#furore.starter

her body aches. almost always does. she’s been warned about arthritis and osteoporosis since she was a child, scary words that reminded her of her grandmother and the stale scent of roses but she took the vitamins nonetheless and, when she made corps, the free massages, the team of nutritionists, the physical therapy. it’s her glute today, just one, maybe from a back attitude following an insufficient warmup or tensing weirdly during a frog stretch or spending too long on top last night. fingers dig against the muscle, pressing and kneading near her hip. “always feels better when someone else does it for you,” she quips around a sip of coconut water, a playful gleam in her eyes before full attention turns pointedly down to her ass. @furorestarters​

        alma’s restless. she’s a creature of impulse, flighty, rooted in her desires and possessed by whims, and free of the tasks that usually occupy her time ( sleep evades her and the clubs are tired repetitions of escapism ) she’s once again found herself in the studios, no one but the early-morning janitors to keep her company. despite her injury, the craft she once knew like the back of her hand never seems far away from the memory in her bones. first, second, pas assemblé, plié, brisé en arrière, plié, fouetté rond de jambe en tournant… it follows like a dream, a pulse in the muscles of her legs where warming up may have proven inadequate, feet en pointe when she feels the split of a nail and ‘fuck’ spritzes from her lips like a flame. “jesus, fucking, shit, fucker━” blood on satin ; an unholy mess of a thing, though it’s a mild inconvenience. bones are more difficult to mend than keratin. it’s only then, crumpled on the floorboards, yanking the slipper from her foot that she notices a figure at all, her head darting up catlike to clock their eyes.  “well, shit, don’t just stand there, why not make yourself useful?” not an official here to scorn her, as far as she can tell, but fuck if it hadn’t spooked her. “i could do with a plaster or three. first aid tin’s under the director’s desk. make that a gauze, actually.”

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : auditorium 

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞:  some  empty  studio  in  the  company  𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞:  anyone

                                                  she’s   comfortable   surviving   in   the   silence.   a   childhood   forced   upon   into   it,    rather   let   it   consume   nataliya   conquered.   a   teenage   girl,   having   more   balls   than   an   entire   board   room   of   cold,   capitalist   soliders   ⸻   a    righteous   kick   in   the   teeth.   nataliya   is   yet   to   settle   into   the   new   position,   find   a   throne   to   call   her   own.   so   she   claims   a   studio   in   the   meantime,   paperwork   neatly   spread   out   over   the  piano   as   she   leaned   over   her   work.  ❛   it’s   rude   to   sneak   upon   a   lady.  ❜   nataliya   doesn’t   give   the   other   the   gift   of    her   gaze,   not   yet   at   least.  ❛   what   is   it   ⸻   you’re   interrupting.   ❜