Everybody's looking for something

[Fiori]

((Marcy Valerio continued fro- SLAM!

Marcy stormed into the dance studio, plastic water bottle in hand and bag dumped on the floor. She took a drawn out swig to finish off her drink, before crushing the empty bottle and tossing it into a waste paper bin.

She had arrived early for dance practice - just as well really, she was NOT happy right now. Her day had been dandy up until around five minutes ago, when...

Uuuagh, she didn't want to think about it anymore. All Marcy wanted was to put on some tunes and relax in her own special way until the others arrived, unwind a little before practice began in earnest.

So she hung up her pink sweater and whipped out her phone, flipping through her Spotify library to find something appropriate. Maniac? Naaah. Hourglass? Maybe. Sweet Dreams...

Bingo.

Song chosen, she pressed play and put her phone aside, taking a step back as the intro got underway. Foot tapping in sync with the synthetic beat, eyes closing as she took a deep breath.

"Sweet Dreams are made of this..."

She didn't sing aloud - that wasn't really her forte. But Marcy had performed to this song enough times that she could mouth the lyrics perfectly.

"...who am I to disagree?"

She began to slowly strut forwards, one step in front of the other.

"I travel the world and the seven seas"

Sudden stop. A strong lean to the left, one arm dangling as the other reached up to caress her face.

"Everybody's looking for something"

Her body jolted, shifting to the beat of the music. Brief flashes of energy intertwined with slow, almost dreamlike sways as she lost herself to the rhythm, seamlessly mixing well-versed choreography with chaotic freestyling.

"Some of them want to use you"

The corner of her lips curled into a grimace, fingers gently digging into her cheek.

"Some of them want to get used by you"

She reached down to softly fumble her silver heart-shaped necklace.

"Some of them want to abuse you"

Her hand pulled away, tightening into a fist.

"Some of them want to be abused"

She began to dial things up a notch - her bursts of energy growing more aggressive, her slowdowns in turn increasingly melancholic. There was a therapeutic anguish to her movements, mechanical jerks and languished droops, as if she was simultaneously in pain and at peace with herself.

And in time, she began to forget why she was so worked up in the first place. Was it even over anything worth getting angry about? Probably not, seemed almost anything could set her off these days.

At least she could still dance. Even after all she went through, she could still let all her stress wash away and lose herself to the music.

[Slam]

He shook his head with a smirk. Still late on the seventh step, as usual.

((Aidan ‘Danny’ Hill Steps Up!))

He had walked in during Marcy’s dance, opting to observe without interrupting her moves. It had only taken him a moment to recognise the choreography, as they had danced together to Sweet Dreams in the spring of their sophomore year. It may have been two years ago, but Danny still remembered what sweet dreams were made of. They took home the silver in that contest. It was a prize that most dancers would be happy with, but Danny Hill wasn't most dancers.

In truth, Marcy was only barely off-beat to the song running in Danny's head. It was only something the most discerning eye would pick out. This was no contest either: Marcy was just dancing her feelings out. It was the sort of dance he knew perfectly well from his own times alone in the dance studio when things got on top of him. That was the nature of the ongoing dance they shared though: a little jab here, some blunt honesty there, and they’d both stay en pointe.

He waited until she completed a spin and saw that he had arrived, letting her finish on her own terms. He watched intently as she did so, scrutinising the motions down to the very last detail.

“Not bad. Still late on the seventh, but at least you’ve got the steps down.”

[Fiori]

For a brief moment, Marcy was at peace. Adrift in a world where sweet dreams are made of... This.

But then she came crashing back to reality, almost stumbling as she spun around to see an all-too familiar face judging her every move.

"Ever the critic, huh Danny?"

She resisted the temptation to make a petulant comeback - After all, she had enough begrudging respect for Danny to let him get away with the occasional quip. He was one of the few dancers in her class who took it as seriously as she did. Heck, she'd go so far as admitting he was almost as talented as herself.

"Still reckon we were ripped off" she sighed, making her way over to her phone to turn the song off. "Fuckin' Hood Twins..."

[Slam]

Danny strode to the centre of the studio past Marcy, eyeing his reflection in the mirror. He absorbed the eurythmics, flexing his marble muscles beneath the white shirt clinging to them. His arms raised above him, a fluid port de bras in time with the beat, to loosen himself up. Just as Marcy had, he prepared to surrender his body to the sounds of the synthesiser and cut loose.

But just like that, before he could lose himself, silence. It was irritating, like having a candy bar yanked out of your hands before you could take a second bite. A moment he was about to sink into, turned off. He pouted, but only for a moment. He turned back to Marcy, staring her down with a stoney expression.

He beckoned towards her, hand outstretched.

“Put it back on. You still remember our routine, right? Might as well warm up to it and remember why we were ripped off.”

A tilt of the chin, that smirk again, and a single, challenging eyebrow. She did remember, didn’t she?

[Fiori]

Marcy stood there with her arms crossed, squinting at Danny as he beckoned for her.

She posed a little resistance to begin with, until she saw that brow of his rise, rolling her eyes and turning her head away to hide her own smirk. To hell with it. Her hand reached out to hit play, creaking her neck as the synths started afresh.

Like before, she began with one foot in front of the other, step by step in tune to the music until she was standing adjacent to her dance partner. Then just like before: Sudden stop, followed by a strong lean to the left, one arm dangling as the other reached up to caress her face. Only this time Danny joined in, mirroring her movements with expert precision.

From there on their dance bore only a passing resemblance to Marcy's earlier performance, the freestyling elements dropped entirely in favour of near-flawless choreography. There was a certain degree of rust - it had been two years since they last performed this number after all - but to the untrained eye, it was as close to perfection as you could get.

Unsurprising, really. They were both perfectionists doing what they loved best, and despite their occasional spats there was no denying that they worked magic together.

[Slam]

Danny let himself drown in the music, surrounded by notes and shifting scenery as his body glided around the studio. Him and Marcy were reflections of each other: as one arm rose, the other followed without delay. Two legs left, two legs right. Pirouettes synced like dancers atop music boxes, but powered with live electricity, rather than stiff clockwork.

With every movement, he stole glances in the studio mirror. He paid attention to Marcy, of course, but scrutinised himself ten times harder. It was close to perfection, certainly. Given that they hadn’t used the routine in two years, it was damn near perfect. But only close. A half-step late, that fatal moment where they’d desync for just a moment. Close, but never achieving perfection.

As the music faded out, he embraced Marcy. The mirror between them shattered in the last bar, Danny holding her by the small of her back as she fell into the air. Breaking the illusion that they had held for the song, revealing themselves as not just reflections of each other, but partners. More than people who used and abused each other: that something everybody was looking for.

The only person he could stand to dance with seriously at school. That was who Marcy was to him. He would never say it to her face, but actions spoke louder than words. They had competed together enough to make it clear just who met his impossible standards, and who was wasting his time by trying. It was funny what years of dancing with somebody could do for your relationship.

“Yeah, still got it.” He said, smirking down at her, before lifting her back up to her feet. He didn't even add any notes.

“Too bad we have to share the floor with the rest.” He said, running a hand through his styled hair. He could’ve easily spent the whole afternoon dancing with Marcy, working on their routine for the upcoming show. They still would, but every minute pointing out what the other club members were doing wrong was a minute he couldn’t work their mistakes. And the rest of the club was so difficult to improve, especially when they didn't take it seriously.

He dreamed of a private studio for himself and Marcy, that open uninterrupted space, with only their choreographer on the side to bring them closer to that perfect dance. And when they weren’t doing that, he could put on whatever music he felt like, loosen up, and cut loose. A moment like now, but all the time. That would be kickass. But the way things were going, that would just remain a fantasy.

He scowled at his face in the mirrow, but closed his eyes. He exhaled, catching himself in that frustration. His body ached to start moving again.

“If they even show up, anyway.”

[Fiori]

Hold your head up (Movin' on)
Keep your head up (Movin' on)
Hold your head up (Movin' on)
Keep your head up

Marcy lived for moments like this. There were few things in life that made her feel quite so alive.

Don't get her wrong, she loved cheerleading - The routines, the camaraderie, the pomp and circumstance of it all. She adored her fellow cheerleaders... Most of them. Some of them. Things just hadn't been the same since the injury. Nevertheless, her passion for the sport was unquestionable. Even after getting benched for half a year, she was easily up there with Stella and Sylvie as one the squad's best fliers.

But her love for cheerleading paled in comparison to the absolute fervour she had for dancing. This was what she was born to do. It's what she was destined to do. She was a damn good cheerleader, but she was a fucking excellent dancer. It was her greatest passion in life, nothing else even came close.

Well. That wasn't true, not anymore. Marcy had one other great passion in her life, one that only seemed to grow more intense as time went on.

There were times in the past where Marcy mused over how she would react if Danny ever made a move on her. Even now as she found herself dipped back in his embrace, it was impossible for her to not entertain the thought a little, especially with that roguish smirk of his. Of course, she only had enough room in her heart for one bad boy nowadays. Perhaps for the best that their relationship always remained professional, they probably would've ended up killing each other as a couple.

"I dunno, little slow on the fifth there" she teased with a smirk of her own, wiping a couple pink strands from her eyes as she was lifted back to her feet.

"Tell me about it..." she added afterwards, trying to remember where she put her water bottle before remembering that she finished it five minutes ago. Dangit.

Not that it mattered, almost as if on cue the door opened as the rest of the dance club started pouring in, letting out a melancholic sigh as she stood there with her arms crossed. Ah well, it was nice whilst it lasted.

[Slam]

Danny hid a long sigh as he ran his hand through his hair again, turning away from the drizzle of members who had finally decided to show up.

‘OK Danny, try not to yell at them today’ he told himself, knowing that it was a long shot. Why people couldn’t handle a routine that was friendly enough to beginners that a three-legged coyote high on peyote could pull it off was beyond him, but he had to put that aside for now. Like it or not, he was part of the dance team, and teamwork meant not making the freshmen cry. Again.

He turned back to the group. Not smiling, but keeping the daggers in their sheathes for now.

“Right, let’s get you guys warmed up.”

((Danny Hill continued elsewhere.))
((Marcy Valerio continued in Isn't Everyone?.))