lord exchanged glances. Ironically, in a way, she had kind of a right to him, their names together on the invitations hinted at that.
He made a non-committal sound because another itch pranced through his airways.

 

“I heard you’re an excellent dancer. Care to demonstrate?” She nodded toward Viron, whose breathing started to hitch, albeit not out of fright. “I haven’t got the keenest eyes, but I always know where to put my feet.” 
“Um, I, well, bu-u-u-t... you see, thi-i-i-ihh-s...”
“Say again?”
She squinted at him, whereas his own eyes narrowed to a slit due to the sudden jolt of his body. The last thing he saw distinctly was the lady’s coiffure wobbling as her head tilted expectantly.
He’d have to wheel around, sneeze, contain the mess he felt rushing down, no matter what.
Zadelea stood with a blank face, although inside her, cogs spun in a hurry while she tried to think of how to help Viron decline without affronting Lady Jemac.
No, sorry, this guy is taken. Yes, even concerning a dance. Bye!
When Mister Ly emerged next to them, like any godly deity heard Viron’s utterance and conjured the man there, it was the distraction needed to discreetly pinch and wipe a tickling, runny nose.

 

“Lady Jemac! If our hosts are indispensable now, may I make humble demands on your time? I couldn’t fail to note this pack of cards you’d shown around. Such a quality. Were these truly hand-painted by—”
Whatever else he palavered got lost to anyone but the woman he steered back to the crowd.
He had a knack for suddenly coming to the scene as well as complementing higher-ups at each instant, Viron admitted that. In contrast, he himself was just on the brink of risking to sneeze on the lady’s dress—wave patterns and ribbons combined with snot threads weren’t the latest fashion craze, though.
Right after he failed to stifle another tingle from piping up, Gretchen returned, intoning an “Oh!” as she witnessed his unceremonious act, merely hidden behind Zadelea.
“I visited my family last week, and my sister was dealing with this kind of nastiness too. Uh, I’d never say he’s nasty, of course, I meant—”
“I a-a-a-m. No need to sugarcoat it... HIRGH’TCHOO! ARSHIUU!”

 

Fumbling with her bonnet, Gretchen giggled at the comment. “Bless you. Anyways, here’s all the stuff you requested, Mylady. Mylord.” She curtsied but was stopped upon leaving when Zadelea quietly asked, “Could I add something else to your workload?”
With her recent order in tow, the maid went once again. 
Viron used this privacy to sniffle thickly and, despite his contorted face, tried to assert to either himself or his girlfriend that he was fine—to a certain degree.
Her gaze spoke volumes.
“Just have to get over this final speech. Somehow.”
“I may have an idea, yes, albeit not the most ethical... Stay put.” She hurried into the middle of the hall, announcing her proposal of taking a stroll through the garden while managing in brief to have quite a few guests join, as if they reached the same decision at the same time as her.
Nobody questioned why Viron seemed to be conspicuous by his absence during his own late party. Said lord was still grateful for the screen as cover. He made extensive use of the napkins until his nose was satisfactorily dry after some minutes and gulped down the tea.

*~*~*