Thumb Rings and Ballet Slippers

People like George made Victoria's day. George was a hopeless flirt.

Victoria had started the day shakily, taking a very quick shower and stretching on the living room floor as her room mate padded around her on bare feet, she tried to swallow her nerves and almost missed the bus after forgetting her pointe shoes once again. She'd tied her hair into a bun, elected to wear the tiniest amount of make up to ensure she didn't look completely dressed down and covered her body in one of Plato's hoodies that she quickly discarded when she walked into the rehearsal space. She loved a good dance studio, with mirrors on the wall and high ceilings, it made her feel home.

She'd been worried about how well she'd get on with her fellow dancers, she didn't have difficulty making friends but images of surly faces and very straight backs littered her memories of the audition and she wasn't sure she could mould well with people who were so uptight now that she had gotten used to Jemima's carefree nature. However, when she walked in, the room filled with applause which made her blink uncertainly and jump in surprise. A black man with a shaved head and a beautiful smile walked over and patted her on the back, making her face split into a confused grin as she blinked up at him.

"We've been clapping for everyone that walks in, you know, to say that we're proud of each other for getting the job. But then I remember your audition and I'm pretty certain that you definitely deserve a round of applause, you're the ballet girl, right?"

Victoria grinned, "I am the ballet girl, but my friends tend to call me Victoria."

"Well I'm Victor," he said in response, "So we can be Vic squared. I don't know how I feel about being paired with such a dinky white girl though."

Victor was a sweetheart, he sat with her and helped her stretch a little more as he talked fondly of how appreciative he was to have a job and how excited he was to start. Victor was good-looking man with round eyes and high cheekbones, and he conveyed a feeling of warmth when he spoke with his rich baritone. People like Victor made her happy. The ones that could light up a room by simply being there, that made her feel safe almost instantly with a large grin and big hands.

They'd all clapped when George walked in the room too which made him jump and chuckle, shaking his head as he shrugged and started to clap with them. The room remained full of applause for about a minute, Victoria looked confusedly over to Victor who shook his head to indicate that he had no idea what was happening either. When it finally died, George burst out laughing and closed the door behind him.

"This is why I love working with performers," he said as he walked across the room, "If I was an accountant like my Dad wanted me to be, I'd miss out on being clapped at every time I entered a room."

They warmed up as a group with George's voice echoing in every corner of the large room. Victoria stayed close to Victor who smiled encouragingly at her as they traipsed around the room, elegant bodies moving as one entity. She'd catch George's eye every so often and she swore that he'd winked at her, which she didn't mind at all.

He was an attractive man, shorter than Plato but broader, and he'd wrinkle his nose when he grinned at them. He would sometimes step in front of a dancer as they warmed up and dance with them, laughing at their surprised face or playful roll of the eyes, when he stepped in front of Victoria she had giggled uncertainly which made him grin that wrinkle-nose grin and his hazel eyes lit up. When he announced the end of the warm up and they stood, blinking expectantly at him, Victoria noticed how those hazel eyes ran down the form of each dancer equally and appreciatively. When they reached her, they hovered on her face for a little longer than needed and he clapped his hands together decisively which made her flinch.

"Okay, so we don't actually have to practice any set pieces for another few weeks," he announced which elicited a bemused murmur from the dancers, "We asked you to come in a little earlier so that you can come to terms with each other, so that you can get a feel for the standard that is expected and so that you can get to know me and how I like to work."

He'd made sure they stood with their backs to the mirrors because he knew how vain dancers could be, Hell, he was checking his hair as he was talking to them. They were all smiling at him and he was replaying their auditions in his mind. The Chinese guy with his flips, the little girl with the plaits and her body-popping, the pretty – no scratch that – the very pretty ballerina. He could work with these people.

"So, first off, I've prepared a list of pairs that I've hung on the wall behind me. Check who you're paired with and then I want you both to create a dance routine to a piece of music on one of your phones in like... eight minutes. The routine should last for a verse and a chorus, and yes, I know this isn't the most structured way to deal with a first rehearsal but we'll deal with the whole introduction formalities afterwards. Off you go then, guys."
Victoria started to walk over, worrying about how she'd manage to push past the cloud of people in front of the list so she could get a glance at her name and who she was partnered with, but was stopped by the Creative Director who stepped in front of her like he had during the warm up.

"You're with me. To tell the truth, I've been wanting to get my hands on you since your audition."

Victoria raised an eyebrow and felt her cheeks burn, he was talking to her in a very abrupt manner and she wasn't sure if it was professional for one of her bosses to blurt out that he wanted to 'get his hands on her', it was quite off-putting but nevertheless it made her ego swell in her chest. He noticed her uneasy expression, considered the wording of his approach and mentally slapped himself in the face.

"Oh God, sorry. That sounded creepy as hell," he said, screwing his face to show his own discomfort which made her laugh but nod to show she concurred with the statement, "I just mean that I really liked how you danced. My Mother was a ballet dancer and it's how I got into dance, you get me?"

"I get you," she laughed slightly, "We have eight minutes, we should start."

Eight minutes passed and she was on the floor, peering up into the first dance duo's performance and laughing as two burly men did a perfect waltz, complete with dips and lifts. As each pair danced, Victoria began to feel more and more humbled by the very fact she was in their presence. Everyone moved with such precision, their faces and bodies telling a story as they let music guide them through steps. It was everything she had ever wanted, to be surrounded by people who shared in her affinity for dance, but when it came to her and George's turn she wanted to turn and run out. She was a competent dancer, she knew that, but it was scary to have watched how perfect and skilled everyone's thrown together routines were and then to be faced with the prospect of being the one watched. But then George grinned at her enthusiastically as she checked that her pointe shoes were laced properly before standing slowly and she felt a little better. George had a way of grinning, she decided, a way that brightened the room.

They'd chosen an old Kansas song from George's phone, Victoria only listened to ballads and couldn't face dancing alongside a stranger to Celine Dion so she'd lied and said that she didn't have any music on her phone. George's choice of song was peculiar for a ballet routine, with loud guitars and a very ornamental instrumental but they managed. Their starting position was intimate and slightly awkward, with Victoria cradled in her new boss' arms. Then the music started and he lifted her above his head, she spread her legs into a split and he spun and the dance began. Well, it was more of a chase. She took the lead, practically jumping out of his arms, kicking, turning and spinning fervently and him following her, his movements expressionistic and his eyes on her every move. When he caught her, he lifted her again as the voice from the speaker on his phone spoke about soaring and his hands fit perfectly on her waist, she blushed gently as the chorus sparked up and they were back to their opening positions but this time he lowered her and she conducted her splits on the floor as he took his bow and the room filled with applause like it had after every performance.

The routine was of high standard, every movement poised and complimentary to the music. Victoria had felt slightly uneasy at first, she barely knew this man, but then she was overcome with an appreciation of his talent and completely immersed herself in the dance. When their bodies touched, when she ran her hand over his chest or when he held onto her hips, there was no electricity but an unspoken agreement between the two dancers that dictated their mutual respect for their art. When their bodies touched, when her hair brushed against his face or his nose bumped her thigh as he lifted her, it was art.

Her first rehearsal ended three hours later. After they had learned a basic group number, performed it and then sat in a circle talking about themselves and their own history with dance. She exchanged numbers with Victor who insisted they grab a coffee at some point, smiled graciously as a redhead with a broad grin that reminded her of Rumpleteazer complimented her before ducking out of the room and had laughed as George winked at her.

"Thanks for dancing with me today, ballet girl," he said as she wrapped her boyfriend's hoodie around her again, "You make sure you bring those pointe shoes to every rehearsal, okay?"

She was just getting out of the tube station when Plato rang, apologising for not being able to meet her today due to work commitments and eagerly asking about her first day. She replied just as enthusiastically which elicited a few bemused glances from passers-by. She spoke in extensive detail, laughing as she recounted the minute of applause, rolling her eyes fondly as she retold how Victor called her a 'dinky white girl' and blushing as she confided that she had to dance with George. Perhaps she had gone into too much detail, perhaps she was boring him, but something made Plato's excitement decay as his words came out strained and she could hear him grit his teeth.

"Are you okay?" she asked, fumbling in her pocket for her keys.

"I'm fine," he wasn't, "There weren't many girls then?"

"There were a few," Victoria said, her brow furrowing as Plato's tone became more and more steely, "I just spoke more to George and Victor, I guess. There was a redhead girl, she was nice."

"That's great," his head was pounding and it sounded like his breathing was becoming more and more laboured, "Listen, I have to get back to work. Old people won't work out without me hovering over them, I'll speak to you soon."

"Oh," she said, her voice indicating just how crestfallen she was, "Oh, I see. Well, have a good day. I love you."

"I love you too," he said quickly and hung up.

Victoria had never heard anything but warmth in his voice before and today of all days was when she needed to hear him speak sweetly to her, but there was something disconcerting about the way he rushed to get his words out and how his tone lacked it's usual sweetness and enthusiasm. She brushed it off quickly though, for Victoria was not one to dwell over things that could potentially ruin her mood when she was on such a high. She didn't know that her boyfriend was sat alone in the staff room, his phone burning his thigh in his pocket, his hands shaking and the all too familiar pressure in his head. She didn't know that he had to hang up as quickly as possible to refrain from showing the worst side of him, to ensure that he didn't start raving about this obviously fucking perverted George who obviously asked her to dance with him because he was entranced by her naïve good looks and her beautiful movements, to make sure she didn't find out that she was with the Beast from that awful film she made him watch.

Victoria's worries about her boyfriend quickly dissolved as when she got into her flat Jemima was sat in a towel with her still damp hair twisted into a bun and a grin on her face. Her room mate stood slowly, clutching to her towel-dress as she ran to the kitchen and yelled that she wanted to hear everything as the kettle boiled. Victoria laughed before padding into her room and changing quickly out of her dance gear to her sweatpants and comfortable vest top before emerging again, only to be greeted to a now half-dressed Jemima and two cups of tea. The casual feeling between the two was comforting, it was like cleansing the blonde from all of the semi-professional things that had gone on previously in the day that meant she had to act cautiously for fear of making an idiot of herself.

"Now," Jemima said as she buttoned up her shirt, "Tell all."

"It was great," Victoria said, her grin hitting her eyes and her dimples standing more prominently than ever before on her creamy cheeks as she nestled into her armchair.

"When I said 'tell all', I meant 'tell all', you will not satisfy me with such a boring answer."

Victoria rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the smile on her face, "Well. Everyone was lovely, like, incredibly lovely. They clapped every time someone came in. When our Creative Director came in, we clapped for like a full minute, it was slightly odd but very welcoming. Then we had to do a pair thing and I was with George, who is our Creative Director and absolutely gorgeous. Then we did a group routine and spoke about our feelings in a circle, like legit, no joke, we had circle time."

"Sounds fabulous," Jemima said with a grin, trying to zip the back of her skirt up whilst taking a sip of her tea, "And is this George as gorgeous as your one true love, Mr. Cheekbones of Steel?"

Victoria though of Plato and of his coolness and shrugged, "To tell the truth, I think Mr. Cheekbones of Steel is angry with me."

"Oh?"

Victoria felt her tongue burn behind her teeth. She wanted to tell Jemima about Plato and how short he'd been on the phone with her, she knew her friend would sympathise and listen attentively to her concerns but Victoria had already begun to second-guess herself. Perhaps she was just being silly or too sensitive, he was probably having a bad day and it wasn't even as if he'd said anything malicious to her. It was a shock, Plato's affection for her sometimes bordered on adoration and the glacier-like way he addressed her earlier jolted her. She shook the nagging feeling off and plastered a dimpled smile on her face, she knew that it wouldn't fool Jemima at all as her room mate had long sussed out her fake smiles and strained giggles, but Jemima wasn't the prying type and it would signal that this conversation about Plato was over.

"Ah, I just think he's a little grumpy at the moment, probably a long day."

"Oh," Jemima replied, raising her eyebrows a little and letting her response trail off of her lips slowly.

Victoria shrugged and took a sip of her tea before grabbing a magazine off of the coffee table and burying her face behind the pages, she could feel that her room mate was still looking at her but knew that soon the concern would wither away as Jemima became preoccupied with getting ready for work, though she'd probably be regarded warily by the younger girl for a few days until her room mate was satisfied that Victoria was okay.

Jemima got ready in the living room, unleashing her damp mahogany hair from it's bun and blow-drying it lazily. She'd occasionally look up and ask Victoria a question about the bills or Victoria would laugh and make a comment about an article she was reading. It had become routine for Jemima to get ready whilst talking to Victoria because she found when she dressed and put her make up on in her own room, she'd feel tempted to burrow into her bed and sleep instead of get herself out the door for a night of making idle conversation and singing old football or rugby songs when commanded to. She hadn't been sleeping very well recently, what with her late finishes at work, early mornings for school, Victoria's night terrors and her own worries about school work, her sisters and a certain man with blue eyes and fantastic hands that still hadn't called. She compensated for her lack of sleep with tea and naps whenever she could sneak them in, just enough so that she could get through her classes without crashing when someone else was singing.

Jemima's new sleeping habits did not go unnoticed by Victoria who kept a watchful eye on how much concealer Jemima was using to cover up her dark circles and how she no longer contoured her face to make it look sharp because her cheekbones were protruding enough naturally now. The blonde had voiced her concerns once which had made Jemima laugh lightly and brush off her tired eyes and weight loss clumsily as she poured herself another cup of tea.

"I polished off a packet of biscuits to myself this morning," she had said, "It's just because I'm always moving at work, it's a great workout."

Her room mate's job was also another cause for concern in Victoria's opinion. She watched as Jemima began craning her neck to apply mascara in the mirror that hung just above their mantelpiece, her eyes trailed down her small frame and she bit her lip to refrain from commenting on the tight high-waisted pencil skirt or the cropped button-up shirt that had been lazily unbuttoned to show flashes of cleavage when Jemima moved. Her friend looked fantastic in her work uniform but it was such a far stretch from the baggy jumpers and pyjama bottoms that Jemima was more comfortable in, it wasn't something her friend would have chosen to wear, it made Victoria feel uneasy, it made her question whether Jemima's simple bar job was really as simple as she said. What kind of employer would want a nineteen year old to look so glamorous when simply serving drinks?

Jemima left an hour later, all smiles and sunflowers despite looking exhausted as usual, and Victoria was alone to do some stretches in front of the television and text Plato who's mood seemed to have improved since earlier. She contemplated her first day as she watched an old rerun of a panel show that her brother had been on once. She'd be up early again tomorrow for her second day and she felt excitement wash over her. She liked the company of other dancers, of people who shared her passion and was able to sincerely praise her when she did well and give her tips on how to improve, it was a refreshing change from Jemima's good-natured applauses as she watched her friend twirl cautiously around the living room or from Quaxo's words of congratulations when Victoria spoke about finally being able to master a movement she'd been working on. She liked having Victor, who by all means was her polar opposite with his tall frame and dark skin, laugh and joke with her in breaks or offer her a piece of apple from his packed lunch. She liked having George, who was gorgeous and had definitely been flirting with her, smile at her appreciatively and effortlessly boost her ego as she danced around the studio. She was lucky and she was comfortable.

Just as her programme was drawing to an end and she was about to wrap up her stretches, there was a knock at the door. She looked up, her brows raised in surprise. It wasn't unusual for Quaxo or Plato to show up unannounced in the evening, Quaxo seeking solace from Tugger or Plato being a sentimental goof and bringing food over to keep her company whilst Jemima was at work, but the noise said knock had made was frantic, as if someone was seeking sanctuary from something lurking in the shadows of the terraced street. When Victoria didn't answer immediately, three more sharp knocks came, heavier this time and accompanied by a muffled woman's voice but Victoria couldn't make out what she was saying. The blonde stood quickly and made her way over, grabbing her keys quickly from the table and opening the door cautiously, uncertain as to who so desperately wanted to come into her flat at eleven minutes past nine in the night.

"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you," the visitor's voice shook with every syllable, "I just... Is this where Jemima lives?"

The visitor was a woman with lank strawberry-blonde hair that hung to frame green eyes, she was a little taller than Victoria but had her shoulders hunched over so that she looked as small as a child. It wasn't hard to see why she'd been so frantic when knocking on the door because whoever was pursuing her obviously intended to hurt her. She had a trail of dried blood making it's way from her nose, crusting slightly and stopping just short of full lips that were shaking as though she was trying to form words to say but couldn't quite articulate them. A bruise blooming like a rose lay on her left temple, red and fresh on ivory skin, and another on the right side of her jaw, this one older and more yellow. Her neck was also littered with blue and purple, her hands would occasionally make their way up there to try and hide them like a guilty teenager after their first hickey but they were so blatant and so grotesque looking that there was no covering them. She was cold, Victoria noticed, as she was clinging to her body as though to imitate someone else holding her. She wasn't wearing much, a coat thrown over the top of a night dress and her feet were bare.

It took Victoria about ten seconds to reply and to realise exactly who she was talking to. Beneath the bruises, the shaking and the dried blood, there was the woman that smiled at her every day from a photo frame that Jemima had lovingly placed on the mantelpiece. She recognised the eyes, it was the first thing she commented on when Jemima pointed out the people in the photograph, because they were so pretty but so different from the other's in the photograph, Jemima had said it was because this woman was the only one to inherit her Mother's eyes.

"She's out at work right now, I'm sorry," was all Victoria could say but she opened the door a little further, knowing there was no way she could let this woman stand outside in the cold for much longer, knowing that there was no way she could just let Jemima stay at work when all of this was going on.

"Oh," the woman's face crumpled and tears sprung from her eyes. Victoria stood frozen in the doorway before slowly stretching out her hand and smiling despite her puckered brow and her blue eyes glazing over with concern.

"I think I know who you are," Victoria whispered as the woman looked at her hand in surprise, "And I don't think Jemima would be happy with me if I let you stand there crying all night. Why don't you come in and I'll call her to come home early?"

"I don't want to be trouble," the woman replied shakily but Victoria saw her hand inching closer to the girl's outstretched palm.

"It's no trouble. Jemima would do the same if my brother showed up at the door looking a little, um, worse for wear," Victoria paused, "You are her, aren't you? I mean, you're Jemima's sister?"

The woman nodded and took Victoria's hand, allowing herself to be welcomed into the warmth of her little sister's shared flat. She let Victoria pull her over to the sofa and drape a blanket around her shoulders, she let Victoria wipe away the dried blood from her face with the corner of a tea towel, she let her eyelids flutter sleepily as she sunk further into the cushions surrounding her.

"I'm sorry," Victoria said, clutching her phone to her ear as it rang, "It's just- I can't remember your name."

"Demeter," she responded, her eyes snapping open as she looked up into the kind face of this stranger that had been so sweet to her, "My name's Demeter."

((A/N: I'm getting back into the swing of things now, I promise! I'm not sure whether or not this chapter was too heavy on dialogue though so please tell me if that's the case. I'm also very sorry for the shameless kind of cliffhanger c: Also, I wanted to wish Cats enthusiast good look on their exams! Seriously, they always review and I've never been able to respond because they're not logged into an account so good luck, you lovely reviewer!))