silk slippers and pretty ribbons +Open

[anastasya]

Paris was beautiful in the summertime. Flowers blossomed from every reach of the palace. There intricate designs of gold and all the ceilings, oh the ceilings. The whole thing was surreal, like walking into a dream and for Anastasya that's exactly what it was. She had never dreamed that she would come to Paris or that she would ever leave Moscow for that matter. She had been an orphan girl and the only thing orphans did was grow up and work, hard, overbearing jobs that didn't pay enough at all. Ana had been saved though - by god she truly believed - she was sent to the Imperial Ballet Academy and there she met an angel. It seemed strange to think of Marius as an angel considering all the work he made her do but that was the truth. If not for him she still would have been mopping the floors at the academy. All of that changed rather quickly though and now she was lacing up her slippers standing in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.

To others it may have seemed like a strange sort of place to practice, but the hall was the closest thing to a dance studio with its mirror lined walls. Ana had been careful not to be an imposition though, whether she was a guest of the Czar of not, she was still only a peasant. Fortunately the glittering warmth of the bright summer sun had drawn everyone outside, giving her just enough time to get in more practice. Since they had arrived Marius demanded that she preformed nothing short of perfection for the royal families. Ana agreed, she knew what was on the line if she was anything short of amazing and if there was any other country that could see her flaws it would surely be France. Still, she had always been gracefully strong in all her performances and didn't worry for a moment. Ana stood beside the mirror, placing her feet instinctively in first position. It was rather important to make sure she was stretched well enough to perform. The last thing she needed was some unreasonable accident. Marius would never let her hear the end of it.

Once she was done stretching she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to envision the movements. Every pirouette and every grand jete had to be perfect. Convinced she had envisioned well enough in her head Anastasya was prepared to put her body to the test. It started off simple enough, very graceful and subtle but nothing done in Russia was ever subtle. They were a nation of strength and beauty and that was exactly what Marius had taught her to do. Ana stopped placing her hands on her hips with an annoyed sigh. She had over rotated and in the back of her mind she could hear Marius criticizing her. When she had first began his harshness drove her mad but now it just motivated her to do better. She bent her knees just so her tutu was grazing the floor of the hall before she extended her leg and fell right back into the pirouette. This time it was perfect but she didn’t have a moment to enjoy her success or any reason too. The dance was far from over.

When finally she finished Anastasya breathed a sigh of relief. A few days ago, after her long travel, she was convinced there was no way she could truly be ready to dance for the other royals in a week’s time. Marius scolded her for such stupidity and insisted she had no choice. She was terrified at first of the possibility of her failure. Then she reminded herself that she couldn’t fail and that she never had. She was a prima ballerina and there was nothing that would stop her from bringing tears to the eyes of the French with her dance. It was rather brash and quite confident but that was the way Marius had taught her to be, at least when it came to pointing her toes and gliding across the floor. In that dress she was the angel and he had told her that time and time again.

isn't it romantic.

[OLIVIER DELACROIX]

Quite alone for the first time all day, Olivier seemed quite lost within the palace walls. He did not know how long it had been since he had turned that fateful corner, but it appeared to him that the nobility had thinned and he was, for the moment, quite alone. He was not complaining. In fact, he found it to be a very fortunate event that he was willingly taking in stride. He did not feel very welcome in court, though he was certain he was not the only person of a lower station wandering the corridors. If anything, he could take solace in the knowledge that some of the nobility bought their way into the ranks. "What a pity," he mumbled, though the hall still echoed his voice.

Another turn and another opulent hall. Olivier had never had such a poor sense of direction. Then again, this was his first time in a palace as large of this. For his occasional romp on land with friends, he was much more accustomed to small homes in the country or, at the greatest extravagance, a small château whose rooms would hardly equate to the acreage the family owned. Yes, Versailles was truly a testament the wealth of France and Olivier was only too happy to contribute as much as he could to the crown. His job, he admitted, was not at all artistic or elegant, but it was free and adventurous, which is all he could ask for in a career at sea. Olivier was not sure what would happen if he were forced to give up his position. It was one with a modest pay and yielded some small favor with the His Majesty the King of France. However, his recent losses had put him in a tight position and his freedom was now roped in by his superiors. Crews did not come cheap, nor did ships, and the trust and favor he had previously earned was now wavering.

Though he deeply cared for his career, his exterior facade was one of a tight lipped, stoic gentleman. Or at at least he liked to believe this was so. He was poised stiffly, hands resting upon his back. He had even tried to look the part today in a light brown coat and breeches. The captain was grateful for the tricorne that sat upon his head, hiding his dark curls that were not quite groomed properly for a visit to the palace. He paused a moment at the next arch he found himself at. The large archway glinted in the sun that radiated from the gigantic windows in the room. Olivier was taken aback momentarily not by the exquisite nature of the room, but by a figure gliding, spinning and dancing down the hall. Brow furrowed, he was surprised to find another person down this vacant direction, let alone a lone woman dancing about. He remained in the doorway, watching from a safe distance. Mostly, he did not have the immediate desire to intrude upon a second person today. Already he had disturbed the Her Royal Highness in the privacy of her gazebo and he was unsure of how to approach a ballerina in the midst of a dance.

He concluded that it would be rude of him not introduce himself, especially since he was headed in this vague direction, hoping to find a way out of the palace and believing that if he kept to the outer rooms he would find it. From where he stood, he could see she was quite beautiful, though all the women in this palace seemed to be. Her movement was quite fluid and in control and Olivier couldn't help but wondered what her ranking was.

It was not long before he finished and Olivier felt he could finally intrude without much trouble. He cleared his throat to announce that there was another within the hall. Olivier's steps were heavy, but decided and quick. His movement was stiff with formality, but his blue eyes twinkled with curiosity. When he was at an appropriate distance from her, he gave a small bow, saying, "Forgive the interruption, Mademoiselle. I thought it would be rude to witness such a brilliantly executed dance and not pay a compliment to it." With a small glance about the room, he returned his look to the woman that stood before him, taking note of her dress. "Are you to perform for the royal family this evening?"

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[anastasya]

Anastasya has been told time and time again that she was a flawless performer. She didn’t entirely agree with this, in fact she saw more flaws in her work then she did successes. She couldn’t see it unfold before her like most people did but she could feel it. It sounded strange and not entirely possible for someone to feel when things were wrong but she had been dancing for so long now she could tell. It wasn’t a particularly bad habit except for the fact that she knew there was still a lot of work to be done with that dance. Marius was the one to blame for this habit. He had always been exceedingly hard on her – rightfully so – causing her be hard on herself. Now it seemed like she was harder on herself than he was. These days he was mostly basking in the glory of what they had accomplished in such a short time. Most ballerinas started training when they were five or six, Ana had been five years late. Fortunately for them all she was a good student and learned quick. Now they were in France, helping to make all of their dreams come true.

Trying to refocus herself Ana took a deep breath, finding her center of balance. As much as she would have liked to believe that tonight was just another performance she knew better than that. The stakes were always high when royalty was involved. Tonight the stakes were even higher, she was at the home of sophisticated ballet performing for countless royals who didn’t know anything about her. People who would judge her from the second she walked through the door until the moment she left France. Powerful people who were strong and silent or worse, openly cruel. Ana could take a lot of scrutiny but there was only so much even she could handle. Dropping her hands to her sides she reset herself, prepared to go again. It was only a matter of hours before she was on display, everything needed to be perfect or as close to perfect as any Russian would be willing to accept.

Hearing someone clear their throat Ana turned swiftly towards the direction where the noise came from. She didn’t think twice about curtseying, there was no way of knowing who was who her. She was surrounded by strangers most of which who could barely understand her. Ana paused for a moment trying to remind herself of her well rehearsed English. No matter what she did it would be hard to drop her accent but she could try her best. “Thank you monsieur,” the French seemed strange paired with her accent and yet she felt like it was appropriate. Anastasya didn’t like how unsure she was about this encounter. Who was this man? What would Marius say? She shrugged it off much to her dismay, it was rude not to answer a person. “Yes,” she said carefully. Based on his response she thought it was safe to say he wasn’t royalty, he didn’t include himself in that group it seemed. Then again it could have all been a clever ploy. Either way she would treat him as Marius had told her to treat all people she met at court, regardless of who they were.

“We have traveled all the way from Moscow for this honor,” she said for no other reason than not to seem rude. She had never really been trained for small talk or anything of the like. Still Ana could try her best to be kind. Not that she wasn’t kind, simply that kindness was measured differently by some people. There was no way of knowing where she stood here and so she had to try and be humble. That was no easy task for a prima ballerina. Confidence is what defined their poise and fluidity. Ana was well trained though and Marius knew better than anyone how to deal with royals. He had been doing it for longer than she had been alive. In fact he had performed for royals once. Before they had come he said he always dreamed for this chance which was why she couldn’t afford to screw it up. “Will you be in attendance monsieur?” Ana asked curiously. She liked to believe there was no harm in asking a question, if it was innocent enough that was.

[OLIVIER DELACROIX]

Hearing her voice, Olivier could tell she was not from France. He was quite used to poor attempts at his native tongue, having spent much of his time abroad. He thought for a moment, trying to place it. German, perhaps? Maybe Russian. Her accent seemed more accustomed to at a harsher and, in his opinion, much less fluid language. However, she wasn't particularly difficult to understand and seemed to speak the language quite well, for which Olivier was quite grateful. In his line of work, he often found himself unable to understand those surrendering or others attempting to make deals. The mutilation of the French language was something that pained him greatly and it was nice to converse with someone from a different country that was easier to understand than most.

It wasn't until she mentioned Moscow that he could see he had been close to the truth. He had never visited that city as it was too far inland, by he recalled the port of Saint Petersburg. It was quite an extravagant city from what he remembered. The towering gold leafed architecture and towering Winter Palace of the royals was enough to rival France in his eyes. It was a city built for the sea and that was something he could appreciate. However, it was also a country that failed to suit Olivier. So coarse and unrefined, Olivier had set sail several days ahead of schedule. He just found the cultural boundaries too tiresome to climb. In any case, he figured, from little he knew about ballet, that this woman was likely disciplined and from her attempt at communicating with him she seemed at least little more refined than the brash sailors he met previously. "I'm afraid I have not had the pleasure of seeing Moscow. However, St. Petersburg is quite a sight to behold, Mademoiselle," he injected, with a rather distant look, recalling the city. "If Moscow is anything like St. Petersburg, it must be the crown jewel of Russia."

Being unaccustomed to speaking to women, Olivier found himself a little pressed for words. He nodded, politely, but was all the while contemplating a response. Since she was only at the palace to perform and was not a noble or royal, he thought he could relax a little. However, her position was that of a guest, so perhaps in that sense he should remain polite. Then again, this ballerina was not a high ranking guest. Perhaps this meant they were equals? Rank had never been so confusing for Olivier. And taking into consideration that she was in fact a woman--a foreign woman--he wondered if that meant he held superiority in the conversation. How he wished he could leave this horrible place. It was quite an overwhelming experience for him and one he would remember with little fondness and anticipation to experience again. Things were too muddled in the palace for Olivier to even enjoy his stay.

The ballerina asked her question and Olivier was nearly startled that he was needed to continue the conversation. His mind had been so far gone that he could have easily missed it entirely and looked vacant and foolish. It was an easy question to answer and settling on the right choice of words, he responded in a timely manner. "I fear not, Mademoiselle. I find ballet, like many performed arts, to be quite tedious for my taste. I leave that area of expertise to the court as they are much more accustomed to viewing such a thing as dance." It was a truthful response. While he could tell such movements were meant to be beautiful, he found it difficult to sit still and appreciate the detail. He was better at seeing the technique and grace in a single motion than in enduring an entire routine.

He broke his mask only once, letting a sigh escape his lips. "How rude of me?" he said under his breath. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain Olivier Delacroix." He bowed, deeply and politely, his own movements a practiced routine. He rose slowly to meet her gaze once more. He was not certain if this was the greeting custom in Russia, though Olivier believed that she should be aware of the usual French greeting.

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