[would i still be allowed to dance?]

[soulmakingsound]

 It doesn't matter where she is. She could be waiting for the subway. She might be out in front of the Louvre, where the glass pyramid, carefully staying out of the way of skateboarders. Wherever there is a flat surface (or even a not-so-flat one), River is dancing.

It's been a hectic few days. Finding herself in an entirely new place, without her brother. Without her crew. But dancing calms her mind. And so she moves her body to whatever song is in her head, letting the steps soothe her.

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[thelesson]

Snow has begun falling all over Paris and is slowly, slowly covering the streets, the rooftops. He's been by the Louvre on his way back to the apartment that he decided to just go ahead and rent, after the mix-up with the hotel. Let Hel have her vacation in peace. He didn't stop here to visit the actual museum, but to have a smoke in front of the large pyramid, the glass carrying traces of melting ice. Inside - his reflection. Hector knows people here, still, he knows how to find living quarters relatively quickly and efficiently. The way he does everything. In this case, it's proving very useful. The snow doesn't look like it's letting up anytime soon.

She saunters past him, the girl from earlier, the girl with the audition, apparently in her own world, the steps recognisable to anyone who's danced the style. The ground looks treacherously slippery, however, and he reaches out, cigarette still between his lips, and catches her by the upper arm, halting her movements that were otherwise nice. Light port de bras. That claw might need a little work, though, if she really wants to make it in Paris.

"Careful," he tells her, "it's slippery here."

[soulmakingsound]

"I'm careful," she assures him. Says the girl in pointe shoes out in the snow. "They want breaking in." Which is true enough. She'd only recently bought them, and they still feel stiff. They need to be danced in. Broken down and rebuilt to fit her feet.

The man holding her arm looks familiar and she tilts her head to the side, birdlike. Curious. "Most birds have to land," she says. Quoting one of his replies to her.

[thelesson]

"An attention-grabbing landing, too," he smiles and releases her arm, letting her find her footing in her unbroken pointe shoes. Must be a pain to wear, and in the snow of all things. Popping his cigarette out of his mouth, holding it loosely between two fingers, he blows the smoke out away from her, calculating with the wind.

"Your port de bras is beautiful, but you need to tense your fingers less. Only the Americans like a Balanchine claw." The same lightness with which she uses her shoulders and arms need to go into her fingers. They need to be elegant, refined and always subtly pointy. Even a French Odile would never show the harsh finger arrangement of most current New York City Ballet ballerinas.

[soulmakingsound]

"Thank you," she says, both to the compliment and to the advice. Because she is appreciative of the advice. Anything that will help her be a better dancer is useful, and he clearly has more experience than she does.

"My teacher was rigid. Precise. Everything in its place. At times, it is hard to forget what we're taught and simply dance."

[thelesson]

"It's because we're taught rigidity first that we can enjoy moving freely."

He catches his smoke between two fingers, looking at it for a moment, then dropping it on the pavement and stubbing it out beneath his heel. The snow sizzles a second, then the cigarette is dead and gone and forgotten. Looking at her again, he cocks his head to one side, motioning for her to indicate which way she's intending to dance now, he'll follow her. It's cold, but the weather is beautiful, he can afford to take a detour with her.

"Did you get a spot?"

[soulmakingsound]

"Not as of yet. More rounds of auditions to come. Culling the herd each time. I have progressed, however."

She picks up the soft sided duffel that holds her combat boots, a coat if she gets too cold, and her phone. Tilting her head in the opposite direction, she turns the unasked question back to him. "Where to go? You know the city better."