:Summary:
Yuffie loved to dance. Oneshot, Squffie.
..::Tap Shoes::..
By CheshireKit
The music blasts in her ear, almost forcing itself under her skin and into her veins. It's strong and it takes her away. But more than anything, she feels the current beneath the music--a metronome. A voice sounds in her head, as cold and sharp as an icicle-- 'one two three four five six seven eight, one two three four five six seven eight.'
Her arms raise into graceful arcs, and like the small pink figure in her music box, she begins to spin. Though, unlike the small pink figure, she is faster and more aggressive, because the music is more primal.
Her head follows her movements, long black hair up in a bun and out of her face. She points her toes and lifts herself up on one, and one hand reaches forward to the sound of a suddenly slow violin. The crowd gasps in awe; her other leg is now almost straight up, and she twists so suddenly that she gets whiplash. Instantly the strong beat returns, and she's off again, spinning, arms gracefully swift, listening to nothing but the sound of the dance.
She ends the dance suddenly, arms back and palms facing out, head thrown back.
The spell is broken.
Suddenly, she realizes, the floor beneath her is cold, unfeeling dirt, and not warm wood. Her hair isn't up in a bun, and she's not a leotard. Her shoes are ripped, orange sneakers, and there is no crowd, only the breathtaking view of the ruins of her home.
But the music is still loud in her ears.
Fury rips through her, and she shuts her eyes tight.
This time, she's wearing black shorts, and a white vest with black suspenders. Her feet are clad in her favorite of all shoes, and the floor beneath her is hard and ready to be beaten. There are others around her, but she can't see or hear them, because the music is way too loud.
They all move in unison, toes and heels and tips and scrapes all adding to the effect of the music. She moves the fastest, because she's the smallest and the lightest, and she can soar when she's got the proper footwear.
Suddenly, all around her stop, and her smile is so big it cuts across her face. She slides her right door around in a circle before commencing in sets of paradiddles and ratamacues and flaps and taps and scrapes and everything is so loud and she's euphoric like there's nothing better in the world in that moment, and honestly, nothing is. Her feet are moving so fast there are flames in her ankles, but she doesn't care.
She spins around, and suddenly, just like before, the magic is lost. The fire is just as strong, and the music is still in her ears just as the sweat is forming on her brow, but now, she's feeling quite mortified rather than liberated.
There is no music in his ears. All he hears is the silence of the great maw, mixed with the light panting of the girl before him. Just a moment ago she was so engrossed in her movements that he didn't think a closer look would do him any harm, and he allows himself to sit down. He doesn't want her to stop, but she sees him, and she does. The ground is scuffed, and dust is raised where she was tapping.
He remembers. She was a dancer, once.
"H-How long have you been there?" she asks, and her voice shows the mortification that is evident on her face. He shrugs.
"Does it matter?"
She is flustered, he can tell, because she doesn't speak for a long while. Instead, she runs away, out of the area and through the hedges of cut rock. He follows. She sits, watching the evil castle, feet dangling off of the edge of a cliff. She flinches when he sits beside her, one knee up and one leg dangling off of the edge. When his accidently brushes against hers, she moves her knees up and hugs them to her chest. For a long time, both are silent.
"I had forgotten," he speaks first, which startles her. She rests her head on her arms, but looks up at him from the corner of her eyes. "I mean, about you...dancing. You were good."
She doesn't respond, and it's unusual, because she normally snaps back, but today she is silent.
"What does it feel like?" he asks quietly, eyes shifting to her. She is surprised by the question, as no one has ever asked her before. She bites her lip, and looks at him, and there is passion and excitement begging to be set free in her eyes.
"It feels like fire," she answers quietly, and begins to speak quickly, rapidly. "Like everything is okay, you know? I mean, it's not always the same, because the music is always different, and you've got to feel the song to be able to do it properly. Like, ballet is normally slower, and is often sadder than tapping, but it's elegance and grace, and you've got to keep that along with everything else, you know? But it's just balance, and fire, and it makes me feel...alive."
She is talking too much and too fast, but he doesn't mind. When she's done, it's quiet. She sighs.
"I thought I would grow up and just dance," she mutters. "I mean, I was only seven, but they put me in the classes with all of the adults, and I was so sure that I would be the best..."
The sadness begins to seep into her, and she stands quickly to hide it. He watches her warily.
"Want to see the first step I ever learned?" she asks, smiling through her sad, dark eyes.
Step, hop, step, flap, ball change, hop, step, flap, ball change...
"It's called a time step," she informs him. "First, I learned the sounds, when I was really little. Taps, spanks, flaps, brushes, stamps, stomps, scuffs, chugs, nerves...everything. Then I learned how to put them together. And this was my first accomplishment! There's singles, doubles-"
Step, hop, flap, flap, ball change, hop, flap, flap, ball change...
"-And triples-"
Step, hop-shuffle-step, flap, ball change, hop-shuffle-step, fla, ball change!
She stops, but not for long.
"Cramp rolls..."
Heel-toe-heel-toe-heel-toe-heel-toe...
And she is off in her own world of pull-backs, wings, whatever else comes to her. Flashes of bright lights shine when she closes her eyes, warm and silky on her face. For just a moment, she's on top of the world; she's seven years old and wearing her favorite leotard, dancing for people and feeling a rush of adrenaline that's worth every drop of sweat shed. She opens her eyes and looks at him, and his eyes cut into her. But she keeps dancing, frenzied almost.
He looks troubled, and she cannot for the life of her realize why, because the music is so exciting. Maybe he can't hear it, but she wants him to, more than anything. She wants him to feel what she's feeling; to understand what she's going through, and tell her that it's okay that she feels the way she does, and that she's the best dancer he's ever seen.
She only stops when he stands. The music is no longer pulsating through her, but faint, in the distance, where she can hardly hear. He walks forward slowly, lacking his usual deliberate steps, and puts a hand on her head, ruffling her soft, short black hair. She is suddenly timorous of her prior actions, and lowers her head slightly.
"It's okay, Yuffie," he mutters, and pulls her flush against him, holding her in an iron embrace that's filled with comfort for her. He starts to repeat this, over and over, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. "It's alright."
It's only then that she realizes she's crying.
..::Fin::..
Wow. That was...wierd. I don't know where it came from. First Squffie since Billy Joel, too! SHOCK!
Review for my unyielding appreciation?