[ The end-of-run party is always a messy affair. All the hierarchy bullshit, the intrigues and the cat fights for attention and roles, just full-blown jealousy exposure, the moment you step inside. Claude never stays for long, for that reason. That, and he isn't there to sleep with anyone. Sleeping with someone, preferably someone with a say in things, is the main reason these things are thrown in the first place. So, he shows up, drinks a few beers and then goes home to sleep. On nights when he has performed in the closing night show, he has a natural excuse to retreat early. On nights, like tonight, what he hasn't? He just has to be honest. Like he said to Yvette, no one actually likes to be here, I'm just the only one who isn't afraid to say so. She'd kissed him on the top of his head and sent him off. Be brave, Claude, she'd called after him, be brave.
So, he only had one option, and that was to be brave.
He knows that the stage technicians are taking down the rigging and the lighting now, even past midnight, they need to send the equipment to their next destination, very little stays static in this world. Ballet is an art form that exists in the moment, because movement changes all the time, it becomes something else or it stops, dies. All the things that make ballet come alive? They die with it. It's kind of sad, really.
Backstage, clad in his nice suit, brown, a colourful tie, vintage shoes that creak a little when he walks, because they're real leather, he asks a guy where he can find Ed, getting pointed to the back entrance with a non-commital there, proceeding to follow his directions, trying not to hesitate, not to question himself.
He didn't go to that party to get laid, just as he isn't coming here to be. He just wants to say hi. Before the man vanishes once more, like a sylph or a willi in the light, a mirage, gone with the morning. When he sees him, smoking - no smoking indoors, come on - he breaks out in a wide smile despite himself. Even so, he shakes his head notably at him as he approaches, nodding at the cigarette. ]
First off, hi. [ He purses his lips, playfully. ] But no smoking inside, you rascal.
no subject
So, he only had one option, and that was to be brave.
He knows that the stage technicians are taking down the rigging and the lighting now, even past midnight, they need to send the equipment to their next destination, very little stays static in this world. Ballet is an art form that exists in the moment, because movement changes all the time, it becomes something else or it stops, dies. All the things that make ballet come alive? They die with it. It's kind of sad, really.
Backstage, clad in his nice suit, brown, a colourful tie, vintage shoes that creak a little when he walks, because they're real leather, he asks a guy where he can find Ed, getting pointed to the back entrance with a non-commital there, proceeding to follow his directions, trying not to hesitate, not to question himself.
He didn't go to that party to get laid, just as he isn't coming here to be. He just wants to say hi. Before the man vanishes once more, like a sylph or a willi in the light, a mirage, gone with the morning. When he sees him, smoking - no smoking indoors, come on - he breaks out in a wide smile despite himself. Even so, he shakes his head notably at him as he approaches, nodding at the cigarette. ]
First off, hi. [ He purses his lips, playfully. ] But no smoking inside, you rascal.