I have no idea where I got the inspiration for this.
Prologue: Perfect.
One: French wine.
Mozart's memory could never be more honoured than what the owner of that studio in the noblest part in Paris did. She was invited to countless dance studios, all across the world, opportunities no dancer would dream of turning down. But, for the third time that month, Roxanne politely declined, and hung up the phone. She sighed, and went back to her morning exercises along with the teachers she paid to aid her, before the first batch of students arrived.
Breathing deeply in, she continued leading the teachers. Golden hair was pulled back into a tight knot behind her head. Blue eyes were slightly unfocused, her senses concentrating rather on the music. Stretching, posing, maintaining her posture, executing the steps, she made the rest of the group fade back to unimportant nothingness.
A swan amongst chickens.
Two: Japanese Sake.
The rushing of the water was calming on her senses. A monk sang in prayer from inside the temple, his deep voice echoing across the rice plantations. They taught discipline, harmony, balance and spiritual peace. Everything was cared for, down to the most infinitesimal detail.
Straight black hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, dark eyes narrowed in concentration. Her other equipment—swords, daggers and whips—was waiting on a flat stone, next to a fresh cup of tea one of the apprentices left there for her. The string of her bow was taut, her aim precise. She let go, but maintained her stance. The arrow whistled through the wind, hitting dead center on the target, splitting the previous arrow in two. The sound of bamboo breaking reached her well trained ears. Suppressing a smirk, Haruka took her tea and turned to the temple. Time to meditate and rest her sharpened senses.
A snake amongst worms.
Three: Irish Whiskey.
The sickening crunching noise from noses being broken, and the smacking of her fist against the opponent's flesh was like music to her ears. The screaming and cheering crowd egging her on, until the man twice her size lay unconscious on the floor, his face a bloody mess. The narrator took her bloodstained wrist and held it high in the air, pronouncing tonight's winner.
Scarlett was expertly controlling her breathing, not one single bead of sweat marred her dark makeup. Her violent red hair still looked like she just left the salon, tumbling loose on her shoulders and down her back in rich waves. Her sharp green eyes swept over the spectators, drinking in the sight of another glorious victory. She found the nearest camera and raised her other fist into the air, and roared victory, dazzling white teeth bared, glinting in the light of the arena.
A bear amongst pigs.