Hello! Since this chapter's a bit shorter, I decided to slap it out early. Thank you for all the support for the story so far!
Chapter 4
Silvestro eyed the paper in her hand with unsurity as a gust of wind yanked at the treetops around her, the note folding in the gale but remaining in her nervous clutch.
She had been led around some back ways and into a large park with no one in it, dirt paths winding and outlined by flowering weeds and mushroom caps. The trees were golden with the season and left little sprinklings of natural riches along the short grown grass.
"This…" the woman began, glancing between her note and the end of the path.
The building was an old theatre for stage plays and performances, according to the little stone plaque which sat beneath the regal inscription of 1771. Though it said all that, the place didn't look like it was a very popular with the 1% which could afford high luxury renditions of Shakespeare and opera.
It was by no means run down, nor was it grimy, but it didn't have the atmosphere of money like others did, with vines battling to swallow the railings which lead up to double doors. A number of people attended this place, but they were understaffed, from the look of it.
Silvestro thinned her lips and began up the stairs, vines crunching underfoot until she came to the door which was free of webs or dust, proving that it was in almost daily use, and gently pushed her way in.
Music flooded from within and swallowed her, along with the smell of polished wood and chalk. Little giggles and the loud, constant 'clap', 'clap', 'clap' of an instructor led the militant by the ear up the western stairs that creaked beneath her weight. She followed quietly, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy dancing in the air as the sound of human movement began to mix in with the notes.
At the top of the stairs was another heavy door which she pushed open, and instantly bombarded by pastel pirouettes and a familiar face.
"Silvestro! Come on in and meet your employers!" Amelia waved, making a dozen 6-year-old girls and two boys spin around and face her, leotards of soft purple and black hugging them in uniform along with ballet shoes which conformed to the foot.
Silvestro blinked mutely and shuffled into the room, the door swinging shut behind and trapping her with the tiny dancers and their instructor. Her empty shoulder ached as wide eyes stared at it in wonder and confusion, not at all trying to hide it like the adults. She shifted on her feet and sent Amelia a helpless look, who merely grinned with her arms crossed.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the instructor began, giving a long, graceful gesture to the ex-militant. "Meet the lovely Ms Russ, who will be our groundskeeper and my assistant for the foreseeable future."
There was a beat of silence before the children turned and bowed with a shaky imitation of grace.
"Good morning, Ms Russ!"
Silvestro took a moment to buffer the situation, much more used to having throats rubbed raw with 'ma'am, yes ma'am!' yelled in her face. Nonetheless, when they began to fidget, she nodded her head stiffly and responded with a too rough: "Good morning, cadets."
Amelia snickered at the slip-up, leaving the blundered woman to nip her tongue in self-reprimand as the children tilted their heads.
"Does Ms Russ know ballet too?" a boy asked, turning to his teacher.
"Nope, none whatsoever. However, she is very skilled in other arts. Now," she clapped her hands and the students sprung to attention. "Fairy circles, please! I need to talk to Ms Russ for a little bit, and then we can have lunch!"
"Yes, miss."
The two women gathered in the corner as the children began to circle the room on their toes, keeping a line.
"Amelia, what the fu-"
"Language, Ms Russ," the mother scolded gently, though her smile didn't fade. "Oh, this is going to be so fun! Having you as a co-worker, we'll see each other every day!"
"Every day?" Silvestro gaped.
"Why yes, ballet requires constant practice! If you take a day off and you will know, take three days off and your peers will know, take a week off and the audience will know!"
"Okay, okay, I get it," she grunted, waving her hand. "You're the boss around here then? That's how I got in?"
"Oh, no, no, no! I'm only an employee. I recommended you to our boss last night, she told me she accepted you this morning, I was expecting an interview at least," Amelia hummed, looking off in thought.
"So," Silvestro sighed, raking her nails through her black crew cut. "What is our boss's name then?"
"Valentina Bacigalupo."
The ex-militant's face scrunched up and paled at the name, making her friend raise a brow in confusion. Mahogany eyes were wide as she fled down the stairs and into the main performance hall, gaze snatching to the portrait which hung above the stage.
"Oh, fuck!"
"Silvestro, what's wrong?" Amelia asked, coming up beside her with worry.
"That's my fucking aunt!"
000
"No note, no letter, you just disappeared off to join the army! I haven't seen or heard from you in nearly nine years!" Valentina Bacigalupo scowled, tapping her finely glossed nails on her desk, Silvestro shrinking into the chair across from her.
"Well, good to see you too," she pouted, before hissing as a feathered fan came down in the top of her head.
Valentina Bacigalupo was a terrifying woman of regal posture and cutting glares. Her body was a well-trained instrument of music and flexibility, with years of the fine arts buried into her bones. She was the very essence of a primadonna, and had aged like vintage wine, the air that wafted off her skin stinking of talent that came from years of tearing muscles and icing sprains.
Her hair was a light timber that had paled as she grew older, and was pulled into an elaborate bun of braids and smooth curves. Eyes of familial mahogany were set within a delicate yet intimidating shape, her nose long and face slightly rounded. She was the epitome of beautifully terrifying, and she loomed over her militant of a niece who tried to slip under the desk and hide.
"Your sass is not appreciated, young lady!" The primadonna scolded, drawing her fan to her chest as she looked down upon her niece. "Look at you, all banged up. The military spat you back out after it chewed you up, huh? As a place of men would to a young woman."
"I'm not that bad, aunty," Silvestro tried, but ducked under another swipe.
"I thought you were taught to hold your tongue in that place, Silvestro!" Valentina snapped, before stepping around the desk and used her fan to tip the ex-militant's face up. "Now….let's see. You've taken after the Bacigalupo side of the family, good, your father is an ugly man with a lazy soul. It'd do you no good to look like him."
The mountain of a woman huffed, used to the regal dancer tsking at her little sister's taste in spineless men. She paused as a hand came to lay on her shoulder, and she looked to her aunt to see the old, hard face softened, something she smiled at as she leant into the older woman's one-armed hug.
"I'm glad you got back alive, if not in one piece, Silvy," Valentin sighed, pressing a light kiss to the top of bristly black hair that was shades darker than her own. "And still as much of a brat as you used to be."
"Ow, I'm being attacked!" She yelped, wincing as her ear was twisted in reprimand by the older woman.
"At least now you can't disappear without giving me some notice as your employer."
"I thought I did send you a letter though," Silvestro whined, rubbing her ear. "I gave it to dad to give to you!"
There was a moment of silence, before the primadonna's face twisted into one of disgust, her arms coming to cross as she tossed her fan back onto the table.
"Of course that fool would abscond to give me such an important letter! The sloth would forget to die if he could! Oh, that plebeian-" she spun around and threw her hands up in the air before gliding over to a portrait which hung upon her wall. "I only ever loved one man, and he died married to his work. If Gessica had just followed the example, she would have been so much happier!"
Silvestro sighed as she looked upon the oil painting of her aunt's idol crush, before slumping into the chair she had been confined to with a groan, preparing to listen to the speech that she had heard since she had entered possible dating age.
"Aunty Valentina, what am I meant to be doing exactly?" she asked, gently nudging the woman back into focus from her fanatic's haze. "Like, what exactly are my jobs here?"
The primadonna cleared her throat and returned to her desk, fan laid down to instead take up a set of keys, which she handed over to the ex-militant elegantly, the light clink of the keys barely disturbed.
"As Amelia may have told you, you are going to work as both a groundskeeper and her assistant for the classes here at Balletto Giovanile Bacigalup. You'll be required to do maintenance where you can, and file reports and organise professional intervention for damages or repairs where you cannot. Garden upkeep is up to you as well."
A slip of paper was handed over to the younger woman, who took it up and read through the weekly wage for her main and side job. It wasn't much, less than what Amelia might have been getting for her time as a ballet instructor, but it was more than enough for Silvestro to live off of in her small apartment, especially since she lived alone.
Her savings from her time away and in Congo were still pretty fresh, and she had only touched them briefly in her return. Having this pay along with her last will leave her with a good sum in her savings account and enough to survive, which was honestly all she could ask for.
Silvestro nodded, not bothered by the high level of physical labour that was being dumped into her lap, though, she avoided her queries about the amputations limitations. She was getting this job pretty much no questions asked, and something like this coming again was a long shot that she wasn't willing to chance.
"Your hours as 12pm to 8pm, Mondays to Fridays; and 6am to 4pm Saturdays. Do you have any questions?" Valentina asked, getting a slow shake of the head. "Good, now, tell me about all the things you've done while you were away."