Let The Music Move You // mel

[AMERICA ANN MAYBE]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: edded6; border: #ffffff solid 0px; width: 00px; padding: 0px;] [style=width: 400px; height: 160px; text-align: justify; color: 764e61; font-family: belmonte; font-size: 11.5px; overflow: auto;]Her feet danced across the wooden floors. They slid rhythmically, their beating on the floors light, like the pattering of rain on a rooftop. Every step was light and precarious, as planned-out and cautious as a timid doe wandering through the forest greens, but with as much spontaneity as a young buck leaping and bounding with grace and presence. She was the sunlight dancing over the waves, the bird flying through the sea foam on a light breeze. A sailboat bobbing to and fro. She spun around, leaping and collapsing, rolling about in a great tumult of motions and ideas. Her gifted body was able to defy gravity for a single moment. Like a painter with an open canvas, she was creating a masterpiece that replaced color with movement, but gave new dimension to shape and texture. Finally stopping, she took a few empty steps and then turned to watch her reflection in the mirror. Only one light was on, in the far back of the room. It illuminated her, but did not cause her to form a silhouette. Her face showed exhaustion, and pain, but she managed to wipe it away as she swiped at the sweat on her forehead. Dance was her escape. It was her freedom. She lived in a cage with clipped wings, but it was in the moments of dance that she broke free of her prison and soared with the eagles high above the planet, mingling with the stars. She let the music play out, the song she had chosen very melodic and sweet. It was something distinctly chosen to inspire her. It lit up her eyes and lifted the weight from her shoulders so that she could prance with ease. Anything with a heavy, synthesized beat seemed to keep her grounded to fist-pumping. If it was older, more skilled from real talent and real instruments, it was enabling. America laughed, throwing her head back in mockery at herself. Dancing turned her into a poet. She shuffled her feet, the black socks over her toes allowing them to glide aimlessly across the polished old wooden floors. The planks beneath her were ancient and worn, used by many dancers and swept across by many pairs of feet. She spun herself around, arms out to steady her body as it circled about. The floor still worked well. For extra measure, she backed up a few paces and then ran, stag leaping to the other side of the stage. Turning around, she threw herself into a back-hand-spring and popped up, landing casually. A smile had left its mark on her face, and she laughed again through the panting. Nothing was better than the thrill of a good few tricks, and she was a natural at them. America cartwheeled across the stage, laughing merrily as she did so. She still had an hour in the studio, and without any routines to practice, she had time to kill. At the end of her third cartwheel, she managed to straighten up and began once more to throw herself into a dance that she created as she moved, flowing to the silence of the end of the mp3 she had hooked up to the stereo system. The music was in her heart and the dance filled her soul, so that she no longer needed anything but a good floor and a pair of eager feet. Finally she stopped herself once more, looking about and shaking her head. Luckily, nobody was here to see her act like a child set loose in Wonderland. She walked over to her mp3, resetting the mix and pressing play. A good, hard rock song began to stream out, and she cranked the volume up just enough to drown out her thudding feet on the floor. Once more she was set loose in an angry fury. It was an old dance number from a few years ago, but it had always been her favorite. America was not a girl of anger, or of anything less than rich joy and love for the world. She did not ever hate, and had no real capacity to dislike anyone or anything without a comedy behind it. But this routine was different. There was so much energy in it, passion, richness and texture. Like chocolate, thick and creamy but leaving a residual, unpleasant aftertaste. As the number hit its climax, America threw herself at it with so much gusto that her own heart began to beat as if it would tear itself right from her chest. The aching grew. The rage was boiling up, mixing with joy and sadness, creating an emotion too powerful to be ignored. There was a small sun inside her, growing and gaining power, building up fire and ready to either burst or collapse. Just at the very peak of it all, when she could turn this dance into something that would be unrivaled anywhere, she pulled back. She dropped to the ground, panting, her face red-hot and her feet burning. She could not do it. Could not bring herself to let go and feel the fierceness consume her. She hit the ground with a fist, but it did no good. She twisted upright, her feet now cross-legged underneath her. Her head flopped down into her hands as she tried to catch her breath. After a long while, she stood up and made her way over to a bar that ran parallel to the mirror along the wall. Gripping it tightly with both hands, America managed to recapture the air that had been forcefully removed from her lungs. She felt the smile returning, and she let out a pathetic laugh, once more shaking her head. It was at times like this that she began to wonder if she might kill herself with dancing. The thought itself was not completely absurd. America, of course, would not be happier with such an end. cass -tag dynamic -mood 984 -words posting table experiments. thoughts? -notes

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[cassandra n. dostoevsky]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 420px; border-top: #bd003e 8px solid; border-bottom: #bd003e 10px solid; background-color: #ffffff; background-image: url(http://i739.photobucket.com/albums/xx40/tippykazoo/Caution/24o0v2t.png);] [atrb=width,400] dancing is relaxing today Cassandra was now parking down her jeep. The young girl grabbed her bag and then headed into the studio. She had decided to come here and practice her routine, because the girl had to get ready for a show she was going to be a part off. It was something she was not going to be able to do once she finished med school so she was actually putting much efford to this, because if this were her final shows she wanted to step down with a grand finale. A small sigh had left her lips as he thought about it; it seemed like a bittersweet thing in her mind; because sometimes she did found this to be rather nice, dancing was great but only as a hobby, when it came to be a career it was just not her actual path. Cassandra moved slowly, passing some people on her way until she reached the room she was looking for, stepping inside; flicking the light on a second later. Cassandra headed to the back and pulled the small curtain before changing into her outfit for rehearsing. When she was finally done she headed to the center of the room and took a quick look around the place before pressing play on the little remote control for the stereo. The place began to fill with music as she took a deep breath before finally starting to dance. As she did so; Cassandra couldn't help but get lost in the moment. This seriously took all of her worries and stress away. Just like music itself would do to any other person. See, she could like this if she was only doing it in a relaxed way, not the competitive and strict way her father wished to impose; not the demanding career that came with being a professional dancer; sure being a doctor was just as stressful but the difference was that she actually loved the idea of saving lives, of doing her best to keep their hearts beating and their lungs filling with air. Her movements were going smoothly and she adored this particular piece at the time. It was making her feel entirely right, as if nothing in the world was wrong and in reality somethings in her life could be better than they were but focusing on that was not going to do her any good so there was no real reason for her to do so. A small sigh left her lips at the very last turn, enjoying every single moment even when she ended up slightly tired from it all. Each breath she took, every second that passed, everything seemed right at this very second but then she just looked around, having this sort of empty feeling inside of her when the music ended. Her eyes locked themselves in the mirror, her reflexion showed the true feelings burning inside of her, which was basically her just feeling sad and confused. "Calm down Cass" she whispered as she walked out of the room, having the need to step away from it all for only a few minutes until she happened to hear something, music, her feet began to move, following the sound until she came to a room and she glanced inside, seeing a young girl dancing, her body leaned against the door frame and she smiled, being able to see the burning passion inside of her, now this girl right here, she had what it took to be a dancer. She truly enjoyed it. It was than that she realized this was the type of person her father would take under his wing to fill with praises and different recommendations. Cassandra had seen so many of those walk in and out of his life; each making him feel proud and happy and each getting several amazing compliments from her father. The memories almost caused her to turn around and leave in anger but very slowly she was letting behind the desire to have his approval, of ever getting a word of encouragement and him saying he was proud of her. People insisted that he was, that it was obvious and that there was no way for him not to feel that way but she wouldn't believe that until he says it. She has to hear the words left his mouth to feel pleased by them, not come from someone else who is sort of close to him. When the girl was done she had been able to see her pull back, she didn't went for it and that caused the ending to actually leave her wanting more. "You are good" she said, wanting to caught her attention while she seem to be resting. "Great routine but the ending; you have to let go or else it looses energy, it just looks a bit less striking than the rest" she added. Cassandra was giving her the teacher and art critic point of view, for she had been raised to be like that. Constructive criticism only, of course. "You already feel the music, but you should feel it all the way through" she continued with a soft smile, the girl knew how weird it might seem to be just walking in into someones rehearsal was not exactly the best thing but she had been unable to avoid it. Besides she was taking a break so it wasn't like she had actually interrupted her dancing or anything close to that. "I'm Cassandra, I teach Ballet here" The girl decided to introduce herself before any more comments could be exchanges because she didn't wanted her to think that she was just a brat talking about things she didn't knew about. The first time she had taught girls close to her age they had looked at her with a This rich girl, who does she think she is? which was rather funny because she actually knew ballet in a perfect way. She had been part of the royal ballet academy for God's sake, but she had dropped out of that after one season. It was amazing, lovely, but not her thing. Cassandra just hoped this girl wasn't going to be snobby girl who would want to kick her out of the room; granted this was her studio, her school, but then again a client was a client. tag: america/lil word count: ??? outfit: link notes: I like it !.

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[AMERICA ANN MAYBE]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: edded6; border: #ffffff solid 0px; width: 00px; padding: 0px;] [style=width: 400px; height: 160px; text-align: justify; color: 764e61; font-family: belmonte; font-size: 10px; overflow: auto;]"You are good. Great routine but the ending; you have to let go or else it looses energy, it just looks a bit less striking than the rest. You already feel the music, but you should feel it all the way through. I'm Cassandra, I teach Ballet here." America looked up, a small smile showing at the corners of her lips. She did enjoy meeting new people, especially those that could help her grow. In such an instance, she wanted to explain to the teacher why she had held back. Why she was so afraid to let go and become one with the music. Why her control was all she had left, and if she gave it up, she did not know what would come of it. Why she felt safe and secure behind a familiar dance that she could reign back at any time, like a horse, always being the rider in control and freed from the dangers of bucking or breaking. She could feel the dance, become one with it, but not entirely. She wished to keep herself separate, to remain America, to remain in charge of every movement she did. But, of course, she chose not to say any of it, because she was far more gracious than anything. “Thank you,” America said with a smile and a curt nod. She trotted over to the teacher, the smile never fading from her face. Extending a warm and inviting hand, she looked up at Cassandra and introduced herself, waiting for the teacher to take her hand in a firm handshake. “I’m America. I rent this studio for practicing during the summer, to stay in shape for cheer during school.” Her voice was peppy and not at all defeated by the teacher’s instruction. She simply walked back over to where she had her mp3 hooked up, and paused the track. This dance teacher had told her that she was talented, and that made America feel very giddy inside. She remembered when she had first been taught the dance, though it had evolved over time and no longer looked quite the same as it had. Her first dance instructor had given it to her. She had gone to the same studio since before she could even walk, and had never wished to give it up. The place was small and insignificant, but it had been like a second home to America all her life. Her wonderful teacher, he had choreographed that number a year before she would attend Manchester Prep, and it had been the last number she had danced competitively. It was a beautiful piece, and won her second place in the dance competition for her age division. She had never been able to push herself into first with it, though she had tried many times. America had always held back. Her old instructor had always told her to be a victim of the music, a vessel for the music, an extension of the music, and many other artistically worded ways to say that she was too controlling. She fought the beat, and the dance, awkwardly unable to end on a strong enough note. Her legs carried her, but her heart was unwilling to go for the ride, and refused to give them leave to soar. So she was left as a spectator and not a participant to the movement and grace that came with truly dancing to the music. This teacher had seen it. All those she knew had seen it. And yet, it didn’t matter much to America. She still had the time of her life up there with all her emotions on stage, her heart sewn right onto her sleeve, and she would keep dancing even if it meant that she was getting into a terrible rut that would be difficult to overcome. And then, a thought occurred to her. America smiled, turning around and walking with purpose back over to the instructor. “Do you ever offer private lessons? I mean, I know it’s silly to just ask such a question randomly.” America tried not to stumble over her words. Maybe she was jumping the gun, but her personality dictated that she be eager and excited by every new opportunity for growth and knowledge. “I have been out of dance for a while now. I’d love to… love to be able to… do things right again. Does that make sense?” She hoped that she had not made a complete fool of herself in front of a professional. America loved dance more than anything. It was beyond a hobby; it had become a true passion that she simply could not live without. She hoped that the teacher could offer her a chance to become great again. After all, someone who had the guts to walk in and then instruct meant that they couldn’t be afraid of speaking the truth. As silly as it sounded, America wished she could have someone to tell her when she was wrong, and help her make it all right. cass -tag eager -mood 837 -words sorry, not a ton of muse today for her. -notes

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[cassandra n. dostoevsky]

Jul 29, 2012 1:29:23 GMT -5 cassandra n. dostoevsky said:

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 420px; border-top: #bd003e 8px solid; border-bottom: #bd003e 10px solid; background-color: #ffffff; background-image: url(http://i739.photobucket.com/albums/xx40/tippykazoo/Caution/24o0v2t.png);] [atrb=width,400] dancing is relaxing today If Cassandra could love dancing as much as this young girl standing before her seemed to love then her life would be so much simpler and nicer on many aspects. She wished she could take her enthusiasm and her passion and slip it into her veins to see if it would cause her to change her dream and make everyone around her happy. It was a silly thought and she knew that very well but dreams and hopes last the longest; she had come to realize about it a long time ago. Her eyes remained on the girl because she had been taught to look at the person you are speaking with. However she also knew some people got annoyed when you kept your eyes on them, which was why she tended to allow her pair of brown ones to move from her to room in one quick swept of the room to later come back to the person she is talking too. Now however she could see the girl smiling and that made her realize that she was not upset with her due to coming in and giving her her thoughts on the dance she had just performed. It was in her nature to do so, and while most people saw it as a harmless thing there were others who were a little too emerged in them being the best of the best and were not prone to hearing that there were details they needed to polish off. Boy did she had several of those type of people in some of her classes, and she tended to tell them they needed to get off their damn pedestal and step into reality; but talking to them is like talking to a brick. Heck, Cassandra had figured maybe even a brick would pick up more on it, and it was an in-animated object, to that said a lot about the personality on those type of people. Thankfully the smile on this blond told her that that was not going to be the case. Even if it was though, Cass wasn't exactly the type to take her words back, she says something and she damn sure is going to stick by them. Unless you can prove to her that they were absolutely wrong, in that case she can put her pride a side and actually accept she was mistaken. Not an easy think to do, but she would certainly do it in the best way possible. “I’m America. I rent this studio for practicing during the summer, to stay in shape for cheer during school.” Oh, a cheerleader; boy she did not missed those cheerleaders back at school. She didn't have anything against all of them but some of the ones she encountered on her years in High School were not the best. Not that they were from her school either, because she was going to an art school and for some reason cheerleaders were just not part of the program even when Cassandra could see the artistic side of it all. But she was getting off track as she allowed her mind to go down memory lane. Instead she snapped herself out of her lovely memories and placed her attention on the girl named America. America; she had never heard anyone being called that; either her parents really loved the place they live in or they were just looking for something more original than 'Sarah or Amanda' not that she could blame them, after all if one looked at Cassandra's full name, it was not exactly the name you would expect to hear here. Or even for someone with her face. People were always surprised, if not by the first name but for the middle and if that didn't do the trick, you kick in the last name and bam; they were looking at her with a confused look for a second. But since she had not given her middle or last name things were fine right about now. "Cheerleader then? cool" she mentioned with a nod of her head while she stretched out her hand and took hers. The shake was quick but firm, like any other shake really. She hated when people held onto her hand for too long, or when they shook it endlessly. God, one nice shake and that was it; why was it so difficult for people to do that? She would never fully understand it, but she assumed everyone had their own way of shaking hands; maybe some didn't like they way she did it, which is very likely to happen. When the girl walked away she stepped into the room, slowly moving to look around the place. She stretched out her arms just as the music went away. Suddenly a question reached her ears and she was forced to turn around to look at the girl; it actually didn't seemed silly at all; this was a dance studio, a school; and she was a teacher so why would it be silly to ask if one of the teachers there gives private lessons? She figured it was just the girl being nervous for some reason so she decided to make her see that there was no problem with asking something like that because it was very valid. However, before she was able to say anything about it, America spoke once more and she chuckled. "I do give private lessons; although they would have to be before five, so during morning time" at five p.m. she went to college, and from there she also had clinic hours which would potentially be a pain in he back but she was really managing to get the hang of it all. Sure sleep came in very short periods; but it will all be worth it one day. "Well, to be honest you aren't doing a bad job" she mentioned, walking around the room as she looked at her reflexion through the mirror. "I mean, there are a few things I noticed that need to be smooth out but for the most part you are doing quite well" she finished and turned around, resting her elbows on the bar. Private lessons, her body was screaming at her to reject the offer, to pass it off to someone else but her mind was yelling at her that it would be wrong to do so. "I can give you private lessons, I can even help you right now if you want too, just tell me what you would like to review, I just come from dancing and you have been doing that meaning we are both warmed up" she shrugged her shoulders; if they were going to do this then they could do it right now if she really wanted too. "Up to you though" she added, just to let her know this was not an obligation but rather a suggestion that had pop-ed into her mind. It would allowed her to see what she would have to work with later on. By the end, Cassandra had been wearing a smile; she had been speaking to her in a cordial way and she had been doing this as relaxed as possible which turned out with her not even looking much as a teacher but rather almost like a friend who was giving advice. tag: america/lil word count: ??? outfit: link notes: sorry this took so long!.

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