Well, as it has been pointed out by a few of you (and I forgot to address
the situation on my last update), it has come to my attention that Yugi and
Tea/Anzu were childhood friends.
Umm . . .
Oli: *coughcough*
*very long pause*
Well, I'm human, and I'm sorry, but I hope this isn't TOO radical an idea . . . that it would seem entirely improbable. I should have looked it up, I understand, but I hope you guys can look past my obvious mistake before you condemn it.
*fidgets*
Well, if you're still here, I suppose that's a good thing! Yay! ^^
I felt proud of myself because I updated "The Sanctuary" for the first time since, like, Easter. And my buddies still read it ^^ You guys are awesome, kickass people to make me feel all warm and cuddly inside like that.
So many reviews . . . all so nice *swirly eyes* Wow. Thanks! I've never had this many reviews on a two chapter story before, so I guess I'm doing something right! Your comments and moral support are very thoughtful, and if you've gotten this far (even if it's not too long yet ^^;;;), I have a very important message that I don't want you to miss:
THANK YOU.
Disclaimer: If I owned YGO, it would probably end up like something that resembled "Serial Experiments Lain". And there would be shonen-ai cuteness (to battle stereotypes to the extremes!). Unfortunately . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You're late." She noted monotonously, slamming the door shut behind her. The old Volvo station-wagon shuddered with irritation at her purposeful venting, and she felt it swaying over the tires before her father abruptly floored the gas.
Tea's father didn't even bother looking at her.
"I just got out of the office," he corrected pointedly "you know that. I actually got out a half-an-hour early today."
With a confirming glance at her watch, Tea was quite well informed that though he had promised to pick her up at 4:30, he had an ambled entrance to the otherwise deserted parking-lot at a time nearer to 5:00. She shifted under the uncomfortable, unrelenting seatbelt as she turned her gaze back to the speeding freeway.
The scenery was moving lackadaisically through the corners of her dead-like eyes, the dry hay and little dust clouds swaying; business as usual.
Bracing the weight of her head against the palm of her delicate hand, she twisted a little to get a better gaze at her so-called father. She had lived with him her entire life, but never really knew him through his cool exterior. He had a carefully obscure soul, and that was something Tea had tried to model herself after ever since her mother died of cancer eight years prior.
Harry Gardener would have been a handsome man--~was~ a handsome man--if he opened his eyes to a natural degree, shaved his face more than once every month-and-a-half, and if he smiled as much as he used to. But those eight years had taken his toll on him, and rather than embracing the child that was all he had left of his beloved Sylvia, he always looked at her with disdain that she was certain relayed to something along the lines of
/"Why did they take my wife, and not the troublesome little girl who has given me such a hard time?"/
His honey-brown hair was graying at the temples, and was often seen in a roundabout, unkempt fashion with the reassurance that haircuts were useless anyway. He often had, as he did now, a pair of plain sunglasses on to hide his weariness from staying up to, at an average, 1:00 AM every night. Tea always saw him hunched over from a habit caught from his faded gangliness, and though alcohol wasn't too much of a problem yet, he was a horrible chain-smoker.
In fact, he lit a cigarette right then, rolling the window slightly to allow the wind to catch his ashes.
She winced from the wind pounding painfully through her eardrums, striking against sheer delicacy. Tea always wondered why she was always so sensitive to sound, but it never made it any better. So she stopped wondering, and kept on wincing.
Soon, she could feel the car slow from under her, alerting her that they were exiting the freeway. Looking up slowly, Tea spotted the most familiar intersection she knew; on the way to dance class.
"You're bag's in the back seat," he grunted, but it was instinctive and routine, also something Tea was too used to, to pay attention.
Grabbing her bag, she ran into the familiar studio with a dedication, a determination she couldn't find for herself anywhere else.
~*~*~*~
Dance studios were always crowded, funded, and decorated by dancers. And dancers seemed to have a strange fetish with mirrors.
Even the narrow landing that connected the 'maple room' with the rest of the building had them gazing down neatly, reflecting the early-evening sun. As usual, a few of the other girls from Tea's class were fixing their hair back into severe knots, or wrapping the long pink ribbons from their shiny toe-shoes around their calves. Some were standing or leaning against the wall to admire themselves with the mirrors, while others socialized quietly on the painted wooden benches.
Tea had to stop at the bathroom to change in one of the cramped, loose stalls before she made her way back to their makeshift waiting area, and to deposit her bag in a corner unremarkable enough for it not to be bothered. She took out some bobby-pins and some simple elastic bands before she rounded on her reflection to fix her hair back.
She was always skinny, but the black, skin-tight leotard made her bony figure even more startling. Her collarbone was boldly shadowed in the orange-toned sunlight, and her impassive expression gave her an even more severe edge than her normal appearance.
'Pretty' was a word she rarely used to associate with herself.
Breathing steadily, Tea leaned against the window trim with one of her feet also bracing her weight against the wall. The world was so much simpler in a calm setting she loved.
Her mother was a dancer, one of the best, who studied in New York. Her father didn't watch her practice anymore.
She didn't really care.
The click of the door opening and a quick exchange of apologies alerted her back to her senses, as Ms Hartman, or Gloria as she preferred to be called, greeted each of her students with a smile crinkled naturally in her semi- old face. She absently flipped up the sputtering lights to the room beyond, as she served as doorman with a red binder in her other idle arm.
Tea allowed nothing to distract her from the resolution to get to the bars as soon as possible. In routine ease, her right calf naturally landed on the bar for an easy stretch through her legs, and soon she moved on to all of the usual positions she knew, so that none of her muscles would be pulled during that evening's rehearsal. Stretching not only eased her movement, but her cares for the world as well.
"Alright," Gloria began, her hands rubbing together harshly after all of her students filed in. There were only eleven of them that withstood to that level, and Tea suspected that there wouldn't be that many for long. "today's a 'happy day'!"
A few of the girls groaned at her unintentionally sarcastic opening.
"You see, today is your surprise tryout for our annual production of the 'Nutcracker'!"
"Oh my god!"
"Are you serious?!"
"What do you mean!?"
"I meant precisely what I said, Miss Wiseman." Their teacher's eyes glittered wisely "In the real world, such short notice is usual for the big productions."
"But we don't have a piece to dance!" one of the other girls protested, heatedly. Tea continued to stretch in the far corner.
Gloria scowled.
"I taught you that selection from 'Swan Lake' on Monday, didn't I?" she pointed out, looking inquisitive to her guilty students. "It's a lovely piece, and I think it will serve it's purpose wonderfully, that is, ~if~ you practiced it as well as I suggested."
Their innocently dubious looks gave away their laziness for that week, as they looked to their silky pink slippers for inanimate support. The woman in front of them tossed up her hands and smiled very thinly and very frankly.
"I guess your performance will dictate your casting for the show." There was no arguing to that statement. The girls splintered to their respective positions along the bars, looking shameful, and Gloria turned on the music to begin clapping for a certainly unmissed beat.
Tea faced the mirror to check her posture, and stood as still as she could for Gloria's prompt.
~*~*~*~
Relaxing into a familiar 1st position in both her arms and her feet, she lifted her head to a steady, level gaze and focused on nothing in particular. Her arms curved, matching each other perfectly as half-ovals of themselves, while her spindly fingers spread slightly to a frayed edge of the shape. Her feet were simple and ready; with her heels braced against each other, leaving her knees not touching without being bent, and her toes flared to where her feet almost settled in a straight, unnatural line, but a strong enough stance to begin the piece.
She felt one of her predecessors to the dance floor shift for her to continue, but Tea paid her no heed. Their foolish meanderings and innumerable false starts had wasted enough time already in their three-hour practice, and they felt the disappointment of complete and utter failure readily enough.
/Steady enough?/ she twitched her feet into a more natural position as she wobbled slightly. She couldn't wobble now.
They even watched silently, not taking any chance to Gloria's already sparked temper, which was harmless enough when she was calm, but when it was lit, it burned as easily as gunpowder. They also knew better than to demand a respite to the unfairness in it all, because it wasn't unfair at all. It was ~their~ fault they didn't practice precisely enough, and their positions in the Autumn Show would surely suffer from their lacking assumptions.
One of the girls coughed. Tea glared without moving her head, and the girl's eyes widened with her hand over her mouth to prevent any further distraction. Wisened by the burned-blue look, she silently excused herself to the hallway, where she could cough without care.
Returning her gaze to something that seemed familiar, but wasn't registering, she waited for Gloria's fumbling to yield to success for her music.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Yes."
In the silent tension of anticipation, she heard a faint click and the whirring of the CD's faint scrambling to catch up with itself.
The oboe acted as a knife to cut through it all, as it began one of the most familiar themes Tea had ever heard. It was the main theme of Swan Lake.
/One, two, three, hop hop hop . . . /
Insisting on perfection, she had drilled these movements in her body until ungodly times in the very early morning, but it was important to her. She didn't even have to think as the music just carried her to a faraway place . . . guiding her gently through all of the twists, leaps, and gestures of her constantly writhing hands.
/This way, that way, bend------back. Rise./
The music was inching into a hint of desperation now, the key changes to the embrace of "minor", creating a tumbling sensation through her stomach that had nothing to do with physical movement, and it threatened to consume her. So she let it.
/Up./
As the music grew more dramatic, and more sinister, she bent up on her toes, her toe-shoes smashing her feet in their worn molds. She cursed at herself silently for almost slipping, almost faltering in her perfect routine.
The pain growled distantly, but she still danced. Pain just slowed you down when you thought about it.
A collective gasp whispered around her as she moved to the most difficult portion of the routine. Tea didn't hear it, or if she did, she ignored it.
Her world had melted into a dispassionate mist of . . . something. The music, the dance, the ~everything~.
Pain was closing in on her vision.
/Leap, down, down . . . down./
Done. She was done. The music left, as did the mist; her blissful mist.
They began clapping, and that was a response that none of the girls received before then. She breathed steadily, and smiled a rarely seen sincere smile.
Tea closed her eyes, feeling her eyelashes tickle her cheeks lovingly, and her shoulders slacken easily.
Then, someone screamed.
"OH MY GOD!"
Feeling the whipped alarm of pain nag at her again despite it's absolute dismissal moments before, she grimaced. And slumped to the ground. /My dance is done. My dance./
She keeled over as there was more screaming, familiar voices shrilly expressing their terror, echoing through the roomy studio.
/My dance was perfect./
As she felt feet scamper toward her through slight shakes in the wooden floor, she finally twisted her head on the ground so that her hair twisted in tight protest, and looked at her feet.
Red, blood, so much blood.
Her toes' footprints were visible easily, leading a scarlet pathway to her pathetic position on the ground; little bloody puddles that were shining ominously in the florescent lights before they dried burgundy to a dull texture.
The only immaculate pink shoes she wore were stained a deeper, darker shade than her toe prints, and were still dripping occasionally. People were talking above her . . . despite Tea's fading vision, she could tell her right foot was bent oddly, or was that just the water in her eyes?
~*Drip*~, ~*drip*~, ~*drip*~.
She had never seen anything so delightfully morbid. 'Delightful' because her dance was perfect, and so she still smiled.
Drip. Pain. Sleep----
~*~*~*~
"What's with the blood?"
"Oh my god . . . oh my god . . . "
"How the hell did she go for that long? Can't she feel pain?"
"We'll need to get her to the hospital; they'll know what to do."
"Oh," gulp "god."
"Tea, Tea, Tea-girl, why did you push yourself so hard?"
Her eyes fluttered open, but it took a moment for them to focus to the dimmed light.
Everyone was standing around her, no, above her, their faces shadowed from any interpretation she could come up with for their expressions. It was then that she figured out just how much everything ~hurt~.
"Ahh!" she hissed, trying to pull herself upright. Gentle hands firmly helped with her weight when she sat up, sweating from the effort.
"Easy, Tea. You're in no condition to be pushing yourself right now."
"How," she bit back another hiss of pain "how did I--do?"
People around her began whispering, murmuring again. Tea's head and consciousness writhed and twisted inside her skull, as it shifted and shied from the pain.
Gloria's faint frizz that surrounded the silhouette of her head caught the light beautifully. Her head didn't move, but she didn't reply until the whispers ceased.
"Wonderfully, Tea-girl." She said at last.
Tea's feet were numb with throbbing gasps, but she smiled, knowing that something had gone right.
"So I'll be cast?" the most wonderful things were running through her head; little nightgown-clad Claras, thin candy-canes and snowflakes, dancing to the sugar-plum fairy's song. Maybe she would get to be the Sugar-Plum Fairy.
"About that, sweetheart," she began, and Tea felt the most horrible surge of dread override any clear thought.
Gloria squeezed her hand.
"you have to heal before you can dance again. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry." Was she crying?
"What do you mean?!" Tea sputtered, struggling with her elbows to get back up again. A few grains of unseen dust carved themselves into her skin, but it was little compared to what she was trying to ignore in her feet. "I can still dance--"
"No, sweetie--"
"I'M SERIOUS!" she yelled, powerfully gaining strength from the store deep in her chest "I can still dance! Watch."
However, there were many arms that pushed her back down this time, despite her heated protests. Despite her reassurances /Everything's fine!/.
When it became quite apparent that she wasn't going to give up any time soon, Gloria felt a tear run down her cheek. The girl was wonderful, and she was by far the best dancer of her age that she had ever seen. Her dedication was remarkable, but now she understood what little Tea Gardener really felt for dance.
Obsession. A very dangerous obsession.
It was so wrong. And yet, Tea knew that, and still she remained adamant about her position.
"Tea, you'll have to wait until next year's production. God only knows how much you've broken, how much you've sprained." Even her heart ached at the harsh reality of the situation. The girl on the floor looked as though she thought she heard incorrectly, but this was no joke, or misconception.
"But--"
"Let me put it this way," /this is the only way you'll listen/ "I will not allow blood on my stage during the performance of a child's dreamy escape. Understand?"
Tea's face was unreadable. Gloria, with all the control of a woman that could be her mother in age, had to use all of the control and concentration she ever possessed to keep from crying. So why wasn't Tea?
~*~*~*~
"How was your day, Darling?" Suzanne Smith, feared councilor, looked back at her still-handsome husband lovingly as he firmly massaged her shoulders. That wooden chair in her office was so unbearable, perhaps she should bring a cushion tomorrow.
The television flickered into wild ads about god-knows-what, ~violent~ things that influenced children so certainly those days. Not that she was complaining; she wouldn't have a job without those ridiculous messages.
She switched on a heating pad under her back, and sank into her husband's skillful hands.
"~Horrible~." Whoever said that adults couldn't whine? "A new girl came to me today, and she was SO difficult. It was almost like she didn't want to be listened to."
"Hmm." He was an accountant, with a fairly good idea of how the world worked ((AN - Though we all understand that this is a falsehood, correct?)). Suzanne assumed that he was mulling her troubles over, so she felt contented once again.
"Almost like a spoiled child." She remarked, signaling another grunt from him.
"Well, they are the future." He started hesitantly.
She snorted contemptuously.
"And what a horrible future it will be. Thankfully, she's the sort that'll be on the streets in a few years, and hopefully, we won't hear another word about her."
Her husband was dosing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I was debating on whether or not to add another scene with Yugi in it at the end, but it would be rather pointless, considering everyone knows how considerate he is from the shows and manga.
The dance scene, I don't know, it seemed like the pacing was a little off, and perhaps the dance was too short? I had that in my head for a long time, so I would appreciate any comments contributing to that specific aspect of this chapter ^^
Constructive criticism is not only accepted, it is treasured.
Thank you so much!
giggleplex
Umm . . .
Oli: *coughcough*
*very long pause*
Well, I'm human, and I'm sorry, but I hope this isn't TOO radical an idea . . . that it would seem entirely improbable. I should have looked it up, I understand, but I hope you guys can look past my obvious mistake before you condemn it.
*fidgets*
Well, if you're still here, I suppose that's a good thing! Yay! ^^
I felt proud of myself because I updated "The Sanctuary" for the first time since, like, Easter. And my buddies still read it ^^ You guys are awesome, kickass people to make me feel all warm and cuddly inside like that.
So many reviews . . . all so nice *swirly eyes* Wow. Thanks! I've never had this many reviews on a two chapter story before, so I guess I'm doing something right! Your comments and moral support are very thoughtful, and if you've gotten this far (even if it's not too long yet ^^;;;), I have a very important message that I don't want you to miss:
THANK YOU.
Disclaimer: If I owned YGO, it would probably end up like something that resembled "Serial Experiments Lain". And there would be shonen-ai cuteness (to battle stereotypes to the extremes!). Unfortunately . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You're late." She noted monotonously, slamming the door shut behind her. The old Volvo station-wagon shuddered with irritation at her purposeful venting, and she felt it swaying over the tires before her father abruptly floored the gas.
Tea's father didn't even bother looking at her.
"I just got out of the office," he corrected pointedly "you know that. I actually got out a half-an-hour early today."
With a confirming glance at her watch, Tea was quite well informed that though he had promised to pick her up at 4:30, he had an ambled entrance to the otherwise deserted parking-lot at a time nearer to 5:00. She shifted under the uncomfortable, unrelenting seatbelt as she turned her gaze back to the speeding freeway.
The scenery was moving lackadaisically through the corners of her dead-like eyes, the dry hay and little dust clouds swaying; business as usual.
Bracing the weight of her head against the palm of her delicate hand, she twisted a little to get a better gaze at her so-called father. She had lived with him her entire life, but never really knew him through his cool exterior. He had a carefully obscure soul, and that was something Tea had tried to model herself after ever since her mother died of cancer eight years prior.
Harry Gardener would have been a handsome man--~was~ a handsome man--if he opened his eyes to a natural degree, shaved his face more than once every month-and-a-half, and if he smiled as much as he used to. But those eight years had taken his toll on him, and rather than embracing the child that was all he had left of his beloved Sylvia, he always looked at her with disdain that she was certain relayed to something along the lines of
/"Why did they take my wife, and not the troublesome little girl who has given me such a hard time?"/
His honey-brown hair was graying at the temples, and was often seen in a roundabout, unkempt fashion with the reassurance that haircuts were useless anyway. He often had, as he did now, a pair of plain sunglasses on to hide his weariness from staying up to, at an average, 1:00 AM every night. Tea always saw him hunched over from a habit caught from his faded gangliness, and though alcohol wasn't too much of a problem yet, he was a horrible chain-smoker.
In fact, he lit a cigarette right then, rolling the window slightly to allow the wind to catch his ashes.
She winced from the wind pounding painfully through her eardrums, striking against sheer delicacy. Tea always wondered why she was always so sensitive to sound, but it never made it any better. So she stopped wondering, and kept on wincing.
Soon, she could feel the car slow from under her, alerting her that they were exiting the freeway. Looking up slowly, Tea spotted the most familiar intersection she knew; on the way to dance class.
"You're bag's in the back seat," he grunted, but it was instinctive and routine, also something Tea was too used to, to pay attention.
Grabbing her bag, she ran into the familiar studio with a dedication, a determination she couldn't find for herself anywhere else.
~*~*~*~
Dance studios were always crowded, funded, and decorated by dancers. And dancers seemed to have a strange fetish with mirrors.
Even the narrow landing that connected the 'maple room' with the rest of the building had them gazing down neatly, reflecting the early-evening sun. As usual, a few of the other girls from Tea's class were fixing their hair back into severe knots, or wrapping the long pink ribbons from their shiny toe-shoes around their calves. Some were standing or leaning against the wall to admire themselves with the mirrors, while others socialized quietly on the painted wooden benches.
Tea had to stop at the bathroom to change in one of the cramped, loose stalls before she made her way back to their makeshift waiting area, and to deposit her bag in a corner unremarkable enough for it not to be bothered. She took out some bobby-pins and some simple elastic bands before she rounded on her reflection to fix her hair back.
She was always skinny, but the black, skin-tight leotard made her bony figure even more startling. Her collarbone was boldly shadowed in the orange-toned sunlight, and her impassive expression gave her an even more severe edge than her normal appearance.
'Pretty' was a word she rarely used to associate with herself.
Breathing steadily, Tea leaned against the window trim with one of her feet also bracing her weight against the wall. The world was so much simpler in a calm setting she loved.
Her mother was a dancer, one of the best, who studied in New York. Her father didn't watch her practice anymore.
She didn't really care.
The click of the door opening and a quick exchange of apologies alerted her back to her senses, as Ms Hartman, or Gloria as she preferred to be called, greeted each of her students with a smile crinkled naturally in her semi- old face. She absently flipped up the sputtering lights to the room beyond, as she served as doorman with a red binder in her other idle arm.
Tea allowed nothing to distract her from the resolution to get to the bars as soon as possible. In routine ease, her right calf naturally landed on the bar for an easy stretch through her legs, and soon she moved on to all of the usual positions she knew, so that none of her muscles would be pulled during that evening's rehearsal. Stretching not only eased her movement, but her cares for the world as well.
"Alright," Gloria began, her hands rubbing together harshly after all of her students filed in. There were only eleven of them that withstood to that level, and Tea suspected that there wouldn't be that many for long. "today's a 'happy day'!"
A few of the girls groaned at her unintentionally sarcastic opening.
"You see, today is your surprise tryout for our annual production of the 'Nutcracker'!"
"Oh my god!"
"Are you serious?!"
"What do you mean!?"
"I meant precisely what I said, Miss Wiseman." Their teacher's eyes glittered wisely "In the real world, such short notice is usual for the big productions."
"But we don't have a piece to dance!" one of the other girls protested, heatedly. Tea continued to stretch in the far corner.
Gloria scowled.
"I taught you that selection from 'Swan Lake' on Monday, didn't I?" she pointed out, looking inquisitive to her guilty students. "It's a lovely piece, and I think it will serve it's purpose wonderfully, that is, ~if~ you practiced it as well as I suggested."
Their innocently dubious looks gave away their laziness for that week, as they looked to their silky pink slippers for inanimate support. The woman in front of them tossed up her hands and smiled very thinly and very frankly.
"I guess your performance will dictate your casting for the show." There was no arguing to that statement. The girls splintered to their respective positions along the bars, looking shameful, and Gloria turned on the music to begin clapping for a certainly unmissed beat.
Tea faced the mirror to check her posture, and stood as still as she could for Gloria's prompt.
~*~*~*~
Relaxing into a familiar 1st position in both her arms and her feet, she lifted her head to a steady, level gaze and focused on nothing in particular. Her arms curved, matching each other perfectly as half-ovals of themselves, while her spindly fingers spread slightly to a frayed edge of the shape. Her feet were simple and ready; with her heels braced against each other, leaving her knees not touching without being bent, and her toes flared to where her feet almost settled in a straight, unnatural line, but a strong enough stance to begin the piece.
She felt one of her predecessors to the dance floor shift for her to continue, but Tea paid her no heed. Their foolish meanderings and innumerable false starts had wasted enough time already in their three-hour practice, and they felt the disappointment of complete and utter failure readily enough.
/Steady enough?/ she twitched her feet into a more natural position as she wobbled slightly. She couldn't wobble now.
They even watched silently, not taking any chance to Gloria's already sparked temper, which was harmless enough when she was calm, but when it was lit, it burned as easily as gunpowder. They also knew better than to demand a respite to the unfairness in it all, because it wasn't unfair at all. It was ~their~ fault they didn't practice precisely enough, and their positions in the Autumn Show would surely suffer from their lacking assumptions.
One of the girls coughed. Tea glared without moving her head, and the girl's eyes widened with her hand over her mouth to prevent any further distraction. Wisened by the burned-blue look, she silently excused herself to the hallway, where she could cough without care.
Returning her gaze to something that seemed familiar, but wasn't registering, she waited for Gloria's fumbling to yield to success for her music.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Yes."
In the silent tension of anticipation, she heard a faint click and the whirring of the CD's faint scrambling to catch up with itself.
The oboe acted as a knife to cut through it all, as it began one of the most familiar themes Tea had ever heard. It was the main theme of Swan Lake.
/One, two, three, hop hop hop . . . /
Insisting on perfection, she had drilled these movements in her body until ungodly times in the very early morning, but it was important to her. She didn't even have to think as the music just carried her to a faraway place . . . guiding her gently through all of the twists, leaps, and gestures of her constantly writhing hands.
/This way, that way, bend------back. Rise./
The music was inching into a hint of desperation now, the key changes to the embrace of "minor", creating a tumbling sensation through her stomach that had nothing to do with physical movement, and it threatened to consume her. So she let it.
/Up./
As the music grew more dramatic, and more sinister, she bent up on her toes, her toe-shoes smashing her feet in their worn molds. She cursed at herself silently for almost slipping, almost faltering in her perfect routine.
The pain growled distantly, but she still danced. Pain just slowed you down when you thought about it.
A collective gasp whispered around her as she moved to the most difficult portion of the routine. Tea didn't hear it, or if she did, she ignored it.
Her world had melted into a dispassionate mist of . . . something. The music, the dance, the ~everything~.
Pain was closing in on her vision.
/Leap, down, down . . . down./
Done. She was done. The music left, as did the mist; her blissful mist.
They began clapping, and that was a response that none of the girls received before then. She breathed steadily, and smiled a rarely seen sincere smile.
Tea closed her eyes, feeling her eyelashes tickle her cheeks lovingly, and her shoulders slacken easily.
Then, someone screamed.
"OH MY GOD!"
Feeling the whipped alarm of pain nag at her again despite it's absolute dismissal moments before, she grimaced. And slumped to the ground. /My dance is done. My dance./
She keeled over as there was more screaming, familiar voices shrilly expressing their terror, echoing through the roomy studio.
/My dance was perfect./
As she felt feet scamper toward her through slight shakes in the wooden floor, she finally twisted her head on the ground so that her hair twisted in tight protest, and looked at her feet.
Red, blood, so much blood.
Her toes' footprints were visible easily, leading a scarlet pathway to her pathetic position on the ground; little bloody puddles that were shining ominously in the florescent lights before they dried burgundy to a dull texture.
The only immaculate pink shoes she wore were stained a deeper, darker shade than her toe prints, and were still dripping occasionally. People were talking above her . . . despite Tea's fading vision, she could tell her right foot was bent oddly, or was that just the water in her eyes?
~*Drip*~, ~*drip*~, ~*drip*~.
She had never seen anything so delightfully morbid. 'Delightful' because her dance was perfect, and so she still smiled.
Drip. Pain. Sleep----
~*~*~*~
"What's with the blood?"
"Oh my god . . . oh my god . . . "
"How the hell did she go for that long? Can't she feel pain?"
"We'll need to get her to the hospital; they'll know what to do."
"Oh," gulp "god."
"Tea, Tea, Tea-girl, why did you push yourself so hard?"
Her eyes fluttered open, but it took a moment for them to focus to the dimmed light.
Everyone was standing around her, no, above her, their faces shadowed from any interpretation she could come up with for their expressions. It was then that she figured out just how much everything ~hurt~.
"Ahh!" she hissed, trying to pull herself upright. Gentle hands firmly helped with her weight when she sat up, sweating from the effort.
"Easy, Tea. You're in no condition to be pushing yourself right now."
"How," she bit back another hiss of pain "how did I--do?"
People around her began whispering, murmuring again. Tea's head and consciousness writhed and twisted inside her skull, as it shifted and shied from the pain.
Gloria's faint frizz that surrounded the silhouette of her head caught the light beautifully. Her head didn't move, but she didn't reply until the whispers ceased.
"Wonderfully, Tea-girl." She said at last.
Tea's feet were numb with throbbing gasps, but she smiled, knowing that something had gone right.
"So I'll be cast?" the most wonderful things were running through her head; little nightgown-clad Claras, thin candy-canes and snowflakes, dancing to the sugar-plum fairy's song. Maybe she would get to be the Sugar-Plum Fairy.
"About that, sweetheart," she began, and Tea felt the most horrible surge of dread override any clear thought.
Gloria squeezed her hand.
"you have to heal before you can dance again. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry." Was she crying?
"What do you mean?!" Tea sputtered, struggling with her elbows to get back up again. A few grains of unseen dust carved themselves into her skin, but it was little compared to what she was trying to ignore in her feet. "I can still dance--"
"No, sweetie--"
"I'M SERIOUS!" she yelled, powerfully gaining strength from the store deep in her chest "I can still dance! Watch."
However, there were many arms that pushed her back down this time, despite her heated protests. Despite her reassurances /Everything's fine!/.
When it became quite apparent that she wasn't going to give up any time soon, Gloria felt a tear run down her cheek. The girl was wonderful, and she was by far the best dancer of her age that she had ever seen. Her dedication was remarkable, but now she understood what little Tea Gardener really felt for dance.
Obsession. A very dangerous obsession.
It was so wrong. And yet, Tea knew that, and still she remained adamant about her position.
"Tea, you'll have to wait until next year's production. God only knows how much you've broken, how much you've sprained." Even her heart ached at the harsh reality of the situation. The girl on the floor looked as though she thought she heard incorrectly, but this was no joke, or misconception.
"But--"
"Let me put it this way," /this is the only way you'll listen/ "I will not allow blood on my stage during the performance of a child's dreamy escape. Understand?"
Tea's face was unreadable. Gloria, with all the control of a woman that could be her mother in age, had to use all of the control and concentration she ever possessed to keep from crying. So why wasn't Tea?
~*~*~*~
"How was your day, Darling?" Suzanne Smith, feared councilor, looked back at her still-handsome husband lovingly as he firmly massaged her shoulders. That wooden chair in her office was so unbearable, perhaps she should bring a cushion tomorrow.
The television flickered into wild ads about god-knows-what, ~violent~ things that influenced children so certainly those days. Not that she was complaining; she wouldn't have a job without those ridiculous messages.
She switched on a heating pad under her back, and sank into her husband's skillful hands.
"~Horrible~." Whoever said that adults couldn't whine? "A new girl came to me today, and she was SO difficult. It was almost like she didn't want to be listened to."
"Hmm." He was an accountant, with a fairly good idea of how the world worked ((AN - Though we all understand that this is a falsehood, correct?)). Suzanne assumed that he was mulling her troubles over, so she felt contented once again.
"Almost like a spoiled child." She remarked, signaling another grunt from him.
"Well, they are the future." He started hesitantly.
She snorted contemptuously.
"And what a horrible future it will be. Thankfully, she's the sort that'll be on the streets in a few years, and hopefully, we won't hear another word about her."
Her husband was dosing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I was debating on whether or not to add another scene with Yugi in it at the end, but it would be rather pointless, considering everyone knows how considerate he is from the shows and manga.
The dance scene, I don't know, it seemed like the pacing was a little off, and perhaps the dance was too short? I had that in my head for a long time, so I would appreciate any comments contributing to that specific aspect of this chapter ^^
Constructive criticism is not only accepted, it is treasured.
Thank you so much!
giggleplex
