#gabias

The American. Maverick. I want to work with him, he's mine.

Tobias and Gabin standing in the middle of a rehearsal room arguing about the order of moves in a new piece—

“Non!” says Gabin.

“YES!” yelled Tobias, throwing up his hands.

—Tobias puts his headphones on and walks out and Gabias chases after him yelling, essentially don’t-you-put-your-headphones-on-and-walk-away-from-me-you-American, chasing each other around the whole Paris studio set throwing their hands everywhere and and bickering in classic Palladino style about the ballet—

“You are BESMIRCHING the name of Baryshnikov!”

“Oh, besmirching, big word for someone who can’t do the right number of fouettés to save his life, it’s always one too few! One too many! Never the right number! Imagine if your waiter gave you the dish above or below the one you ordered, whatever he felt like on the day!”

—looking for all the world like they hate each other, walk-and-talking in and out of the rooms and winding around dancers stretching, warming up, fixing their shoes, until they finally end up back in the hallway in front of the red-piano studio and throw up their hands and walk off in opposite directions.

*camera holds on hallway for a beat*

Both come right back into frame to simultaneously and huffily plant a big dramatic kiss on each other.

The break, hold for a second, and Tobias says in the same little voice as after the rat—

“See you after company class.”

*Gabin nods firmly *

—and they storm back in opposite directions.

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