#;s. gesture study of a knight | forsyth

[lycianlynx]

the wiping party of mach // w.h.c. round 1

If Chad can say anything, it's that they don't want to be here — But between suffering Earth's heavy scrutiny for the entirety of the rest of the night and just suffering it for a little while and being mostly free of it the rest of the night, they picked the latter.

They're kind of regretting it, honestly. Though the boy's not an awful dancer, though they've gone through the practice moves with a clear mind, critical eye and definite objective: Do passably and Get Out — The closer their turn draws, the more their hands shake. There's a tension in their entire body they can't force out, jaw clenched, shoulders drawn taut like a livewire.

All they can see and hear with the lights turned on them is their own thundering heartbeat, their cloying breath and light, light, light, piercing them through — But at least muscle memory wouldn't fail them as the music starts up — A low roar, slow, deliberate, flowing movements that go from one into the next — But a set of strings builds up speed, becomes frenetic as Chad lets momentum carry them from one gesture to the next, half-falling into a spin that dips them low and back up again, their own gravity precarious as their sleeves trail out behind them —

Fine, so far. But they can't keep up the balance they need for for the recovery, their limbs sluggish from anxiety nipping at their heels, and their foot loses ground into an ungainly stumble, disrupting their flow.

A roaring panic begins to eat at them, the fiddle fraying not just the strings, but the last of their own nerves alongside it; There's a recovery as they substitute in a heel spin, but the rest of the choreography flies away from their fingertips as a controlled dip falls out of their hands, has them falling to the floor, and instead of coming back up smoothly, they hit the ground, hard, and the shock has them take a fraction too long to get back up.

The music cuts out. The boy lies, wide-eyed, not daring to move for a long moment — Before the eyes, the eyes register, and they're scrambling onto hands and knees, stricken. This — This was a mistake. This was a mistake. They never should've — Never should've—!!

Earth rumbles in disapproval. Chad can't even bring themself to look at the score numbers, lifted up damningly just inches above their field of vision.

style: 1 choreo: 3 technical: 3

They need to get out of here, now. They gather themself up, bow hastily and vacate the stage for their opponent — Making themself scarce in the maze of hedges under cover of night, tears pricking at their eyes.

et tu, @viridescent-lance @nagaficat?