preston rawlings . {viola} (theviola) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-03-16 15:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | ballerina, highwayman, piers knight, viola |
Who: In order of appearance: Shiloh, Blake, Preston, & Poe
What: A ballet performance
Where: The Performing Arts … Place.
When: A while ago; long before the blackout.
Warnings: None.
After changing his plans to meet Preston in the lobby to meeting in the balcony box instead, Shiloh had gone inside, feeling decidedly more collected than he had when he had gone out after that disastrous meeting. A drink in hand from the refreshments stand downstairs, Shiloh had headed up to the box Poe had told him Blake Thorne had for the performance. He had to give a sigh of relief when he found himself to be the first one there, and he wasted no time in taking the first available seat, sinking down with his legs stretched out in front of him as far as he could manage.
The drink was weak, a terrible travesty considering how much it had cost him, but at least he was guaranteed to remain sober, as per his promise to Preston. Not that he had intended to get drunk by any stretch of imagination, but given that smoking was not allowed in the theater, a weak drink was the next best thing. Sipping at it, he shifted to turn his wrist to get a look at his watch, checking the time.
Blake had already had one drink tonight and he was well on his way to finishing his second when he arrived at the box. Someone was already seated inside, and while the hair color was familiar, the clothes weren’t. He walked around in front of him. “You’ll be Shiloh Preston,” he said, with a small smile that didn’t have a whole lot of friendliness behind it. Nothing Poe had told him about Preston’s brother gave him much faith that the man revolved anywhere near decent, or deserving of having Poe’s hopes set on him. “Blake Thorne. I’ll be your box host tonight.”
Shiloh looked up at the sound of someone entering the box, sitting further up, straightening his posture as he gave the man a look up and down before settling on his face with a smile of his own. The difference between his smile and Blake’s, however, was that Shiloh’s was actual genuine, if a bit stressed. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Blake,” Shiloh said as he got to his feet, offering a hand to the other man. “I’d say that I’ve heard a ton about you, but that would be false. But it’s good to finally put a face with the man.”
Preston arrived just before the lobby doors closed, and he looked just like the kind of the person the ushers wouldn't let in, harried, with a cellphone that he was only just now putting on silent. He was well-dressed, too well-dressed to be a teacher or even a museum curator, but he had none of Shiloh's unthinking poise. "Hey, Shiloh." He glanced out over the balcony, missing the glory of the view and unimpressed by the idea of box seats, and then he brought his eyes up to meet Blake's. It was a penetrating glance, but not accusatory, as if he wanted to make sure he wasn't missing something in the other man's face. "Blake."
“Funny, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Blake shook his hand firmly, but not with a death grip, and turned to see Preston enter the box. Blake stared back, taking Preston’s measure. It had been a while since he’d last seen him in person, and Blake looked much as he always did - rumpled suit of good quality but no obvious logos of design, carrying with him the scent of cigarettes and cologne. His mood was a touch dark, and his eyes went sharper whenever they fell on Shiloh, but you’d really only know it if you’d known him long enough to read past the easy smile and casual body language. “Preston. Ever been to a ballet before?” The question was directed at them both, and he polished off his drink and set it on a side board.
As the tension in the box rose considerably as all three men gathered, Shiloh took his seat once more and finished off the rest of his drink, letting it join Blake’s glass on the sideboard. The way in which those words were said, that he had heard plenty about himself, did not bode well, and he simply wasn’t in the mood to talk or banter about it. So he went quiet, ignoring the question that was tossed his way, instead folding his arms across his chest and calmly waiting for the ballet to start.
"Several times. Anton is always getting boxes and free tickets. He has no interest in the arts." Preston was looking at Blake. He knew the rumpled suit well, and the man beneath it, and the memories made him more uncomfortable than they should. Shiloh wasn't handling the difficulties Poe represented very well, but at least, as Preston had said, he was trying. Poe probably didn't understand that, and if he didn't, there was a good chance he'd tell Blake, who above all things was disgustingly easy to talk to. Preston finished with the phone, pocketed it, and sat down, straightening his tie.
Blake sat down in the seat closest to the edge of the box. It had a spectacular view of the stage, and not a few people below were craning their necks to see who was sitting in it. “Anton didn’t want to go to a ballet? I’m shocked as hell.” The ushers outside the box pulled the curtain separating them from the exit closed, a signal that the show would be starting any minute.
As Preston sat, Shiloh looked over towards him, watching him for a moment before he relaxed ever so slightly, wondering when it had become in his nature to be so defensive and closed off. It wasn’t like him, and he knew that quite well, but this wasn’t a situation he could charm himself out of. “The ballet isn’t for everyone,” he said after a moment, finally joining the conversation. “I’m not surprised Anton doesn’t care for it, the little that I know about the man.”
A hush passed over the audience and the curtains parted.
The ballet was a compilation of Balanchine's work, featuring different students in the scenes. First Apollo, then Diamonds and finally Blackbird, which featured a single dancer all in black. It was a simple dance, passionate without being extravagant, and Poe danced it all the better for the emotions roiling within him. He lost track of his father in the balcony, his uncle, too, and Blake. And there was just the music and the movement, and by the time his two minutes were up, he visibly spent and his bow was a limp thing. He was gone from the stage a moment later, as Jewels began and other dancers took his place for the final piece before the last curtain.
Preston was a born audience member; he didn’t understand the technicalities of dance, but he didn’t feel he needed to. If a dance was performed well he should be able to watch it without wondering what that turn was called in French. This dance was performed well. He enjoyed it, but he never forgot it was Poe. Poe didn’t look much like him, and only a little like Shiloh. Preston could barely remember the woman Shiloh knew; and if he was really honest, he wasn’t even sure he’d met her at all. He glanced over at the others.
Blake was watching the dance with a casually practiced posture, but his eyes never left the stage, and when Poe came on, they sharpened. He wasn’t familiar with the ballet, but he knew enough about ballet itself to know how well he danced it. His reaction to it wasn’t really on his face, though it was there in small ways - a minute softening of his expression, and the fact that he clapped harder for it than anything else. He didn’t throw off any quips about the quality of the dancers like he might have done at some other event in other company, just watched, intent.
Shiloh hadn’t attended the ballet since Boston, since Lily to be exact. So this performance was a trip down memory lane, a heavy sense of nostalgia and other feelings he couldn’t name taking up home in his mind. He watched silently, his gaze sharp, never leaving the stage once Poe had made his entrance. It was a wholly different experience to watch the boy dance, one he wasn’t sure he had properly prepared himself for. As the music dwindled and the applause took over, Shiloh was on his feet and near the edge of the box, clapping hard enough to redden the palms of his hands. His attention was still there, and for all he noticed, he was alone in the box. “Fantastic,” he murmured under his breath. “Just... fantastic.”
“You can’t take credit for that,” Preston said to his brother, after ceasing his own applause and turning of a sharp perusal of Blake to catch Shiloh’s more predictable reaction. Preston didn’t have much grace himself, and Shiloh was equally lacking in that particular gift. Their father had Preston’s build, but their mother had--Preston’s head lifted a little with the realization. That was it. The set of the bones behind the cheeks, the sensitive brows. Preston rubbed his forehead. No wonder the boy made him defensive.
Blake watched Shiloh get up with a touch of amusement. The man might have no idea what to do with Poe, but he clearly cared about him at least somewhat, and it softened his opinion of him a little. He laughed at Preston's quip. "If you two are anything alike, I can safely say that's true."
The curtain came down on the performance, the house lights came up, and people began finding their way to the lobby. Blake got up from his seat. "I'm going to see if I can find him backstage to congratulate him. You two coming?"
Preston shook his head. “I’ll wait in the lobby.” He was concerned about his relationship with Poe making every other relationship negative, and he didn’t want to influence any of it one way or another. He gave Blake a rather strange, sad look, gave Shiloh a push in the general direction Blake was taking, and then moved out down the hallway, turning his cellphone back on as he went.
“Trust me. I’m not taking credit for that,” Shiloh said as the applause settled down, the lowering curtain signalling the end of the performance. Rubbing his reddened palms on the thighs of his pants, he turned to watch Blake and Preston both rise from their seats. He was about to say something, but whatever it was was promptly silenced as Preston gave him a push towards Blake. “I’ll join you, if you don’t mind,” he said as he caught up alongside Blake. After the disastrous meeting, he hoped some genuine, heartfelt congratulations would help mend the hurt.