21 minutes in and I'm already procrastinating
Much as I try to talk myself out of it, I'm really good at psyching myself into catastrophic thinking and fear, now that funemployment is really upon me, with more excuses about how I'll start after the New Year. Hurrah!
So, because... it makes sense to me, here is a Hollow Crown WIP that I was playing in this spring. If you enjoyed it, I would very much like hearing about it.
The Swing Dance AU
He’s there at graduation night, and she’s never seen him before. The studio looks huge with the mood lighting, packed with people already surging and swinging. Kate had dressed up a little, a flirty bandana, some polka dots, red lipstick. He stands off to the side with his feet planted, waiting with his hands clasped behind his back. He’s broad-shouldered and borderline slovenly, but he watches the dancers like a hound on a tight tether. Something about him makes Kate look away.
Hal finds her inside of five minutes. She likes dancing with Hal: he’s as new to this as she is, but he’s graceful and confident and easy to laugh with. A few others from their class are here. You’d think they all were friends, the way they huddle, as if they knew each other better than awkwardly counting out steps and holding each other too close or too far for the past four weeks.
Sometimes the instructors blow a whistle, and all the Swing I students have to raise their hands so someone with more experience will guarantee them a dance. Kate sees the fellow raising his hand too, defiant and uncertain: he must have been in the Saturday morning class that she couldn’t bear to wake up for. Kate has some good partners-good leads who keep her steady and don’t mind when she whispers the steps to herself, quick-quick, slow, slow.
She and the stranger find themselves standing next to each other as the song changes. He has a crooked smile and crooked teeth. “Shall we?” he says, and holds out his hand. Kate laughs and says “Sure!” and settles into closed position, her feet between his, one hand on his bicep, the other loose in his palm. He presses his forearm against her ribcage, the first to get that right since Hal, and fans his hand over the center of her back. Kate finds herself straightening. He’s rock-solid. The song seems very slow to start up.
“I’m Harry,” he says, and she confirms it, a Northern accent that could knock a wall over.
“Kate,” she says, as the speakers heat up.
He leans close. “Sorry?” She repeats it, in his ear; he’s not two or three inches taller than she is. “Kate,” he says to himself, and smiles. “Nice to meet you.”
She grins, because she’s flush and the rest of the room is on its way, and because she doesn’t quite know why. He catches her eye, nods out a beat and they both start their rock steps, quick-quick, slow, slow.
Her good cheer cracks: he’s a forceful lead, and not quite as good as he thinks he is. She loses track of the rhythm and he tries to rush them through a series of moves. They’ve had three minutes together before one instructor yells “Change your partners!” and she gratefully extricates herself. Harry nods, and she thinks he might look a little abashed, but he charges off before she can get a bead on him, and to be honest, she doesn’t really care about one more awkward beginning dance. She leaves half an hour later; grad night started at 10, and it’s still a weekday and she still has to work.
She sees him again at the first day of Swing II. He’s hanging back, watching all the couples, but when he sees her he smiles and nods from across the room. Kate can’t quite remember his name, only his accent and how careful he was with her hands, and how rough he was with everything else.
They spend the first ten minutes learning the new footwork, rock step, triple-step, triple-step. The instructors throw them all together at once, so as not to waste their hour. Within three rotations she’s with him again, though she hadn’t noticed him maneuvering closer.
“Good to see you,” she says, scrabbling for his name.
“Kate, isn’t it?” He’s a terrible liar; it shows all over his face that he remembers perfectly well.
She laughs and steps close to him, waiting for the command from the teachers. “Having fun yet?” He holds out his hand and she sets hers in it. It comes back to her: “Harry!”
He pulls an innocent face. “I made an impression?”
She’s about to retort, but no one else is in closed position; the teachers are talking them through a turn. Kate bites her lip in a playful grimace; Harry seems caught off guard, but he acquiesces and steps away.
When they try it, though, she feels again, that straightening. She looks right into his face instead of down at her feet. He loses track of his footwork once, and she reassures him that it’s fine, and they both count off together and try again. He pushes her around too hard and she tries to make herself do the forms anyway. The follow instructor comes by and stops Kate.
“Remember to keep your hands out, like this.” She demonstrates, her arms a doll-like shape. “If his hand isn’t waiting for you, don’t grab for it. It’s his job to be there at the right time. Fix it for him and he never learns to do it right.”
Harry wags his eyebrows. “No pressure.”
The follow instructor gives him a knowing smile. “Don’t try and cover yourself either. If you’re off or if she’s not there, just do a basic before you try it again. Give yourselves some space. If you force it, you just wind up throwing her around, and we don’t do tosses until Lindy III.”
This was originally posted on Dreamwidth, where it has
comments. I would love to hear from you at DW! If you can see this post, you can comment here using OpenID. Thanks!
So, because... it makes sense to me, here is a Hollow Crown WIP that I was playing in this spring. If you enjoyed it, I would very much like hearing about it.
The Swing Dance AU
He’s there at graduation night, and she’s never seen him before. The studio looks huge with the mood lighting, packed with people already surging and swinging. Kate had dressed up a little, a flirty bandana, some polka dots, red lipstick. He stands off to the side with his feet planted, waiting with his hands clasped behind his back. He’s broad-shouldered and borderline slovenly, but he watches the dancers like a hound on a tight tether. Something about him makes Kate look away.
Hal finds her inside of five minutes. She likes dancing with Hal: he’s as new to this as she is, but he’s graceful and confident and easy to laugh with. A few others from their class are here. You’d think they all were friends, the way they huddle, as if they knew each other better than awkwardly counting out steps and holding each other too close or too far for the past four weeks.
Sometimes the instructors blow a whistle, and all the Swing I students have to raise their hands so someone with more experience will guarantee them a dance. Kate sees the fellow raising his hand too, defiant and uncertain: he must have been in the Saturday morning class that she couldn’t bear to wake up for. Kate has some good partners-good leads who keep her steady and don’t mind when she whispers the steps to herself, quick-quick, slow, slow.
She and the stranger find themselves standing next to each other as the song changes. He has a crooked smile and crooked teeth. “Shall we?” he says, and holds out his hand. Kate laughs and says “Sure!” and settles into closed position, her feet between his, one hand on his bicep, the other loose in his palm. He presses his forearm against her ribcage, the first to get that right since Hal, and fans his hand over the center of her back. Kate finds herself straightening. He’s rock-solid. The song seems very slow to start up.
“I’m Harry,” he says, and she confirms it, a Northern accent that could knock a wall over.
“Kate,” she says, as the speakers heat up.
He leans close. “Sorry?” She repeats it, in his ear; he’s not two or three inches taller than she is. “Kate,” he says to himself, and smiles. “Nice to meet you.”
She grins, because she’s flush and the rest of the room is on its way, and because she doesn’t quite know why. He catches her eye, nods out a beat and they both start their rock steps, quick-quick, slow, slow.
Her good cheer cracks: he’s a forceful lead, and not quite as good as he thinks he is. She loses track of the rhythm and he tries to rush them through a series of moves. They’ve had three minutes together before one instructor yells “Change your partners!” and she gratefully extricates herself. Harry nods, and she thinks he might look a little abashed, but he charges off before she can get a bead on him, and to be honest, she doesn’t really care about one more awkward beginning dance. She leaves half an hour later; grad night started at 10, and it’s still a weekday and she still has to work.
She sees him again at the first day of Swing II. He’s hanging back, watching all the couples, but when he sees her he smiles and nods from across the room. Kate can’t quite remember his name, only his accent and how careful he was with her hands, and how rough he was with everything else.
They spend the first ten minutes learning the new footwork, rock step, triple-step, triple-step. The instructors throw them all together at once, so as not to waste their hour. Within three rotations she’s with him again, though she hadn’t noticed him maneuvering closer.
“Good to see you,” she says, scrabbling for his name.
“Kate, isn’t it?” He’s a terrible liar; it shows all over his face that he remembers perfectly well.
She laughs and steps close to him, waiting for the command from the teachers. “Having fun yet?” He holds out his hand and she sets hers in it. It comes back to her: “Harry!”
He pulls an innocent face. “I made an impression?”
She’s about to retort, but no one else is in closed position; the teachers are talking them through a turn. Kate bites her lip in a playful grimace; Harry seems caught off guard, but he acquiesces and steps away.
When they try it, though, she feels again, that straightening. She looks right into his face instead of down at her feet. He loses track of his footwork once, and she reassures him that it’s fine, and they both count off together and try again. He pushes her around too hard and she tries to make herself do the forms anyway. The follow instructor comes by and stops Kate.
“Remember to keep your hands out, like this.” She demonstrates, her arms a doll-like shape. “If his hand isn’t waiting for you, don’t grab for it. It’s his job to be there at the right time. Fix it for him and he never learns to do it right.”
Harry wags his eyebrows. “No pressure.”
The follow instructor gives him a knowing smile. “Don’t try and cover yourself either. If you’re off or if she’s not there, just do a basic before you try it again. Give yourselves some space. If you force it, you just wind up throwing her around, and we don’t do tosses until Lindy III.”
This was originally posted on Dreamwidth, where it has
comments. I would love to hear from you at DW! If you can see this post, you can comment here using OpenID. Thanks!