Who: Violeta & OPEN What: Swordplay. When: November 11th, early morning. Where: The Dancing Swords tent. Rating: DD for Doll Death.
The Cirque was a rough transition for Violeta. After the Wild Hunt, she felt adamant about leaving, admitting to Dante that she may have made a mistake bringing them here. But before she knew it over a week had gone by, and while she had not acclimated to the strange customs of the circus, she took a small amount of comfort in the job assigned to her. Sword dancing became an instant means of escape; it had been so long since she'd held a blade in her hand that she had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed it. And dancing, it seemed to reignite her flame and burn away her sorrows. Her partner was undoubtedly relieved for that, having grown increasingly impatient when she could not easily pull away from her grief. She was happier too--no, happy was not the right way to describe it. This place made her wary, but as long as she could perform, she might be able to tolerate it.
In the early morning, just when the sun peeked its illuminate face over the horizon, she put on a tank top, leggings, and a pair of sneakers, pulled her hair up in a ponytail on her way out the door. After a quick stretch she jogged to the Dancing Swords tent and reveled in the vast emptiness of it, pulling a couple of hanging longswords from the weapons storage closet. They were the practice blades, but still sharp with the proper care, a ritual she got into the habit of on her first day of training. After she was done with that she walked to the middle of the stage and planted her feet in position, extended the swords in front of her, holding the familiar weight of them in her palms. She flicked her wrist gracefully, guiding the first blade into a fluidity of motion, pivoting around and cutting into the air with the other.
Violeta glided across the stage, dancing with her blades like she was performing, swift and beautiful. An hour and a half later, she gained an audience. As if she could sense its presence, she spun and pointed the sharp tips of her weapons at the porcelain doll staring at her from the edge of the stage. She fixed the thing with a bemused scowl, beads of sweat rolling off her brow and her cheeks flushed. With the viper-quick precision of her blade the doll's head flew clean off its tiny neck. There were a lot of things so far that the woman knew she was probably going to have to grudgingly accept about this place. Eerie dolls appearing seemingly out of thin air was not going to be one of them.