huscarles

she's just about to pivot and use the opportunity to ask if the other was competing in the white heron cup, when——

"final calls for sign-up for the white heron cup! the heron's garland goes to the best pair of dancers in the hall tonight!" ——a man's voice booms over the crystalline ballroom as if reading her mind, no doubt amplified by some magic. "if you haven't signed up already, this is your last chance!"

she's struck by a whim. why not?

"did you sign up already?" she asks ; and, without waiting for an answer: "if you haven't, want to compete together? i used to dance sometimes ; not to brag, but people where i come from are pretty good at it. i won't disappoint you." or at least she hoped she wouldn't. if ' lord crane dance ', as petra put it, was the caliber they were looking at, she thought she could manage at least that. "come on! it'll just be for fun."

But the request is so earnest. Petra glances over at the waistcoats and full skirts of the other guests before looking back at Ananke in her humble formal wear. Something akin to familiarity tugs at Petra as Ananke's bright demeanor feels closer to home than she had felt all evening.

And yet, that morning, before the rest of Garreg Mach had stirred to life, the princess finds herself making quick strides to the cathedral before class. A question had stirred her heart into motion--one that required the anonymity of the cathedral's advice box.

Pushing past the heavy wooden doors, it surprisingly empty for an early morning. There were usually at least one or two of her more devout peers in the cathedral before classes. But today, the only movement she sees are the particles of dust reflecting in the sunlight pouring through the grand stained glass windows.

That is, until her gaze meets the sanctuary. A soft light emanates from an orb floating directly in the center of the elevated platform. The dawning sunlight highlights the orb, and Petra watches as the dust bends around it as if the orb is cloaked with some kind of shielding magic.

Petra crosses the length of the altar and stops just before the threshold of the sanctuary. Ocher eyes narrow as she takes in the orb and how the room sits differently near it. How peculiar.

Her ears perk up. She is not alone.

It is clear to Petra from the composure of the gentleman in front of her that he is noble. The square of his shoulders is of someone who holds himself correctly in uncertain situations--a result of a highly-trained individual.

She glances from the stranger to the orb.

"You found this before me." It is not a question. She states it plainly, still assessing the relationship of the stranger to the orb. Petra all but forgets the note in her hand. "Do you know what it is?"

Someone had slipped the note under her door. Scenes from the previous night flashed through her mind--the dancing, the drinks, the fanfare of it all. Had she unwittingly offended some blue-blood so badly that they felt no other choice but to resort to vague threats? She can nearly taste the bitterness on her tongue as she thinks about what coward would dare to leave such a note and not face her directly.

Was it worth entertaining such things? It was certainly not the first time that she had been the butt of a cruel joke. But the timing of it sends a lead ball into the pit of her stomach, and the note continues to sear in her hand.

Sunlight had just begun to lay itself like a veil over Petra's eyes when the sound of three crisp taps brings her upright. She immediately spots the owl at the window, or rather, the bright red wax seal on the envelop catches her eye first. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she nearly trips over the pile of green fabric discarded unceremoniously on the floor--a sorry reminder of the evening before, as if the sharp pain of raw skin on her heels wasn't enough. Petra steadies herself, pushing aside the mild annoyance at even the sight of that horrible excuse for a dress, as she makes her way to the window and receives the letter. Her eyes soften, and she gives the owl a few soft strokes on the head before it flies off, leaving her with a message.

It is unclear who sent the letter, as the seal is makeshift and bears no insignia. Something tightens in Petra's stomach as she carefully lifts the letter out of the envelope and reads through the content. She blinks. A compromising video? Memories of the Ethereal Ball flash through her mind all at once, chaotically searching for some sense in the message. Had she irked the wrong person? Were the dances not technically correct? The knot in her stomach turns to lead as she feels her chest tighten. Petra folds the letter and puts it back in the envelop, forcing herself to breathe slowly, deeply. It would do her no good to jump to conclusions. She had been on the receiving end of pranks before--surely this was one such case.

Petra quickly dresses, braiding her hair neatly before throwing on her boots and wincing at the feeling of the leather. In her exhaustion from last night, she hadn't gotten any bandages to wrap her feet. Once this ordeal was over, she would have to head to the infirmary before she went to the library.

Tender feet make quick work of the courtyard, as the gazebo dawns over the horizon and into view. She spies a familiar silhouette standing under the cover. It isn't until she is mere steps away from the gazebo that the lead in her stomach flies into her throat as she instinctively takes a step back, frozen. Why was he here? Brigid's daughter says nothing as she wills her legs to stay strong underneath her and take steps forward, each threatening to sink her into the ground.

"Did you send this?" Her tone is sharper than she means for it to be as she enters the gazebo and hands the letter to the familiar stranger, crumpled under the force of fists Petra hadn't realized she had been holding.

"their scores aren't that impressive." compared to their final competitors, who looked like they might fall off their feet any second——something ananke couldn't blame them for ; she was tuckered out too and she hadn't even been the one dancing this whole time! petra was a fighter though, she'd said earlier. and that stamina definitely showed.

hands give the girl's shoulders one last squeeze as the audience claps politely for the preceding act and the announcer takes the stage to call out their names as the final performance. ' waltz ' was the last round's theme, which she's sure was supposed to mean that they'd dance together this time. but something about it had seemed like a bad idea——call her superstitious, but she didn't want to break the streak that'd been working so far.

so instead they'd had just enough time to alter petra's dance into a three-beat rhythm instead of the free-flowing thing it'd been before. "it's more structured this way, but the thing about structure is that once you really know it, then you can play around with the rules."

she's not sure if they'd accomplished that ; the call for the start of the final round had interrupted their brief preparation time before she'd felt confident. but every round had been like this: putting together something under pressure, mostly imperfect, a lesson in trust in a nearly-complete stranger. at this point, there wasn't anything else she could tell petra or try to teach her, and anyway she'd never been a dance instructor or even anything professional.

Petra nods once to her professor before taking the stage, eyes trained forward as she takes her position as she had before. Ananke had revised the steps for a waltz, as she called it-- a lilting melody that feels like leaping across tall fields of pampas grass and goldenrods. It was traditionally performed with a partner, so she had learned. And yet, Petra stood alone on stage, lifting her arms above her head and positioning her feet one in front of the other.

In the silence before the music starts, she looks off stage, catching Ananke's eyes as a soft grin pulls at the corners of her lips.

No, alone wasn't quite right, was it?

The music begins and she is off, nimble feet gliding across the stage in time with the anchors and upward movement of the rhythm. She is the wind spirit rustling newborn leaves the color of springtime. She is the small tidepool that forms as the waves ebb and flow. The steps are far from perfect, but they had made it this far together on little more than heart and trust. She would see it through to the end.

The music comes to a close and Petra lands her final pose, arms once more above her head as she trains her gaze to the heavens. The rise and fall of her chest had fallen in time with the bassline, and she can still feel the ghost of its rhythm beating in her ears above the sound of applause. She bows once before rushing off stage, reuniting with Ananke to await final scores.

The silence that follows anchors the stage. And the upbeat--!

"you should do something more like your first dance," she'd said, as truthful as she could bring herself to be. "there was so much power there. i felt like i could feel the emotion you wanted to express. that girl we talked to was right ; you were like a griffon! do more of that."

but if someone asked her, she wasn't actually sure if she was right. and what if she was wrong? what if petra ended up getting an even lower score this time? she might never listen to her again.

applause dwindles ; the audience falls hush again. petra leaves her one more time to head out onto the stage, and ananke tracks her every step, not sure if the nerves she felt were petra's or her own, not even aware of how invested she'd become compared to the beginning when she'd insisted it was all just for fun. only a few pairs remained——she'd noticed all the other single contestants had lost already, leaving only hers.

her forest and all its beauty was long gone. the nine-horned had long been driven from notia. but still she puts up a whisper to elnias reflexively as petra takes her place in front of the judges.

She returns from her thoughts and nods once, silently, at Ananke before assuming her position on the stage. More like your first dance, Ananke's words echo in her ears in the silence before the music starts. What had she been thinking in the first dance? She steals one last glance at Ananke.

She had been thinking that she trusted her professor to guide them to greatness.

Once more, Petra lifts from the stage, the steps feeling more familiar as she lands softly in time with the music. Arms lift as her feet anchor to the ground in a spin before gliding across the stage in a wide half moon. In some ways, Petra feels like she is parrying, making sure her steps firmly ground her and knees stay light in the face of an unknown opponent.

The music ends and Petra lands in her final pose as the audience claps politely. She can barely hear them over the sound of her own breathing and the rush of blood in her ears as she rushes backstage to rejoin Ananke.

The announcer comes on, voice booming as they read out the scores. Five in style, seven in choreography. Serviceable scores, Petra thinks, though her mouth is drawn in a tight line at the thought of her style score going down even more. Beginner's luck and beginner's magic, she supposes.

Her musings are interrupted when the score she had really been waiting for is read out. Ten! the announcer says, and Petra can barely contain the wry smile tugging at her lips. "I am grateful that the judges have finally woken up."

"don't worry about it! it doesn't have to follow the steps exactly. what's more important is letting your style come out. like that jump you did. don't go so far off that you lose the whole thing, but don't be afraid to improvise either."

was it just her, or did petra look even more nervous than before? well, they had made it farther than she'd thought they would given they'd entered the competition just for fun, so maybe she couldn't blame her.

a warm, encouraging smile tries to soothe those performance butterflies. "come on. we've already done great just getting past the first round. we've already hit the goal. everything else is just frosting."

as they say in notia.

"it's almost your turn. let's get up there."

the final minutes waiting backstage before going on for a show are some of the worst that time can offer. she stays close by and behind petra, hands squeezing the younger girl's surprisingly muscular shoulders in wordless support. out there, the two stepping back and forth look more like weighted nesting dolls wobbling and bonking against each other than a dancing pair, and are they talking during it too or is she just seeing things? is that supposed to be part of it?

There's no time to wonder as they are ushered just behind the curtain as their competitors perform. A pensive hand finds its purchase on Petra's chin. The two white-haired figures seemed more to be falling slowly into each other than dancing. The onlookers seemed to be just as unconvinced. "I was not knowing that the audience can also pass judgment." She is certainly no dancer, but it took no terpsichorean to see the tension, thick as whatever frosting the professor had encountered, calcifying between the two. The pair separates, and for some reason, and Petra finds herself... relieved?

"I am going, Professor," she calls out in a stage whisper before taking her cue on stage. The steps. Right. She raises her arms as she had before and begins the dance, lifting and spinning like the bird of paradise that Ananke had envisioned. The chassés, the fondus--they are unfamiliar, and she can feel her footwork wobbling beneath her. It's her own fault for not practicing more. Anything worth doing is worth doing correctly.

The music comes to its close in loud fanfare, and Petra looks on at the faceless audience, sweat gleaming from her brow--a crown befitting a warrior princess.

The score is... 17.5.

Her brow straightens. 17.5 is worse than last time. She hurries backstage to Ananke, perturbation clear on her generally neutral features. "Professor, do you have any comments for improvement? It is... I am unhappy with the score."

Seeing how much thought they'd put into their performance, she's not surprised. Emma had been so focused on practicing her execution; she hadn't even realized how much work goes into the process before that point. Every time she climbs a little higher, she realizes just how much further she has to go.

but to her question about the ball: ananke glances out toward the rest of the huge space, all sparkling and glamorous. to the people milling and whirling, to a pair of friends making exaggerated pantomimes about something she couldn't hear, doubling over laughing next to the dessert spread.

and there it is——a showstopping ten, just like she'd thought. the other two come up, and they're not as impressive, but they're not terrible either. four was only a little underwhelming.

she'd take it for how slapdash it was, definitely.

"hey! you did so great." her voice is a whisper-shout as she waves the girl over, quickly replaced by another who's rushing to take the stage for the next performance. ananke watches her out of the corner of her eye as she puts an arm around petra's sweaty shoulders to give a supportive pat. "what was that jump you pulled out of nowhere? i didn't show you that." but she'd leaped like elnias itself had possessed her, no worse than the best of the best from back home. it actually makes a little nostalgic, but she's not going to say anything about that.

the last performance of the first round doesn't go on for long, and she's clapping politely with the rest of them when the girl strikes her final pose——quietly, since they're backstage. she doesn't see from here what the scores are, but when the girl runs toward them to take her exit, she's exhilarated as if she'd already won the trophy.

"they gave me a ten in technique! can you believe it? a ten out of ten!"

ananke doesn't know who she's saying it to——no one looks to be rushing up to greet and congratulate her——but she grins anyway since she's standing there, the joy and pride radiating off her for her own performance palpable and more than a little infectious.

Returning her focus back to the stage, ocher eyes watch the girl's hands extend with a fluidity that catches her by surprise. There is a certain comfort with movement that the girl has that Petra can appreciate--a certain freedom in the gesture that feels like running through fields of tall grass, like breathing wild air.

it was a tall order.

but, like she'd said before: new people had to stick together, right? petra was a student, so she should be the one to take the lead and watch out for her. as a teacher⠀(⠀sort of⠀) ,⠀her job was to lift up the students and make sure they could shine, right?

"trust me. you've got a special style. it's not like any of the other dancing i've seen here tonight. if we just make sure to bring that out, that's the best we can do."

she has a feeling this little competition might actually matter a lot to petra, so she flashes a cheerful smile to try and lift her spirits——and because she feels a little bad now just grabbing her to do it together without thinking ; she hadn't thought it'd be that serious. "come on, it's just for fun!"

"next entrants: ananke and petra with ' the birds of paradise '!"

after the whole crane thing and the chicken comment, she'd thought going along with the bird scheme would be appropriate. besides, petra looked like one of those hidden forest birds herself, all dark magenta and gem-like green. and she was the centerpiece of it all.

"that's us! let's go!"　/　@macnaradhaigh ,⠀@shiningfalcon

The music begins and strong legs leap, sending Brigid's daughter into the air to land on one foot before bringing the other foot around in a half moon. She thinks back to the dance forms of home, strong and expressive in their low stances and wide eyes. The steady drumming of the chants of her ancestors guide her feet, her arms, the arch of her back in time with the music as she explodes and collapses in syncopated time.

The music concludes, and Petra's chest heaves as she holds her ending position, eyes twinkling at Ananke as applause begins and she takes her position next to the professor. The first score rings out. Pride wells in her chest and spills out into a wide grin. 10 points for style. She whispers silent gratitude to her forebearers.

4 points for choreography. Though unhappy with the score, Petra can't blame the judges for their eagle eyed critique; she had studied the steps that Ananke had prepared in the early morning hours just before the White Heron Cup began. Many of the competitors had worked for weeks to perfect their steps, and it would be incorrect for Petra's last-minute preparations to be scored any higher. Surely her final score would make up for the delta.

Her brow flattens. 4 points--below average on technique? "Professor, I am thinking the judges have organized their cards in a strange way..." She says it more for herself than for anyone else. Was there something wrong with her core strength? Perhaps the hand extensions looked weak and flimsy. Surely her control had been above average, had it not? 18 points is a fine score, but... This will not do at all.

"I am looking forward to your performance." Petra calls out to their competitor--a lithe young stranger she had yet to meet. Ocher eyes follow the girl steadily, adding to her running list of notes to crack the scoring system.

It happens again.

Though this time his attention isn't drawn by an unfamiliar voice, or a mistaken name; rather the glimpse of a girl over his shoulder, her hand extended as if to grasp him—only to retract when her eyes connect with his, then dart about his figure in examination of something unknown. Foreign.

One would think it hurtful to see the disappointment that flashes over another's face in reaction to them, yet Diamant feels a faint relief. No recognition of who he was. No preconceptions, or expectations weighed upon his shoulders.

Though that doesn't stop the concern he feels.

She seemed the same as any other person in this ballroom; hair perfectly coiffed, dressed in layers of gorgeous fabric accented with artistic, decorative blooms. But for the way she fit into all the glamour, there was a profound... solemnity to her.

It nagged at him.

"It's no issue at all, really." And much like with the other girl who mistakenly assumed him to be someone else, he asks: "Is this person you're looking for around here somewhere? I can keep an eye out, help you find him."