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@evieenpointe
'The Ballet Dancer' — Konstantin Razumov
Three satin ribbons lay draped oh-so delicately over Ron’s broad shoulder, as our bumbling little ballerina props her foot up atop his knee. “You’ll never believe what Sara told me, absolutely never-” to feign disinterest, Evie busies herself tying up the ballet flat at hand; “She said that her brother said that his friend told his fiance that he was in jail so long because of work he’d once done with YOU!” Jaw clenched, the same way it had when initially relayed...
right before she threatened to knock that girl’s teeth in.
“I told her it was a lie, he’s gone and told’a tall tale, but she said that he said--” that grape vine tangled her tongue, furrowed her brows, even managed to stop how deftly she worked on the slipper... Evangeline gave up on both the trail and that shoe, instead leaning over Ron to retrieve one of those undone bows she’d left on him. “Well... she called you dangerous, my Ron! You’re too darling to be dangerous, the nerve of some people-” is that anger crinkling her nose? Difficult to tell; but the girl softens completely soon after, relaxing tense shoulders and finally surrendering to check his face, gauge his reaction-- “Can you believe that!?”
Not quite sure who all of past partners are still writing or following-
but would anyone possibly be interested in an itty bitty tidbit of a starter call?
A Link To Evie’s Bio, Should A Refresher Be Helpful
“come here. ”
-- // gimme a hug meme // --
Pathetic. Utterly pathetic, she was; all plumped lips and fallen lashes. Evangeline had been weeping as much as the willow tree her dangling limbs sought to imitate- draped over the back of a chair, all unsteady on only one leg. The other, held up in the air, freshly bundled and bandaged by the good doctor only an hour before.
She had crutches. She'd left them, though, over there at the bar while she quite dramatically hobbled and hopped her way over to be nearer to her friend. Looking for pity. He's such a darling, Evie knew he would be, and she so certainly needed it now.
He said: 'come here' - and she did! Arms flung up in the air so they could make ways around him: Evangeline buries rosy cheeks against his chest, shoulders shake as she sighs...
"Oh, Ron... I won't be able to do the show this weekend, and I am absolutely DEVASTATED-" the doctor had only demanded two weeks of rest- "I'm all useless and BROKEN-" it's barely sprained- "Don't hate me, please, now that I'm FALLING APART..."
send in “come here. ” for the sender to give the receiver a hug after seeing the receiver either near tears or in tears following a really rough day.
( feel free to add context!! maybe a mission went wrong, or there was a fight, or they learned something devastating… )
alternatively, send in “ i’m having a really bad day… ” for the receiver to hug the sender after seeing them either near tears or in tears following a really rough day.
ooc //
ooc // BOO!
I could lay and stare at these ceilings for hours...
Please See : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eQQKVKjifQ
-----
Cold. Cold- her, on the floor, like this, sat all criss cross’d and applesauced. Though sunbeams tried to extend their offerings, Evangeline sat just too near the barre to enjoy it. Staring, at the reflection of a Really Silly Someone staring on back at her. Stupid girl. All tumbled and tossed like one’a those thumb puppets after being pushed too hard.
A foot climbs its way into the air - toes at a lovely point, rest of limbs remaining in a sleeve of wraps and bandages which Madame deemed necessary. The fact alone that Madame still afforded the room and board for her, the scrip and scrap of croissant or sold-too-late-muffin : what did those doctors know, really? Textbooks and print, posters and models - not someone who’s crafted for their craft. Evangeline and Madame remain convinced this was a hiccup.
A hiccup.
A hiccup. Cold.
A drop from extension until heel finds wooden floor. Makes the pigeons that had been seated outside of window sill trickle on away - rattles Evangeline enough so she reaches for it. Bent and twisted until foot is cradled in those little palms, and she could properly glare at the damn thing.
She’s accustomed to being more in control of all of this. Her body ; the twitches ; the limits. Evangeline knew better than anyone how far she could pull this from that. How tiny and close she could tuck any of her on in. How she just misses cues by that very final moment if she’s too nervous to listen to the music properly. How she can’t let this go.
And mostly, a consideration understood yet sorely loathed, how this stupid foot will not quite cooperate with what she’s so very quite certain she knows it could do. The other can do it. It could do it before. She knew it could.
But here she is. Here’s a cherub’s pout at psyche - the rose pondering said thorn. Squinting and chastising at her bandaged foot. ( you know, the one that’d twisted funny post-performance last show? ) Alone in the studio typically reserved for her Toddler Classes. ( you know, the ones she hadn’t been allowed to teach for a few weeks ) Brain just a bit hazy from those pills the doctor gave her. ( he said two, she can only stomach one )
Off the floor! She shan’t be so Cold anymore. Wasting her time on the floor, how silly, what a silly girl is she! -- injured foot furthers and props upon barre: Evangeline only bends to press cheek against mirror and smear a powder peach blush ‘gainst glass. Get a better look at that silly foot. See exactly how far she could stretch the toes before the pain left her white’knuckled against her holdings...
She can fix this. The sun’s risen enough so, even at the pitiful height of her, beams opportune to tickle against bared collarbones if Evangeline dares a glance to the windows. The room will be whole again. More pitter patters of babies and ballet shoes.
Piano, playing, the scene not quite caught in confidence. Hers. One Day. Some Day -- a SOON Day...
She hopes. Oh, she hopes.
breathingliife:
He had been so absorbed in the tune, murmuring the lyrics to himself since he didn’t feel like singing it on the mic that has been pushed away for the time being. There are times like these in which his eyes just close and he let himself sway with the movement of his fingertips, floating along the ivories, letting them spark the colorful world within his mind. He was flying really, when the last note faded away and a voice shot the compliment his way Drew realized he was no longer alone at the piano. He jumped in his seat, feeling embarrassed of such jolt. Cheeks soon sprinkle with rosy tone.
❛ Thank you, thank you… ❜ he chuckles, ❛ Uhm, yes… most nights to be honest. I have a day off, but I never really take it… ❜ his brown eyes peer up at her, head canting. ❛ Bye bye blackbird, Peggy Lee’s version but I may have… Carried away with the improvisation. ❜ He never plays his originals at Haze, even if Tom bugs him more than once to do so, afraid that they are not good enough. ❛ … Would you like me to play a specific one? I’m up for suggestions. ❜
The conversation plays to her ears as permission: SILLY! GIRL! Evangeline smiles as if she’d struck gold, boldly peers at piano keys and his fingertips while hovering devastatingly over his shoulder. “It was lovely, oh, very lovely-- do you ever play for performances? I’d have tripped all over my toes!” It’s a compliment. Perhaps not so obvious: she isn’t dressed as a ballerina, nor as ‘nicely’ as her gaggle of companions. “Your improvisations, gave it life, brava!”
UGH. Now she’s clapping. Brightly, boldly, while still-stage-worthy curls bounce to and fro as she shakes her head. There’s no suggestions. “What’s a favorite, is that one? You should do another-- you SHOULD!” She’s a fan. Already. And she wants more, feels like those silly seat-sitters when they beg for an encore. he’s supposed to play through the evening, evangeline, but she’s not quite accustomed to a performance not having an unfortunate end.
“I’m Evangeline.” Feels better. As she juts out a hand to excuse the rest of her, goodness, and she looks suspiciously at his fingertips as if they’re tied to invisible strings. “You’re brilliant! What would you do on your day off? Just play, more? You seem a natural-- I can’t even play piano!”
allow me to introduce: BALLETCORE
ronmanmob:
Ron knew she could do it.
He’d been watching her twirl and leap with the best of them - en point, off pointe, picked up, put down - all show long and now, curtains down, dancers warming down and friends allowed to quietly visit, he was watching her still as she, for some God knows what reason, fought to prove to him that she could do precisely what he’d been watching her do all evening. Who’d be one’a them talented folks with all their perfectionism, aye?
‘Course I know’ he soothed amiably, his lips quirking up at the corners in a crooked, snaggly grin. ‘Shinin’ star aht on th’stage, you are…Though-’ An observation then; kindly meant if a wisp blunt. ‘I don’t fink you fink you’re that. That you’re a star.’ Curiosity was conveyed by a head-tilt.
‘Is tha’ right? Tha’ why yer still aftah perfect when, t’me, y’were when y’was aht performin’ on stage.’
She’d already gotten herself into position, toes pointed and prepared, arms out... Until the comfort settles, slouches little shoulders beneath the weight of comfort: He knows. Shinin’ star. A star.
If he had corrected or scolded, she’d know how to react. The compliment, sincere and from none other than Dear Ron, strikes her like a match. “You think so?” She isn’t fishing. Doesn’t even let him respond before ceasing the routine all together, turning first by chin over shoulder before the rest of her spins on about. "I’m not a star-- your darling, your Izzy -- she’s the Star.” Her thoughts had been caught! Funny, to her, how the man she reassures so by straightening ties before appearances, even with the gaggle of ballerinas begging him in through back doors, has to convince her of her talents.
“Did you see her, in the second Act? She fell over the set-- someone had placed it wrong, she was a duckling.” It couldn’t have been Izzy’s fault. Evangeline refuses to believe so, finds a better Commonplace with Ron when discussing their tiny ingenue instead of her own failures. “Ron: You’re a Star, you know, a right Star. Thank you, for coming.” To those soured feelings she’s climbing over, internally, as she clamors her way to help herself at his shirt’s collars, tossing arms about him in a hug. “Did you enjoy yourself? Two swans thought of you while you were in the rows-- we did, you know we did. Did you like it?”
“Can we go for a drink?”
isgcd:
‘ piss off, mate–––– i didn’t order any room service … ! … did i order room service … ? ‘ mumbled instinctively at the tunes of that shrill, disgustingly-cloy voice bursting into the room - still half asleep, seemingly KNOCKED out. murdoc looked practically DEAD where he was sloppily positioned amongst wine-stained sheets and cigarette ash. pallid face hidden beneath pillow to escape the sunlight seeping in through the window. ‘ wha’ in the name of satan are you on abo–– GAAH ! ! ‘ FORCEFULLY tosses pillow onto the ground when the intruder just as forcefully misplaces a knee between gorillaz’ leader’s legs. nothing like a bit of pain to wake you up in the afternoon, right ? evangeline titters. ‘ wha’ … ohh, y’ er bloody insane. why are you here, huh ? wha’ time is it ? ‘
His insults, that whining, all of the rudeness he throws at her-- Evie embraces it, endearingly, a silly smile spread darlingly and reaching far beyond cheeks. “You don’t have to order me, Murdoc, I’m A SURPRISE!” Hands fly to the air, she falls belly first against him, burying her face into the crook of his neck; has to open her mouth to breathe, doesn’t want any of his sweaty stench to ruin the good mood she’s in, but parted lips only leave more room to speak...
“I’m here to bring you joy, you silly thing, I only had to promise three kisses to get here- speaking of, let’s never find that bellboy again,” kisses weren’t the only thing batting lashes may have promised, but that’s neither here nor there. “Murdoc, we should celebrate, I know you’re so happy to see me, can’t let it go to waste!” A SMOOCH TO HIS CHIN, HIS CHEEK, before she safely pulls herself back to sit up on knees and hover over him in a solid, straddling stance-- He may swat at her like a fly, or something, and she’s busy wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
“It’s time for you to wake up! To LOVE me! Let’s go get coffee, and donuts, the kind with pink frosting: you must be starving: look at you, all thin and sickly, when’s the last time you ate?”
Mazurkas, Op. 41 is a set of four mazurkas for piano by Frédéric Chopin, composed and published between 1838 and 1839. A typical performance of the set lasts about nine and a half minutes The set is dedicated to Chopin’s friend Stefan Witwicki, a minor poet, ten of whose poems Chopin set to music as songs.
Mazurka in E minor, Op. 41, No. 2
Fortunately preserved is a sketch of this work, the note to which is signed by Chopin: 28 November (1838), Palma. This sketch was made at Son Vent on Majorca, shortly after Chopin and Sand arrived on the island, hence the name ‘Palman’ given to this Mazurka in E minor. Along with three others, composed slightly later, the ‘Palman’ Mazurka was published the year after Chopin’s return from Majorca in his Op. 41. In the Paris edition, it opens the set; in the Leipzig edition, it is in second place.
Opening bars of No. 2
The Mazurka in E minor, composed and first played on Majorca, seems to reflect Chopin’s flights of fancy into ‘a land more lovely than the one we behold’, as noted by George Sand.
Performer:Henryk Sztompka.