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albeinn · 3 years

Text

white heron cup.

style. 7

choreography. 6

technique. 6

They are called to the dance floor soon enough; the first round of competitors moving onto the next. Alm and Celica had been lucky enough to be allocated to the second round, affording them more time to practice— time, that was very much needed on their ends. And although by no means had either of their skills faced the dulling of time (and one could argue that alm’s proficiency with footwork in the setting of a ballroom dance had only improved) they had, after all, not seen each other for much too long a time. There were bound to be changes that would hinder them— even in dancing— if all but their inherent understanding of the other would allow.

One such change is how (and Alm had never really noticed, himself) how much taller he is than Celica. And it certainly hadn’t been that way before— they were much closer in height, as he recalls, after the war. But that had been two years ago, after all. It only serves to remind him of how much has changed between; and how long he has been separated from his beloved. Nevertheless, he pays it no heed; Alm takes Celica’s hand and leads her to the dance floor.

A cordial bow, a hand pressed to his heart. “My fair lady,” a slow grin spreads across his lips; a playful wink. “Will you allow me this dance?”

A firm hand placed on her waist, another hand in hers; just as they had practised. The music begins, a slow beginning— before the other parts of the ensemble pick up the pace. It feels odd, almost, just how used to dancing he was now. Even if he still felt a little stiff around the edges, even if the very activity made him feel restless in nearly all sense of the word— with Celica as a partner, it wasn’t half as bad. No smiles kept up just for the sake of pleasing a guest; just admiring her, the look in her eyes (and how she looks at him, when they dance), and that alone brings a smile wide enough to invoke a soreness in his cheeks that will last the rest of the evening.

They have decent flair, even if their choreography and technique fell a little above average. Certainly, Rigelian and Zofian dances differed quite greatly. Where Celica would turn he would feel the need to alter course, as if a sudden improvisation had occured, despite the fact that this was what they had discussed. Briefly, at least. It was hard to unlearn something drilled so deeply into you. To accomodate, they had made the choreography fairly easy for the both of them to follow— and while they definitely had style, their technique could surely use more polishing.

But that didn’t quite matter. As long as they were enjoying themselves— and Mila knows they needed it. To be there with one another. Alm carefully dips Celica as an end to their dance, and as he helps her up, an arm comes to wrap around her waist. He inhales, breathing deep. Verdant eyes close for a moment, before opening up to the judges’ scores.

7. 6. 6.

A sigh, a hum of contentment. Alm leans his head against Celica’s. “We did well, huh? Honestly, I didn’t know you could dance like that. It feels like you surprise me every other day.”

@seraphiia v. @radiantpriamos & @elegiac-boar !

#whiteheroncup2021 #// alm vc: ohhhmyngodd!!! look at my wife!!!!!!!#꒰⚘݄꒱ 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀. ┊and we can see ourselves turning into memories. we are these memories. we’ll part in the pitch of longing.#dimitri tbt.#priam tbt.

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