The Royal Opera House

The ballerinas of the Royal Ballet Academy were semi-scattered about the stage, all of them graceful swans with long slender legs and pretty faces. It was a known fact that Director Gevinchy only took on naturally beautiful girls so their ethereal beauty on stage could be unparalleled by the others.

Capris was there with the others, her flowing skirt around her hips and standing at the barre. Although she was standing with the group, she did not join in on their fast-paced conversation about the recent tournament and the handsome, strong warriors that it had brought to Travere.

She was remembering instead how she had lured a cat to her hand in an alleyway in the dark of Travere, and how silky its fur felt beneath her hand as she pet it. She could remember how it purred against her palm and rubbed against her legs, how it put up no fight as she picked it up by the scruff of its neck. It was someone's treasured pet, surely, given the ribbon and the small bell around it. How it got out, she wasn't sure.

But she felt even better once she had found a rain water barrel and she had shoved it inside. It couldn't twist to scratch her and it struggled and the water splashed and sloshed and soaked her, but it felt so good, it felt so good to feel the life flee its helpless little body.

"Capris?" She looked up from where she had been stretching one long leg on the barre.

"Oui?" She asked, lowering her leg and moving toward the Director who wanted to speak with her. The proprietors of the building were with him, and they gestured, wanting to discuss something with her.

Tired and disinterested would wholly describe the demeanor the man carried. He stood there alongside that small collective of men that looked to be of similar age, well bodied and ambitious as they worked for the attention of the blessed dancers that the Royal Ballet Academy had become famous for fostering. They arrived and made their intentions clear -- squaring their shoulders and barreling their chests, vying for the attention of some beautiful lass. Although they wouldn't dare set foot on stage -- whether it be because they were intimidated, or simply out of respect for those who were diligently involved in their practice.

And then consider one Anden Rheinhardt. He stood further to the back of that small group of decorated warriors, arms loosely folded behind his back with a casual gaze. A typical story with not-so-typical results. The son of a Lord who had decided that rubbing elbows in a room filled with games of politics was far too expected of him. A shame, really, since he was graced with a tongue that was as strong as the arm that swung his sword.

He at least looked the part he tried to play that day, decorated in the appropriate fabrics, fitting well to broad shoulders and long, powerful legs. Hair swept back although not particularly tamed, and with that mark just under his left eye he certainly looked distinct. 

For the time being he was content to watch in silence. Moving along the scene of those dancers with a not-so-judging eye, although his gaze took a brief pause when he caught one Capris Valery in his sights. Watching as she stretched against that barre, briefly admiring the composition of her form, even going as far as to take a step or so forward. But, upon realizing that she was in the middle of discussing what was likely business, he waited. Folded arms falling to his side, chin lightly lifted as he studied. 

Although she was aware that there were people in the audience, she barely looked in their direction. She was having a quietly intense conversation with the director and the proprietors of the building, nodding her head with understanding. Then the director clapped his hands and walked around her.

Clearly, the rehearsal was about to begin. The dancers rushed off to take their places, and Capris moved to take the stage in the corner where she was meant to begin. The director, a man in shirt sleeves and trousers and his coat open looked harried and stressed as he spoke out to the all-male audience.

"Gentlemen! If you could please quiet yourselves and take a seat. Act II Scene 4 of the show will begin." The director's eyes moved to take in @josse sitting in the audience and he bowed a little. "My Lord, we are happy to have to your attendance."

Once it was quiet, the orchestra began with their music, a piece created by the Marquis of Jourdain himself... and that's when Capris began to move. She was in a gown of silver and white, and magic made starlight sparkle around her.

She was music incarnate.
She was grace incarnate.
She was born for no other purpose in this world, or the next, but to dance with her passion and her heart on display.
She transported audience members into a world where her fantastic leaps were featherlight, where her twirls and pirouettes could go on and on, where the anguish in her face could bring a tear to your eye or the smile on her lips could bring joy to your heart.

She was unrivaled, and she danced the story of the Lonely Moon, alone in the dismal darkness. The other ballerinas glittered onto the stage to represent the the stars who always shifted away whenever she came too close to them, and the heartbreak La Lune felt shattered every chest that watched her.

The show was prepped to begin, and fortunately the crowd of peacocking men had enough awareness and respect to hush up and settle down into seats to quietly observe. He took somewhat of a close seat to the Marquis; near enough that it would cast an image of interest and general approval. But far enough that conversation wouldn't be an immediate consideration unless either of them saw it fit to go about their way to make it happen. Elbows were braced against the arms of his seat, hands brought to cradle his chin and partly cover the shape of his mouth. 

His eyes carried a noticeable focus and intrigue, brows partly lifting at the atmosphere that the music's tune crafted. Watching as the woman that he previously eyed made her way across that stage with movements that were undoubtedly the epitome of perfomance and grace. It came as no surprise to him that she was at the center of this showcasing -- at a passing glance any man could tell that she had the charm and charisma to carry a show on her shoulders.

"Does she have a name?" He caught himself inquiring. The level of his voice kept respectively low as he partially leaned to question @josse. 

He'd long earned a reputation of being something of a womanizer, so his question might be taken as having ulterior motives. But the look in his eyes spoke volumes that he was enticed by the performance itself, his appreciation for the arts clear as day. 

The 'stars' continued to shy away from La Lune as sh reached pale arms out to them. They spun all around her, drifting near to caress her back and fluttering away when she turned back to them. La Lune seemed almost desperate for their affection, and it could be read in her face, in her arms, in her leaps and her turns.

The 'stars' continued to tease and to torment, to laugh behind their hands at one side, and then laugh again at the other. As La Lune drifted across the stage, some sort of magic was used to make her sparkle and subtly glow brighter than the others around her, her full skirts swirled around her sleek, toned thighs, her legs almost impossibly long as she moved. The 'stars' became more and more cruel, and La Lune became more and more desparate, the music rising and rising into a crescendo.

She would reach out for one 'star' who seemed to be reaching for her, the 'star' would laugh and twirl away, winking out and off the stage as the inky dark background began to turn more violet. She would reach for another -- and that 'star', too, would suddenly leave as the violets turned into deep rosy reds.

Soleil then approached, a handsome, lean man garbed in gold and red, looking at the anguished La Lune. He reached for her but she did not see it, goaded and teased and tormented by the 'stars' on one side of the stage until the thundering, brilliant, goosebump-inducing music reached a crescendo, La Lune's torment completely unbearable--

-- and she threw herself into the sea with a mighty crash of the symbols, La Lune choosing to die rather than be without love, and never realizing that Soleil had been reaching for her all the while. A heavy silence fell upon the stage...

... and then the curtains drew to a close.

It was a beautiful, painfully crafted tale. Witnessing with his own eyes the harboring of jealousy and ire that the stars held towards the moon, a jealousy that was well-earned as demanded attention and praise from those who would look on. His hand lightly stroked along the rugged stubble of his jaw, his sense of awareness so clouded that the stage might as well had been the only section of the world that existed -- so much so that he almost missed the response of one @josse as he took the time to answer his question.

"Capris Valery...?" he caught himself parroting, as if he couldn't believe that such a woman bothered with something as trivial as having a name and not only a title that told tale of her accomplishments. Something that had become more and more common during his travels across foreign lands. He hesitated, almost as if in state of disbelief when @josse 's offer was made. 

"An introduction? Certainly a man such as myself isn't worthy of that type of grace...But if it's something that you could make happen, my father would know that he gave life to a fool if I were to even consider refusing." A rather expressive way of saying yes, but it only fit the dramatics of his character. 

Capris was helped onto her feet by the stagehands after she'd thrown herself into the 'ocean' -- ribbons varying shades of dark blue, and smiled her thanks at them before her housekeeper, her most trusted friend and servant brought her a glass of water which she drank quickly.

The housekeeper, her salt-and-pepper hair swept back into a bun, her clothes dark black save for the apron she wore, then handed Capris some pills, which she took without question, and finished her water. The blonde dancer let out a sigh and shook out her hands, rolling her beautifully head across her near-naked shoulders and then she moved away, stepping light and carefully in her pointe shoes until she was standing near the curtains and watching as they opened again for the next scene.

There was the quiet hustle and bustle back stage as girls were literally sewn into costumes that were almost-finished, the smell of paint fumes in the air, the creak of ropes and gears as scenery was changed here and there and re-painted and touched up. The good thing about this show was that her costume was almost always a white color, so for this rehearsal she didn't need to change.

Ballet took her mind off of... other things. Darker things. But even as she waited in the wings, she could feel that thrill creeping up her back now that adrenaline was pumping through her blood. She wanted to--

"Um... excuse me!"

She turned her head, settling her lavender gaze onto Royal Fletcher. Up close, he'd be able to see that there was a slight sheen of sweat over her chest and her forehead, and that she'd been dusted with a light, silky coating of silver glitter over her skin to help make it sparkle on the stage.

He was speaking Common to her, and she replied, her Gauldish accent thick on her voice, "I have learned the ballet at the Academy, of course," she said on a quiet voice. Then a smile touched her red-painted lips. "You are not really supposed to be back here," she told him, although her tone implied that she was amused to find the young man there, "unless you are wanting to be a part of the ballet?" Her eyebrows rose in question.

"Is it?" His palm rounded against his jaw, pressing it upward so that his lips were sealed appropriately -- as if he took the Marquis' phrase literally. 

That change in scene warranted a brief stint of disinterest now that the woman that had captured his desires wandered off-stage. Almost relieved to follow in the Marquis' lead when he rose out of his seat, the adventure standing not too long after his he caught himself mindlessly tended to his state of dress. Palms moving to smooth out any wrinkles and whatnot that may have festered when he took his seat. Sparing a look over his shoulder at the lot of men who dared to join them, although they were quickly warded off by the Marquis' hand. 

Groans passed their lips, not to mention a few not-so-gentlemanly curses as they rolled their eyes when Andren gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. He'd become known to swoon the fine, famous women of Gauldin with his legendary tales, some doubting their merit, others merely being entertained with the way he could tell a captivating story of fighting and intrigue. 

"I truly am impressed by the talent you have here, my Lord. I wouldn't exactly go as far as to call myself an expert in the arts -- in all honesty it was something my father insisted I make myself familiar with for the sake of conversation when it came to courting. So believe me when I say that there are no falsehoods in my praise." His arms had come to rest behind his back once more, falling right into step behind the Marquis as they moved backstage and away from the public flare of the current act of the play. 

The servant that stood next to Capris -- the one that had given her the pills and the water -- still stood there. Her hair was swept back from her face, and she was older, matronly, but not yet fragile. Maternal, almost, and obviously disapproving of Royal Fletcher and the way he spoke to casually with the prima ballerina.

Capris was not looking at the black-clad woman. Instead, her lavender gaze was settled right onto Royal. She was not flattered by his compliments. She was too self-aware of her talents (and her... flaws). But she was curious about him. "I am Capris," she said, her Gauldish accent inflecting her Common as she pronounced her name -- kah-pree.

"It is fine to speak in Common if that is what you prefer," Capris told Royal. "I should perhaps practice my Common as it is." When the housekeeper continued to stand there, silently morose and scowling, Capris finally looked at her and spoke in swift Gauldish, "Marie, please go somewhere else."

The mute servant glanced at Capris, then at Royal, then hesitantly turned and slowly walked away, disappearing into the dismall shadows and darkness and rustle of activity into the back stage of the Opera House. Capris' purple gaze turned back onto Royal again. "Will you come back to see the show in its true glory?" She asked the young boy.