Post by Aiden Mumble on Mar 8, 2011 15:35:37 GMT -5
The last class of the day had just ended and the students filed their way out of the theater. Aiden was waiting in a shadowy corner just outside the doors as to stay hidden until the very last manic drama child was gone from sight. They chatted so loudly about the current gossip (theater kids know everything about everyone) that it was easy to go unnoticed as they prattled on about who did what where and with who. Aiden watched them go, clutching a small sports bag like it was something she had stolen and the contents might just jump out and reveal themselves to everyone if she loosened her grip even in the slightest. She hadn't stole something, but she was pretty scared that someone might just ask about her being there. Aiden Mumble isn't scared of much. You could point a gun in her face and she could remain unfazed, or, at least, pretend to. She avoided this part of the school as much as possible, though she dearly loved the arts, it was in her blood, but she'd be damned if someone caught her here right now because, the truth was, she had come here to dance.
Finally, when she was nearly positive the place had emptied she rushed inside. Upon reaching the stage she sat down and allowed herself stop and think for a second. This was ridiculous, this fear of hers, what did she think what people thought of her? People could say whatever they wanted about her looks, her personality, Addy could care less, but catch her singing or dancing and she might die. She'd like to believe that it was just some crazy birth defect that left her with such crippling stage fright, but, though she'd never like to admit it, a big part of it could be the fact that her mother and father were just so....great. Her mother is an extraordinary singer, sings all the time to whoever will listen and, oh, you should here her underwater! Her Dad's dance skills could hardly ever be matched, he choreographed this and that, everything he did turned out phenomenal and he'd just about bust a move anywhere if he could. How was Aiden supposed to live up to there talents?
The teen sigh and huffed her bangs out of her pretty blue eyes before she opened her bag and pulled out a pair of worn ballet shoes. She gingerly began to lace them around her feet, the old laces threatening to break. She glanced around cautiously, but it was hard to see anything in the dim of the reserve lighting. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, letting the simple music of her surroundings fill her head. She started slow, just stretching out, but found herself accomplishing more complicated moves as time went on. Her instruction on technique rushed through her head, though it came secondary to her passion. Curves, lines, spins, a made up routine being the most spontaneous thing she could ever do in her life. It felt so good to move like this again, she forgot where she was until, suddenly, the sound of something or, heaven forbid, someone, caused her to falter out of a spin and nearly fall.
Finally, when she was nearly positive the place had emptied she rushed inside. Upon reaching the stage she sat down and allowed herself stop and think for a second. This was ridiculous, this fear of hers, what did she think what people thought of her? People could say whatever they wanted about her looks, her personality, Addy could care less, but catch her singing or dancing and she might die. She'd like to believe that it was just some crazy birth defect that left her with such crippling stage fright, but, though she'd never like to admit it, a big part of it could be the fact that her mother and father were just so....great. Her mother is an extraordinary singer, sings all the time to whoever will listen and, oh, you should here her underwater! Her Dad's dance skills could hardly ever be matched, he choreographed this and that, everything he did turned out phenomenal and he'd just about bust a move anywhere if he could. How was Aiden supposed to live up to there talents?
The teen sigh and huffed her bangs out of her pretty blue eyes before she opened her bag and pulled out a pair of worn ballet shoes. She gingerly began to lace them around her feet, the old laces threatening to break. She glanced around cautiously, but it was hard to see anything in the dim of the reserve lighting. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, letting the simple music of her surroundings fill her head. She started slow, just stretching out, but found herself accomplishing more complicated moves as time went on. Her instruction on technique rushed through her head, though it came secondary to her passion. Curves, lines, spins, a made up routine being the most spontaneous thing she could ever do in her life. It felt so good to move like this again, she forgot where she was until, suddenly, the sound of something or, heaven forbid, someone, caused her to falter out of a spin and nearly fall.
