This still isn't great but anyhow...
Daisya shot a look of disappointment at Lenalee, and cast around for something to sit on. Wandering over, he decided that the small footstool in the corner would do just fine. They wouldn't be here for long, hopefully.
Kanda was already leaning against the wall, opposite the door, and Lenalee had perched on the edge of a wooden chair. The room was only, what, ten, fifteen feet square? Not too luxurious. It looked like it was the dumping ground for semi-useful junk, like a chair missing part of its back, or a music stand stuck on one setting that was too low for anyone over the age of 14.
The colour scheme was still dark red, worn and faded, but at least there was a patch of bare wood along one wall. The red was starting to get boring.
Daisya tried to shift into a more comfortable posture, then gave up, and stared at the wall. Let's try and remember how to count in German. They'd learned it in class, but it kept slipping out of his head. He used French and English more often, and his mind still operated in Turkish, even after a year and a bit with the Order.
Eins, zwei, drei, fier, fuenf, sechs, sieben, acht, neun, zehn, elf—ha ha it's an elf—zwoelf…
They weren't left waiting long before an apparition in white startled Daisya, who'd just started fidgeting with the half-torn covering on the footstool.
"Hello." Lenalee, who'd obviously been paying attention, stood up to greet the new arrival. "Are you Mlle Rochette?"
She walked over to her, and extended a hand, which did look pretty silly when it was a nine-year-old doing it.
But even as she did, the ballerina didn't move, hovering on the threshold. Her arm twitched, as if trying to reach forward to Lenalee in return.
"I…am. What do you want?"
Lenalee retracted her hand, a timid smile appearing on her face.
"Your dancing was very pretty tonight, Mlle. It must have taken ages to learn the steps. I could never do that."
Daisya was keeping one eye on Lenalee's boots, in case she decided to activate, and another on the dancer.
"Yes."
It might have been his imagination, but there was another echo layered on top of the voice that had first answered. Rochette's first voice was clear and in a deeper register, but this one sounded a tiny bit dusty around the edges.
"How long ago did you learn it?"
"Th—three years ago," stuttered the ballerina. She seemed to be forcing the words out, fighting against her own body.
"Sorry," said Lenalee, "Mlle Bouchard, did you say three years?"
"Thirty."
The echo had become stronger, blending with the dancer's first voice. That smartass Lenalee must have done a bit of asking around herself, to see who died recently. When she called the dancer "Bouchard," the twitching had seemed to stop.
"No wonder you do it so well! It was perfect."
The dancer smiled indulgently, and gave a quarter-curtsey. Daisya had to remind himself that she probably saw Lenalee as just some little kid.
"Thank you very much, young mademoiselle. I've had plenty of practice."
"I can't even imagine it," agreed Lenalee, "May I ask you another question?"
"Certainly."
"How long ago did you die?"
Daisya held his breath. People sometimes got offended if you asked them that, but whichever dancer this one was, she'd taken a liking to Lenalee.
"A few months."
"Is that enough?"
Now, there was a moment of frigid silence.
"Pardon?"
"Your ghost has stayed a few months past your death. Would you like to stay here longer? Or would you like to continue onwards, into eternal life?"
General Yeager always told them to convince spirits to abandon their Innocence, rather than taking it by force. The best way to do that was playing the "Wow, you're going to heaven!" card.
"What?"
"We can let your soul pass on, if you want to."
This seemed to shock the woman, and her voice momentarily lapsed into the Prima Ballerina's slightly higher tone.
"Please, if you would—And why should I do that?"
Mid-sentence, the older woman took over.
"You would go to your reward, and Mlle Rochette could learn to be like you on her own, of her own accord."
"So—yes, please—so you have the authority of God?"
Lenalee nodded solemnly.
"Yes, as exorcists and servants."
The next silence lasted almost a minute. In the doorframe, the ballerina's body shivered, lips parted as if about to say something. Facing her was Lenalee, looking as cute and helpless as always. Daisya could see tendrils of green starting to shoot up from her feet.
He focused on his Innocence, and pictured the sound of it. Best to get it ready to activate than have it take a while to boot up.
"Then…"
The older voice spoke softly, letting the word drift through the air.
"I suppose this is fate."
She seemed to sigh, even as the ballerina's body still twitched in place.
"But I will request one thing."
Lenalee stiffened slightly, but no one would have noticed it.
"Of course."
"I ask you for once last dance before you do."
The twitching seemed to stop, and suddenly the dancer took on a relaxed, but stern posture. Rochette had been less pronounced, more fluid, but Bouchard was stately.
"And you shall receive one," answered Lenalee.
Turning, the ballerina swept her eyes over the room. Daisya felt that he'd been called on in a class he wasn't doing too well in, and saw Kanda staring intently at the ceiling. Hah, who knew he'd do the same?
He pulled the reins, and his attention snapped back to the present.
"Which one of you shall do it?" the ballerina asked. "You must volunteer yourselves."
"Do what?"
"Be my partner? A duet is far more interesting than a solo."
This seemed to surprise Lenalee, because she just looked over at Kanda. He made a face, and shrugged.
"I'm afraid—"
"I'll do it."
Daisya stood up. He didn't know about Lenalee, but he'd seen and dealt with Kanda's two left feet first hand. Mlle Ballerina here wouldn't want that, now, would she?
"Then let us commence."
…
As soon as the dancer grabbed his wrist, his feet started to work of their own accord, running along with her — with them — and out into the main corridor. The two — three — of them retraced Daisya's earlier steps, racing up a flight of noisy steps to the empty stage.
A haunted dress sounded pretty stupid, particularly when it was as frilly as this one, but Daisya had to admit that having no control over your body was creepy as hell. His feet naturally avoided the spots where the wood had rotted slightly, gotten soft, and found their cues on the stage. This ballerina must have been a master, once.
Maybe that was why she was holding on so tightly. Dancing was her life, and both of those were hard habits to kick, or so he'd heard.
"Lights!" she called, and Lenalee seemed to fly up the stairs behind the stage. A match struck, flared in the silence, and caught the wick of a lantern. An adjustment of filters and glasses cast an imperfect circle over the stage.
"Music!"
This time, there was no player left to obey her, but a faint melody sprang up.
Hooked on to Daisya's cloak, the Charity Bell pulsed slightly, sending out faint and slightly off-tune sparks of noise. It had some amount of memory, so he set it on one of the songs that had rung out earlier. It started softly, timidly, but he knew that it wouldn't stay that way.
He didn't feel like the dancer was someone to get stubborn with.
"Now."
His legs — and arms, and everything else — moved according to someone else's will, and the dancer led them perfectly. Was this what puppets felt like? He didn't envy them.
He didn't envy Mlle Rochette, who'd had to live, even for a few weeks, knowing that she didn't belong to herself. All you ever have is yourself, so if that gets taken away…well, you're straight outta luck, then.
You may as well just give up.
…
Kanda watched, from the shadows in the wings. Even though he'd never been here before, this place seemed familiar.
He must have been here, in his old life.