Sculptures of the Moment [Open]

[Madeleine Gosselin]

Evening, 30th Bethas, 2719
Brunnhold School of Confisalto Theater, The Stacks

The Exhibition, as it was called, was a twice-yearly celebration of Confisalto at Brunnhold. The showcases were at the center of it, a series of three performances, one night after the next. First, the junior classes of Brunnhold, the youngest students, often still learning the basics of the dance. Second, the intermediate classes, more knowledgeable students but not always the most serious performers, often still quite young. Third, and finally, the advanced class – students who had been deemed good enough to graduate from the intermediate level, which might happen at any age, although generally not before sixth form – who would perform their pieces on the last night. For many of them, especially the older students, the showcase was an opportunity to dance in front of recruiters from the different confisalto companies of Vienda and Bastia.

In truth, the night wasn’t only about the dancers; the music for the dances was performed by Brunnhold students as well, settled into orchestra pits, and took nearly as much practicing for them as it had for the dancers. Still, the focus was mainly on the dance, the songs chosen for the performance rather than the orchestral complexity.

While the first and second nights were held on campus, the third night was held in the Stacks, on the Brunnhold School of Confisalto’s main stage. For the occasion, the school had rented carriages to ferry students the (short) distance back and forth, men whose job for the night was to drive back and forth from the theater to the school before the show started, a few times during intermission, and again after it ended.

The theater was a glowing high point in an otherwise dingy street; thick, heavy columns lined the front, with massive metal doors flung open. The inside was decorated with thick carpet and velvet on the walls, a massive chandelier in the entryway. The seats were comfortable as well, plush and thick, ringing the ground floor and up into balconies and boxes on the side. The boxes were largely reserved for professors and benefactors both, but students could sit anywhere else they liked, and the auditorium was alive and buzzily noisily as students settled into place.

For Madeleine, the night was beyond exciting. Sixth form was her first year in the advanced class, and that meant it was her first time performing on a real stage, not just the Brunnhold one. Not only that, but she had two dances, with two different partners. Madeleine loved both dances, desperately, and she was also so nervous she could barely sit still. She fussed with the ribbons on her slippers, tying and retying them for the fifth time, smoothing the pale pink silk against her tights.

A burst of chatter and laughter caught her attention. Madeleine looked up to see one of her dance partners, Evangeline, trotting alongside several others.

“Madeleine, come on!” Evangeline grinned at her, and beckoned, voice a half-whisper.

Madeleine, wide-eyed, rose and followed after the other girls, catching them just in the hall. “Evangeline, where are you going? Professor Sauveterre said we have to wait back here, didn’t she?” Madeleine glanced back at the room they’d left, then back at the others, eyes wide. She tugged at her pink tutu, the long soft fabric extending down to her knees in a soft flounce.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Gosselin,” one of the other girls called.

“Come on,” Evangeline grabbed Madeleine’s arm, grinning at her. “We heard from some of the older students that there’s a spot off to the side of the stage where you can see the whole audience and they can’t see you. It’ll be fun! My friends all said they’re coming. Isn’t there anyone you want to see?”

Madeleine’s cheeks pinked. “My brother,” she invented, wildly, following after Evangeline and the others, half-towed along by Evangeline’s grip on her arm, but coming willingly as well. “I mean, he said he’d – he said he’d come, so – and my… my friends, of course,” Madeleine couldn’t think of anyone else who might be coming, other than – other than. And she wasn’t sure if he would even come; she thought she ought not to think about it too much, or she would be even more nervous.

The girls crowded into the space above the stage, Madeleine hanging back at first, then easing forward, peering out into the crowd, wide-eyed. Oh, she really hoped…

It was 24 o’clock when the show started, an hour after nightfall. Dark red curtains rose, pulled back to clear the stage, revealing a professor standing center stage, with male and female dancers lining the stage behind him.

“Welcome!” He called, “welcome, all, to the last night of the Spring Showcase of 2719! I am Professor Degas. Let me tell you that we are very glad to have all of you here, and excited to share this celebration of confisalto with you,” he cleared his throat. “First, a big round of applause for our musicians – without them, this event wouldn’t be possible!”

The conductor, another professor, rose from the orchestra and bowed, and the audience erupted into applause. It quieted down, and Professor Degas began again. “As you all know, confisalto is an ancient art, practiced here in Anaxis and by our dear cousins in Bastia. Tonight, as you watch these dances – whether you’ve been to a thousand such showcases or this is your very first – I want you to remember that confisalto is, at its heart, about the relationship between a galdor and the mona. The duality of the dancers before you mirrors that give and take, the necessary trust that we must have of the mona – and the mona of us. Our celebration tonight is a celebration not just of our young dancers and musicians, but of all that we do here at Brunnhold!”

There was another loud round of applause.

Professor Degas smiled. “But you haven’t come for a lecture,” there was a smattering of laughter. “You’ve come for dancing. So, without any further ado, let the showcase begin!’

Madeleine stood with Evangeline in the wings, watching through the edges of the curtain as the dancers before them finished. Her heart was pounding, terror and excitement warring in her chest. The moments of the dance seemed to pass so slowly, as if the dancers before them were moving through treacle – and then the song ended, the two men bowed and leapt off-stage, and Madeleine was moving forward into the lights, and she didn’t even have time to think, her arms lifting up over her head, feet sliding apart.

The music leapt into life, quick and fast, and Madeleine didn’t have to look at Evangeline to feel her moving. Their fields swirled together, touching and breaking apart, and Madeleine danced. Three steps to the side, twirl, back together, and she and Evangeline struck their first pose of the dance, leaning in, gracefully kicking their legs off the ground and bending sideways until the tips of their fingers brushed one another.

The music swelled, and Madeleine leapt back away from her partner, the two moving as perfectly as if they were only one galdor, with a mirror held between them. Madeleine spun and leapt and twirled, and the time between her movements to Evangeline grew shorter and shorter as the dance progressed, the contact between them more prolonged and ever more complicated.

In the final pass, Madeleine darted in; Evangeline’s hands were right where they were meant to be, and the two girls clasped one another’s hands. They threw their head back, bodies arching up, and spun around, once, twice, three times, then breaking apart in a sharp pull, leaping with one leg leading and the other tucked into the air, landing neatly on the stage. Madeleine pushed as high as she could on the jump, and with the small part of her aware of Evangeline she could feel their heights had matched, perfectly, and the two landed, neatly, arms lifting with the last soft burst of music over their heads.

The world was still for a moment, and then the applause started. Madeleine was breathing a little hard, looking out from beneath the bright lips, a smile on her face. She lowered her arms; Evangeline did as well, and they came together in the middle of the stage, still moving in harmony, clasping their hands and bowing as one. And then, like the other dancers, they were flitting off the stage with bright smiles.

The first half of the show contained a variety of dances, mostly female-female and male-male pairs, neatly matched in height and usually coloring so that the two dancers might have been the same person, from a distance. Each dance was different, bright and lovely, set to orchestral music played flawlessly by the students in the pit below.

Intermission dawned, a brief twenty minutes where the attendees could fetch a drink, a snack, or even both. For those already tired of the performance, carriages waited outside to take them back to campus, although not so many as there would be after the show. Finally, strains of music drifted in through the doors, calling the audience back to their seats, and the curtains rose again.

Madeleine stood backstage once more; this time she wore a white tutu and white ballet slippers besides, and a top with gold-capped sleeves. She glanced sideways at her partner. Evangeline and Madeleine had been working together for several years, and Madeleine knew her quite well; the other sixth year was usually very nice, even if they weren’t exactly friends.

Tonight, however, Madeleine had a second dance, and this one with Beatrix. It had been unexpected; Beatrix, an eighth year, usually danced with a ninth year, a girl who had needed to pull out of the showcase just a few weeks earlier. Madeleine, of all the girls who fit the right profile, had been asked to step in. She didn’t know why her – she didn’t think she was the best of those who had tried out – but she had worked her toes off to get the piece ready in time.

Madeleine wasn’t sure she had succeeded, but they were here now and the dancers before them were darting off-stage again. Beatrix glanced at her and nodded, once, and Madeleine nodded back, largely because she wasn’t sure what else to do – and then they were both moving forward, taking their places on the stage.

Madeleine stood to the left and slightly behind Beatrix, both lifting their arms up and forward. The music swirled into life, and Beatrix began to move, in a quick series of steps, spinning forward and to the side, across the stage. Madeleine held one, two beats, then followed in the other woman’s footsteps, her movements so precise as to be indistinguishable from the girl who had gone before her. They echoed one another through the dance, sometimes with Beatrix leading and sometimes with Madeleine, in complex, precise sequences of turning, leaping, spinning, often dancing en pointe, on the tops of square ballet slippers.

The most complex sequence was also a lovely one; Madeleine started it, leaping forward in front of Beatrix, who caught her around the waist and helped her to spin again and jump forward and to the side. Madeleine landed, and then Beatrix leapt forward in front of her, and Madeleine caught her around the waist and helped her to spin again and jump forward and to the side. They repeated the sequence across the stage, each pass growing more and more complex as the two dancers twisted and twined against one another.

Madeleine leapt back across the stage, arms and legs spreading wide; she didn’t have to look to feel Beatrix following her, almost like a strange extension of her body.

They spun again, and again, and the dance ended with Beatrix carefully leaning forward, one leg extended up over her head, hand outstretched, and Madeleine imitating her, hand stretching out to rest on the other woman, her own leg extending delicately up over her head. The two held there for a long moment as the music burst and faded, then lowered in perfect synchronicity as the audience began to applaud.

They bowed – cheekily, Beatrix first then Madeleine a beat after her, and ran off stage in the same order to bright applause.

It was nearly 28 o’clock when the show ended. Bright chandeliers and candles lit the way, the doors of the theater bursting open to spill laughing and chatting audience members, students, professors and others alike, into the dark streets of the Stacks. Carriages sat outside, waiting for passengers, and slowly drew the audience members group by group back to Brunnhold proper, music and dance lingering in the air, bright and pleasant in the cool evening.

[Fionn]

Bethas 30, 2719, Evening
Brunnhold School of Confisalto Theater

.

When the initial shock of it had worn off, Fionn had actually cried. It hadn't been from sadness, the young man hadn't been upset by what Gus said to him, he'd simply been overwhelmed by his own emotions, a mix of sheer joy and gratefulness as well as confusion. In truth, it was such a small thing but it meant so much to the passive. Honestly, it said a great deal about how limited and frankly unfulfilled his life had become that the idea of going to a dance showcase could cause such a response in him.

But he was going to get to leave Brunnhold for the first time in so many years. How could it not be monumental for him? Not that the galdor professor seemed to recognise the importance of it for him, Gus too wrapped up in himself and the artistic opportunities that the showcase could provide for him to think of the effect it might have on his passive assistant. He had an assistant, he wanted to bring some materials with him to the showcase and it'd be helpful if he had someone who could carry them; it was as simple as that for the older man, at least, that was the very practical explanation that he gave Fionn. If it was a sneaky way to expose him to the world, something secretly done for his benefit well then the young man wasn't likely to find out any time soon. It didn't mean that he couldn't be incredibly grateful even if the artist was acting from selfish motivations.

For Fionn, it was an early birthday present and yet it was also every present that he might have received if he hadn't been gated. People got presents for their birthdays, it was something that the blond remembered distinctly although he hadn't gotten anything for his tenth birthday or any birthday since; he didn't think that a lifetime of indentured servitude counted as a gift and he certainly wouldn't be grateful for it as some galdori believed passives ought to be.

But what a gift this was set to be!

The campus was alive with noise, the eager chatter of students and faculty as they waited to be ferried to the theatre as well as the clatter of carriage wheels flooding his ears as he followed close behind the engraving professor. His bundle of art supplies was clasped protectively to his chest, head kept low although his brown eyes roved everywhere, fascinated by the prospect of seeing the galdori in their natural habitat - something he'd been deprived of for years - and feeling unimaginably self-conscious and paranoid at the same time. Here he was, a passive in the midst of galdori, and he wasn't visually marked as such. The tattoo was on his arm of course, etched into his skin for all eternity and itching as he thought about it, but he wasn't in uniform. Gus had actually given him clothing, real proper clothing.

It was the first time Fionn had ever had a chance to wear black, his childhood having been a place of softer colours and simpler, more childish styles. Now he had a high-collared black shirt with a deep red neck tie that Gus knotted with a practised flourish and which the boy was terrified to touch in case he messed it up but he desperately wanted to fidget. He could settle for twisting and playing with the buttons of the asymmetrical vest with its subtle pinstripe. It was apparently fashionable judging by those around them and the expense of it... well, he had no idea what the expense would be given that he'd never had to buy clothing in his life but it seemed to be good stuff. He looked like a galdor. To anyone looking on, anyone who wasn't aware who he was, he fit in here.

Given the crash of fields here and the general confusion of them in the clamour as well as his close proximity to Gus, he wasn't sure that his seeming lack was noticeable to anyone. Still, he kept expecting to find eyes boring into him and pointed fingers. He was trying to keep as low a profile as possible as a result, terrified that a wrong move would draw undue attention and this chance would be snatched away from him.

At the same time, the servant felt as if the press of so many fields and all the excitement of the crowd was too much, leaving him faint and slightly disconnected from the surrealness of it all.

Thus, it came as a relief when he was led to a carriage, seated beside the older galdor and opposite some others who appeared to be faculty, sitting stiffly and regarding him somewhat disapprovingly. He attempted to make himself as small as possible in the corner, trying to act as if he didn't notice them, only the sights outside.

The young man endured a carriage journey that could have been one of minutes or hours duration, the imagined scrutiny from his travel companions and the almost ruffled texture of their fields marred the joy of it considerably. There were sights to drink in, the marvellous colours of the sunset bathing everything with warmth and flattering light, softening even the harshest lines. What might have been mundane to others were sources of fascination for Fionn who viewed them with fresh eyes and the eager curiosity of youth.

The street they found themselves on was full of fascination for the youth but the theatre! It was majestic, a building as aesthetically pleasing as the art form that was meant to take place inside it. It was odd for his viewpoint to be in any way rose-tinted, the young man far too prone to cynicism but right now, everything looked wonderful, even if the people were less so. As such, it was a great relief when they left the carriage and moved inside to one of the boxes instead of crowding into the auditorium's open seating with the rest of the visitors.

Everything was so... plush. The carpet was of a thick pile that was unimaginably soft underfoot, which was welcome against feet that were beginning to ache in new shoes, not yet broken in. There seemed to be velvet all over the walls and he had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke them. In the box, seating was limited to just four and here in the close space, he took the chance to touch the velvet of one wall on the sly, briefly fingering a section of curtain that hung at the front, pretending to be glancing down at those who sat beneath. Gus ushered him back, gesturing him into the seat beside him.

"Here now, lad, sit! I don't need you falling over the edge, you're causing enough stir as it is," the professor proclaimed gruffly, watching as his charge sat stiffly on the seat's edge and then sank back with a sigh.

"Am... I causing a stir? I- No one knows what I am when I'm- Dressed like this I'm not- I could be-" he stuttered out, face reddening as his eyes darted around uncomfortably, seeking the gazes that must surely be fixed on him. How could anyone see him here? Were they looking through the walls of the box? Was someone standing on the stage gazing in at them? Well, no there certainly wasn't anyone on the stage unless they were peering from between the heavy red curtains. Above the stage... He attempted to squint into the dark space over it but it was pitch black to him, the glow of the oil lamps in the box and placed strategically around the theatre ruining any hope of night vision. Was he being paranoid? Had Gus picked up on all his shifty glances and decided to tease him.

"Aye. Some of the faculty heard that I was bringing you out, especially when I reserved the box. I'm sure that some more will find out courtesy of that goggling pair in the carriage as well," the professor remarked dryly. "They think you're going to do something and I don't just mean a diablerie. It's not like it's that much different than being on the campus by being here. There's only one passive after all and I know what I'm getting with you, don't I, lad? I'd rather handle you than most of the student body."

The words weren't said with any malice and obviously weren't meant to cause offence, the man chuckling to himself good-humouredly but Fionn didn't appreciate being something that had to be handled. It made him sound like a snake that could bite if dealt with incorrectly. Or a gun.

He fidgeted, looking down as he undid the bundle with the various supplies. There was paper, the ordinary sort but also specially textured. He wasn't actually sure that the textured sort was made of the same material although he'd never asked Gus what the different drawing surfaces were composed of, something he'd have to remedy one of these days. He set the pages flat across his knees, balancing them there while he unwrapped the sticks of charcoal; they couldn't be kept loose to smudge everything.

"You didn't have to bring me," the blond whispered, not sure that the man had heard him given the noise all around them. There was silence while he worked to set out other materials. He was slow to realise that he did have eyes on him - the professor's.

"No, lad, I didn't. But I thought... if I'm going to come here to look for inspiration, I might as well bring someone along who knows my habits and why not someone who'll also appreciate it? Most of the people are here because it's something to do instead of remaining on campus or for the sake of friendship or even for the sake of being seen. You actually clocking care about all this, especially the dancing. You've an eye."

The man tapped his brow above one eye, looking away to pick up an odd little pair of glasses on a stick. They were very odd glasses, two tubes like... two scopes stuck together.

"What do you mean 'an eye'? Also what are those?"

"An artistic eye, lad. You've a fine way of seeing things and you might be good at picking out a suitable subject yourself tonight. These are opera glasses, lad. To let me see the finer details," he explained, holding them out to let the boy peer through them. "So long as you can get me what I need when I need it, I don't mind you doing some sketching yourself."

Brown eyes huge and cheeks flushed, he mumbled an embarrassed thank you, taking the offered glasses to peer through rather than meeting the galdor's eye. He shouldn't have thought that the man was selfish and too self-absorbed to know what this would be like for Fionn. He shouldn't judge people so harshly. Shouldn't judge galdori so harshly.

He passed the spectacles back to him, head still bowed as he fiddled with drawing materials.

A presence behind him, a movement in his peripheral made him turn to find a man dimming the lamp, keeping just enough light for them to be able to navigate by. Did that mean that it was about to begin? But the other seats were still empty! Were they going to have the box to themselves?

"Right, we'll start with the plain paper and pencil until I gain a sense of things," came the gruff voice of Professor Keyes as the curtains on the stage parted, Fionn hastily passing the requested items so that he could return his attention to the man standing front and centre and, more excitedly, the dancers ranged behind him. The youth wished that he still had the opera glasses so he could see the dancers in greater detail, already leaning forward unconsciously in an effort to gain a better view.

There were dancers of both sexes, each wearing clothes of a far different style than he was used to, no doubt meant to effect modesty and yet somehow managing to be revealing. It was difficult to wrap his head around. He'd seen women in pretty dresses when he was younger, some of them showing far more skin than the bodices that these girls wore and yet the way they clung... Similarly, the skirts they wore, which seemed to have so many feathery layers reached down to a point that covered the knees and the limbs themselves were stockinged, a fair portion of their lower legs wrapped with lacings that seemed to come from their shoes. Modest and yet... they provided a great sense of their shape. They looked delicate and beautiful and yet he could see the curves of muscles in their limbs, likely to become all the more prominent when they danced. The boys too wore clothing that was far more revealing than he was accustomed to, flowing trousers that grew tighter where they were gathered at the knees, exposing the leg beneath and the torsos were also clearly outlined in their tight tops. He'd never seen so much of people before! Well, that was true of the women anyway - he'd definitely seen far more of men - but he'd definitely never seen people like these before.

His gaze roved everywhere, trying to drink it all in while his ears listened eagerly to every word that dropped from Professor Degas' lips.

The showcase itself... Fionn had actually known little about it although the name 'confisalto' had some familiarity for him. He knew it was a style of dance, knew because he'd found the word once and found it quite interesting but he knew nothing about it, what it meant. It was strange to think that dancing meant something. His father had held parties in his youth and the dancing there hadn't been an art but rather an instrument. That type of dancing allowed socialisation and for connections to be formed. This sounded like it was meant to express something, like drawing did, like the sculptures that Keyes made.

What would be expressed, he realised as Degas talked, was something that would be foreign to him. Galdori and the mona. It was a relationship denied to him and one that he could only see from the outside, feeling the shifts if he was within range or seeing the effects if they were visible. The prospect of seeing another reminder of what he could never have left a bitter taste in his mouth, the excitement and anticipation that had built within him shrivelling a little.

"Our celebration tonight is a celebration not just of our young dancers and musicians, but of all that we do here at Brunnhold!"

The words drew a contemptuous sniff from the young man, doubting that the professor on the stage had any notion of everything that was done at Brunnhold and probably oblivious to the fact that passives were implicated in his statement. Passives were an integral part of what they did at the school, just as important to galdori achievements as clever tutors and their stores of knowledge. The treatment of their magically incapable kin was also something they did at Brunnhold and that certainly wasn't something to celebrate.

The whole evening suddenly felt soured, the blond sinking back in his seat, eagerness gone in the face of more golly hypocrisy, more shows of their superiority, more tantalising glimpses of a world that felt as if it should be within his grasp and yet always succeeded in being out of his reach.

However, as the professor left the stage and dancers moved so that just two remained, things changed. The young women on the stage were very alike, twins to Fionn's eyes. They were so similar and their movements synchronised, yet perfectly opposed that he was initially confused, unsure how a mirror could have been brought on stage without him noticing. The angles were wrong though, the type of reflection he saw not possible with one mirror and they definitely touched, clasping hands so that fingers briefly interlocked and then slipped apart.

The bitterness he had felt slipped away, lost as he found himself leaning forward, sucked into what he was seeing. The only thing that broke the spell was the sense of the art supplies slipping precariously on his lap and he gathered them and put them on the carpeted floor where he was sure they'd be safe. Once that was done, his attention was hooked once more, each spin and step, each leap and skip utterly mesmerising. At one point, his brain registered that he was seeing their knees, the tutus having crept up as they moved, sliding up as they spun and lifted their limbs to balance. There was a brief thrill, fascinated moments of the novelty of it and then his mind was swept away by the artistry of it rather than dwelling on the carnal.

Not that their bodies weren't fantastic, each movement seeming to stretch limits and defy logic, each shift of limb perfectly simultaneous. They were so powerful and awe-inspiring while also succeeding in appearing lightly delicate and incredibly graceful. How could bodies do that? Work in such wonderful harmony and yet produce so many contradictions?

This was true magic. Nothing he had ever witnessed and felt around galdori could ever have given him an inkling of this. And it was beautiful.

The dances seemed to go on forever and yet were unimaginably brief, flitting into existence and then gone, the moment snuffed out as new dancers took their places and moved to different music. Yet each moment lingered for Fionn, the emotions of each one taking root in his heart as the joyful and exhilarating harmony of the dancers along with the swells and soft strains of orchestral music worked upon him.

Gus was forgotten in the twirls and leaps, the kicks and hand clasps. That he had a job was something that required a rather rude reminder, the galdor having to call his name more than once when he needed something, or on one occasion simply leaning down beside him with a huff of breath to send questing fingers looking for the required item himself. Each time, the blond started guiltily, feeling the little pulses of the field beside him and heat that might have come from the mona or simply been an effect of the environment. Each occasion, the young man was vaguely embarrassed to find tears stream down his cheeks, some trails half-dried and feeling stiff on flushed skin.

The intermission came as a shock when it arrived, Fionn rising as if from a dream, blinking and dazed as he turned his head, unsure if he was free of the spell or not. The waking world - the world outside of the dance - seemed surreal to him, passive rubbing at his face in an effort to prove his own consciousness.

"Some assistant you are!" Gus barked, the words and tone stern but when Fionn glanced his way, head slightly bent as he anticipated a scolding, he was surprised to see the sly upwards turn of his lips. The boy flushed, mumbling an apology.

The light in the box went up just as Gus was heaving himself out of his seat, the human attendant - for that's what he realised it was - back twiddling with the lamp. There was no field, no nexus but a true emptiness. He'd never realised before. At home, it hadn't meant anything when you came in contact with a human servant and he'd quickly forgotten the sensation, especially when faced with life among passives who were meant to feel "the same". He couldn't remember if he had sensed the difference in the beginning or if it had been too subtle and then something he'd grown accustomed to, only able to recognise nexi now because he was all too aware of them. But this human man was truly... void. The lack was staggering to Fionn now that he realised what it was, recognising for the first time that he'd shivered before when he'd discovered the man there and was doing it again now.

It was strange to know that a person was there but unfelt in a way that had been normal to him for so many years. It was like discovering a ghost in their midst.

The galdor grumbled a complaint about seats that were too comfortable before shuffling off, muttering that he'd be back. The human slipped out a moment after him and Fionn found himself alone in the box, scared to venture outside of it but drawn to the edge all the same, peering down at the milling bodies underneath him. Details weren't easy to make out from this angle, the galdori just a collection of hair colours. There were the many different varieties of red, every shade imaginable along with brunettes and blondes. It was particularly interesting to see those with colouring like himself, far more of them than he would have imagined although some were more exotic as he found upon catching sight of silvery white blonde locks and long pale limbs.

Some of the students had gathered in knots to chatter, many seemed to have wandered off, the space emptying a fair bit while the noise persisted, albeit somewhat muted with distance.

The young man stayed watching the thronging crowd until his patron returned with two glasses of wine and a pitcher of water, which was carried by one of the human attendants. The passive was given the chance to taste the red wine, sipping at it gingerly but finding it unpleasantly tart and with something that seemed to produce an arid heat at the back of his throat so that he wanted a drink. As it turned out, the water was to dilute the beverage down or, if that was still unpalatable then he could just have the water; he went the non-alcoholic route.

They talked softly about the performance so far, Gus probing Fionn for his thoughts and what he made of the different dances and what they were meant to express. For him, there seemed to be a particular interest in what the passive had seen and how he had interpreted it given that he didn't have access to the mona. The galdor didn't offer any comments on what he had to say, no matter how he struggled with words, or how frustrated he seemed to get at being unable to express what he felt. All Gus did was offer the occasional helpful word suggestion or ask a question that might send the boy down a more helpful track. The one thing he didn't say was that he found it hard to believe that galdori could make something so beautiful, could produce something so magnificent in spite of their cruelty, their selfishness, their hypocrisy.

How could they produce anything so pure and faultless when they were so bloody flawed?

They spoke for such a short time before the music began again, rising and falling in tandem it seemed with the crowds as they ebbed back in and flowed to their seats. This time, the professor didn't ask him for anything simply allowing his assistant to fall under the magic once more as the curtains moved and revealed more wondrous displays. The styles changed and the colours of costumes but the dancers remained similarly matched in appearance and height.

Each was stunning and he was afforded more than one opportunity to gaze at them more closely as Professor Keyes lent him the opera glasses, peering at the shining faces, an ecstasy about them no matter how neutral their expressions might be. There were some more women in their number than men, mainly redheads at that and while there were many similarities between the various dancers, no matter how their dances might vary, he still found himself picking out those he recognised, ones who had recognisable differences, no matter how subtle from this distance.

A number of them were honeyed redheads or carroty-orange but there were some with far darker hues, veering into auburn as more brunette tones were woven into the strands. There was one of those darker redheads who he remembered seeing earlier, her face seeming particularly young in this youthful group. In this new dance, she stood out more, moving in her partner's shadow and yet shining through quite spectacularly. Her poise and demeanour were noticeable from afar and it was only through magnification that he realised the truth of her youth, seeing maturity flit over her features like a mask that kept slipping to afford glimpses of what actually lay beneath.

So young and yet so much older while she danced. Her partner seemed older, features more genuinely mature as the childishness of girlhood was considerably diminished. And yet she matched her well, clearly capable of following the older dancer's lead. She seemed smiling and bright at the end, clearly delighting in what had just taken place and the maturity on her face was gone, the joy lighting up a more childish face.

So young, he thought as she bowed and scampered away, finding that she stuck out particularly.

Gustav had explained what he was considering doing, a theme for his work that he wanted to take into account when he chose he subject. He'd wanted to juxtapose two things that should be opposed or at least, seemed unlikely to be in the same setting, the one subject. Unlikely duality, that's what the professor had said although Fionn knew from months of experience with the man that things could change, subtly and in unlikely ways and seeing that dancer... he had an idea.

Holding it in his mind, Fionn clung to it all through the rest of the evening. Nothing else grabbed him in quite the same way, not after he'd had that initial thought, no other dancer compared to the image in his mind, that single idea that he had seen as she moved across the stage.

By the time it came to an end, the final notes echoing pleasantly in the space as raucous applause ensued, a gaiety within the crowd, a giddiness buoying many of the students and lecturers out while Gus and Fionn hung back, waiting for the rush to move. The engraving professor wanted to go backstage, to have a chance to examine the troupe up close. It was while they waited for things to quieten that he explained his thoughts, the blond packing up the art supplies and carefully covering the various sketches that his patron had done before bundling them up.

"You said you wanted duality, things that oppose each other. That... conflict of natures and you said you thought you'd find it here even though there's meant to be harmony," the passive began, rubbing at bleary eyes; it had been a surprisingly long evening.

"Yes, because discord and imperfection shows up most noticeably beside the perfect. Flaws are clearer," Gustav agreed, peering out into the hallway to check the progress of the exodus.

"Well, what about... innocence and experience?"

The older man's grey eyebrows rose, lips pursing thoughtfully.

"Yes, that could work with the right subject. I take it that something prompted this. Or someone."

As they departed the box, the blond tried to recreate the dance he'd seen through words alone, aware that his vocabulary was far too limited to describe those fantastic movements, especially as he lacked the technical terms for the steps. All the same, the galdor listened, squinting a little as if in remembrance.

When they reached backstage, Fionn hung back behind Gus, almost trying to hide in his field as he talked to one galdor and then another, apparently gaining them access in spite of the youth's alarming nature. It didn't stop them eyeing him like a deadly predator awaiting the opportune moment to strike. Up close, there was so much more variety in the dancers, a feature here bearing familiarity, another one there. And then he spotted her, perhaps the youngest face of them all, aglow in the midst of those so much older, so much more experienced.

"That girl, Gus, that one right there, see-"

And his finger pointed out Madeleine Gosselin, the man's lighting up as he moved to an adult - Professor Degas, Fionn thought - and had a murmured conversation, apparently requesting an interview. His mission completed, the chosen subject found, the passive lapsed into quiet, waves of exhaustion overcoming him as he waited, fields moving around him, curious and startled gazes probing him while he clung to his bundle like a shield.

He wanted to go home. He never would have thought it but he realised now that that was what Brunnhold was.

Home.