Dislaimer: I do not own any of the SVM characters, nor Dancing With The Stars. I'm just borrowing the characters, sticking them in sequins, and using DWTS's concept.
A/N: Yeah, I'm starting another story. I've actually been way into the dancing shows this season, so of course I was prompted with a 'what if' scenario. Hence the birth of this little ditty. I would like to point out that this is the first story that I actually have a solid storyline already drafted for. Holy crap, I know. It's also the first fic I have a little notebook full of information for. AND it's my first published AH story (I say published because I've already started writing the art fic). So in true me-form, I'm here with another one word title.
Enjoy 'Allegro'!
Chapter One- Selections
SPOV
I rounded the corner, damn near sprinting down the hallway. I was already late for the cast meeting, and I figured that the less late I was, the better. Besides, I was really anxious about the name drawing today. This would be my first season on the show and I couldn't have been more excited about it. I managed to slow down to a brisk walk as I approached the door, otherwise I probably would have skidded right past it. Double checking that I had the right room, I paused, running my hand over the little placard on the door. Dancing With The Stars: Green Room, it read. I wrangled in my nerves and opened the door.
"Sookie, there you are," called Sam Merlotte, one of the show's producers. He was also a good friend of mine, which helped me snag this job when I graduated from Julliard. I smiled sheepishly, looking around the room, a little bit pleased to notice that I wasn't the last person to arrive. One of the other girls, Sophie-Anne Leclerq, was not present.
I wasn't the best of friends with the rest of the cast of professional dancers or anything yet, we'd only had some preliminary get-togethers, going over dancing styles, technique, and the like. They were really more like classes, but from them I'd already gathered that Sophie-Anne was the queen bee around here. Or at least she thought that she was. I actually pitied whatever celeb got paired with her.
The station had already given up the list of star dancers, announcing through shows like Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight, so at least we had some sort of idea of the selection. That stuff was kept on lockdown until the reveal, even from us. It seemed to be a fairly even distribution, we had actors, athletes, and singers, just to name a few. Someone had even gotten my brother, Jason, to compete. Not that he shied away from competition, being the quarterback for the Saints and all, but I still never expected him to sign up for a dance competition.
Sophie-Anne finally decided to show up, and Sam pulled out a bowl filled with slips of paper. Even though she was the last person to arrive, Sophie-Anne dashed up to draw first. I knew she was jonesin' to be paired with Hollywood heartthrob, Eric Northman. Sure, he was extremely good looking, but the word was that he was just horrible to work with. So as open as I was to being paired with any of the stars, I honestly hoped it wasn't him…or my brother. That would just be whole piles of awkwardness.
Just imagine Sophie-Anne's disdain when the slip of paper that she drew bore the name of one Bill Compton, a Bill Gates-esque IT mogul famous for developing some sort of people-finding search engine. In short, the opposite of Mr. Northman, but not a horrible looking guy from what I'd seen of him on the news. Sophie-Anne crumpled her little slip of paper, grabbed a practice schedule from Sam, and stormed out of the room. All eyes trained on the door that she slammed upon her exit.
Shifting focus back to the task at hand, Sam called for the next person to draw. A curvy redhead stood up. I knew that her name was Dahlia Jones. She had taught the rest of us a class on the Charleston just last week, which was her strongest dance. Dahlia stuck her hand into the bowl, extracting a slip of paper. She smiled as she read it, and Sam looked at her expectantly.
"Jason Stackhouse," she admitted, reclaiming her spot on the couch with two other dancers. I felt instant relief now that I had no chance of being paired with my brother. My next thought was that Jason actually stood a chance with Dahlia as a partner, as she was a really strong dancer. She sent a smile my way as the next person stood up; Dahlia was a sweet girl.
Next up was one of Dahlia's couch mates, Lafayette Reynolds, one of the most awesomely flamboyant men I had ever met. He wore more makeup than the women both on and off-stage, and he was wildly popular with the fans. Upon reading his paper, Lafayette wrinkled his nose.
"Pamela Ravenscroft," he pronounced the name with distaste, which was saying something for usually-upbeat Lafayette. It was understandable. If Eric Northman was the king of impossibility in Hollywood, then Pamela was the queen. She had sent more assistants and publicists running for the hills than Eric had lovers. Which was a lot. Seemed like every time that man was on television it was with a different woman. I know that I should have been a good Christian and at least meet them before passing judgments that I based off of what I read in the tabloids and saw on E!, but their reputations really proceeded them.
Lafayette rolled his electric-blue painted eyes and plopped back down next to Dahlia. I swore I saw all of the other male dancers breathe a visible sigh of relief knowing that they couldn't be paired with Pamela.
"Well, now that that bullet's been dodged," noted Claude Crane, hopping up from the chair he'd been occupying by the door. Claude had model good looks, which was all fine and dandy barring the fact that he played for the same team as Lafayette. Unlike Lafayette however, Claude was kind of a pompous jackass. Of course he was a good dancer (he wouldn't be on the show if he wasn't), but he certainly didn't have to walk around with an ego the size of the state of Texas.
He was another example of an instance where I felt bad for the celebrity rather than the dancer. He tentatively reached into the bowl as if it was going to snap shut on his hand, destroying his perfect manicure in the process. After the bowl didn't bite him (huge shocker there…), he read his strip of paper aloud.
"Hadley Delahoussaye." A match made in heaven, I'd say. The guy with the supermodel looks was paired with the actual supermodel. I only hoped that there were enough mirrors in their practice room. He took his practice sheet and sat back in his seat away from the group, naturally.
The last occupant of the big couch was the next one to draw. Alcide Herveaux was not an unattractive man, in fact he had asked me out a couple of times towards the beginning of our season. And it's not that I wasn't attracted to him, because I'm sure I might be if I let myself. But that was just it, I refused to have a relationship with any of my coworkers. I was here to do a job, and hopefully win, and I told him as much. I wasn't going to let anything get in my way, especially not a guy.
Alcide ended up selecting Maria-Star Cooper, a world-renown photographer. She'd taking wildly famous pictures of just about anything: the President, actors, rock stars, professional athletes, dignitaries…the list went on. You couldn't flip open an issue of basically any magazine without seeing something that she had shot. Everyone in the room could tell that Alcide was ambivalent (word of the day) on having Maria-Star as a partner. I personally didn't see a problem with it, she was a good person and a philanthropist. And from what I'd seen the show's promotional work, she wasn't bad looking either. Whatever. Alcide was just being Alcide, I guess.
The last two guys made quick about selecting their partners. Hoyt Fortenberry and JB duRone specialized in the Two Step and seemed to be just two country boys (with roots not unlike mine and Jason's) who just happened to be blessed with rhythm (this part was more like me, and less like Jason). They were nice guys, always offering to pick up food or run errands for the ladies if needed. Both guys seemed pleased with their choices, Hoyt picked Jessica, front woman for an awesome rock band (and the celeb I was most anxious to meet), while JB picked Tara Thornton, fashion designer. Tara had actually designed ten ballroom dresses upon the announcement of her participation in the show. This was something else I was looking forward to. Hoyt and JB took their schedules and sat back down on the smaller couch.
Despite the fact that the dancers weren't one big, happy family yet (or ever), there we're two girls that I had quickly become friends with during the practice sessions. Amelia Broadway, a petite brunette, had been a senior at Julliard when I was a junior. She transferred from some fancy French academy (her dad was loaded), and while she was a classically-trained ballerina, she found her calling with the Viennese Waltz and hopped on the professional circuit after graduation. A couple of championships later she was recruited for the show.
What Amelia did for competition Waltz, Cicita Montoya did for Latin ballroom. Being so curvy and all, I immediately took to her classes on Latin dance basics. Cicita had super long black hair and was as sweet as pie, just like Amelia. After one of Cicita's classes on Samba, the three of us went out for lunch. We had been friends ever since.
Having both been on the professional circuit, Cicita and Amelia were already really close. They had participated in the same competitions, but never competing against each other. Until now. The two of them approached the bowl at the same time, reaching in simultaneously (it was a big bowl).
Amelia pulled her hand out first. "Tray Dawson," she practically squealed. Amelia was nothing if not enthusiastic. Which was justifiable, considering Tray Dawson was easily the most interesting of all of the celebrities. Tray had made his fortune building custom motorcycles. He achieved celebrity status when his work had landed him a television show. Now he was working on some kind of clothing line styled after some of his airbrushing work. When he agreed to join the competition, I'm pretty sure all of America was shocked.
Cicita pulled out her slip of paper shortly after Amelia. "John Quinn," she read. John Quinn, or Quinn as he went by, was a professional stuntman. When he wasn't driving cars in chase scenes, he worked as a stunt double for Vin Diesel (for the really dangerous shit, which was saying something, considering it's Vin Diesel). He was another shock to America for joining the competition.
I was so caught up in watching everyone else make their selections, I had lost track of who was left. While I was on my way to the bowl, I was mentally running a process of elimination. If I had bothered to look around the room, I might have noticed the looks the rest of the cast were giving me, and I might have arrived at a conclusion soon. When I grabbed my slip of paper (which was a formality, really), I'd completed that process. I didn't even need to read it.
Well, hell.
Well there that is. I pretty much said everything I needed to say for now at the top. Let me know what you think. Oh, and everything that has been said and will be said in future chapters about the inner workings of the show are entirely speculations according to me, based on some behind-the-scenes stuff I've seen on the actual Dancing… program and from my experiences putting together a dance show. Just throwing that out there in case anyone is wondering.
-Sydney