|The Art of Ballet
Author: HonourTOne PM
A look into the world of ballet where anything is likely and dancers know it.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama - Chapters: 4 - Words: 4,209 - Reviews: 23 - Favs: 11 - Follows: 9 - Updated: 10-01-04 - Published: 11-19-03 - id: 1607613
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: See previous ones.
Author's note: While I readily endorse in receiving reviews, I'd like to remind my future reviewers that I don't give a lick whether you enjoy my writing style or not. Because it is indeed my fanfic, I feel that I have the right to put any spin or style I will to it. I don't come into your fanfics and tell you to do something completely different from your writing style, so don't do it to me. To paraphrase a reviewer: it's just polite that way.
I'd also like to stress that I have studied the Romanticist period, art history, and well, European history from the 12th century through the 20th century in general. Romanticist writers still survive to day, so I'd like to remind my reviewers not to post false information, no matter how strong you get the urge to do so. I know very well what the period entailed, for indeed, two courses I took reviewed it.
I found no romance in the idea of using a character from the movie as the main character, so please don't plague me with utter nonsense regarding my choice of character. Yes, I'm quite certain it has no plot, and have been amused by the idea for several months now.
I'd also like to stress to my readers to disregard the suggestion that I spoke of psychological details in this story, as was wrongfully suggested. I merely stated that they existed in one of my other stories.
Five thirty eventually drew near, though it took its pleasurable time doing so. Standing silently in dimly lit studio three, I gazed blankly out among my companions gathered, most of whom had taken to sitting on the floor, gathered in clumps of three or four.
"Sit down, Veronica," Eva quietly said, eyeing me with those dark brown eyes.
Shaking my head, I declined. I never liked to sit. Especially not when something important was to commence. Coming up to my left side, Jodie pulled on a faded grey sweatshirt and eyed me with a gentle gaze.
"Calm down. I'm sure they won't cancel it...." But it seemed as if the more she spoke, the more she was trying to convince herself, and no longer me, that it was true. That they wouldn't cancel it.
Face carefully blank, I smiled slightly. "Of course, Jodie." Growing silent after that, I watched Charlie enter the room with Eric at his side, slowly making their way over to the rest of us. Draping an arm over Jodie's shoulders, he quietly began to speak. It seemed as if to all of us, but he only looked into Jodie's blue gaze.
"I heard Mr. Reeves earlier arguing on the phone with the foundation director. He wants that funding so bad that he can almost taste it."
Eva quietly cut in. "But why do they want cut the ballet? This ballet hasn't been done for a while; it'll draw crowds." Eric rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently, reassuringly.
"Because there's always the risk that it won't. The last time they did this piece it backfired slightly-" But at this point, Eva cut me off, her voice growing above the hush of the room.
"But that's because they put it together at the last moment." People slowly began to look over as her voice grew louder. "We're well prepared this time."
But, now Eric appeared to have been ready to speak. But he never had the chance. Just then, the doors swept open, and the light that flooded in from the hall, was blocked out as Mr. Reeves stepped into the room, and shut the double doors behind him.
Clasping his hands loosely behind his back, he slowly walked over to us, seeming to weigh his thoughts very carefully. Looking up finally at all of us, he sighed.
"As you all know," he began firmly, but with a hint of sad tension, "Funding for this piece is being cut. Our supporters feel that this ballet will not draw in enough crowds or incite enough attention. To be honest, and fair, it hasn't even received any recognition in the newspapers yet. While this is slightly unusually, I still feel that we can't pull out of this piece just yet. We've worked hard on this piece, and you are a wonderful cast, but I fear that our hope may be dwindling."
Pausing, he looked us over with that weighted gaze before continuing.
"Thus, I have proposed this. We will finish this piece over the next five days. And will do a performance of it for the foundation on Friday night. Should they find it fit, and worthy, they will reconsider their decision. But unfortunately, this means that we will have to do several more scenes than I anticipated."
At this point, murmurs began to break out. Frantic whispers about there being too little time; how they'd never make it; they weren't good enough.
I frowned slightly at their comments. Well, who gives a damn? We have to pull this off or die trying. A little extreme, I reasoned with myself, but if you want to get something done, you have to go to extremes.
Smiling bitterly almost, he eyed us once more before quietly heading to the door. "I shall see you bright and early tomorrow morning."
And with that, he opened the doors, left, and closed out the light, leaving us all very anxious.