ArchivedLogs:Dance

Dance
Dramatis Personae Lia, Dorian Siccavil, Kismet	24 October 2013 A chance meeting of different types of practice converges oddly well on the roof.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. The concrete wall that rings the roof has been decorated, painted in vivid bright shades by some artistic hand to add colourful cheer to the rooftop. The mural shifts in terrain One wall sports a beach, flecked with grass and seashells and driftwood and shore birds. Beach transitions into meadow, colourful with wildflowers and butterflies and dragonflies; meadow shifts into snow-capped mountains, subsides into piedmont and sprouts into a verdant forest on the fourth, alive with animals. It has grown quite chill on the roof, as the sun is setting and the wind is blustering on this early autumn evening. As such, the space has grown less crowded, the dwindling force of refugees largely slinking back inside for shelter from the elements. One figure seems to have decided on the opposite approach. Lia stands at the west-facing side of the building, giving herself the clearest view of the fiery red-pink-orange sun dropping down and melting in an expanding pool of cool indigo. Unlike the others running off inside, away from the cold, she has stripped away her black-faded-to-grey hoodie and removed her too-large sneakers. She is left in a long-sleeved purple T-shirt with a picture of a kitten in a tiara on its front that very /nearly/ fits her, navy blue leggings with a small hole torn above one knee, and a pair of neon green knee-high socks pulled up tight. One leg is propped up on the rail with a natural ease, her body leaning in over it in a deep stretch. As the sky begins to purple, she finally turns away from the rail, stretching up on her toes once her feet are both on the ground. Her arms lift over her head, fingers opened loosely, chest opening in a deep breath as her spine bends back. The rooftop has been a mostly safe place for Dorian to spend his time - plenty of new people to finally get to know outside the bounds of the laboratory and testing, and the amazing view of the city from a safe distance. Tonight, however, Dorian eases his way up onto the rooftop, carefully and quietly shutting the door behind him to keep it from making a sound. Cautiously, he looks around the rooftop, chewing on his lower lip nervously as he steps forward, shoulders hunched, head down, as though trying to make his slender, dark-furred frame less noticeable, to no avail. This evening, he is dressed in a pair of long cargo pants faded from a once dark navy blue, and a baggy tank top in gray with a rainbow of teddy bears marching into a vanishing spiral on the chest. The chill wind doesn't seem to bother him in the least, even as it ruffles the thick layer of shining brown fur on his exposed shoulders. The young man freezes when he notices someone else on the roof, squinting his dark eyes at the other figure silhouetted against the bright setting sun. Recognition dawns on his features, and he slowly creeps forward, keeping his distance from the young dancer so as to not disturb her movement. Dorian's cautious-quiet serves to keep him unnoticed, at least by Lia. The girl continues to extend backward until her head reaches nearly the level of her hips, arms hanging down, legs pressed up on tiptoe until she seems to hang suspended invisibly by her lower ribcage. After a few silent moments in the backbend she lifts up again, onto her toes, stretched tall. She slides through several movements without clear connection, just enjoying the feel of pushing her body through familiar positions, the simple practice of moving slowly through each of the arabasques in turn. Slowly turning herself to face the rest of the roof, seeming not to move from her position on one foot, promenade en arabesque. Kismet emerges from the doorway on quiet, but not silent, steps, wearing a heather gray hoodie over a purple plaid flannel shirt and jeans that actually almost fit him. He does not look surprised to find the roof occupied, and gives the others a slight bow by way of acknowledgement. This done, he walks around the edge of the roof until he finds a satisfactory spot and there kneels, producing from the pocket of his hoodie an item that looks like a complex interlocking knot of twisted metal rods. He holds it before him in both hands and it lifts into the air as if drawn by an invisible string from above. His dark brown eyes move past the levitating object to observe his companions. The sound of the door opening onto the rooftop makes Dorian jump, looking back towards the door in a nervous panic, his eyes wide and searching. Realizing that it was Kismet entering the rooftop domain, instead of someone else, apparently, the fuzzy young man relaxes visibly, shoulders slumping slightly in relief. Once Kismet has selected a spot, Dorian finds a place along the wall for himself, curling up with his knees to his chest and his long tail wrapped around his bare feet. His attention, however, is still focused on Lia and her graceful movements, occasionally glancing back towards the shiny that Kismet produces, his ears perking up curiously at the knotted object. As another breeze moves along the rooftop, he curls himself in further, hunching against breeze it would seem. Lia's turn brings her to face Dorian, though it still takes her a few moments to process his existence. When she does, her face brightens in a smile, and she dips conveniently down over her leg into an arabesque penche, the position serving as a sort of shallow bow in greeting. Returning both feet to the ground, she flows through a brief series of movements that ends in a reverence, kneeling-bow returning Kismet's slight-bow greeting with a dramatic sweeping of her arm. She slides back into standing, watching curiously as Kismet produces /shinies/. /Floating/ shinies. A chain of quick turns bring her closer, a series of quick-little cat steps closer yet, until she is settled somewhere between Dorian and Kismet's positions. The components of the metal object rotate independently, clinking against each other every so often. Kismet seems to be making some sort of effort to /not/ focus his full attention on the thing floating before him. When he sees Dorian shivering, he shucks his hoodie and lets it go. The metal knot dips in the air while he disrobes, but then returns to its previous elevation, if unsteadily. The hoodie drifts toward Dorian, one unoccupied sleeve lifting in a sloppy wave. Nearing Lia, it puts its cuffs together above the hood and pirouettes. The metal thing floating in front of Kismet almost drops out of the air altogether, then goes back up. The hoodie stumbles in the air, but finally reaches its intended recipient with a deep bow. A grin flashes across Dorian's face as Lia bows, and he holds up one hand and wiggles his fingers in a wave of greeting, tilting his head curiously when she approaches his seat. His ears perk up a bit, silver tag glinting in the failing light, his gaze drifting back towards the clinking knotwork in front of Kismet, his eyes going wide as it continues moving, the chill apparently forgotten. When Kismet sheds his shirt and floats it towards Dorian, the young man tilts his head curiously at the offering of the floating shirt, glancing at Kismet with a confused look on his face. Slowly he shakes his head, ruffling one hand through the thick fur on his arms and shoulders, making the layers of hair stick out at odd angles as he giggles and shakes his head again, grinning bemusedly. Staring at the knot-thing rather than the stripping man, Lia sinks into a plie to match the dip of the object, as if this is necessary to maintain visual contact. But then there is a dancing /sweatshirt/ twirling in front of her. A delighted giggle warms the girl's pale but cold-flushed face, her eyes shining. She bows her head just slightly to the hoodie before answering its pirouette with a series of rapid-spinning fouettes en tournant, her raised neon-green-socked foot kicking cheerfully with each turn. As she settles back onto two feet once more, her eyebrows climb, looking at the hoodie as if it is meant to /respond/. More dancing, garment! Her lips twist in disappointment as the shirt floats away, completing its trip over to Dorian. Kismet tilts his head and smiles. The hoodie waves to Dorian again and floats back, swinging from side to side. It might be skipping, if it had feet with which to skip. Encountering Lia again, it bows deep, one sleeve bent in front and the other sweeping out. The metal puzzle keeps dipping and rising, its pieces shifting and sliding around. Only when the hoodie twirls around Lia does the puzzle fall altogether, though Kismet catches it easily in one hand and regards it balefully. Another bright giggle from Dorian at the wave of the hoodie, his eyes wide and focused on the dancing shirt. He waves at the shirt, fingers waggling at the disembodied garment. When Lia engages the sweatshirt in dance, Dorian actually claps as he laughs, the sounds breaking the relative silence of the rooftop. He bounces slightly in place, ears perked up and at attention as he completely forgets about the spinning puzzle, watching the dancing of the shirt and Lia intently. The rattle of the puzzle as it falls out of the air snaps his focus back into his surroundings, ears flattening into his hair, his posture curling up once again as he eyes the door to the rooftop. It is only after a moment that he seems to realize it was just the floating puzzle, not anything sinister, he relaxes slightly, leaning forward to rest his chin atop his knee-caps as he exhales with a snort. Lia falls easily into dancer's mime as the shirt approaches again, hands coming up to cover her lips with coquettish fingertips, then fluttering down to cross over her heart as she smiles. At the flourish of the shirt's arm in its bow, she takes the sleeve's cuff in her hand as if it were a person's, sweeping into a low curtsey and bowing her head over it in return. The puzzle now goes unregarded, though Lia is fully aware of her audience in the form of Dorian. She turns about with the hoodie, only then releasing her hold on its sleeve, in order to lead it through the series of joyous-swift glides, steps, little leaps, and jumps of a petit allegro. She...might not be allowing for this being a /beginner/ dancing shirt. His proper training tool now inert in his hands, Kismet turns his full attention toward puppeteering his runaway clothing. The hoodie twirls and bounces, not really matching Lia but at least keeping up with her. Its empty hood sways and bobs as if to phantom music of its own. It seems to grow more adept as it goes, learning to move with Lia and improvise its own movement. Perhaps it is easier, in this case, to not have legs. The puzzle has lifted from Kismet's hands again, sliding and contorting like a living knot of metallic vines. From the slack-jawed look of wonderment on his face, Dorian is perfectly content to watch the unusual little ballet that unfolds in front of him. He keeps his head rested on his kneecaps, rolled up tightly to stay out of the way, the tip of his tail twitching along as though to some unheard music. An easy smile returns to his lips, although he occasionally glances nervously towards the doorway to the roof, the corners of his mouth tugging slightly. However - the longer he watches the dance, the less frequently he glances towards the door of jumps at slight noises. Lia's eyes glitter even brighter as her dance partner manages (mostly) to follow along. She claims a larger swath of the roof to extend the tiny leaping series of the petit allegro into a more sweeping, travelling grand allegro. Spotting carefully, she skirts the many obstacles on the roof to avoid crashing through them with the more impressive jumps. As the dance eventually draws her closer to the hoodie once more, she positions herself with it wrapped at her back. The slightest crinkle of her nose is all that reveals her assessment that this partner is unlikely to be able to perform any /lifts/ with her. As such, she rather winds down through a chain of coupled turns into a slower series of graceful arm movements and simpler poses, leaning as if she were supported by the hoodie but not truly trusting it with her weight. The effect is an illusion of the garment holding her and sending her through the motions effortlessly, though it is more a feat of hidden strength and very precise balance. Kismet's task becomes considerably easier when Lia starts actively /guiding/ the hoodie. He relaxes, as much audience now as puppeteer. The puzzle spins and twists above his hands in time to the dance performance unfolding across the rooftop. The hoodie is not a creative dance partner, but it is nimble enough and cannot step on anyone's feet. All at once, the puzzle comes apart with a faint PING, floating above Kismet's hands in five separate pieces. He looks down at it, startled. The hoodie drapes over Lia's shoulders for a moment, as if it had /collapsed/ from exhaustion, but quickly reanimates as Kismet's attention returns. It spins itself around in front of Lia and bows, begging her pardon. The graceful dance across the rooftop is watched with amazement, dark brown-black eyes wide as Lia and her partner spin and sweep across the rooftop. Dorian is entirely entranced, sitting with his chin propped up on his knees, scarred hands clasped together awkwardly at his ankles. All worry and concern about whoever might come through the doorway is forgotten, and he just smiles in amusement at the impromptu performance. Lia startles just /slightly/, the smallest faltering in the placement of a foot as the hoodie falls on her. She recovers quickly as it lifts up once more. At the bow, she reaches again for the hoodie's cuff-hand, bowing her head over it with another curtsey of appreciation for partnering her in the dance. Taking the hoodie in a quick little spin, she ferries it back to its proper owner, offering the garment up as if Kismet had asked to cut in on the dance. Turns out it's cold outside! Though one would never know it from the girl's bright eyes, light step, and warm smile.