On Tour [Breno]

[Blaize]

Blaize stood on the stage and stared out at the empty seats. Even while the full house lights were up, the rich red velvet of the upholstery was glorious to behold. It was not tattered or old, even if this opera had been here for centuries. There was age and history in this one building and Blaize imagined all of the operas and ballets that had been performed upon its stage. It filled him with a sense of awe, an addictive swelling of the heart and, although the vampire did not need to breathe he held his breath in his chest and released it all in a rush.

Behind him, the curtains were down, the red brocade laced with gold tassels. Above, there was an enormous chandelier in the centre of a bright, colourful mural. When had that mural been painted? When the opera had been opened, Blaize supposed. Unless they’d changed it, since. But it didn’t matter, did it? It was a wondrous sight to behold and, even for the vampire with a heart of ice it was humbling. And here he was, premier dancer from somewhere so small as Harper Rock…

Opéra national de Paris.

The tour had taken them, so far, only half way. A couple of places in the US, one night in Mexico, three nights in Chile, and across the ocean to Europe. They had been Spain, and now they were in France – they had yet to travel to Poland, to Germany, To Russia, Ireland, London, and back home again.

And the vampire was not even tired, despite how thin he was, and how gaunt his cheeks. He only ever fed when he could feel the thirst becoming too much. It was his devotion to his art, and to this part he had been given in this grand ballet that kept him fed. If all he could think about was draining the blood from Zenobia’s neck – Zenobia, who played the part of Giselle. The heat from her body was alluring, and far too alluring for a vampire who did not feed. It would not do for their prized vampire lead – and they’d advertised this, too, just the right amount to garner interest in the tour – to rip into the neck of their fragile Giselle in the middle of the second act. Blaize would do nothing to jeopardise the ballet.

His name was called from the wings; outside, the crowd was gathering. Soon, the doors would open. It was time for Blaize – Albrecht – to get ready. He nodded and, with one last look at the scene in front of him, he exited stage left.

As soon as he left the stage, the lights went down, just enough for the guests to find their seats. The doors opened, and the crowd filtered in.

[Breno (DELETED 9529)]

Breno slowly followed the crowd into the theater, vainly trying to hide the slight limp in his leg. It didn't help that he walked with a cane. He looked up at the artwork that covered the ceiling that always took his breath away despite his coming here for years now. He remembered somewhat fondly of when he last performed here, the feelings of trepidation still fresh in his mind. Someone jostled him a bit, reminding him that he was still standing in the middle of the isle. Muttering an apology he quickly found his seat and sat down, letting a small sigh escape. He was grateful with what he had; at least that's what he kept telling himself, but he desperately missed the stage.

As the room began to fill, the low drone of the crowd began to get louder and surrounded him on all sides. There were a lot of people here tonight, but that wasn't a surprise. This show had been well advertised and the performers were relatively well known. However, there was one in particular that Breno was interested in seeing. He had been following Blaize's career for a while now and was excited to finally be able to watch him perform in person. Teaching young dancers allowed very little room for travel, so when he had heard that the tour was coming to France he immediately bought a ticket. This was his chance to finally meet Blaize in person, and he was not going to waste it.

It didn't take long for the room to fill with people and Breno leaned back with his cane in his lap, waiting patiently for the show to begin.

[Blaize]

The ballet opens upon a rustic, medieval scene. On either side are small cottages, a mirage of trees in the background. A troupe of background dancers, first still, come to life, giving the scene a touch of frivolity and action. It is daytime. It is active. They flee the stage to make way for Albrecht – Blaize. He is dressed in finery, complete with a lavish red cape and gleaming sword. There is nothing terribly splendid about the entrance – no major lifts of pirouettes, nothing yet to show Blaize’s strength and talent. And yet, he has a fluid grace unrivalled by all the rest – he has a way of making even walking seem like a dance.

Albrecht disappears into one of the cabins with his squire; Hilarion enters the stage, unsure of himself as he tries to knock on the door of the opposite cottage. He is, quite clearly, a gamekeeper, dead rabbits hanging from his belt. Only after Hilarion has gone does Albrecht make his second entrance, this time in the garb of a commoner.

It will be discovered that Albrecht is a nobleman betrothed to another woman, and yet Giselle is the one that he loves. With a careless agility he woos the girl – the gamekeeper is flouted at every step, though he distrusts Albrecht, and tries to convince Giselle that she should, too. And yet, Giselle and Albrecht become entangled, Blaize given the run of the stage on many occasions, the only male among so many swans.

Of course, it cannot last long. Albrecht’s deception is soon discovered and, Giselle, driven to erratic behaviour, dies of a broken heart. For a man who has never felt much passion for another in his life, has never been in love, Blaize does a convincing job as a grief-stricken Albrecht, crying over the dead and unmoving body of his beloved, which he clings to his chest and shakes, as if to bring back to life.

But it’s the second act within which Blaize really shines.

The Wills have taken Giselle into their ranks; they are the spirits of scorned women who haunt the graveyard where she is buried. They hunt men, to take out their revenge. They force men to dance until they die of exhaustion. This, unfortunately, is how the poor gamekeeper dies.

There is the scene where Albrecht, too, is forced to dance until dawn. Near death, near exhaustion, he is eventually saved by his Giselle. It is within this scene where come the variation – the scene that Blaize rehearsed over and over until his own feet near fell off. It is perfect; there are no missteps, no quivers, no doubts. He is confident; he is the dance. He flies like the swan that he is, until he collapses to the ground in seeming exhaustion. The heavy breathing is something that he has to pretend – the dancer himself is not exhausted. Not in the slightest. Where the other gleam with sweat, Blaize remains cool, not a single drop of sweat to be seen.

It is, of course, a success. There is standing ovation once the opera is over. The dancers come out, one by one – Giselle first, and then Albrecht, and then Hilarion, and then the chorus, until they all form a line and bow, over and over. But Blaize does not mind. The grin that cracks his features is genuine, it is complete. He glows, shines like sunbeams off the moon in the beam of the spotlight.

And then curtains come down, and the dancers leave the stage – Blaize keeps to himself. There are a few congratulatory slaps on the shoulders, to which he smiles and nods. But they mostly leave him alone, his colleagues. He goes into the dressing room to remove the make-up – to dress, once again, as a civilian. He hates this part. If he could, he would stay on that stage for eternity.

[Breno (DELETED 9529)]

Breno stood with the rest of the crowd, applauding loudly. He had seen previous performances through recordings, but to actually see in person the skill, the finese! It was absolutely breathtaking! It was more than anything he could have hoped for.

As soon as the curtains closed the crowd began to move, everyone chattering about the show. Breno simply picked up his cane, exited his row, and slowly made his way out into the lobby. Instead of heading out the main doors, however, he turned and headed towards the entrance to back stage. Almost immediately a couple of guards stepped in front of him, barring his path. "Are you lost, monsieur?" one of them asked a bit gruffly. Breno shook his head and pulled out a backstage pass from his pocket, handing it to the guard. Even though he wasn't a dancer anymore, he still kept in touch with a few people still in the ballet world. It only took a few phone calls for some unpaid favors for him to recieve this pass; his literal ticket to Blaize. The guard examined it closely. Satisfied with its authenticity, they stepped to the side and allowed Breno through.

As soon as he was past the doors he made a beeline for the dressing rooms, his limp becoming more prominent as he walked. It didn't take long for him to find the right door, despite it being so long since he was here. Some things never change. Suddenly his nerves kicked into overdrive; after all this time and work, he was finally going to talk to Blaize face-to-face. Taking a deep breath and swallowing his nerves down, he knocked on the door.

[Blaize]

Many of the dancers didn’t bother washing the dance from their bodies. So full of adrenaline, and the fuel of applause, they pulled on jackets over their leotards and pulled comfortable slip-on boots onto their feet. Their tutus were left behind, track pants pulled over their lithe and tired legs – legs that would keep them standing long enough to get them to the nearest bar to have a few drinks and a few laughs before they went back to their hotels to crash. This was the life of a dancer – they had to have that adrenaline to get them out, to last the couple of hours in a social setting. If they didn’t, their exhaustion would confine them to bed.

Not for Blaize, however. His adrenaline was constant, his stamina outlasting the rest a hundred times over. They often marvelled that he did not have to sleep; they all knew what he was, of course. Some still refused to believe it even after they never witnessed Blaize in the sunlight, never saw him eating or drinking. It didn’t matter that he danced like a phantom, that he never broke out a sweat. Some people, they just wanted to deny that their world wasn’t the ordinary world they had grown up with. Right now, he even almost looked the part; without the make-up, without the costumes and in the downlights of the dressing room, one could see the way Blaize’s cheeks had hollowed, the rings starting to form around his eyes. Soon, he would have to feed.

When the knock came on the door, Blaize was alone. They often left him alone, his constant denial of social outings soon had them giving up. Sometimes, though, every now and again – and it was mostly Zenobia – they tried again. Blaize was in the midst of pulling on his jacket when he opened the dressing room door, his mouth open to, again, deny Zenobia’s request to out to best Parisian nightclub. The face that greeted him, however, was not Zenobia’s.

”Can I help you?” he asked, his surprise barely masked.

[Breno (DELETED 9529)]

The door opened and Breno stood a bit taller, wanting to project confidence instead of the nerves he was actually feeling. Blaize was here! In person! It appeared that he had already washed off his makeup, revealing dark circles and hollow cheeks. Breno was very aware of Blaize's...condition, but he didn't expect him to actually look the part so much. It was obvious Breno caught him off guard, so he flashed Blaize a smile and replied calmly, "Hello, Monsieur! Allow me to introduce myself, I am Breno Silva. I teach ballet nearby and must I say, you are positively fantastic! I have never seen so much talent in one person before!

He glanced at what the dancer was wearing. He had already changed into street clothes, so perhaps he was going to socialize with his fellow performers? It seemed unlikely, Blaize was hardly seen outside of performances from what Breno gathered, but he could easily be wrong. "I apologize if I inturrupted something, you must be exhausted after such a strenuous performance," Breno said, however Blaize seemed to have plenty of energy left. Perhaps it was the vampire thing? Jealousy flared within him; what he wouldn't give to have been able to have that sort of endurance. He would still be on stage if he did.

[Blaize]

The Swan's first reaction was irritation. Who had let this person in? A teacher -- they were a requirement, to a point. But sometimes the students outstripped their teachers and, well, sometimes the teachers weren't all that good. If forced to stop and be considering Blaize could appreciate them, but he would never become one himself. He wasn't sure where his bad taste for teachers had come from -- it probably had something to do with his history regarding them -- but it was something he had yet to overcome.

Lips parted to ask the question -- what is it you need? -- before his gaze snagged on the cane. He flinched, and his face softened. A cane. He'd probably be using one of those himself if it weren't for Lyonel. And then he paused, even as he was in the act of stepping aside.

"Breno Silva. Why do I know that name?" he asked. Dance was all that Blaize knew. He'd watched hundreds of performances from dancers all over the world. He had to have been at least six years old when he started. And he liked to know who his competition was; he liked to know who the premier dancers were from the companies in each capital city.

"You... you've danced here," he said, and once more glanced down at the cane. "I'm sorry..." he said. It meant nothing, in the grand scheme of things, but the empathy Blaize felt was real, and genuine. It was almost tangible. How close had he been to this same fate? "I'm not exhausted. I'm fine. Come in," he said, pushing the door wide.

[Breno (DELETED 9529)]

Breno expected to be shot down instantly, told to leave followed with a door in his face. It was what he would have done, had the roles been reversed, but then Blaize saw the cane. It took a very long time before Breno finally accepted the need of his crutch; he absolutely hated the thing when he first got it. It was a sign, a symbol, of everything he had lost. His pains, struggles, and failures all wrapped up into one polished stick. Now it has become a part of him and he sometimes forgot he even used it. Sometimes.

He smiled at the young dancer, "Ah, well, let's just say I'm a bit well known around here. You could have heard my name during you time here in passing." There was no need to bring up details of his past, not yet. His bragging days were over. However, he flinched at Blaize's next comments. Yes, he had danced here, multiple times even! That was until he pushed too hard, too fast...

With a strained smile, Breno shook his head, "No need to apologize, it's all in the past." At least, that's what he told himself. He gladly took the invitation and entered the room, looking around fondly as memories flitted through his mind. "I'm sure you've seen many different places by now, but to me there's something special with this place. Perhaps it's the age? The amount of people that come here to view masterpieces like what was shown tonight?" He was rambling, he knew, but it was a way for him to gather his thoughts. He had to make sure that what he said came across correctly.

[Blaize]

Blaize shook his head. ”No, you were filmed once. I can’t remember what for, but I’ve seen you. I watched,” he said. His trips to France had been few and far between growing up. Actually, he’d only ever been once and it had been a family holiday – they hadn’t wanted to go to the ballet. This was a passion Blaize had had without their support. It wasn’t as if they hated it, or didn’t want him doing it. They were just never very interested. They’d been to a couple of his performances in Harper Rock and only now seemed to be paying attention that he’d got a lead role, a traveling role. They finally understood that he was good, where before they’d only ever thought it was some hobby he should get over. He’d worked his *** off to afford this ‘hobby’ of his. He’d done it all on his own. At least he could claim that.

As Breno spoke, Blaize looked around. Their first night here he’d done a lone tour of the place, fingers grazing over the backs of chairs and between the bricks in the walls. The floor had been worn down in particular places, and there were fixtures one could tell were original. Quite a bit had been renovated and upgraded to fit with the times, but the history was secure in the walls. Only those who had a passion for Ballet had walked these halls. That was why Blaize liked it so much.

”The view from the stage is my favourite. When the lights are up, and there’s no one here yet. It’s like the theatre is just a yawning beast, waiting…” he said. He didn’t mind the rambling. When it came to ballet, he could ramble enough himself. Otherwise, he was generally stand-offish, and cold. The only way anyone could truly know Blaize, and see who he was at his core, was to talk to him about his obsession.

[Breno (DELETED 9529)]

Breno hesitated for a second before slowly sitting down in one of the chairs. Blaize had watched watched one of his performances? That was definitely not something he was expecting. Breno rested the cane against the armrest of his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "Well, it would seem that you've done you're homework. Only the most dedicated of my students will watch the performances of an old nobody like myself." Back then he wasn't a nobody. He was known all over France as an accomplished dancer, someone who would always get lead roles. If it wasn't for the accident, he probably would have kept improving, getting better and better, becoming known internationally, becoming-

Breno stopped that train of thought in it's tracks. That was not a rabbit hole he wanted to go back down. Not in front of others anyway. "I promise I won't take up much more of your time. I just had a simple question for you." He paused briefly, trying to get his thoughts together. "What exactly are your plans for your career? Especially after this tour is over?"