Practice makes perfect, or so the saying goes. But perfection was not the aim of the game when it came to Merethyl Cytria, and practice was not something Christian Benoit truly needed. Yet both of them had been putting in the hours, even outside rehearsal time, working together to try and help one another - one with the emotion of her dancing, the other with his confidence to lift. After two months of working every day together, finally they were ready to have Irina offer them some constructive criticism. The dance was an old one, known to every aspiring ballerina - known especially to the Shanachie, for it belonged to Tony and Anya. Romeo & Juliet's pas de deux was simple enough not to offer any movement too damaging, yet emotive enough to challenge Merethyl, filled with enough contact to test the cavalier in Christian.
Irina was delighted at the progress the pair was making, though she still didn't think they were ready to take on the demanding task of pairing on stage. Merethyl's dancing was already technically perfect, but lacked feeling. Every day spent in practice with Christian was helping, but the elf wasn't quite there yet. Irina was astute enough to tell there was a connection forming between the two dancers, whether they realized it or not, and she was hoping the pas de deux with Christian would crack through the last layer of ice protecting Merethyl's heart, so that she could find the emotion inside her that would make her a prima ballerina at last.
There was a connection there, yet neither one of them seemed ready to acknowledge it. For Merethyl, it was the knowledge of how very different she must seem to Christian; the fear that he would never be able to accept her as she was. They had become such firm friends over the past weeks and months, learning more about one another as the days went by, and yet ....she was afraid. Afraid that the very fact of his humanity and her elvenhood would never mesh in his mind. How, then, could she take a chance like that, when it would be at the risk not only of her heart, but her life and soul, too' Still, she had improved, her acting growing more natural as they danced together.
As for Christian, he was growing stronger and more confident with each day he spent dancing with Merethyl. She was an easy partner to dance with, perfectly precise and patient with him as he worked on his own fears and lack of confidence. His back and shoulders were stronger now than ever before, and his confidence was growing, but there was still some small something that held him back. He had grown fond of Merethyl over the last weeks and months.
He had always prided himself on his professionalism, keeping his personal and professional lives separate, and yet, the more time he spent with the elf, the more he grew to care about her and miss her when they were apart. If he was to search his heart, he would understand what he was feeling, but there was a part of him that feared she would never see him but for the mortal that he was. After all, he would one day grow old and die, while she lived on, and he did not see that as a blessing but a curse. Still, his heart ached for more than merely friendship, and it was the perceived tragedy that awaited them that fueled the feeling he gave to his performance, especially with Merethyl as his partner.
They were a strange juxtaposition - the human who wore his heart on his sleeve, and the elf who held hers close, both feeling the same emotions, neither showing it quite as openly as they both should. But it was there to be seen in the trusting touch of hands, in the way they knew which steps were coming without needing to speak, in the glance of eyes in unguarded moments. Even when Merethyl leapt into Christian's arms, her weight barely his to carry as she levitated for his sake, that trust screamed out to the watcher that here was something old and new at once.
Irina watched with a smile on her face, delighted in the progress that was being made before her, and yet, there was still so much untapped potential between them. All in good time though. Rome wasn't built in a day, or so the saying went.
It annoyed Christian that Merethyl felt the need to help by levitating. He needed to feel her weight, to know he was the one holding her and lifting her, and that she trusted him to do so, even if she was doing it for his sake and it cost him a little pain in doing so. He said nothing of this, however, not while they were in the middle of the dance, but it played on his mind. Did she not yet trust him' If she couldn't trust him with her body, how could she ever trust him with her heart"
"Hmm ..." The soft utterance was unnoticed by the dancers and their mistress, falling in silence on ears that had not been opened to it. There was beauty there, yes, and grace in movement, but they lacked the full touch of their connection that would open their hearts not only to one another, but to their audience. Such things did not always happen on their own. Sometimes, they needed a little inspiration. The unseen moved closer, watching as the ballerina spun into the waiting circle of her cavalier's arms. As their eyes met, the watcher reached out to touch them. "It is time you saw the world through each other's eyes."
Spinning on her toes, Merethyl reached out for the arms she knew would be there ....and stumbled when they did not catch her. She came to a halt, looking around her in confusion as the mirrored walls of the rehearsal room faded into mist. Irina, Christian, both nothing more than mist. She could recognize the touch of magic when she felt it, knowing that in some way she was still dancing. This was a moment in time, nothing more, and yet ....what was the purpose of it"
Irina noticed nothing amiss. She merely smiled at the two dancers as she watched them, oblivious to the magic surrounding the pair or the mysterious watcher who seemed to have taken an interest in them.
As for Christian, though it seemed to Irina that both he and Merethyl were still dancing there before her, he, too - or some part of him - had stumbled. His partner had not been there when he had expected her to be, and at first, he thought one or the other of them had made some mistake. It took him only a moment to realize that was not the case at all, as he found himself alone in some otherwhere. There was no Merethyl here, no Irina either. Only himself, the rehearsal room and everything in it fading to mist. He muttered something to himself in his native French, turning to take in his surroundings, wondering what manner of sorcery was this.
Voices filtered through to him from the mists that swirled about him, some he recognized, some he did not. "...what is the point of life if you do not live it ....said that love is immortal ....a promise made cannot be taken back ....the price is worth the joy ..." Slowly the voices grew to a cacophony, until suddenly they all ceased. The mists cleared abruptly, and he found himself in a house, a home.
An old man sat by the window, looking out over the snow-covered garden where children played as the familiar strains of Tchaikovsky played. A voice interrupted the quiet. "You know, there's nothing stopping us from opening that window and letting your grandchildren pelt you with snowballs from there, adar."
The voice drew the eye to a man who seemed strangely familiar, a baby against his shoulder as he paced. He bore a gentle point at the tip of his ears, a certain luminescence about his skin, but his eyes ....Christian knew those eyes. He had seen them in his father, and in the mirror, for too many years not to know his own blood when he saw them.
The fear and panic that clutched Christian's heart eased as some scene came into view. He wasn't sure what was going on or what had caused this vision to play itself out before him, but he found it intriguing. Was he dreaming, or was this something else? Whatever it was, he recognized something familiar in the young man's - no, elf's - eyes. They were his eyes, but the face was unfamiliar. He turned his attention to the old man at the window, fear clutching his heart once again as he moved closer. He seemed like a ghost to them, unseen, undetected, as if he wasn't really there at all. Was this, then, all in his head, or had he entered some other realm where the past and future could be seen and felt' The beloved strains of Tchaikovsky were familiar to any dancer's ears, but it was the old man that drew him closer, needing to see his face, to know for sure if what he feared in his heart had indeed come to pass, at least, in this dream realm.
Irina was delighted at the progress the pair was making, though she still didn't think they were ready to take on the demanding task of pairing on stage. Merethyl's dancing was already technically perfect, but lacked feeling. Every day spent in practice with Christian was helping, but the elf wasn't quite there yet. Irina was astute enough to tell there was a connection forming between the two dancers, whether they realized it or not, and she was hoping the pas de deux with Christian would crack through the last layer of ice protecting Merethyl's heart, so that she could find the emotion inside her that would make her a prima ballerina at last.
There was a connection there, yet neither one of them seemed ready to acknowledge it. For Merethyl, it was the knowledge of how very different she must seem to Christian; the fear that he would never be able to accept her as she was. They had become such firm friends over the past weeks and months, learning more about one another as the days went by, and yet ....she was afraid. Afraid that the very fact of his humanity and her elvenhood would never mesh in his mind. How, then, could she take a chance like that, when it would be at the risk not only of her heart, but her life and soul, too' Still, she had improved, her acting growing more natural as they danced together.
As for Christian, he was growing stronger and more confident with each day he spent dancing with Merethyl. She was an easy partner to dance with, perfectly precise and patient with him as he worked on his own fears and lack of confidence. His back and shoulders were stronger now than ever before, and his confidence was growing, but there was still some small something that held him back. He had grown fond of Merethyl over the last weeks and months.
He had always prided himself on his professionalism, keeping his personal and professional lives separate, and yet, the more time he spent with the elf, the more he grew to care about her and miss her when they were apart. If he was to search his heart, he would understand what he was feeling, but there was a part of him that feared she would never see him but for the mortal that he was. After all, he would one day grow old and die, while she lived on, and he did not see that as a blessing but a curse. Still, his heart ached for more than merely friendship, and it was the perceived tragedy that awaited them that fueled the feeling he gave to his performance, especially with Merethyl as his partner.
They were a strange juxtaposition - the human who wore his heart on his sleeve, and the elf who held hers close, both feeling the same emotions, neither showing it quite as openly as they both should. But it was there to be seen in the trusting touch of hands, in the way they knew which steps were coming without needing to speak, in the glance of eyes in unguarded moments. Even when Merethyl leapt into Christian's arms, her weight barely his to carry as she levitated for his sake, that trust screamed out to the watcher that here was something old and new at once.
Irina watched with a smile on her face, delighted in the progress that was being made before her, and yet, there was still so much untapped potential between them. All in good time though. Rome wasn't built in a day, or so the saying went.
It annoyed Christian that Merethyl felt the need to help by levitating. He needed to feel her weight, to know he was the one holding her and lifting her, and that she trusted him to do so, even if she was doing it for his sake and it cost him a little pain in doing so. He said nothing of this, however, not while they were in the middle of the dance, but it played on his mind. Did she not yet trust him' If she couldn't trust him with her body, how could she ever trust him with her heart"
"Hmm ..." The soft utterance was unnoticed by the dancers and their mistress, falling in silence on ears that had not been opened to it. There was beauty there, yes, and grace in movement, but they lacked the full touch of their connection that would open their hearts not only to one another, but to their audience. Such things did not always happen on their own. Sometimes, they needed a little inspiration. The unseen moved closer, watching as the ballerina spun into the waiting circle of her cavalier's arms. As their eyes met, the watcher reached out to touch them. "It is time you saw the world through each other's eyes."
Spinning on her toes, Merethyl reached out for the arms she knew would be there ....and stumbled when they did not catch her. She came to a halt, looking around her in confusion as the mirrored walls of the rehearsal room faded into mist. Irina, Christian, both nothing more than mist. She could recognize the touch of magic when she felt it, knowing that in some way she was still dancing. This was a moment in time, nothing more, and yet ....what was the purpose of it"
Irina noticed nothing amiss. She merely smiled at the two dancers as she watched them, oblivious to the magic surrounding the pair or the mysterious watcher who seemed to have taken an interest in them.
As for Christian, though it seemed to Irina that both he and Merethyl were still dancing there before her, he, too - or some part of him - had stumbled. His partner had not been there when he had expected her to be, and at first, he thought one or the other of them had made some mistake. It took him only a moment to realize that was not the case at all, as he found himself alone in some otherwhere. There was no Merethyl here, no Irina either. Only himself, the rehearsal room and everything in it fading to mist. He muttered something to himself in his native French, turning to take in his surroundings, wondering what manner of sorcery was this.
Voices filtered through to him from the mists that swirled about him, some he recognized, some he did not. "...what is the point of life if you do not live it ....said that love is immortal ....a promise made cannot be taken back ....the price is worth the joy ..." Slowly the voices grew to a cacophony, until suddenly they all ceased. The mists cleared abruptly, and he found himself in a house, a home.
An old man sat by the window, looking out over the snow-covered garden where children played as the familiar strains of Tchaikovsky played. A voice interrupted the quiet. "You know, there's nothing stopping us from opening that window and letting your grandchildren pelt you with snowballs from there, adar."
The voice drew the eye to a man who seemed strangely familiar, a baby against his shoulder as he paced. He bore a gentle point at the tip of his ears, a certain luminescence about his skin, but his eyes ....Christian knew those eyes. He had seen them in his father, and in the mirror, for too many years not to know his own blood when he saw them.
The fear and panic that clutched Christian's heart eased as some scene came into view. He wasn't sure what was going on or what had caused this vision to play itself out before him, but he found it intriguing. Was he dreaming, or was this something else? Whatever it was, he recognized something familiar in the young man's - no, elf's - eyes. They were his eyes, but the face was unfamiliar. He turned his attention to the old man at the window, fear clutching his heart once again as he moved closer. He seemed like a ghost to them, unseen, undetected, as if he wasn't really there at all. Was this, then, all in his head, or had he entered some other realm where the past and future could be seen and felt' The beloved strains of Tchaikovsky were familiar to any dancer's ears, but it was the old man that drew him closer, needing to see his face, to know for sure if what he feared in his heart had indeed come to pass, at least, in this dream realm.