Kingdom Hearts and Black Swan characters, scenarios and lines belong to their respective owners. I am an originality-free zone.
Darkness, an endless black void without form, without features, without flaws.
A beam of light, filthy with dust.
He was dancing.
En pointe, as he had insisted on learning. People had laughed, or rolled their eyes, or worse, expressed concern. Nervousness making his mouth run off he recited to them the balance and foot strength benefits of the exercise, the great danseurs who had recommended it, choreographic examples...
Xemnas had understood. Of course Xemnas had understood. The concentration, the skill, the perfection in absolute awareness of the placement, the strain on every muscle...
He was not aware. He was dancing. That alone should have been enough.
Enough to make him panic, fumble to regain control, lose his place, fail...
There was a shadow, dark and solid. Another dancer. Another danseur. They moved together, opposed yet perfectly in sync, a visceral pas de deux.
He was not leading.
There was no music. Not to his ears, though his body responded as though there were. All he heard was distant rustling, and snatches of high, cold laughter. His own laughter, as he had never heard it before.
Swan Lake. He knew the music by the rhythms of his body, the punctuation of movement, the pulse of calm and attack. Swan Lake. Only he wasn't Benno, or Wolfgang, or Siegfried...
He was the White Swan.
... ...\-\\|¨... ...
Ienzo woke up in soft light and pale blues. A small bed, built for a child really, but it was not as though he had grown out of it. A child's room, once strong colours faded out, lined with neat units and regimented shelves. Books everywhere, lining the walls, stacked neatly on chests of drawers, straining with bookmarks on the bedside table. The occasional toy, still: a sailing ship, a model windmill, a neat line of toy soldiers. All of the sort to be placed out of reach and admired, not taken down and played with.
He sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, and stretched. Rolling his ankles, stretching his toes, feeling for and beyond all the tension and resistance.
Morning routine. Stretch (basic, loosen out protesting muscles from any awkward sleeping position). Shower (hot, get clean, get the muscles warm). Dry (old towels, stiff, scratchy, finish off towelling hair on the way out). Underwear.
Mirror.
He twisted in front of the three-panel mirror, assessing. Basic outline, muscle mass, definition, body fat. Too short, but there was no way he was getting surgery on his legs. Too narrow across the shoulders, arms a little thin (upper body work was required for lifts, but too much bulk added weight and messed with the silhouette, how to balance the two...) Legs...not too terrible. Clean lines, not overly bulky. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he ran a hand over his abdomen; fat was starting to obscure the definition. Eating and exercising right to maintain muscle, eliminate fat, and keep weight down was a nightmare. The girls had it easy, just heading for one extreme.
Morning warm-up.
He pulled on shorts and a singlet, and started some stretches. Arms up, hold. Arms down. Quadriceps; one foot up and back, grab, balance, hold. Down, other foot, balance, hold...
"Ienzo, breakfast!"
Tuck in one leg, stretch out the other, fingertips to toes, hold...
"IENZO!"
... ...\-\\|¨... ...
The air smelled of citrus and eggs and strong coffee. Ienzo idly impaled his grapefruit with a fork, watching the flesh tear tear around the tines as he twisted.
"Stop playing with your food."
"Yes, Even," he murmured, lifting the fork to his mouth as his adoptive father fussed around the small kitchen. He suppressed a wince as the acid hit an ulcer.
"Honestly, boy, you need to focus," Even continued. "Back to work today, yes? You won't make any kind of impression for auditions with your head in the clouds."
"He said he would feature me more this year."
Even snorted.
"Quite right too. You've been doing this long enough. And you're easily the most dedicated dancer in the company."
Ienzo stared at his plate.
"That doesn't necessarily mean anything."
"Nonsense. Practice makes perfect, after all."
... ...\-\\|¨... ...
The subway train was packed, as usual. Ienzo watched the patterns of light and dark flash past the window, and the ghost of his own reflection.
There was a soft rustle of fabric as someone brushed past him, and he involuntarily turned his head and glanced down the carriage.
Something caught his eye, far down the packed crowd. A long dark coat, with silver accents. Xemnas had one just like it... but no, it was not Xemnas. Too short, the wrong shape... the face was turned away, features hidden behind a fall of slate blue bangs.
Just like his own...
Ienzo jerked his gaze back to the window and swallowed nervously, aware he had been staring, and of the thudding of his heart. When he dared to look back, the figure was gone.
... ...\-\\|¨... ...
There were still some old posters up from last season. Larxene and Marluxia as Giselle and Albrecht. Larxene looking the very image of frail, lost innocence. Utterly at odds with the formidable woman herself, who had once been cornered by a stalker in an alley and had promptly reacted by punching the man in the stomach and pepper spraying him while he was winded.
Marluxia looking perfect as always.
... ...\-\\|¨... ...
"Can't he take a hint? The company's broke. No one comes to see us."
The cramped soloist's dressing room was nearly full. Ienzo got changed, studiously trying to avoiding looking at anyone. With all the mirrors though it was impossible not to catch glimpses. Dancers binding blistered toes, adjusting dance belts, pulling on leg warmers. Edym fixing his hair. At the back of the room the huge, quiet Russian, Aeleus, who had joined the company last year.
"Well, Xemnas' stuff isn't to everyone's taste, but it's different. What's the phrase, avant-garde? That's good, I guess?"
"There is no 'good' broke. Definitely not because the director's ideas are all nuts and his bitch-queen boyfriend is stupidly high-maintenance."
"Come on, it's not.."
Heads turned as the door opened and a head poked in, all spiked shocking red hair, bright green eyes and crooked grin. Pure white iPod wires running from his ears. Slightly out of breath.
"Soloists, right?"
They all gave the newcomer a blank look. Eventually Edym managed a "...yeeeeeeah?"
The man grinned wider, and stepped in. Tall and slender, lanky really, bundled up in a dark coat and yellow-brown checked scarf.
"Great!" he said, tugging the earphones out and heading for an open spot. "I missed my stop, can you believe that? Had too hoof it all the way from 79th. Anyway, I'm Lea."
... ...\-\\|¨... ...
Endless rows of synchronous movement in the rehearsal room, where it was hard to tell where reflections ended and reality began. Piano (Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, opus twenty, act one, number one, Scène, Allegro giusto, composed between 1875 and 1876, his mind reeled off without prompting) and the snap of the ballet mistress providing a metronome as much of the company went through practice. Ienzo, one hand on the barre, focussed on his own image, concentrating on every motion.
"And one, two, three, four, up, two, three, four..."
A lexicon of positions and steps flickered though his mind, labelling every move, precisely defining correct from deviation.
"Very good, Ienzo. But not so tense. Relax. Flow."
He nearly started at mistress Aqua's attention. Flow... it was added to the catalogue of things to to focus on.
"And one, two, three..." The ballet mistress paused, then clapped for silence with a small smile. The dancers looked first at her, and then followed her gaze, as the music ceased.
Xemnas was standing in the doorway.
There was a general rustle of activity as dancers bustled to re-present themselves, several stripping out of loose outer warm-up clothes. Ienzo joined them, tugging off his sweatshirts and warm-up pants. The newcomer, Lea, just rolled his eyes.
"Positions!"
The music started up again. But this time Ienzo's attention was divided. Instead of his own motions he used the mirrors to monitor Xemnas' lazy descent into the room.
His eyes flicked away as the director leaned down to greet mistress Aqua with a soft peck on the cheek. Concentrate.
"Swan Lake," Xemnas declared, deep, measured voice penetrating the room. He started to pace the lines of dancers.
"We all know the story. But there is an older one. The undine, a water spirit, possessed of long life and surpassing beauty, but lacking an immortal soul."
Out of the corner of his eye Ienzo saw Xemnas tap Edym on the shoulder.
"One can be gained, but only from the true love of a human."
Another male soloist, another tap. Another, passed over.
"And yet, there is a price. The spirit's life will be shortened and its beauty fade with time, just as a mortal's does. And if the human lover is ever once unfaithful, both are doomed by fate."
Ienzo's breath caught as he felt Xemnas' hand ever so briefly on his shoulder. The man moved on without even meeting his eye.
"The human, to die. The spirit, to fade to nothing."
He stopped, both voice and motion. Letting the words sink in. Then he clapped sharply, and the music stopped again.
"Greetings, company," he intoned. The dancers turned to face him, chorusing an awkward "good morning" in response.
"And so, our production," Xemnas continued. "Taking influence from both tales. Male leads." He raised a hand as if to dismiss objections. None were forthcoming, though a murmur passed through ranks of female soloists. "But not like Bourne. No hiding behind switched focus and symbolism. A traditional story. Two lovers. Two worlds. Light and darkness." He gestured widely, tone rising in forceful conviction. "Passion. Envy. Rage. Sorrow..."
Xemnas trailed off, arms raised, golden eyes focused on some distant glory.
After a moment he snapped back to reality.
"Soloists I tapped, meet me in the principle studio at five."