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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.
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