Post by carajean on Jun 18, 2008 1:09:18 GMT -5
Cara-Jean lay awake in her bed, her mind turning over and over on what could have caused Vendercross to act the way he had the day before. I wonder how he is? She let her thoughts rest for a moment, and thought about dinner the night before. Sure, she hadn’t actually eaten any of what she had ordered, but it had been good fun just talking with Danny, even if he did offer more information than she needed at times.
Being at a co-ed boarding school was a challenge all in itself. For the past two years the only time she had really interacted with boys around her own age, had been during gymnastic meets, horse competitions, skating meets, or even the odd ballet recital (well, she went to watch them anyway). She closed her eyes as the memory of the time before that when she had been in close proximity to males, her last foster home. She drew a shaky breath and let the memory go. Rolling over the young girl looked at her clock, the red numbers glowed 4:30am, but there was no way Cara-Jean was going to be able to get back to sleep and she knew it.
Silently pushing her covers back, she pulled open her draw and drew out a black leotard and a pair of pink tights. Picking up her backpack, she pulled out the velvet bag that held her pointe slippers, into this bag, she pushed a CD. Tip-toeing into the bathroom, she pushed the door closed, shoved a towel at the bottom of the door to stop any light and turned the fluorescent light on. She blinked a couple of times to clear the spots in front of her eyes and quickly slipped out of her pyjamas and slipped into her tights and leotard.
Looking into the mirror, she screwed up her nose at what she saw. You need to lose weight!!! Her reflection screamed at her Quickly, she ran a brush through her waist length hair, then braided it before securing it into a bun on the top of her head and turned away. The mirror had never been a friend of hers. Picking up the bag, she turned the light off, pulled the towel away, crept back into the bedroom, grabbed the water bottle and towel off her desk, and out into the hallway. Jogging lightly down the hall in her tights, she headed to the exercise room, praying that it was left unlocked at night.
Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on the door, hoping against hope that the room would be empty. Turning the handle, she pushed the door open and let the breath out when she saw that the room was dark and lifeless. Walking past all the exercise equipment, she look longingly at the beam, but she was here to dance. She went to the back wall where there was a stereo and some room to be able to move. “Let’s get moving.” She told herself as she sat on the ground, opened the bag and pulled out a parcel of tissue paper. Tenderly unwrapping the paper, she revealed her pink pointe slippers. Putting them on, she methodically crossed the ribbons around each ankle and tied them, making sure to tuck away the ends and the knot. Next, she flexed her ankles, then stood up and with a relevé (a swift movement) went into full pointe, she smiled brightly as she stretched out into an arabesque, grazing the ground with the fingertips of the leading hand. “Welcome home.” She whispered to herself as she straightened back up and did a pirouette before coming off pointe again. She then worked through her normal stretching routine, which would warm up each muscle group in her body, something that was drilled into her from preschool years, as dancing on cold muscles could lead to permanent damage. She finished off her warm up by sliding down into the splits and reaching forward to touch her toes and then lying back to reach the toes of her back leg. Now, she was ready and it was time.
Gracefully rising from the floor she walked back over to her bag, out of it she pulled the CD, opened the case and put it into the stereo. She briefly looked at the case and set the player onto track two and pushed the memory button so that the song would play 14 times (which gave her enough time for a decent work out). Hitting play, she stood up again, jogged to the middle of the floor and waited in fourth position for the music to start.
Before long, the steady beat of 4 Minutes, by Madonna and Justin Timberlake filled the room and she lost herself into the music as she danced across the floor. Her and the music were one, as she did; pliés, arabesques, pirouettes, jetés and a few moves from the ice, even the boring stuff she learnt when she had first started ballet lessons. While the music played, she danced; classical, modern, jazz, she moved through them all, each move seeming to start before the one before it ended.
Finally, she knew the music was going to end (she had done this a few times before), and she seemed to run across the floor before she leapt into the air and did a grand jeté en avant (pretty much splits as she’s flying through the air), and landed softly performing a révérence (curtsy) en pointe as the music came to an end, her face glowing with a smile.
She brushed a few loose strands of ebony hair out of her face as she came out of pointe, only slightly out of breath. “You are losing condition, kiddo.” She reprimanded herself sternly, the smile replaced with a frown as she walked over to her water bottle and took a sip. “There is no excuse to be out of breath. You’ve been out of training for what? A couple of weeks, tops? Look at you, you’re a disgrace!” She stamped the toe of one slipper on the ground, furious that her body dared be short of breath, she’d only been dancing for just over an hour! “Sicura, se fosse stato lavoro adeguato, quindi sì, poca dispnea sarebbe accettabile. Ma eravate mucking giusto intorno!” She suddenly fell silent and sat hard on the ground with her legs crossed, a horrid thought running through her head. Goodness, I’ve become my gymnastics coach.
OOC: Don’t shoot me for my choice of music. I heard it on the radio, and I could close my eyes and actually see Cara dancing to the music. I was going to use the music from the dance at the end of Step Up, but then I heard the one I used.
Being at a co-ed boarding school was a challenge all in itself. For the past two years the only time she had really interacted with boys around her own age, had been during gymnastic meets, horse competitions, skating meets, or even the odd ballet recital (well, she went to watch them anyway). She closed her eyes as the memory of the time before that when she had been in close proximity to males, her last foster home. She drew a shaky breath and let the memory go. Rolling over the young girl looked at her clock, the red numbers glowed 4:30am, but there was no way Cara-Jean was going to be able to get back to sleep and she knew it.
Silently pushing her covers back, she pulled open her draw and drew out a black leotard and a pair of pink tights. Picking up her backpack, she pulled out the velvet bag that held her pointe slippers, into this bag, she pushed a CD. Tip-toeing into the bathroom, she pushed the door closed, shoved a towel at the bottom of the door to stop any light and turned the fluorescent light on. She blinked a couple of times to clear the spots in front of her eyes and quickly slipped out of her pyjamas and slipped into her tights and leotard.
Looking into the mirror, she screwed up her nose at what she saw. You need to lose weight!!! Her reflection screamed at her Quickly, she ran a brush through her waist length hair, then braided it before securing it into a bun on the top of her head and turned away. The mirror had never been a friend of hers. Picking up the bag, she turned the light off, pulled the towel away, crept back into the bedroom, grabbed the water bottle and towel off her desk, and out into the hallway. Jogging lightly down the hall in her tights, she headed to the exercise room, praying that it was left unlocked at night.
Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on the door, hoping against hope that the room would be empty. Turning the handle, she pushed the door open and let the breath out when she saw that the room was dark and lifeless. Walking past all the exercise equipment, she look longingly at the beam, but she was here to dance. She went to the back wall where there was a stereo and some room to be able to move. “Let’s get moving.” She told herself as she sat on the ground, opened the bag and pulled out a parcel of tissue paper. Tenderly unwrapping the paper, she revealed her pink pointe slippers. Putting them on, she methodically crossed the ribbons around each ankle and tied them, making sure to tuck away the ends and the knot. Next, she flexed her ankles, then stood up and with a relevé (a swift movement) went into full pointe, she smiled brightly as she stretched out into an arabesque, grazing the ground with the fingertips of the leading hand. “Welcome home.” She whispered to herself as she straightened back up and did a pirouette before coming off pointe again. She then worked through her normal stretching routine, which would warm up each muscle group in her body, something that was drilled into her from preschool years, as dancing on cold muscles could lead to permanent damage. She finished off her warm up by sliding down into the splits and reaching forward to touch her toes and then lying back to reach the toes of her back leg. Now, she was ready and it was time.
Gracefully rising from the floor she walked back over to her bag, out of it she pulled the CD, opened the case and put it into the stereo. She briefly looked at the case and set the player onto track two and pushed the memory button so that the song would play 14 times (which gave her enough time for a decent work out). Hitting play, she stood up again, jogged to the middle of the floor and waited in fourth position for the music to start.
Before long, the steady beat of 4 Minutes, by Madonna and Justin Timberlake filled the room and she lost herself into the music as she danced across the floor. Her and the music were one, as she did; pliés, arabesques, pirouettes, jetés and a few moves from the ice, even the boring stuff she learnt when she had first started ballet lessons. While the music played, she danced; classical, modern, jazz, she moved through them all, each move seeming to start before the one before it ended.
Finally, she knew the music was going to end (she had done this a few times before), and she seemed to run across the floor before she leapt into the air and did a grand jeté en avant (pretty much splits as she’s flying through the air), and landed softly performing a révérence (curtsy) en pointe as the music came to an end, her face glowing with a smile.
She brushed a few loose strands of ebony hair out of her face as she came out of pointe, only slightly out of breath. “You are losing condition, kiddo.” She reprimanded herself sternly, the smile replaced with a frown as she walked over to her water bottle and took a sip. “There is no excuse to be out of breath. You’ve been out of training for what? A couple of weeks, tops? Look at you, you’re a disgrace!” She stamped the toe of one slipper on the ground, furious that her body dared be short of breath, she’d only been dancing for just over an hour! “Sicura, se fosse stato lavoro adeguato, quindi sì, poca dispnea sarebbe accettabile. Ma eravate mucking giusto intorno!” She suddenly fell silent and sat hard on the ground with her legs crossed, a horrid thought running through her head. Goodness, I’ve become my gymnastics coach.
OOC: Don’t shoot me for my choice of music. I heard it on the radio, and I could close my eyes and actually see Cara dancing to the music. I was going to use the music from the dance at the end of Step Up, but then I heard the one I used.