mirrorball

Time with his sister had been an unfortunate casualty of him processing the bombshell that Christos had dropped on his life. The news serving to make him a fool and the life he'd led for two decades seem even more pointless. When it came to Magda though perhaps the only saving grace was her busy schedule, it not entirely unusual for there to be gaps in seeing each other. "Glad you could make it." Was the greeting he gave as he opened the door, stepping aside to let her in before he moved through to the kitchen. For all the nonchalance in his delivery, he was glad to see her. Or relieved, maybe, that not all of his familial relationships had ended up in tatters. "Pick your poison, you know where it all is." Hand waved towards the fridge and drinks cabinet, expecting her to help herself. "Thought I might make dolma." The suggestion was a neutral one, his attempt at starting a conversation that didn't have anything to do with either of their brothers.

“Dolma, just like when we were kids, I’d love to see it.” She’d being a bit cruel, and takes a sip of her wine as she drops down onto his couch. “I brought pierogis, they just need to pan fry - let me know when you’re done cooking.” She nods at the bag set on the counter. “So what’s up? I know you Vic, you didn’t just invite me over to hang out”

"You know if you take any longer next time I might grow a full beard." Henri flicked away his cigarette before pushing off the wall he had been leaning against. The theater had emptied out a while ago but he had promised Magda he'd wait to take her to drinks and a late dinner. "You were great tonight. Better than last week I think." Henri wasn't exactly a great fan of ballet but he had tried to take an interest in Magda's profession. He prided himself on being a good friend and he knew that if he needed his friends to show up for him they would. "You hungry? I've got a car waiting unless I can convince you to finally take the subway with me." He reached out his hand for her bag and smiled. "Let's get out of here, ballerina."

“Henri," and she pronounces his name in the very french way, "how rude of you to think I was bad last week, dinner is absolutely on you to make up for this.” Magda looks at her phone, then back up. “Why waste the car, I love a metro. Where are we going?”

August slowly paced the sidewalk as she waited, head craned down towards her phone as she shot off another text in an idle conversation with someone. She'd promised Magda a low-key girls night, which in this case meant meeting her after a rehearsal and taking her to dinner somewhere of her choosing, even if that was Thai takeout and August's couch at the end of it all. Upon hearing the doors open, she dropped the phone into her jacket pocket and turned, spotting Christos's little sister as she exited in a gaggle of other dancers.

"Do you ever look tired or out of sorts, you fuckin' fairy princess?" she teased as she moved closer, then looped her arms around the younger woman and pulled her into a brief, tight hug. She'd bullied Christos into being her friend over the course of months spent together at the VA hospital, but bonding with his younger sister had come as naturally as breathing. "Where do you wanna go? I'll get us a car."

“There’s this new little bistro like four blocks away that I’ve heard great things about, and also the chef might have a thing for me after meeting one singular time at the gala last month. So that could be fun and possibly have some extra treats and what not. But if you aren’t feeling like staying out we totally don’t have to!” Magda wants to go out, wants to stay out; she’s hiding behind niceties and whatever, but there’s an earnestness in her wide and wild eyes that longs for something more, something exciting.

He didn't bother veering much farther than the foyer, assuming this conversation wouldn't go much better than the last. "And we do need to talk. There's some information coming out -- I don't know how, I don't know when -- and I needed you to hear it from me before you heard from anyone else." It was no use explaining it all in detail -- the text he received, the flashdrive -- none of that would matter at the end of this. A breath, and he forced himself to meet Magda's gaze. "I'm sorry I gotta fuck up your day off with this, but -- it's about what happened to Angelo." A pause. "It was a set up by our uncles. I found out shortly after it happened, and -- and I didn't say anything. I thought I was protecting you guys." He couldn't help the way he scoffed at his own words, looking away then. "I just came from Vic's. He ain't talking to me any time soon. I'm guessing you're ready to follow suit."

Information and other bullshit - she’s ready to brush it all off with her easy smile until he says Angelo. Magda freezes, a preternatural stillness drawn from training or fear or whatever bone deep part of her still held that sorrow. Angelo. Angelo. 

Magdalena’s spent more of her life without him than she ever did with. When you’re eleven years old you still believe in magic, you still believe in the wonder and enchantment of the world - no matter how wicked and cruel your father is. The three of them - Victor and Angelo and Christos; Christos and Angelo and Victor - are herculean in her eyes. God how she longed to be one of them, eavesdropping at the kitchen door whilst they sat amongst the men discussing all things important until some aunt or another would fuss at her to help with dishes. Back then they were invincible.

Grief is a funny thing, it’s almost a goddamn cliché. Here one day then gone the next. When you’re eleven you think the whole world should halt at the loss of someone so important. But it doesn’t. Everyone seems to move on, go about their day as if everything hasn’t been irrevocably shattered. Her remaining brothers cope in their own way, and maybe they were given the tools to reckon with such a loss that she wasn’t. But this isn’t the kind of family that tolerates emotion and weakness - so Magda poured her heart out on the stage and buried her grief all alone. 

“What?” It’s the barest whisper, tears pooling in the corner of those wild and wide eyes. “Why would they do that? What - oh god, Chris—“ she sets the glass down and reaches out, hand clasping around his wrist. “You carried this all alone, for so long didn’t you?” 

Grief is fickle, it comes when you least expect it - Angelo always finds her just as the rain stops, tentatively lowering an umbrella - you’re not made of sugar, you won’t melt. A thunder clap outside the window, but the snow falls on and on. Magda grabs Christos’s hand and pulls him to her couch. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, “that you felt like you had to carry that burden all alone for so long. We were all just kids, all of us - not just me. And I’m not going to stop talking to you because of a choice you made like 20 years ago that you thought was for the best.”

location: Mason Lumiere Bakery

"Oh my god Magda, I think I need a chocolate croissant ASAP or I will implode." She exclaimed as she looked over the display case with her friend. "Why do I feel like ballerinas totally should eat like so many French pastries because ballet was from France, right?" Nan had no actually reasoning for this, but she felt like it sounded right. It was so cool to hang out with a real life ballerina and be friends with her was even cooler. "How is the show going, by the way?!"

BALLET MOMENTS THAT MAKE ME GO FERAL: Manon (footage from 2004)

Carlos Acosta as Des Grieux. Tamara Rojo as Manon