Haunted Roads

Who: Rei and Lirije
What: Reunion
Where: Outside the Towers, to start with
When: Monday evening, early

To say Liri had been on edge since that meeting with Drystan weeks ago would be an understatement. Every time she opened a door, turned around, or walked into a parking lot, she expected him to be waiting for her, to finish the job he'd left undone before. He wasn't one to give up. She knew that. Every time she got out of the shower and looked in the mirror, the D branded on her hip reminded her of it. Ever present. Never fading.

She made it out of ballet safely again, walking with a group of girls from her class. They were twittering happily about some triviality. Lirije tried to join in as best she could, and made a good show of it, but she never felt as if she belonged even if they accepted her. She had seen too much, been through too much. She just didn't have the naive ability to just be happy for no reason, to live life so... exuberantly. It didn't exist within her.

She drove back to the towers and parked the car in the closest parking lot possible. It was nearing dark, but she wanted another cigarette before she went upstairs. She was a neat freak about her apartment, the first place she'd ever had for her own. Smelling like smoke was out of the question. Her pointe shoes were draped around her neck, ribbons tied together so they wouldn't get misshapen while damp in her bag with her other clothes. Her tights were rolled up to just below her knees, a pair of flip-flops on her feet since the relative chill was really no concern, and a light sweatshirt had been thrown on over her leotard, along with a denim skirt. Her hair was still in its usual bun.

She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her ballet bag, tapped one out into her hand, and replaced the pack before letting the bag fall to the ground beside her. The bright orange lighter in her skirt pocket made quick work of getting the nicotene flowing, and she took a long drag, leaning against the wall near the front doors to the building. She closed her eyes as she exhaled, smoke flowing out in a thin stream.

He had sent her flowers. The sick fuck had sent her flowers at work, as if she wasn't already scared enough. She hadn't slept in two nights, convinced that he would come in and kill her--or worse--in her sleep. She had gone to work because it was the one place she thought she could forget, at least for a few hours, the terror that now consumed her life once again. And for awhile it had worked. Classes and rehearsal required such concentration that she had no time to waste worrying about when the big bad vampire would come looking for her again.

Only then had come her lunch break. One of the office workers had approached her with the vase, smiling like it was something she would be happy about. The dancers she was heading out to eat with thought so as well, all twittering about who Lirije's boyfriend was, how sweet he must be to send her flowers at work, how they wished their boyfriends/husbands/significant others would do that for them. The didn't even have to look at the note to see who it was from. She didn't know anyone else in the city and she was fairly sure that a chorus dancer would not have a secret admirer among the ballet-goers. A glance at the note confirmed her suspicion.

She begged out of lunch, saying she had to make some phone calls, and made her way to the stage door. The flowers and vase went into the dumpster, and she went back to the studio to try and distract herself from her pounding heart until rehearsal started back up.

The day after, she was no less terrified. Monday was a long day at the studio, but not long enough. Eventually she had to go home. Eventually she had to leave the company of the other dancers (not that Drystan would mind an audience, most likely) and get in her car, alone, to drive back to the towers. She normally took the stairs, but she had taken to getting on the elevator instead. It was better lit, and she could see everyone in it. There would be no surprises in the corner of the landings, like there might be on the staircase.

She looked paranoid, speed-walking to her door with her key already in hand so she didn't have to fumble for it, slamming the door behind her only to lock and bolt it. And even then, 'safely' inside, she turned all the lights on so there were no shadows for someone to hide in.

If he had wanted to get in her head, he had succeeded. She knew all she could do was wait until he decided to come back for her. Because he would. She had no doubt about that. The only question was whether she would survive.

Who: Lirije and Drystan
What: A reunion after the ballet
Where: The Pacific Northwest Ballet, and then who knows
When: Friday night
Rating: Well, I'm gonna go with probably gonna get up there. Be warned.



The stage lights were up out front and Lirije was waiting in the wing, pointing the tip of her toes in the resin box to avoid slipping before taking her place in line. She was going to be the first out, head of the line of dancers. She knew it was only because of her height (or lack thereof); it looked better if arranged with the shorter dancers on the end and taller dancers in the middle. She was the shortest of the entire corps. She listened carefully for her cue and led the other dancers out under the spotlight. It was always hot under the lights. The air conditioner blasted backstage to give the performers a break and cool them off before they went back out.

She'd rehearsed this dance so many times that it was second nature. No thought required. It was always less effort for her as well; she was stronger than the other ballerinas. Nothing was as much of a strain because her muscles could take more abuse. Pointe work was still brutal--toes weren't meant to be used that way--but it wasn't as hard on her as the others. She also had gotten a solo during the closing scene of this ballet due to her strength. Her extension and the elevation she got in her leaps was something the others couldn't always achieve. Right now, however, she was part of a unit. She and the other ten dancers moved in unison gracefully, everything rehearsed to look effortless. They were a living background for the two principal dancers downstage as a romance unfolded between them. This wasn't a continuous story; it was a series of scenes choreographed and directed by directing students at the company, so the curtains went down on one scene to give the dancers a few minutes to prepare for the next.

And then it was off to the wings again, to readjust pointe shoes and change costumes. Three more scenes, and it was time for Lirije's "starring role." While it wasn't woven into the storyline of a traditional ballet and while it was directed by students, it was bigger than anything she'd ever danced in front of an audience this size before. She stepped out onto the stage before the music started and took her starting position, lying on the stage floor, wooden surface heated by the stage lights above. Then she rose and began dancing, slowly with the music as she rose onto her toes, every movement slow and controlled. It started with gentle extensions and flowing movement, arms moving nearly as much as her legs. Then the true feel of the music started, beat speeding up, and so did her steps. She was alone in front of the audience, but the nerves had disappeared now, leaving only the feeling of dancing. It was as if she were acutely aware of each muscle movement, no matter how subtle, and she controlled it, even as she sped up more and more. From that gentle beginning, she was running across the stage, pirouetting, demonstrating her strength in the height and control of each grande jete, the amount of time she could hold an arabesque, and finally, at the finale, the number of fouettes she completed before ending the show just as she had started, lying on the stage floor.

The adrenaline was rushing as she stood to cursty before walking back off and into the dressing room. The show was over now, and she washed the stage makeup off her face but didn't bother changing out of the tights and leotard she had worn in the last scene. Instead, she just pulled a pair of sweatpants over the tights on her legs, switched her ballet flats for tennis shoes (after bandaging her blistered toes, of course) and pulled a zippered sweatshirt over her shoulders to protect her from the Seattle chill.

But she lingered after the show was over, when the rest had gone to the cast party dressed up in evening gowns and heels instead of tutus and pointe shoes. She didn't like the parties. There were too many people all vying for attention, all fighting to move higher up in the company by schmoozing with the art director and the patrons. Lirije liked the silence better; it felt safer than being in the midst of a crowd. So while the rest were in the lobby sipping cocktails, Lirije stepped out the stage door to the dark back parking lot and lit a cigarette, leaning against the cold brick wall as she smoked. It was dark and the freezing rain fell just beyond the overhang, but she wasn't as sensitive to the cold as humans were. She could stand it long enough to spare her car the smell of smoke sinking into the upholstery. Besides, there was something peaceful about the snow that was beginning to drift down, dancing in and out of the glow of the single street light in the employee parking lot.

[she doesn't look like this, but this is the dance I had in mind http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYPQHrBNnfw in case you need a visual ]

Who: Lirije and open, can be narrative. (Any takers, nice types pls? I'm trying to get a feel for her BEFORE I scare her half to death haha)
Where: The gardens at the towers
When: Tuesday night, around 9:00
What: Being conspicuous

Lirije was settling well into Seattle. She adored working with the company at the PNB, felt like she was finally a part of something instead of simply struggling to get parts. In the week since she'd been there she'd been taking classes and rehearsing for seven to eight hours a day, and she was adoring every minute of it. While she was far from the best dancer in the corps, and while the principals and soloists were far better than she was, she could tell she was already improving more than she had in years of training before now.

Even after a long day was over, Lirije hardly had anything better to do than try and improve even more. She hurried up the stairs to her room, grabbed an apple from the basket of fruit on her kitchen counter, and picked up the box containing a new pair of pointe shoes that had arrived in the mail the afternoon before. They needed to be broken in properly before she could wear them in class, and the toes of her current pair had become soft over the past couple of days. Amazing how fast a pair of the shoes could wear out, and she couldn't afford to wear too-soft shoes when they were auditioning for roles in the company's next performance the following afternoon.

She didn't want to sit in her apartment by herself, though. It felt lonelier in there than it did up in the gardens, and since she'd moved in she'd been spending a lot of time in the evenings up there. Sometimes others would wander up, and while she didn't seek their company, she still felt like she wasn't completely isolated. Before leaving, she stopped in the hallway and placed each shoe in turn in the hinge side of her door, pulling the door shut slowly and gently to flatten the box. Once that was done, she slid both back into the box and walked up the stairs to the garden, steps light and lively despite spending her entire day literally on her toes.

She found a nice spot near the door to the gardens and sat down on the floor next to a rose bush. Shoes out of the box again, she began softening the back of the shank to conform to the arch of her foot, bending it back and forth gently until it was pliable, but not too loose. Once both were pliant, she slid them on her feet over the bandages that covered a few toes on each foot. Blisters were a part of life, and she was luckier than most. Being a were, she healed quickly. She pulled the drawstring snugly, tied a knot, and cut off the loose ends of the draw string with the pocket knife she had brought along.

She sewed the satin ribbons on after that with the needle and thread she had thrown in the box that morning before rehearsal, quickly as she was used to this particular chore. In fact, breaking in the shoes in general had become almost an auto-pilot task that could be completed relatively quickly, and without much thought.

Sliding the shoes back onto her feet, she tied the ribbons around her ankles and stood at demi-pointe, on the balls of her feet rather than on her toes. The shoes were still stiff, especially down low, and it was uncomfortable and difficult as she walked around a bit, turned out – force of habit – as she wandered along the flowers. The rough footing would help give her some extra traction as well. New shoes were always slick.

Anyone who walked in on her might think it quite an odd sight – a young woman walking around in tights, sweat pants rolled up to the knee, a leotard as a top, hair in a bun that had seen better hours, strands unraveled around his face, and walking about the gardens on tip-toe. She wasn't really expecting company, though. The gardens were obviously prettier during the day, when the sun came in through the windows and lit the place up. The artificial lighting was a poor substitute.

And to tell the truth, she wasn't paying attention should anyone join her. She'd brought her iPod along with her, it was tucked between the elastic of her sweat pants and her hip bone, and music was playing through the ear-bud headphones loudly enough to drown out most of the sound around her. She was walking to the tempo of the song, stopping every so often to raise to full pointe and stretch her feet and ankles out, humming along softly as she went.