The pressure was on. It was the final night of the ballet that everybody
had worked so hard on for the past two months. The first three nights had
gone without fault, and tonight would be the performance that would either
make the company, or break it. Every year, the financial supporters would
be invited to attend the 'grand finale' of the ballet put on, and every
year, how well the performance went was the deciding factor on how much
money was donated.
Aside from that burden that was laying heavily on her and Scott, Dimitri was making another appearance that evening. Since the Russian Ballet Company had decided to recruit an American, they were being very meticulous about whom they chose. It had come down between Faithe and another girl who was on West Coast. They had watched the pervious night, and Dimitri wanted to observe Faithe one last time before making the final decision.
Backstage, Isabelle Cunningham was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Everything within her existence at this moment was riding on this one performance. If she messed up, then she was stuck in the States, with the memories she longed to rid herself of. Not to mention, the physical torment that was becoming an every day part of her life. Everything had come crashing down on her, and even if the lifestyle of touring Europe and Asia dancing hadn't been one of her most desired plans before, it was certainly becoming a safe haven to her.
"Calm down, Faithe. You're going to do great." Speaking softly to her, Scott wrapped his arms around her in a protective hug. Smiling, he pulled back and picked up her hands with his, squeezing them tightly. "You've been on this entire week, and your students are out there tonight." Letting go of her hands, he winked and walked off in search of Roger. Sighing, she continued stretching, trying to make herself believe he was right.
In the process of trying to ease her mind's thoughts about Orlando and everything else in the world that was going wrong, Faithe had begun teaching kids with disabilities, who were able enough, ballet. Despite her earlier thoughts in the school year that she would never have the patience for teaching, she was amazed at how much patience she truly did have with her kids. Teaching seven and eight year olds with ADD, Downs syndrome, ASL kids of all types, patience was a necessity, and Faithe had found she'd had a knack for it after all. If everything with the Russian Ballet fell through, she already had a job lined up as a full time teacher.
"All right everybody, take your places." Roger's voice rang out, causing everything in Faithe's body to start trembling. Taking her place on left stage, she looked across the way, catching sight of Scott just behind the curtain. Inhaling deeply, she swallowed, a determined look on her face as the eerie, melancholic piano intro began.
It was barely seven o'clock, and the evening lights were already burning above in the sky. A blue moon hung overhead, its silvery blue rays shimmering as they struck the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, cascading into a pool of diamonds. There were the stars, burning up overhead, twinkling, as always, endlessly dancing to a different rhythm. Each one was part of a constellation, and each constellation told its own story, which played over and over again in the mind of one Orlando Corvello Lorenz, who, that night, like every night since he'd returned from France, was lying upon the roof of his Maine cottage, gazing up into the heavens.
His brilliant blue eyes waltzed across the black backdrop of night doing just what he did every evening, musing over the world, and trying to figure out what he place was in the big picture. Earlier that year, everything had been so much simpler. He'd known exactly who he was, and had known where he was going with his life, planning on continuing as Rosencrantz's Astronomy professor and then eventually marrying Faithe Cunningham. Now, though, everything he had known had flown from his mind, and he felt lost and unsure as to where his life would lead him; it was safe to say the man had fallen into a sickening state of depression.
He had no family, no close friends, no significant other, no career (although he did have a job, thanks to Tealyr, it [I]was[/I] summer at the moment) and, overall, no life. His "life", or something like it, at the moment, consisted only of busying himself by spending the days reading through his old Cepheus textbooks or occasionally doing a little more work on the telescope he was building and watching the sky at night. If he slept, which rarely happened, it was only for an hour or so upon the roof. If he ate, which rarely happened, it was only a cracker or two, just to keep the pain in his stomach from bothering him. And, if he communicated with anyone, which rarely happened, it was only just enough to keep Tealyr and Demeter off of his back. It didn't take much to do that; the both of them were busy with their own lives. If he were to die that very moment, he didn't even think anyone would notice.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew Faithe would notice. Glancing down at the tiny golden star that hadn't left his hand since before France, a sorrowful smile crossed his lips. Faithe would notice, and she'd care. She'd always cared about him. Lying there, thinking about her, the man realized just how much he missed her company. It was at that time that his mind wandered a bit, letting his eyes flit to the sky just in time to witness the Argonite meteor shower, which struck a chord in his mind, reminding him of something. Faithe's ballet was tonight. He'd remembered her telling him so, and himself making some cheesy remark about her dancing upon the stars.
Almost smiling to himself, the idea of going crossed his mind. True, she had invited him back a long time ago, when they'd been together, but surely just going couldn't hurt, could it? After all, he'd get to see her dance. He'd always wanted to see her dance.
Sighing, the man pulled himself up off the roof and, within a few minutes, had made himself look more than presentable. His face was, for the first time in quite awhile, neatly shaven, his now near-neck-length ((think Dantés from Count of Monte Cristo)) hair combed back, and his rugged T- shirt and jeans exchanged for a pair of black flat-front slacks with a deep blue button-up shirt and a black tie. Needless to say, the man looked spectacular- much different than the hobo-like man he'd been moments earlier upon the roof.
Sauntering back into the bedroom, his made his way slowly over to the wooden nightstand. Sitting upon the bed, he reached down and opened the bottom (which also happened to be the largest) drawer and, sitting atop the mound of pictures, old astronomer's journals and other such random things that hadn't been touched in an eternity, lay the small ticket Faithe had given him so long ago. Placing the paper in his pocket, the man closed his eyes and, a moment later, was standing at the entrance to the theatre. Handing the usher his ticket, he walked inside and took his seat, waiting for the show to begin and wondering exactly what force had drawn him to a place he didn't belong.
Aside from that burden that was laying heavily on her and Scott, Dimitri was making another appearance that evening. Since the Russian Ballet Company had decided to recruit an American, they were being very meticulous about whom they chose. It had come down between Faithe and another girl who was on West Coast. They had watched the pervious night, and Dimitri wanted to observe Faithe one last time before making the final decision.
Backstage, Isabelle Cunningham was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Everything within her existence at this moment was riding on this one performance. If she messed up, then she was stuck in the States, with the memories she longed to rid herself of. Not to mention, the physical torment that was becoming an every day part of her life. Everything had come crashing down on her, and even if the lifestyle of touring Europe and Asia dancing hadn't been one of her most desired plans before, it was certainly becoming a safe haven to her.
"Calm down, Faithe. You're going to do great." Speaking softly to her, Scott wrapped his arms around her in a protective hug. Smiling, he pulled back and picked up her hands with his, squeezing them tightly. "You've been on this entire week, and your students are out there tonight." Letting go of her hands, he winked and walked off in search of Roger. Sighing, she continued stretching, trying to make herself believe he was right.
In the process of trying to ease her mind's thoughts about Orlando and everything else in the world that was going wrong, Faithe had begun teaching kids with disabilities, who were able enough, ballet. Despite her earlier thoughts in the school year that she would never have the patience for teaching, she was amazed at how much patience she truly did have with her kids. Teaching seven and eight year olds with ADD, Downs syndrome, ASL kids of all types, patience was a necessity, and Faithe had found she'd had a knack for it after all. If everything with the Russian Ballet fell through, she already had a job lined up as a full time teacher.
"All right everybody, take your places." Roger's voice rang out, causing everything in Faithe's body to start trembling. Taking her place on left stage, she looked across the way, catching sight of Scott just behind the curtain. Inhaling deeply, she swallowed, a determined look on her face as the eerie, melancholic piano intro began.
It was barely seven o'clock, and the evening lights were already burning above in the sky. A blue moon hung overhead, its silvery blue rays shimmering as they struck the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, cascading into a pool of diamonds. There were the stars, burning up overhead, twinkling, as always, endlessly dancing to a different rhythm. Each one was part of a constellation, and each constellation told its own story, which played over and over again in the mind of one Orlando Corvello Lorenz, who, that night, like every night since he'd returned from France, was lying upon the roof of his Maine cottage, gazing up into the heavens.
His brilliant blue eyes waltzed across the black backdrop of night doing just what he did every evening, musing over the world, and trying to figure out what he place was in the big picture. Earlier that year, everything had been so much simpler. He'd known exactly who he was, and had known where he was going with his life, planning on continuing as Rosencrantz's Astronomy professor and then eventually marrying Faithe Cunningham. Now, though, everything he had known had flown from his mind, and he felt lost and unsure as to where his life would lead him; it was safe to say the man had fallen into a sickening state of depression.
He had no family, no close friends, no significant other, no career (although he did have a job, thanks to Tealyr, it [I]was[/I] summer at the moment) and, overall, no life. His "life", or something like it, at the moment, consisted only of busying himself by spending the days reading through his old Cepheus textbooks or occasionally doing a little more work on the telescope he was building and watching the sky at night. If he slept, which rarely happened, it was only for an hour or so upon the roof. If he ate, which rarely happened, it was only a cracker or two, just to keep the pain in his stomach from bothering him. And, if he communicated with anyone, which rarely happened, it was only just enough to keep Tealyr and Demeter off of his back. It didn't take much to do that; the both of them were busy with their own lives. If he were to die that very moment, he didn't even think anyone would notice.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew Faithe would notice. Glancing down at the tiny golden star that hadn't left his hand since before France, a sorrowful smile crossed his lips. Faithe would notice, and she'd care. She'd always cared about him. Lying there, thinking about her, the man realized just how much he missed her company. It was at that time that his mind wandered a bit, letting his eyes flit to the sky just in time to witness the Argonite meteor shower, which struck a chord in his mind, reminding him of something. Faithe's ballet was tonight. He'd remembered her telling him so, and himself making some cheesy remark about her dancing upon the stars.
Almost smiling to himself, the idea of going crossed his mind. True, she had invited him back a long time ago, when they'd been together, but surely just going couldn't hurt, could it? After all, he'd get to see her dance. He'd always wanted to see her dance.
Sighing, the man pulled himself up off the roof and, within a few minutes, had made himself look more than presentable. His face was, for the first time in quite awhile, neatly shaven, his now near-neck-length ((think Dantés from Count of Monte Cristo)) hair combed back, and his rugged T- shirt and jeans exchanged for a pair of black flat-front slacks with a deep blue button-up shirt and a black tie. Needless to say, the man looked spectacular- much different than the hobo-like man he'd been moments earlier upon the roof.
Sauntering back into the bedroom, his made his way slowly over to the wooden nightstand. Sitting upon the bed, he reached down and opened the bottom (which also happened to be the largest) drawer and, sitting atop the mound of pictures, old astronomer's journals and other such random things that hadn't been touched in an eternity, lay the small ticket Faithe had given him so long ago. Placing the paper in his pocket, the man closed his eyes and, a moment later, was standing at the entrance to the theatre. Handing the usher his ticket, he walked inside and took his seat, waiting for the show to begin and wondering exactly what force had drawn him to a place he didn't belong.
