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Madeleine Gosselin
Posts: 134
Joined: Sun May 26, 2019 3:54 pm
Topics: 9
Race: Galdor
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Writer: moralhazard
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Sat Oct 19, 2019 11:18 am

Late Afternoon, 20th Yaris, 2719
Confisalto Practice Rooms, Brunnhold
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There were many things that Madeleine didn’t understand. She had thought that studying at Brunnhold would teach her more, and of course she did learn things – many things – in her classes. But somehow she seemed to know less. The older she got, the more confusing things became, and people especially. Madeleine didn’t understand her classmates, and they only seemed to get more and more inscrutable around her. Even dancing confisalto – even in the moment when she should have been most connected with her partner – there were always things she didn’t understand.

When, Madeleine wondered, did it get easier? She was 16 now – she was practically an adult. Surely life would start to make sense soon? Her older siblings seemed to have everything all figured out; Angelique and Sebastian were both ninth formers, and it seemed like they knew everything, and that everything Madeleine tried to tell them was wrong.

Even her classes – Madeleine went to every lecture, she did all her homework, and she thought really hard about what she was learning, as hard as she could, and tried to ask questions and give answers in class, but – sometimes she got the feeling that her teachers didn’t like her. She couldn’t think why, but sometimes in office hours – Madeleine had learned what annoyance looked like, and she knew – she knew how it felt in her chest, when it flickered across her face.

And so it was that when she ought to have been studying, when she ought to have left confisalto practice with everyone else, Madeleine had asked Professor Sauveterre if she might stay a little longer and practice herself. Dancing made sense to Madeleine; there were steps that she was meant to follow them. There were rules – her arms were to go here, and her legs there, and she was to turn her torso thus. And if she did it – if she really tried, if she put herself into it – it was beautiful, and it made sense.

And Professor Sauveterre had looked at her for a long time, and Madeleine hadn’t known what to make of it, so she had stood there with her hand extended for the key. And eventually she had started to feel nervous – started to think she had done something wrong – but Professor Sauveterre had just nodded, and given Madeleine the key, and told her to lock up when she was done. And she had swept away, and left Madeleine all alone in the middle of the polished floor, with the big mirrors and the long bar that ran against them.

Madeleine had looked up at herself in the mirror, had stared at her small face and the dark red hair around it, and she had tried to understand what Professor Sauveterre saw, but she didn’t; she didn’t understand it. All the same, she had set the key carefully on her things, her bag the last one left after everyone else had left, and she had stretched a little more. She had carefully lifted herself up en pointe, then down again; she had swept her arms up over her head and spread them out wide again.

And then Madeleine had taken first position, her arms held ready, and she had begun the dance again. It was different without a partner, but of course there were practice modifications for the parts that she could not do alone; here, where she was meant to clasp hands and lean back, she extended her leg instead to counterbalance; here, where she was meant to twirl with her partner, where she could not get the right speed alone, she halved the tempo and did it herself.

And as she danced – step by step, alone in the large practice room – as she danced, most of Madeleine’s thoughts flitted out of her head, and she was left with just the joy of it, the rush of happiness it sent through her, untainted by questions about why Evangeline Filangieri was mad at her again – why Professor Sauveterre had looked at her so – why a classmate had laughed at her as she left class that morning – why the girls in her dorm always seemed to fall silent when she came in the room – because there was no space for anything but the dance, but the sheer delight of it, and one thought, just one. Why couldn’t it be like this always?

She did not have the music, but Madeleine didn’t need it; she knew the beat in her soles of her feet and the sweep of her arms. She knew it in the gentle motions of her head, and the sweep of her arms; she knew it in the press of her toes against the floor, in the straightening of her spine, and she kept it through the dance, each step swirling into the next as the Anaxi spun back and forth across the room. The rest of the world faded away, and Madeleine was happy to simply dance.

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Eleanor Blackthorne
Posts: 3
Joined: Fri Nov 23, 2018 7:33 pm
Topics: 1
Race: Passive
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Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Thistle
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Mon Oct 28, 2019 3:17 pm

Late Afternoon, 20th Yaris, 2719
Confisalto Practice Rooms, Brunnhold
Eleanor Blackburn was in disgrace. She’d been in disgrace, well, technically since her birth, but this particular morning the trouble had began just after she’d got the kitchen stoves lit. She was pouring Cook’s tea, when somewhere down the hall, someone let go of a door. An errant gust caught it, it slammed, and both tea and teacup tumbled to the floor. Things got a bit hazy after that, and when Eleanor came back to herself properly, she was curled up in the corner, with her arms wrapped round her head, whimpering. Something Very Bad had happened the last time she’d broken fine china.

Cook took hold of one arm, and Matron took hold of the other, and between them, they managed to wrestle Nell to her feet again. Cook waved off her stuttering apologies, and Matron just shook her head, mumbling about useless lackwits under her breath. Then she’d pushed both mop and filled bucket of water into Nell’s hands, steered her to the nearest empty corridor, and left her there, with instructions to see that the floor is well and truly clean, I don’t want you just getting it wet, and no wandering off, I’ll come fetch you later. Nell had nodded, stammering out, "Yes, y-yes ma’am,” and then Matron was gone.

For a good long while, Nell stayed where she was put. Back and forth went the mop, and up and down the hall went Nell. The corridor was quite empty—all the better, really, for she worked best when there was nobody around to see—and so she made a game of it. She hummed, a tune she’d picked up from one of the students, and she danced with the mop. Well, she tried anyway, but more than once she stumbled—over her one feet, over the tail of her skirt, over the mop, and once, she nearly upended the bucket. Oh dear. Nell chewed her lip, watching as it wobbled, and willing it to stay upright. Matron would have her hide if she made another mess. But the bucket eventually steadied, and Nell let out a breath. “No more, no more g-games. You have to, you have to pay attention or, or Matron will be, will be cross,” she told herself in her firmest voice. That settled, she returned to her work.

At the end of the corridor, Nell paused. To her left lay a flight of stairs that led to some upper halls, while to the right, another passageway stretched, lined with doors. Nell tilted her head. Matron had told her to stay put, but the hell was well and truly clean, and had been so for quite a while now, and Matron had not been back. Maybe this was her chance to prove she could be responsible. If she cleaned this hall, and whatever empty classrooms she came to, all by herself without needing to be told, surely Matron would be impressed, and perhaps it would even make up for her behavior this morning. Possibly, because Matron was hard to read, and Nell often guessed wrong about what would and would not please her. Still, surely there was no harm in trying. And so she snatched up bucket and mop and scurried down the hall.

She mopped the first room, and the second, and the third, and the hall besides, and on and on till she came to the last. There, she paused, for that room wasn’t empty, as all the others had been. That room had a girl in it, a student, and she was dancing. Not the silly, clumsy way Nell had been, either, but really, properly, dancing. Nell stood in the doorway, watching, mouth slightly open. The girl danced without music, moving her arms and legs in a series of beautiful, complicated, steps.

As Nell watched, she leaned on the door, the mop hanging loosely in her hand. The bucket she’d set by her feet when she’d paused to watch. The girl, a Galdori student, was beautiful and so very graceful, Nell grinned as she watched—and then promptly lost her grip on the mop, which fell, clattering, into the room. She dove for it, and her foot struck the bucket, toppling it and sending water pouring across the floor. "Oh d-dear, oh, I, I’m so, I’m so s-sorry, I, I’ll clean that up right, right a- right away.” Nell’s face grew hot as she hurried into the room. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now she’d made a mess and interrupted the girl’s practice time besides. Why was she always so thoughtless and clumsy?
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Madeleine Gosselin
Posts: 134
Joined: Sun May 26, 2019 3:54 pm
Topics: 9
Race: Galdor
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: moralhazard
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Contact:

Tue Oct 29, 2019 2:26 am

Late Afternoon, 20th Yaris, 2719
Confisalto Practice Rooms, Brunnhold
It was lovely to be lost.

Madeleine spun once more, delicately, pulling her leg to give herself the momentum she needed, balanced on the tips of her toes, her leg making a long straight line up through the whole of her body. She lowered her leg – stepped – turned, leapt, twisted, bowed, and the joy of it straightened her back and lifted her chin and filled her completely. She leapt again –

And the sound of a loud clatter cut sharply through her attention, followed rapidly by another heavy thud and a bunch of sounds Madeleine didn’t recognize. Madeleine landed a little harder than she should have, stumbled with the last of her momentum, and spun, wide-eyed.

Madeleine shrieked and took several quick steps back. She had never seen anything like her in her whole entire life. She was dressed in a passive’s uniform, and so even out of field range, Madeleine could tell what she was. What she must have been. She was babbling something like an apology and coming even closer, and Madeleine’s gaze lowered, down to the puddle of water spilling over the floor of the practice room. Madeleine cringed, shoulders hunching up, and took another step back, glancing down at her pointe shoes, and then back at the spreading puddle of water.

She glanced up at the door, but the passive – or whatever she was! Madeleine was used to them looking like galdori, but this one didn’t, she looked – she looked – was standing solidly between her and it, and Madeleine had no idea how she could escape. Oh Circle, was she supposed to say something? Madeleine’s cheeks flamed, red, and she lifted her gaze back up to the passive, her heart pounding in her chest.

Say something? To a passive? To this passive? But there was so much silence, and it weighed down on her, and Madeleine shifted beneath the heaviness of it, staring at the passive with the mop.

“Y-yes,” Madeleine said, uncertainly, glancing down at the puddle then back at the mop. That was what they were called, wasn’t it? A mop? She was sure they were for cleaning floors. She swallowed, a little, and added, tentatively. “You’d better.” Madeleine took another step back and bumped solidly into one of the railings that ran around the room. She grabbed hold of it, the whole length of the mirrors between her and the strange and terrible passive.

Curiosity grew in her chest, slowly. She glanced at the passive’s hand – the weird shape of her back. Madeleine glanced sideways, and checked herself in the mirror, noticing the slight curve to her back. She felt a sudden flutter of panic, and straightened up, squaring her shoulders, and breathed a little more easily. She was short too, but it wasn’t like normal short – it was as if something was wrong with her arms and legs, they didn’t seem right. Madeleine glanced at herself again, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out where all the differences were.

And her face…! Madeleine couldn’t quite bring herself to look at it. She glanced at the passive again, and then back at her own reflection, and then back at the passive, fixing her gaze somewhere on the poor thing’s hair.

Oh, but she wasn’t supposed to talk to passives! Was she? Professor Keyes – Gus, as he had insisted Madeleine call him, and she had not liked it – had talked to Fionn, of course, but Fionn was his servant and his responsibility, so that seemed to Madeleine rather different. But she had talked to Fionn too, of course, and she didn’t think that… but no, probably she oughtn’t’ve done it, not ever, and she – but then – in front of everyone, she’d talked to Yost. Mister Yost. The gardener. And – that had been all right.

So… was it allowed? But of course she had already spoken to her, but it was only about the floor. That was like – asking for chicken at lunch. Surely that was an acceptable sort of talking. Was that the same as how she’d talked to Mr. Yost? As the questions she’d asked him? Or as talking to Fionn? The line seemed very fuzzy, all of a sudden, and Madeleine wasn’t quite sure where she was meant to stand.

“What happened to you?” Madeleine blurted out. The curiosity had filled her chest and crept up into her throat and filled that as well and then it had spilled out of her mouth. She blushed, but it didn’t stop her; she forged on, determinedly, through the red splotchy patches in her cheeks. “I mean – why do you – look like that?”

Then, hesitant, Madeleine took a deep breath and lowered her gaze to the passive's face. "... does it hurt?" It looked, Madeleine thought, like it hurt.

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