Disclaimer: I don't own any of the RotG associated characters, books, plot, movies, and such. I only own my characters and ideas.
A/N: Hello dearies, my first Rise of the Guardians fic, hope you aren't too disappointed. More chapters will be up soon, and I hope you enjoy this one. Please leave a review, I know everyone says this but the encouragement and criticism is very significant to me and I love them dearly. Happy reading and I'll see you soon with more. :)
Chapter One: Dance Until You Break Something
"Okay ladies, one, two, three, four, and up and hold it!" Madame barked in her thick Irish accent. "Clara I said hold it not squirm! Same for you Lucy, keep those hands up!" her staff pounding into the floor with each syllable.
The music of a piano playing a simple tune sounded in their ears as Madame thumped the staff with each beat, each girl feeling their legs start to burn and their feet start to ache. One girl in particular, a rather short ballerina, named Tabitha could feel her knees shake as she tried to hold her position, sweat dripping down her face and from her vibrant orange bun, feeling the hot sun baking them in the windowless and mirror covered room. Her mouth flew open with a gasp and she flew forward and her knees met the floor as they gave out with a harsh thump, her body flew into the girl in front of her, causing a chain reaction, like the domino game her mother played while gossiping with the neighbors in the parlor. Each girl met the floor and some fell in heaps. The piano player cut off with a wrong note as a dancer fell into him and Madame shouted out in exasperation, throwing her staff into the wall.
"Honestly, you are supposed to be the best of the town, this is not what I expected!" She shouted out, her accent thickening and her face turning red and each freckle that splattered over her face blending into it. She grabbed her light brown hair and tugged at the bun, leaving the room with a resounding silence and a shout of annoyance echoing in it.
Each girl stared at one another, several glares finding Tabitha who meekly smiled. A beat later, Madame's head popped into the room.
"Come along Florence!" She snapped, each girl watching as a tall, younger, and thinner replica of Madame scurried from the floor following after her, murmuring apologies in a softer Irish accent.
Florence ran after her mother, ballet shoes wrapped around her neck like a scarf and bare feet hopping on the hot floor of a summer London. Madame Beirne walked at a brisk pace, a seething expression that sent everyone clearing a path for the traveling ballet teacher.
"Mam, wait for me." Florence ground out, hopping on each foot and toppling over. Her mother sighed loudly before walking over to her daughter and lifting her off the ground and pulling her with, returning a smile in thanks.
"Go hionraic, Florence deifir suas." (Honestly, Florence hurry up. –Sorry if wrong, Google only goes so far-) Her mother spoke in Irish, much to the confusion of Florence, who only had the accent due to her mother being her only companion since she was born and they took to traveling. Her mother sighed in annoyance at her daughter's confusion. "Go! I shall talk to Mister Banely myself."
Florence stared on as her mother shouted and walked away, always the angry Irish with a reputation for such. With a soft sigh, she turned around and headed home.
"Oi! Fancy a newspaper! Celebrate the New Year! 1880 is here!" A newsie shouted out to anyone who would listen. "What about you Florence!"
"Go away Arthur," She replied lightly, with a smile at the younger boy.
"It was worth a shot," He told her, smiling with his crooked teeth. "What about you Miss, fancy a paper!"
Florence rolled her light blue eyes as she moved on, her footsteps tracing where they had walked for the last few months, the longest time they had stayed somewhere-though it seemed like it was time to move on again.
"Florence!" A thick English accent resounded throughout the small apartment, "I was waiting for you for ages! What if your mum had walked in, she would kill me with that staff of hers."
Florence laughed out and loudly, "Like you would let that happen, you have the lightest feet Tabitha."
"Well of course I do, you don't get the lead in the recital if you don't." She retorted smartly, hoping off the dark table she propped herself on.
"Don't remind me," Florence told her, "It took ages to convince my mam you were the best, not Lori."
"And you don't regret it one bit," She said jokingly.
"Oh!"Tabitha gasped, "I almost forgot, I needed new ballet shoes and look at what my mum got" She held up a pair of Pointe shoes barely held together, "They may be better than my old pair, but I can't dance in this, I can barely stand in them without teetering!"
Florence studied the shoes with a thoughtful gaze, "…Maybe ya could use mine, I don't have a part that important anyway, just in the back." Her loud voice and light accent echoing throughout the almost empty building.
Tabitha's face lit up and a smile graced her face as she squealed, "You're the best Ren! The best!"
"Now," Tabitha said, dragging Florence to the floor, "you said you'd tell me about your travels."
"No," Florence groaned out, "Do I have to; I've told you a ton of times!"
"But we have all the time in the world until tonight! You could just tell me why then?" She added hopefully.
"Fine," She gave in with a sigh.
"My mam was still a young lass, dancing like her mam before when she shipped her away in 1846, right when in her home Dublin was starving and poor. My Gran sent her to Boston to escape the madness with the rest of the immigrants and from there my mam met my da, a drunken immigrant himself- from Dublin too- who conceived me with her when she was only nineteen." Florence settled herself on the floor, Tabitha listening raptly. "She always said he had the nicest blue eyes and after a few drinks she was sold. Said she always hoped I would have his eyes and not her brown ones. Anyway, after I was born they married while Ireland was still in a right state, my da when back for the rest of the family and never returned, mam always said he's probably still drunk and working a potato farm with a new family. My mam waited three years for him 'till she decided to move on and travel. Said we went straight to Europe on a boat and that's it. She travels around and teaches dance. And I follow her."
Tabitha sighed, "It never gets happier each time you tell it does it? No happy ending."
"No, no it doesn't." Florence agreed with a small smile.
"Alright girls, Mister Banely said I can leave after tonight's performance. Make me proud you maistíní!" (Hooligans) Madame shouted in her booming voice that Florence had inherited.
"Mama, don't insult them, even if they don't understand." Florence giggled quietly, having heard the word enough times-though more as a term of endearment than an insult.
Her mother smiled back at her, each dancer seeing the resemblance in their faces greatly. Each one had a narrow and small face, with high cheekbones, and a rather big nose for their face, with pale skin and freckles. Despite the few wrinkles that marred Madame's face and the thinner lips on Florence, they were identical.
"But, where is the fun in that my Rinceoir," (Dancer) Madame told her, patting her cheek. "Now! Let's get ready girls, on stage soon!"
"Florence!"
Florence shot her head over to look at Tabitha running towards her, the dingy shoes clasped in her hand and an ankle length pink tutu wrapped around her waist, over a pink leotard.
"I've got the shoes," She panted out, "I can't thank you enough Flore."
Florence shook her head dismissively, "Does not matter, now go shine Tabitha."
Tabitha nodded her head with a beam and ran off, Florence's shoes now in hand while Florence delicately laced the Pointe shoes, careful not to damage them more than already.
"Alight, girls on stage now!" Madame whispered, now aware of the crowd outside of the curtains. "Now Lori go, Clara, Martha, Susan, go Clara, Tabitha remember to smile, and you Florence- what is on your- no never mind."
"You don't want to know mam," Florence told her, brushing past and taking position, with her arms outstretched, a bold smile, and feet in fifth position.
Each girl put up a bright smile, Tabitha right in front with shining shoes and a shining smile. She looked back at Florence, who nodded in reassurance right as Saint-Saëns began on the violin. Florence took a breath in and rose on her toes.
'Tab was right, I can barely stand.' She thought to herself, feeling her weight bounce on each foot and her ankles shake. She took another breath and began to follow the other girls, aware of the fabric that tore on her shoes as she did so. She could hear the music reach the conflict and felt her ankle twist before she shrieked, falling to the ground. Her left foot slid off the platform she was on, taking her down. The last six inches of her pink tutu tore off and screeched as it snagged on the edge of the dark stage. She heard the music play on and terrified screams and an accented cry for help as she felt the pain in her ankle before a sudden pain bloomed in her neck as she landed, then all was silent and gone.
Shallow breathes sounded throughout the deserted and musty performance hall. The curtains were drawn shut and the instruments abandoned. Seats were thrown about, almost as if a hasty exit had taken place. A wooden staff was toppled on the floor, bent in two. A pair of rather ugly dance shoes sat in the middle of the stage, curiously next to the body of a girl. Her skin was pale, almost as pale as the stark white torn tutu skimming her knees with a rough edge and light gray tutu on her body. What looked like the rest of her tutu was now almost a shawl, wrapped around her thin limbs. Dark, very dark brown hair fell out of a messy and knotted bun. From the skylight above the stage, moonlight streamed through and basked on the girl, making her eerie paleness glow.
"Wake up now," A voice seemed to whisper, but stood loudly in the silent room.
The girl stirred and her large eyes opened, revealing a silver color. Her breath was still loud and pant-like as she sat up, staring at her hands before gasping deeply as she threw them around her neck with a cry. She drew them back as if they lit her skin on fire, staring at them with a sob falling out of her lips. Where each freckle has marred her skin, was now a lighter patch of skin that revealed none of the peach and dark spots that had been there before. In the corner of her eye dark hair fell over her ear, making a cry of surprise and fear echo out, she manically held her head, eyes watering. Once light honey hair was now almost black brown hair.
"I know that it is a lot to take in." The voice that had wakened her softly said, making her look around in panic.
"Do not fear, Keeper." The voice continued, "You shall figure out your purpose"
"Wait! Don't leave me! What does that mean, who is the Keeper?" Florence cried out, as the moonlight dimmed. "Please! Where is my mam!?"
No one replied making her feel more alone as a sob shook her body, sending her to the floor as the shawl of tulle floated to the floor. She sniffled as she held her head, not willing to accept what had happened, murmuring denies. Her tears soon dried as she pried herself off the floor, seeing the shoes that she had worn what felt like just moments ago, though it couldn't be seeing as it had been hours away from darkness before. The shoes had once been a pink and dirt smeared tatter of a shoe, now where a stark white with gray thread weaving on where the tears had been. It didn't look exceptionally pretty, the threading smarted that, and the white almost burned her eyes and held no shine like satin. But, she couldn't help but pick them up by the knot that held the four laces together and hand it from her neck. Shakily, she stood to her feet, a shade darker than her new skin color tights on her legs, not tearing. With a sigh, she walked out of the performance hall and onto the busy streets of London. At the corner she saw Arthur selling newspapers. Curious, she ran up to him, catching the end of his shout.
"Read about it! Young dancer killed yesterday! Snapped her neck right in two! Florence Beirne, only sixteen! Freshly printed!"
Her breath caught and her feet stumbled. Florence could only stare at Arthur and her baffled expression grew as a man walked towards her. She expected him to point out the supposed dead girl walking, only to cry out as he walked through her as if she were a cloud of dust.
"Ah!" She cried out as several more walked through her, a heavy feeling settling in her heart. "Arthur! Arthur, please where friends! Explain this trickery!" But, it feel on deaf ears, though his ears absently perked up towards her, feeding her a morsel of hope.
"That's right Arthur; you know I'm not dead!" She pleaded hysterically, accent becoming thicker.
But, he didn't seem to hear her this time, choosing to shake his head and proceed to walk across the street. A car drove down the street, something Arthur didn't see. Florence screamed out as no one helped him.
"Arthur, get back on the side walk, get back now! Danger!"
Everything froze, people moved slower and heart beats thudded loudly. Arthur could hear it, something telling him to move back. Ina split second, he jumped back, the car driving by within mere seconds of a sure death. He gasped loudly, and turned his head around, meeting Florence's new gray eyes.
"Florence!?"