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+--- Thread: Stranger in a Strange Land (/showthread.php?tid=7203)
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Warren Castille - 08-05-2014
"Mm." He groaned affirmative and nodded, furrowing his brow in mock-seriousness and resting his hand back on the bottle. He lifted it and examined the label for a moment, then smiled and tilted it over her glass to fill it with a generous pour.
"To health? To... friends? Those seem generic and hardly worth the occasion." He watched closely to not spill any and then darted his eyes back up to the woman's, smiling and then topped off his own. He knew that would make the last pour in the bottle not level but he would worry about that later.
"To Ul'dah, maybe? To the Jewel? The Sultana?" He made sure his own cup leveled off then placed the bottle gingerly back down between them and shook his head. "No, not specific enough. Those are all fine things to drink to, but... not quite right for our purposes here."
He smiled, wearily and more than a touch tipsy, then raised his glass in her honor. "To Aya, then. For her selfless service of thankless thugs, and for her unending kindness and smile."
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 08-05-2014
Aya nodded along, grinning a little more at each successive suggestion, while she slowly lifted her glass. As he arrived at his final toast, she laughed lightly, her mouth an open grin, showing off the white teeth behind her red lips.
"To that! And to Ma'am Momodi!" she grinned a little further, clinking her glass against his, before taking a drink of the warm liquor.Â
She felt the taste of the luxurious alcohol linger a moment upon her tongue, and the trace of its burn as she swallowed. She closed her eyes, and let out a soft "mmm~" in delight, her lips opening for just a moment as she savored the sensation.Â
It was a literal taste of the high life, of the finer things that loved to dance just out of the girl's reach.Â
She brought forth that bright smile once more, her eyes opened slowly. She looked happy: it was a good night after all~
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 09-15-2014
![[Image: divider.png]](http://i1242.photobucket.com/albums/gg536/ayaxandra/divider.png)
What is it a Dancer Does?
It seemed so strange: suddenly everyone wanted to know what Miss Foxheart did in her spare time. The realization stuck her with a silly grin, as she stood before a small locker. Really, more of a narrow wooden closet, and just one of over a dozen lining a room that smelled of sweat and perfume. She shook her head a little more, smiling with the thought, wondering just why people were suddenly so interested.Â
She had toyed with an answer as playful as it were true: what she did in her spare time was barmaid, for it was only here that she really lived. And where was here? Tucked away in the depths of Ul'dah, amidst the curving avenues, and narrow alleys, away from the glitz and glamor of the Golden Court, away from the business and commerce of the bazaar and the shops that lined bustling avenues. Here in the dour, dark areas of Ul'dah, buried alongside ancient homes, now modest, or poor. The basement had once been a storeroom, refinished with wooden planking, one long wall lined with mirrors, and all the trappings of a dance studio. It was a hidden jewel, humming with activity in the daylight hours, filled with the energies of practice and rehearsal. At night its occupants worked, or escaped from the neighborhood before treacherous darkness befell it.
She never really liked to talk about it. Everyone seemed to notice her energy, and her spirit, but few really seemed to wonder where they came from. Perhaps it was better that way. Looking at the locker's label, "Foxy", she could not help but grin. She pulled the straps tight against her hand. She was too excited to actually wait for her project to be complete, and she was already preparing: tonight was finally going to be the night! She turned her body to the side, holding her hands up toward the changing-room mirror, grinning at herself with excitement.
After all, was it not why she had run away? What would they think? Many of her friends would not care, but what of the others that would? What of Madame Momodi? Her parents had forbid her, even her closest brother had scorned her. She besmirched her family name, trampled upon a once-noble heritage, and squandered her own honor. And for what?
The little studio, quiet in the early twilight hours, held a cherished place in the heart of those who knew it. It was not right to call the girls a troupe, they never performed as a whole, but they were friends, the dearest of friends. Many were like the trio who owned it: having grown up, trained, and performed together most of their lives.
The dancers of Ul'dah are almost universally Miqo'te, Seekers in particular, and their presence nearly ubiquitous. Most have trained since childhood, all live similar lives of practice, performance, and the nurturing the faint hope of success.. The work is more grueling than glamorous, with long often-thankless hours, accompanied by the social costs and expectations of their profession. Still, they love it, they must, for they often have little else. To her, it was the best thing in life: the reason for everything, the passion behind the energy.
She turned out of the room, bare feet sliding against the smooth wooden floor. Earlier in the day the girls had filled the studio, practicing routines and preparing for their evening performances. It had been a fun day, accompanied with smiles, laughter, hard work and new ideas. She had been so fortunate to find kindred spirits who welcomed her: embracing and sharing her love of dance and of life. It was what she had dreamed of since arriving in Ul'dah filled with hope that she might experience, and learn the art of Ul'dahn dance from those who knew it best.Â
But what would her friends think if they knew? Would some dismiss the innocence of her smile? Would others question the intention of her bright eyes? Would others yet distance themselves from the guttersnipe of a girl? Some would embrace her, she knew, but still she had seen it all before, and would see it again, why take the risk?
She walked back to the site of her project, kneeling and lifting the wrench once more. She tested the fasteners, giving them a hard turn. She glanced upward at the assembly she had spent a week preparing, the polished metal cylinder rose from its firm footing, mounted far above against the vaulted ceiling.Â
She stood out from the other girls: Hyur, tall, and foreign. She had practiced Ul'dahn dancing in Ishgard, learned the rhythmic motion of hips and shoulders, how to shape and give life to music with the movement of her form. It had been one of her specialties, but even her expertise in the Ishgardian style was little more than an introduction to the dance as performed in Ul'dah. Despite her talent, she had not yet performed publicly, and was not sure if she would want to, "who in Ul'dah would want a Hyur dancer anyway?"Â
It didn't really matter - things were still so much better than they could have been. She stood up slowly, an anxious smile upon her lips.  Energy in her eyes reflected back in the mirror, the lamp-lit studio left otherwise vacant and empty in the quiet of the night. She reached upward, grasping the pole with strong fingers, pulling her body high into the air, securing her position with her feet. It had been over a year since she had escaped Ishgard, almost six moons since she had arrived in Ul'dah. So much had changed, so many things had happened, so many friends had already come and gone. She had learned of an entirely new world, one unlike any of those she had experienced in the past. But this was the same: the same thrill, the same energy, the same wonderful sensation winding, tingling through her muscles, breathing a wave of passionate energy throughout her body. The new and the old met for the briefest of electrifying moments.
She had wanted to be famous. Wanted to be known, and adored. She had wanted to show the world the beauty she could create, and the art of her body in motion. To see excited, hopeful eyes every time she smiled, to see the delight of her fans, and to know what it was to love, and be loved. Now she was a barmaid, still drawing smiles, and laughter, but little beyond--thankful for the simple happiness brought by each and every day.
Holding firm she pushed her body away from the pole, drawing her legs up over her head, where she wrapped first calves, and then thighs around the pole. Facing into the room she arched her back with her body inverted, elongated. With an effortless-looking grace she lifted her upper body up, holding firm with her legs, shoulders drawing even with hips, an arm extending near the ceiling where her hand found firm grasp, before pulling the other along. Sitting upright, she paused for a moment, eyes glancing down at the height she had gained from the floor. She leaned back, stretching her body out straight, extending her arms out over her head, testing the grip, strength of her thighs. She smiled with delight.
There was no music to accompany her, no snapping finger cymbals, no strings, or drums. Only the sound of the pole straining against its mounts, and the slightest squeak of flesh and cloth against the polished metal. The cheer of the crowd was memory, not reality, and not hope. Still, she smiled, that heart-warming bright-eyed smile of hers, extolling in simple pleasure. She arched her back, hands grasping the pole as she inverted once more. She visualized the curve of her body, the lines drawn by her legs, and arms. She imagined her figure as a work of art in motion, letting herself spin slowly to test the balance and strength of both the mounting, and the dancer. She had only meant to test its stability, but she found that once in the air again, her dance had a seductive lure all its own.
Every concern, every worry flitted away. Her heart raced with excitement. Her muscles burned with the strain of her movements. She pushed herself into the routine, using the pole, and the space of the air itself as her stage. Her body as the instrument and the canvas.Â
This, this is what she did.Â
What she wanted to do. What she lived for, even when the fires of the night burned low. Friends, fun, and pleasure had their place, but hidden away in the dark alleyways of Ul'dah, obscured by twists of fate, she danced to her heart's content-- for the only audience that mattered.
![[Image: 1000px-Aya_dance_1.png]](https://wiki.ffxiv-roleplayers.com/images/thumb/5/58/Aya_dance_1.png/1000px-Aya_dance_1.png)
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Antain - 09-16-2014
It had been quite a while since Vaughn stepped foot in that studio, tucked away in the undercity of Ul'dah. In his younger years, he practised every day, then once a week when he started working. As it was, twelve cycles have passed, and this was the first time in the seven moons he's been back that he found himself wandering that way. He needed to practise again. It was more important now than ever, as he was no longer obligated to dance, but wanted to. He wanted to show himself off, the way he could make his body move with his once effortless grace, to please his love.
He walked down the stonework hallways, taking in the facility. Nothing had changed, and he was grateful. He didn't have to pretend to know where he was going for once. He knew. And with the building in night-mode and the classes out, he could find that room that would allow him to see his form as he practised.
He turned the corner to the mirrored room and hesitated as he saw the blonde woman outstretched on the newly erected pole. Well, that was something he hadn't done in over ten cycles. Not for the dance in any case. For climbing the masts of the ship, but not to entertain. He missed it, suddenly longing to refresh those skills as well. Would his love like it? Or would it be too strange?
He watched the woman move, taking analytical mental notes. It should be easy once muscle memory takes over, right? He tilted his head as she moved further up the pole, leaving the doorway to enter the mirrored room and stand to the left of the jamb.
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 09-23-2014
The tall blonde Hyur girl, maneuvered her way around the pole with a seeming ease. Muscle memory guided her through the motions, eliciting feelings and sensations both exhilarating and nostalgic: memories of performances past. It was not the dance that had marked beginning, nor that which had earned her fleeting moments of fame in that final year in Ishgard. But it was the dance where she had first truly found herself, and the peace, energy, and all-encompassing serenity of performance.
It was the dance that had thrust her into womanhood, divided her from family, and set her upon the long road of independence that wound from the murky shadows of lower-Ishgard, across the snow-covered highlands of Coerthas, through the dewy autumn hues of the Shroud, at last to the sand-blasted sun-baked back alleys of Ul'dah. Â
She found herself stronger now and filled with a confidence that pushed her performance toward its limits. Unaccompanied, and performed for no audience but herself, she moved through motions designed and learned to meld grace with form, motion with figure. To make of the already pleasing form of her feminine figure not just a work of art in the abstract, but voluptuous and mesmerizing, in the visceral moments of physical performance.Â
She had trained for years, honing form and technique to excel at the very height of her craft. She was a natural, talented and gifted with a highlander build perfectly suited to the rigors of the art, both strenuous and sensual. The temporary adaption of her training to the martial arts had only pushed her fitness further toward the limits, bounds from which she had not retreated despite the relative comfort of her barmaid's occupation.Â
As her fingers released, the grip of her legs was sure. Her point of security moved continually with seamless, endless motions, while she seemed to hang suspended in air. She flew with the power of momentum, gliding through supple maneuvers that dared to defy the bounds of gravity itself.
Minutes passed as her performance unfolded in the nearly silent and empty hall. Utterly unaware that any had observed her, she twirled through the aerial conclusion, sliding head-first toward the wooden floor, catching herself upon her hands she spun and flipped herself back upright, legs split fully against the floor, before lowering her upper body flat against it, face down, arms reaching out before her. She took in the serenity of the moment, her lips near the wooden planking, parted, drawing in deep measured breaths as her muscles relaxed.Â
The serenity was broken by the sudden realization of what she had seen as she dismounted. With a start, she leapt to her feet, blue eyes open wide in surprise, her body shifting with obvious agitation that seemed spurred by the sight of a man; she struggled yet to catch her breath.Â
"Who the hells are you?" she asked with an accusatory and slightly alarmed tone.
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Antain - 09-23-2014
Vaughn jumped almost ass mug as the woman did, looking toward the door to escape. No, that would be even more rude than the near quarter bell he'd been watching her. He looked back to her, brushing a few stray golden hairs from his face.
"I-I'm sorry... I just... This place was..." He took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. He should have expected an outburst, but the sharp tone still made him nervous. He tried to smile, speaking softly. "That was well done, miss. I...was a bit worried a bit back. You pointed your toes too much. I thought you were going to slip."
He furrowed his brows. He thought about leaving now that he made a fool of himself, but he stayed in place, glancing about the mirrors. He avoided eye contact; it was too awkward. Shifting, he pushed off the wall, a faint smile toward her, but still not at her.
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 09-24-2014
Aya was still breathing heavily, recovering from the exertion of her performance, combined now with some alarm at the intrusion. She watched him carefully, her eyes narrowing, her body-language tense.
He seemed to shrink before her. The Elezen stood half a fulm taller than her, but was waif-thin, hardly an imposing presence. His eyes seemed to flit away, tossing furtive glances toward the mirrors. His timid body language seemed to let her relax, ever-so-slightly.
At his comment she canted her head, wondering again about the fellow.
She spoke, her voice forceful and laden with her Ishgardian accent, "That doesn't answer my question: who are you? And I'll add: what are you doing here?"
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Antain - 09-24-2014
Vaughn gave her a shallow bow. "Ah! My apologies. I'm Vaughn, miss. I used to come here cycles ago, before..." He shook his head, rethinking his thought. "I...thought this was a public studio. Is it no longer?"
He looked over the place once more, looking at the pole with a faint smile "I truely didn't mean to disturb you, Miss...?"
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 09-24-2014
She was watching him carefully, and at his question she gave her head a little shake, her expression making it clear she thought it were obviously not public.
"No, never as far as I've been aware. Cirli must have left the door open when she left... Besides, I've never heard of any men coming here. Are you sure you have the right place?" she lets out a breath, pulling her lips tight.
She slid her hands down to her hips, her expression softening a little. "So, you used to dance?"
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Antain - 09-24-2014
He smiled slightly, lowering his head at her denial. "I see. Maybe...it was my mistake." He nodded at her question. "Yes. I learned to dance here about...twenty-five cycles ago? It was a long time, and I stopped coming about thirteen cycles past when I...had to move. I've only been back the last seven moons." He finally looked at her with a smile. "I'm more impressed it's even still here. How long have you studied? And, if you don't mind me asking, who do you dance for?"
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 09-25-2014
She watched for a moment, raising an eyebrow quizzically. If the fellow was telling the truth he certainly didn't show his age; could he really have been dancing here before she was even born?
"About ten years." she replied, still looking at him as if he were from another world entirely. She takes a couple of steps toward the lockers, letting her gaze move away from him. "You've been back longer than I've been here." she added, almost defensively, as if she had mentally swapped their places, making herself the intruder in his city. "Its been even longer since I danced for anyone."Â
She mentally traced her steps backward. She had been in the city for almost six moons herself, and her last performances had been moons before that. Tucked away in Fallgourd Float, she had performed at the inn for the merchants and traveler on their way to and from Coerthas. She had tried to supplement the meager pay the Hungry Wolf company had provided, which soon dried up entirely. It had been fun, but trivial compared to the stage she had left behind.Â
She stopped, bending over to pick pick up a towel before wiping off her face and arms, letting her thoughts wonder a little further, had it really been so long?
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Antain - 09-26-2014
"Oh, so you don't have a Master..." The thought was spoken louder than intended. In fact, the thought was said. He sighed lightly as he covered his forehead with his hand. "I...ah. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed..." He was messing up again. The only thing he was good at lately.
Vaughn tried to turn the conversation around before she became too angry or offended. "I mean...the way you handled that dance... I would have thought...your teacher. Who taught you, if it wasn't someone here?" Smooth. Smooth like a cactuar. He tried to maintain his smile, though was growing increasingly nervous.
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 09-26-2014
Aya had wrapped the towel around the back of her neck, her hands pulling on either side. She narrowed her eyes at him, her lips pulled tight into a displeased smirk.
![[Image: Aya__.png]](http://i1242.photobucket.com/albums/gg536/ayaxandra/Aya__.png)
She raised an eyebrow at his dodge, shifting her hands to her hips, which cock to the side, leaving her in a sassy, "are-you-kidding-me" pose. Sensing the sudden change of footing as he tried to talk himself around the insinuation, she replied with an even, but annoyed tone in her light, Ishgardian-accented, voice "I actually just put the pole up myself--I was hoping to just practice again, and maybe show my friends. Or, you know, random strange men wandering into the studio."
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Antain - 09-26-2014
Vaughn hung his head. Her tone made it clear: she was not interested in conversation. He nods slowly. "I'm sorry, Miss. I shouldn't... I thought..." He shakes his head. Nothing he could say would make this situation better. He was clearly out of his element.
He bowed low, hopefully showing his sincerity and humility. "I'll go. I'm sorry to make you displeased. It was not my intention." He turned to leave the studio, never making eye contact with the woman.
RE: Stranger in a Strange Land [Open!] - Aya - 10-17-2014
A Recall to Arms
   A warm glow breached closed eyelids, while unseen rays warmed the seated woman and the barren ground beneath her. Aya had never liked Thanalan; gritty wind bit her skin, while the heat of the sun threatened to burn all it touched. "Searing", "inhospitable", "hostile", were the words she would choose for it. Seated in this land of tormenting distraction she struggled to clear her mind. She furrowed her brow, feeling the wind ripping at her pony tail, and tearing at the braids that strained to keep her long hair in order.Â
   The Hungry Wolf taught how to clear one's mind, and push distractions away. That in the moment one's focus must be centered fully upon only what mattered, without distraction, without care. The way of war required a manner of thinking so apart from herself. One could almost call it unnatural, but it came far more naturally than she would ever care to admit. Born to a line of warriors, and steeped in the blood of heroes, she stepped with discomforting ease into the echoes of the past. She recalled seeing the family's Crow Banner waving high upon the rampart: a last, fleeting glimpse of a child's proud homestead. In her mind she had seen visions of battles long passed, glorious dead and legendary feats of arms. "Ridiculous," "pointless", "wasteful", she would say, and yet all too comfortable.
Over hills and over meadows, see the crow fly, feel its shadow.
Over woods, and over mountains, searching for a war.
Her wings embrace each strife and battle,
Where swords they clash, and chariots rattle,
Seeking out the one whose time has come to take the blade.
   Opening her eyes, she rose slowly, lifting the long wooden pole from her lap, raising it with both hands. She recalled the premonition from the week before, a sudden intuition of dark things to come.  She had taken spear and shaft from deep storage. She had known the day would come when she felt the need, but she had always assumed she would know why.
   She moved slowly, a ritualized motion of the long staff simulating a full spear. Today it felt lighter in her grasp, her slender fingers wheeling it with a balance more fine than the week before. As she spun the shaft about her body, lifting it over head in a routine, constant motion that appeared more a dance than a drill, she remembered the worry, no the fear, in C'kayah's voice that night. Worse was yet to come. She was a daughter of Ala Mhigo, if far removed. She had struggled against everything she was meant to be, yet at times the pull of blood fell stronger than reason: could she bear to see another friend die, while she stood helpless?
   She brought the shaft to a violent halt, drawing the butt-end forward with barely checked force, exhaling a cry from her lungs to push the practice strike along. A second and third followed in rapid succession, carrying out the series just as she had been taught. The cries of her high voice carried into the desert valley around her. She had never been orthodox, but continued to carry out the core practice strikes just as she had been taught beneath the towering canopy of the shroud, during those days that now seemed an age ago.
   Her grace and strength lent an air of performance to the practice as she carried on beneath the early-afternoon sun. The minutes wore slow as she practiced technique, struggling to recover, and remember, what had been reflex not so long ago. She embraced the effort as she did dancing itself: her mind focusing upon the movement and form of her body, dispelling rogue thoughts and distractions far more effectively than meditation. Gritty wind tore at her skin. The sun burned all it touched. And for the moment, she cared not.[/align]