
It was the essence of the mountain given voice, both intriguing and frightening. The waving mass of flesh and red hair swelled and receded in time to the beating of the drum, a few particularly enthusiastic dancers even whooping from somewhere in the center of the room. The sight made her uneasy all over again as Vira waited at the edge of the crowd, unwilling to follow Kovac at first. Her eye had gone back to the door and part of her own being pulled her that way. This...chaos...was way, way too much.
But fear of being left behind, a forgotten face in the stones, as Kovac slipped into the crowd and tried to tug her along, made the Chiet move her feet forwards. Thankfully, he didn't go too deep. The panting air of the surrounding dancers, the brush of hair against her arms or accidental bump from behind, these little nuances of a hive-mind set free almost overpowered the sweet heat of the alcohol. These people were drunk with the passions that entailed being Inartan. And they were all around her, oblivious to the woman flailing in the pool.
Nothing's wrong, Vira...look at him, see? He's not frightened so why should you be?
That monocular eye had fixated on him again, listening with a slight cant of her head towards him as he shared what he thought dancing was. It wasn't what she thought it to be, the structured pursuit of a rhythm with ones body, moving arms and hands and hips and feet in time to something, like the drum that reverberated through the dance club.
It was a feeling. It was somewhat different from the things she preferred. With the exception of the variety of birds themselves that thrived in the volcano-city, Vira followed a structured life. You get up at a specific time each morning, you dress in a specific order, you brush your hair a specific way. There was little room for unpredictability, only stability, like the deep roots of some ancient tree.
And yet, here was this Avora, a bowman who had reminded her of the steps involved in shooting an arrow, not dancing, he said, but feeling. It was very chaotic; but what about the Inclement wasn't chaotic? What about this dark and sweaty place wasn't raw chaos even dark Rhysol would love.
She looked around, looking at the faces both familiar and foreign. Each seemed lost in their own internal rhythm, following the flow of their own firey spirits. Her gaze returned, watching the way Kovac's feet shuffled side to side a little and how his torso seemed to sway with the hard thud of the drum. One of her hands rose to brush hair from in front of her good eye and then fell away again.
Rhythm.
No. Feeling.
Feel it. How?
She closed her eyes, trying to break from her own nature and see what he wanted her to feel.
Stop it, Lavira. She snapped at herself, Stop it right now. Stop trying to control everything. How do you think you wound up down there in the first place? Yea, Vala didn't see you, but you can't expect everything to be exactly how you want to be so just stop it. Stop and just...
"Let go..."
And in that moment, she felt it. It was small, and fragile, like a spark that needed the tender whisper of a breath to encourage it into a fire or the offer of a breast to the hungry babe. It was a tired little thing, suppressed for most of her young life under the rigors of Inartan society, always following the rules, obeying commands from her superiors, servitude and structure.
Her hips began to move, a little at first, just back and forth, trying to sync with the beat of the drum, but she was off, and yet it was not a bad off. Other rhythms could be played on an upbeat too. These lighter ratatats made for an exciting change if one followed them to the end of the path too. The woman shifted, her feet finding the beat now as they stopped the sway and began to tap a little. Up and down, up and down. It was still rigid, bordering on forced as she tried to control the feeling. Controlling it wouldn't work.
She had to let it happen, she had to let go. Her arms picked up the thud-thud-thud, following a forward-back-forward pattern with every hard downbeat. In her mind, the alcohol had already put the memory to bed, letting it sleep for now so that the body it controlled could just relax and be happy for a little while.
Vira felt it swell from her belly when the tempo suddenly rose and the whoops deeper in the pack of people grew louder. They were really enjoying themselves and Vira almost wanted to see what they were so happy about. But she couldn't go that far yet. It was too close to being trapped again, and that, her mind would not let happen. That giddy rush made the woman laugh a bit and she leaned towards him to counter the brief withdrawal that came with his own movements. Her shoulders rolled, opposite one another, forwards and backwards in a kind of shake before her hands came together in a hard clap between them.
"It kinda is!" She shouted to him over the music. Somewhere in the mass, someone was starting to sing. It was a strong voice, probably one of the performers for the club, for it went perfectly with the music already filling the chamber, deafening everything. Her hands came together in a hard clap again, palms reddened from the collision, and the woman turned. Her arms swung up near her head while torso twisted, fingers snapping and feet shuffling. She twisted back the other way, simply going with the flow she felt. Once more, palms slapped against one another in a clap, synchronizing to the hard boom of the bass drum as her body turned rapidly.
This spin sent the firey hair flying. She had turned too near him, however, and as she twisted around, those burning locks and that snowy feather brushed against him, her sharp features looking far more bird-like than ever before. She was slowly forgetting the trauma, for now, the drink and dance giving her a different thing to focus on. Joy. Like standing on the edge of the cliffs and looking out at their mountain home each sunrise and each sunset. Like watching Tulaj during a hunt or the flitting song birds elsewhere in the city. Like...flying.
Vira lost her balance as she came back to face him and wound up with hands against his shoulders, her cheeks flushed from drink and dance both. She felt invigorated even as she let a girlish little giggle out, pushing off him and swaying until she was steady. "Sorry! Goodness that is kinda fun!"
But fear of being left behind, a forgotten face in the stones, as Kovac slipped into the crowd and tried to tug her along, made the Chiet move her feet forwards. Thankfully, he didn't go too deep. The panting air of the surrounding dancers, the brush of hair against her arms or accidental bump from behind, these little nuances of a hive-mind set free almost overpowered the sweet heat of the alcohol. These people were drunk with the passions that entailed being Inartan. And they were all around her, oblivious to the woman flailing in the pool.
Nothing's wrong, Vira...look at him, see? He's not frightened so why should you be?
That monocular eye had fixated on him again, listening with a slight cant of her head towards him as he shared what he thought dancing was. It wasn't what she thought it to be, the structured pursuit of a rhythm with ones body, moving arms and hands and hips and feet in time to something, like the drum that reverberated through the dance club.
It was a feeling. It was somewhat different from the things she preferred. With the exception of the variety of birds themselves that thrived in the volcano-city, Vira followed a structured life. You get up at a specific time each morning, you dress in a specific order, you brush your hair a specific way. There was little room for unpredictability, only stability, like the deep roots of some ancient tree.
And yet, here was this Avora, a bowman who had reminded her of the steps involved in shooting an arrow, not dancing, he said, but feeling. It was very chaotic; but what about the Inclement wasn't chaotic? What about this dark and sweaty place wasn't raw chaos even dark Rhysol would love.
She looked around, looking at the faces both familiar and foreign. Each seemed lost in their own internal rhythm, following the flow of their own firey spirits. Her gaze returned, watching the way Kovac's feet shuffled side to side a little and how his torso seemed to sway with the hard thud of the drum. One of her hands rose to brush hair from in front of her good eye and then fell away again.
Rhythm.
No. Feeling.
Feel it. How?
She closed her eyes, trying to break from her own nature and see what he wanted her to feel.
Stop it, Lavira. She snapped at herself, Stop it right now. Stop trying to control everything. How do you think you wound up down there in the first place? Yea, Vala didn't see you, but you can't expect everything to be exactly how you want to be so just stop it. Stop and just...
"Let go..."
And in that moment, she felt it. It was small, and fragile, like a spark that needed the tender whisper of a breath to encourage it into a fire or the offer of a breast to the hungry babe. It was a tired little thing, suppressed for most of her young life under the rigors of Inartan society, always following the rules, obeying commands from her superiors, servitude and structure.
Her hips began to move, a little at first, just back and forth, trying to sync with the beat of the drum, but she was off, and yet it was not a bad off. Other rhythms could be played on an upbeat too. These lighter ratatats made for an exciting change if one followed them to the end of the path too. The woman shifted, her feet finding the beat now as they stopped the sway and began to tap a little. Up and down, up and down. It was still rigid, bordering on forced as she tried to control the feeling. Controlling it wouldn't work.
She had to let it happen, she had to let go. Her arms picked up the thud-thud-thud, following a forward-back-forward pattern with every hard downbeat. In her mind, the alcohol had already put the memory to bed, letting it sleep for now so that the body it controlled could just relax and be happy for a little while.
Vira felt it swell from her belly when the tempo suddenly rose and the whoops deeper in the pack of people grew louder. They were really enjoying themselves and Vira almost wanted to see what they were so happy about. But she couldn't go that far yet. It was too close to being trapped again, and that, her mind would not let happen. That giddy rush made the woman laugh a bit and she leaned towards him to counter the brief withdrawal that came with his own movements. Her shoulders rolled, opposite one another, forwards and backwards in a kind of shake before her hands came together in a hard clap between them.
"It kinda is!" She shouted to him over the music. Somewhere in the mass, someone was starting to sing. It was a strong voice, probably one of the performers for the club, for it went perfectly with the music already filling the chamber, deafening everything. Her hands came together in a hard clap again, palms reddened from the collision, and the woman turned. Her arms swung up near her head while torso twisted, fingers snapping and feet shuffling. She twisted back the other way, simply going with the flow she felt. Once more, palms slapped against one another in a clap, synchronizing to the hard boom of the bass drum as her body turned rapidly.
This spin sent the firey hair flying. She had turned too near him, however, and as she twisted around, those burning locks and that snowy feather brushed against him, her sharp features looking far more bird-like than ever before. She was slowly forgetting the trauma, for now, the drink and dance giving her a different thing to focus on. Joy. Like standing on the edge of the cliffs and looking out at their mountain home each sunrise and each sunset. Like watching Tulaj during a hunt or the flitting song birds elsewhere in the city. Like...flying.
Vira lost her balance as she came back to face him and wound up with hands against his shoulders, her cheeks flushed from drink and dance both. She felt invigorated even as she let a girlish little giggle out, pushing off him and swaying until she was steady. "Sorry! Goodness that is kinda fun!"