Survival Of The Fittest

((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.

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.”