Princess Tutu © Itou Ikuko and Hal Film Maker, I'm just borrowing the characters for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Stoic Mystery

Frau Katze frowned as she watched two of her advanced students perform their pas de deux for the class level evaluations. She had felt the arbitrarily small class size limit was ridiculous, and was slowly making her way through evaluations of all of the ballet students to determine their levels of proficiency. She strained to recall the girl's name, her short blonde pigtails sticking in her mind as the one she had mentally dubbed "Süß," but it eluded her for the moment. With as many new students as she had gained and been introduced to in the last two weeks since her arrival, it was to be expected.

The boy, Fakir, she had no trouble recalling. She must have overheard nearly every girl in the ballet program whisper about him every instance she was in his presence, and she had watched one of his afternoon practice periods earlier in the week now that he seemed to be recovered from the fatigue that had beset him upon their first meeting.

However, the longer she watched the pair move across the floor, the deeper her brows furrowed. Süß was performing admirably, truly a testament to her skill and her previous teacher. She was easily the most emotional of the advanced group, and her technique was wonderful, if not as exceptional as some of the others. Her leaps were executed well, and her turns were sharp. Her movements seemed very much so based in her feelings rather than in time spent practicing; truly she gave a very lyrical performance. Katze was pleased to consider her one of her advanced students, and knew that with some more focus on her technique, she would go far.

No, the young girl was not the cause of her dire expression, of the deep furrow digging in between her eyebrows.

What bothered her was that young man.

He showed a mastery over his technique that few showed as such an age, and he handled the lifts flawlessly, but he was completely blank. It was almost like watching a puppet's performance, she mused, technically perfect and awe-inspiring but lacking any emotion whatsoever. He turned his partner in his arms, but it was all so mechanical, so unfeeling, that she almost shuddered. This was not the same boy she had watched dance a few days ago by himself, not by a long shot.

Alone with the phonograph lilting out Prokofiev's "The Last Farewell," the boy had been the embodiment of emotion, sorrow and pain that matched his music perfectly had seemed to radiate off of him in waves as he practiced a pas de deux by himself, lifting a nonexistent partner into the air and guiding his ghostly lady with tenderness. The motions then had the same precision as now, but they had been so much more. Ever so slowly, he had taken his vacant partner into his arms and spun her, holding close the phantom girl with gentleness that had brought tears to Katze's eyes. By the time he had slowly lowered his imagined Juliet to the ground, the young teacher had been certain that she had stumbled upon a young man who would be the perfect lead for any productions, able to express so much with his dancing.

The moment he had stopped moving, he reverted to the quiet, withdrawn student she saw during lectures, but for those long minutes, he had been a man deeply in love with the missing woman in his arms. From her vantage point on the balcony overlooking the practice studio, she had gaped in amazement at one so young feeling so much.

Where then, were those emotions now? How could he have been so expressive in solo practice, having no physical person to emote with, and be completely void of expression when his arms were around a living, breathing girl? More elegant steps and turns followed, the longing of the girl he spun seeming to wash off him like water from a duck's back, never penetrating.

Perhaps it was the partner? His usually dour countenance might well have previously clashed with her cheery attitude and happy smiles.

She hadn't been here long enough yet to fully grasp her students' relationships with one another, he could very well have iced over at the prospect of dancing with… with Süß.

I really need to learn these girls' names.

It seemed unlikely that he could be on antagonistic terms with such a friendly girl though, the more she thought on it. While she was friendly, she was quiet and unobtrusive in her demeanor.

Applauding the finished pair and trying to wipe the grim look from her features, she dismissed Süß with a pleased smile and a "wonderful dancing." Fakir didn't seem to care. The girl beamed at her brightly in response, a soft blush coming to her cheeks from the praise from her new teacher. She sat down next to the inky-haired "Nacht," who squeezed her hands once before releasing them, a ghost of a smile flitting across her somber features.

"I'd like to see you perform again, Fakir, if that's alright," Katze admitted, stopping him as he turned to return to the group seated by the barre. Cool green eyes met hers for a moment and he nodded, standing still and patiently waiting for more instructions.

How could she pull forth from him a performance like that one she had silently borne witness to? What was the secret to unbottling his hidden emotions?

She almost motioned for the brunette technical genius whose attitude needed some adjusting who she identified as "Kälte," but decided to try and see what would happen if she paired her perplexing danseur with the open, expressive "Kakao." If one lyrical ballerina had elicited no response from him, she hoped that the other would. Beckoning over the mocha-skinned girl and nodding to the bespectacled pianist, she sat back in her chair and watched with interest as the young girl smiled shyly up at Fakir when he took her hand in his own.

This might be the answer I was looking for, Katze thought to herself, pleased to potentially solve the mystery. It was obvious that the girl was delighted to have the opportunity to dance with Fakir.

However, within moments she knew that she was no closer to deciphering what was wrong with that boy. His partner clearly was trying with everything she had to evoke emotions from him, but he remained stony faced, his eyes revealing nothing. Again he danced with smooth perfection, again it was beautiful to watch, and again he made her feel nothing. Threading her fingers together, she rested her elbows on her knees and her face against her clasped hands, leaning forward in her chair in deep concentration as she watched.

It just didn't make sense!

If she judged purely from his demeanor outside of the studio, it would have come as no shock for him to be so stoic, but she had seen him come alive, had felt the pull of his dancing. Somewhere inside him, there were closely guarded emotions and feelings just dying to come out, but now he held them reined in closely, as though refusing to share them with the world.

She realized she was nearly glaring at the pair as they finished, catching the look of sorrow and fear that blanketed Kakao's face. It seemed that boy was a puzzle for another day.

Forcing herself to grin and unpucker her eyebrows, she clapped her hands. "You both have done a marvelous job!" Elation spread across the young girl's face at the words, and she nervously glanced over to the boy who was currently staring down their teacher. She ignored his scrutiny, deciding for now that she would not press into the matter. If he wanted to come to her to figure out how to bring forth those emotions into his dancing with a partner, she would do everything in her power to assist, but for now it seemed like his look had a clear "don't ask," message in it as he stared her down.

The evaluations continued, but she couldn't clear the image of the sorrowful boy and his ghostly companion from her head.