&& Tyson’s Place &&WHO: @bacchantboy &&WHEN: post plot drop
“Tyson!” Today was the day, reckoning coming forth in a photoshoot that she had haphazardly agreed to. Clad in all black, she let out a small huff as she hit the apartment buzzer again. “Dance, he asked, be nymph, he said…” Adara muttered, rhythmically clicking the button so as to be a proper annoyance. Wasn’t that the best way to reach someone? As she’d thrown her pointe shoes in her bag, she couldn’t help but feel a brush of nerves take over in the morning. It’d been another sleepless night, although this time her dream was more harmonious than the usual nightmares. She could remember picking flowers, golden laughs echoed from her lips as another held her hand. Like silk, his voice sung to the birds, to the springtime, to her. Warm. Alive. Somehow missing the lonliness she’d become accustomed to. Most of all, it was a sharp contrast to the faceless death that seemed to hang over her these days.
Adara was about to hit the ringer once more when she heard the front entrance click open. It was a short walk to Tyson’s door, done time and time again before... except this time she was able to let herself in. Odd. “Oh great artiste, it’s me, your humble dancer… here to really uh elevate your muse.” She nodded, ever so incredulous at the thought that Tyson wanted her help in the first place. It was common knowledge at this point that she’d given up on her dreams, except for the occasional tryst at the Cabaret. This… this was highly unusual for Adara, to indulge in hope always felt frivolous. At least she could help a friend out. The past couple weeks had been a strange whirlwind for them all, as if life was waiting to monumentally change.