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THEĀ BARISTAĀ HADĀ STARTEDĀ TOĀ STIFLEĀ quiet sobs by the time fia forced herself to draw her eyes away from the disturbance unfolding in what was supposed to be herĀ coffeeĀ sanctuaryĀ .Ā she couldnāt affordĀ the shops that littered the walk to lāacademiae, a world away from her shabby flat on the other side of the cityĀ -Ā precisely two changes on the underground and an overcrowded bus ride back, she was already calculating the fare if she were to take the ferryĀ -Ā but the cafe nestled in the promenade sold surprisingly cheap americanos. she didnāt drink caffeine before coming to london.Ā Ā āhonestly, v, heās hard to look at.āĀ Ā her words were muffled inside the lid of her cup clutched tightly between both hands, like she was struggling to get the picture of the man who was still shouting out of her head. daring a glance back in his direction, she choked on a gasp as the man was thumping his palm against the white countertop. the sound was a dull thud, very little rhythm. not the beautiful kind of angry sheād grown to love, dance to, feel quietly.Ā Ā āhe looks like my dadĀ ..Ā a bitĀ ..Ā maybe. all bald men look alike to me. if heās anything likeĀ āim, he doesnāt do squat.āĀ Ā this made her laugh, and maybe she was incredibly uncomfortable with the outburst and maybe it was the caffeine but once she started laughing she didnāt know if she could stop. standing at the cafe with violetta at all felt strangeĀ -Ā sheād left shortly before fia arrived, always existing as a beautiful monolith but never quite as a girl, only to return rather recently. fia had been afraid of her until they ran into each other in the cafe a few weeks back and she learned what kind of fabulous stories violetta could weave. fia had always loved stories.Ā Ā āhis suit screams venture capitalist, though. bet heās threatening to buy this place and turn it into a butcher shop.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā her attentionās always fickle, but once caught, sheās enraptured ā such as now, leaning in, following fiaās words ā fiaās lips, her mannerisms. violettaās mindful, more than one would expect, not through any fault of their own; itād be a difficult assumption. but, even a keen eye wasnāt needed in this situation. the way fia gripped her cup tightly ā one twist of pandoraās pithos would let the badness seep, hope still contained inside. violetta didnāt need to twist, though. she saw the way fia danced. instead of prodding, violetta beams. ā senseless of him since the shop would be settled in an enclave of non-meat-eaters. minus saturday night hot wings. and, the occasional cheeseburger. exceptions in the virtuosoās vegan handbook. it comes down to the fact that no one cooks. ā she takes off the eye masks, sticking them onto the table ā two golden crescents against dark wood, then dabs the remnant serum in with the pad of her forefinger. āĀ only idiots yell so at least itās in character. āĀ she digs out a rose gold tube, cap off revealing a deep rouge and runs it over her lips, multiple coats. a quick process, with intention as violetta then sidles along the table border, the man all but forgotten. the distance closes and hands cup the blondeās face to allow for fixed kisses onto both cheeks. violettaās movements then slow, focus now on blending lipstick marks in with her thumbs,Ā bruising the pale of fiaās skin. ā a little color, ā she explains, surveying her work, but mostly the negative spaceĀ ā the empty parts that remained. āĀ your lips are bare.Ā may i ? Ā ā
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hiiii! iām ella :-) hereās a quick lilā intro on violetta below before i hope off to w*rk. iām sry it sucks. i do more later? maybe? so excited to be here.
āĀ *Ā :Ā alisha boe . cis woman & she/her . the beach ii by wolf alice .Ā āāĀ the legend surrounding londonās lāacademiae furorum would not be complete without VIOLETTA LARSEN . the academy's TWENTY-THREE year old FIRST SOLOIST has returned to furore for SIX MONTHS , oft described as LAX, STARRY-EYED, CANDID, DISTANTĀ &Ā has proved utterly indispensable to the company. in passing , theyāve come to be associated with SALTED CITRUS ON THE RIM OF SOMETHING CRISP AND BURNING ā CRUSHED LEAVES SEEPING EARTH BETWEEN CLASPED HANDS &Ā vibrations on a worn-out stage, feet against warmed hardwood, leaping and spinning . hair in waves, held by saltwater, dewy-afterglow as the sunās first rays fall upon last night's sparkles and laughter . and mind masked by the right amount of hazy, chest bubbling as everything shifts to more pretty, more nice . whether this will be their final curtain call is anyone's guessĀ &Ā the companyās worst nightmare .Ā Ā
pinterest.
sahra rose quickly, naturally gifted but also a hard worker. danced on air, moves as smooth as they were sharp. style noted once as āuncomfortably beautifulā. alexander was a quiet, serious pianist who at first glance would go unnoticed, blended into the rest of the orchestra, but when he played, all eyes fell on him. a classic tale of romance. she danced to his music. he created music for her to dance to. they became bonded by the endless act of creating something great from nothing.
violetta was a āsomething greatā in their eyes, despite the way her formation had cut the careers of her mother and father short. they wished for something beyond the halls of furore. to create their own legacy and they did. traveled all over the place with baby, then child, then teenager, violetta, in tow. sahra and alexander ā goodwill ambassadors, worked to build schools to spread dancing and music all over. socialites at the brim of the best events and ideas.Ā
they never imposed any boundaries on their sole daughter. she grew up learning from her parents but also whoever and whatever caught her eye. exuding confidence in the most cool-girl-culture-esque way with the shadow of nepotism ofc but you could never really pin violetta down.Ā
she seems to deal with everythingĀ (annoyingly) with so much ease, doesn't know the concept of worrying (may be because of the fact that she always carries the best weed and shrooms ā a must), knows about all the drama but never involved in any of the drama.
quintessentially sheās kid cudi dancing during electric feel at mgmt coachella set but as a person ifykyk
her venture at furore may have been expected all things considered but it wasnāt. a whim like many other things that violetta decided to tread into. although, she had her motherās trainings and her fatherās music and did all the right things albeit in very wrong ways, but it created her own unique style, not as perfect as her motherās, but effortless, ripples in a stream. she kept at it for two years, the promise of principal dancer was there before she decided that her journey was over and went onto pursue other things to the chagrin of the academy. just bc she felt like it. violetta was seemingly unperturbed and went into acting, traveled some more, did a few apartment-tour-whatās-in-my-bag maunders.Ā
two years passed and she decided to return. by another whim was a reason accepted by most, although many had expected the academy to completely bar her, but again preference by bloodline ruled. violetta wasnāt made principal dancer though, first shunted to second soloist (to set an example) but then quickly first soloist once more.
in reality, violettaās return was the most planned thing she had ever done in her entire life. meetings with her parents were booked as ādinner with sahra & alexander at 8 pmā, but their family dynamic was never the norm. still filled with love and joy. the news during one said dinner cast an ugly dent onto all of the great things that had been built. (illness tw) alexander was sick, had monthsĀ ā maybeĀ ā but it was all uncertain. the only uncertain violetta ever had difficulty dealing with in her life.
love was always characterized by passion in violettaās mind and it felt right, needed, that both of her parents saw her dance on the stage to the song alexander had written for her, when she was born composed of notes that her mother had danced to all laced together. it was a way of managing grief. of saying all the things she wanted to say to him, and them.
āShe was the essence of the theatre itself, stirring the imagination, promising such intensity and heightening of the experience, such richness, and then failing to appear in person, giving instead a smoke screen of compulsive talk about trivialities.ā
ā AnaĆÆs NinĀ | The Diary of AnaĆÆs Nin, vol. I, December 30, 1931
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