And a Center like a Galaxy {Felice}

[LILA DAY]

Lila wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed her to don the leotard again, or to grab her pointe shoes and a water bottle and make her way to the auditorium. She wasn’t sure why she was doing this, even as she extended her legs, and stretched them. Reaching to grab her foot from standing upright, before moving to the other. Her hands then went flat between her feet, and she lowered herself, stretching her legs straight out, slowly working her way to loosen the muscles of her hips, ribs, and arms. Lila hadn’t lost the flexibility, and the stretches came like a second nature, even though it felt like it had been forever since she last danced.

Then again, it hadn’t been too long, right? About a month ago, when she had the dorm to herself. But that hardly counted, she didn’t have the free space of the stage. Even as she stretched, she kept her eyes peeled for someone walking in—which she didn’t notice if anyone had snuck in. The idea of someone seeing her shot a thrum of panic through her chest. The stage was in her blood, and yet she was still traumatized of its haunted memory; the connection to her father. She was one of those girls; she had the name, she had the genes. Her father had been Charles Day, the famous playwrite who’s works were still on Broadway as a memorial to his death just a few short years ago. She had the funds, the trust fund put aside for herself, and the inheritance from her father’s death. She could afford the nicest things, but she was modest about it.

People had expected her to take over her father’s business. Performing, writing, directing—but the girl had all but dropped off the map, and threw herself into schooling. As she slipped her toes into the pointe shoes, she laced them tightly around her ankles and lifted to her feet. In no way were they comfortable—when she first began, it resulted in blistered, bloodied toes. She had ruined her practice shoes with the blood and distress on the fabric. The bones in her feet were somewhat misshapen from forcing them into unnatural positions, twisting, and growing. When she lifted en pointe, she felt the strain in her ankles, and the pressured of her toes pressing into the box that she balanced on. Dancers were brave. Some thought the art was feminine, pansy, weak…if only they knew. A dancer’s life on stage was a short one, they had to maintain the proper body, they couldn’t injure their bones and most of all, they had to hide the pain that they suffered every time they were on stage.

But the pain was a comfort to her. Even as the shoes scuffed along the stage, warming up, getting used to the shoes again. She lowered to her feet, and put the iPod on, selecting the proper playlist. Her arms dropped slowly, lightly, gracefully, before her body came to life. Her eyes were for the stage, judging the distance and space as her strong legs carried her across the wooden flooring. It was all built into her muscle memory—something she could never forget. The music sprang to life in her ears, and her body responded to it. It was an old-practiced routine, one she could do with her eyes closed. Her legs carried her, feigning falls, only to catch her at the last moment and send her spinning in the next direction. She was aware of every single one of her limbs, and they moved like ribbons. Emphasizing her movements, and adding to the grace she had on her feet. Even when she had taken up singing, she never abandoned dance.

It was something she shared with her father. The simple, sudden memory of dancing this particular routine for the first time for her father jolted her. But she kept going—then the images started. The flashing of her father’s face in his mind. His stern, contemplative look as he tried to understand the story her body was telling. The corrective tone in his voice when he critiqued her, then the joyous smile after it all. It was suddenly too much, and Lila lost the beat of the music. She pulled the headphones from her ears suddenly, as though it were a horrific sound now. She breathed heavily, and used the back of her arm to wipe at her forehead while she made her way slowly to the water bottle at the edge of the stage. That’s when she noticed something.

Slowly picking up the bottle, she finally raised her head. She wasn’t alone.

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OUTFIT

[FELICE GIRAUD]

This day had not been a good one. From the beginning, she'd had the feeling that it was meant for misfortune. From the moment she stepped onto the floor and into her slipper to discover a large bug inside, she hadn't had high hopes. After a high-pitched shriek she managed to get her roommate to kill it, and she'd said it was a roach. Felice had touched a roach with her foot. A. Roach. And she'd been whimpering on and off about it all day.

She'd started out trying to be optimistic, but every single corner and unknown crevice made her shudder. The disgusting menaces were out to get her, she knew. A spider lowered itself right in front of her face in 5th period! This did not happen on a normal day! It was a sobering thought, and everything looked like a horrifying shadow. She wasn't used to this kind of anxiety. She was usually rather fearless. They ignored her and she ignored them. Something about touching a bug made it all a little too real for her...

The last straw was in the bathroom. She had been planning to go to the dance studio after school, figuring something productive would calm her nerves, and since the place was very clean it wouldn't pose much of a threat. So she went to the bathroom, her bag over her shoulder and ready to head out. Then, as she washed her hands, she looked up to see a large cricket resting on her shoulder. Screaming was heard. Loud, shrill screaming.

And then she was running, her hands barely washed, beating and brushing off every inch of her body as she went, jumping at every sign of something questionable on the floor. She merely ran across the hall to the auditorium, but it was a safe place in the school, and she felt far enough away as she wrenched the door open, darted inside, and slammed it behind her.

Breathing shakily, she shook her head and continued to rub at her exposed skin and tug at her clothes as she looked around. It didn't take too long to realize she wasn't alone in the room. There was a girl, and a very pretty one, up on the stage in the middle of a rather complex routine. Huh. So she wasn't the only one who made more use of the stage than the actors did. She walked quietly towards the stage, then hopped up onto the far left side of the thrust to avoid distracting the skilled dancer. Perhaps not as far advanced, or maybe not as practiced as Felice, but very good. Very good.

"Very good," Felice whispered as she watched, her body automatically reacting and mocking the girl's movements, keeping track of the near flight she was achieving. Most impressive. It was then that the girl lost herself too much, and Felice automatically backed away a few paces as the beat was lost and the earbuds were torn violently from her ears. She stepped forward a little bit as the girl walked at a normal pace, obviously not dancing now. She was tired. Strained, more than just by the complication of her dance. She was a natural at that. Felice took another step and the girl saw her.

She automatically smiled sheepishly, and lifted one hand in a wave. "You dance very well," she said strongly. A few months at this school had cured her nerves of being judged for her accent. Most of the people here weren't worth her concern, so there was no need trying to hide it. But it seemed this one would be worth much more than that from the way she'd been dancing. "Eet became very... modern at zee end. Was eet supposed to? Unexpected, but. Done nicely," she said, knowing she'd probably just gotten caught up in the emotion of the song. "I am Felice. I am a dancer also. It is nice to meet another," she finally added, feeling very rude indeed to have not said so before.

//Outfiiiiit~

[LILA DAY]

Lila openly stared at the other girl when she waved, mimicing the wave awkwardly. She wasn't entirely sure how to feel, but Lila was an even tempered girl. Friendly; so the thought to yell at the other girl for intruding didn't go to her mind. If anything, Lila was taking her in. A pretty girl, very pretty--but she had a particular body structure that was very familiar to Lila. It was a dancer's body, lithe, slender. After years, and years, and a lifetime of practice--the smallest movements were altered by the life of dancing. An airy grace, a gentle femininity. The girl standing opposite her had the same, and was only confirmed after a few moments.

Lila's face finally broke into a smile as she took a sip of her water, "Non, il n'était pas censé." She smiled almost sheepishly, hoping that she got the language right. That what she was assuming was a French accent was just that, and not some strange, obscure accent. "I haven't danced in a long time, I'm a bit rusty." Her voice was almost smokey when she spoke, gentle and light. "It's nice to meet you, Felice. I'm Lila." Heat was rushing up to Lila's face in the form of a bright pink shade. It embarassed her to have been caught dancing. It wasn't difficult for her to feel intruded upon, but moreso embarassed.

This girl was critical in a strange way. Of course she had given Lila no reason to assume, but the way she was praising her made her think of a teacher. Very good. Done nicely. The routine was spoiled, and Lila wasn't about to ignore the other girl to go back to dancing. She didn't want to be mistaken as a show off, and it felt a bit strange to just ignore her and be watched. Lila would then be critical of herself, fearful of messing up--which would only lead her into messing up over and over again. Setting her bottle down on the stage, she reached up to re-do the loosened ponytail, before offering a bigger smile. "How long have you been dancing for? It seems as though you know what you are looking at. It's refreshing." Her head nodded as she wrapped up her thick hair into a bun. She hadn't thought to make the bun tight, but now she felt sloppy under Felice's eye.

Perhaps she just looked like a new dancer, one who hadn't been at it for long. The idea of her routine turning modern...well that disgusted her in a slight way. She was trained in ballet; she had suffered pain, irreversable shaping of the bones in her feet, and bloodied, bruised, and blistered toes from the pointe shoes. She had forced her body to erase all limitations, and allow her limbs to move as though they didn't have tendons, increasing her flexibility, and tricking her brain into believe her bones were hollow. Eating the proper things, watching her weight--all of it. Classic, traditional--not modern. Heavens above, nothing against them. All dancers were dancers, period. But Lila was a ballerina, not a modern ragamuffin. The simple thought made her cheeks burn, which she rubbed at nervously.

"It's surprising I haven't seen you around before. Then again, I mostly hole up in my room." Lila grinned, shifting awkwardly in her shoes. Pointe shoes were ment to stand en pointe; they were awkwardly shaped and it felt strange to stand flat footed on them. "Oh, ah...Did you want the stage? I don't want to hog it or anything." She tucked a few loose strands of hair that refused to be coaxed into the loose bun by her fingers, behind her ear and looked reproachfully at Felice.

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OUTFIT