Cadenza [June 6th] [Karen; Karen/Aoki] [Tsubasa & X/1999]
Title :: Cadenza
Theme :: June 6th, “Grace is sometimes, even, a raging fire” [31_days]
Fandom :: Tsubasa: RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE interlaced with X/1999
Characters/Pairing :: Karen-dayuu; Karen/Aoki implied; allusions to X!Karen and X!Aoki.
Rating :: PG-13
Wordcount :: 300
Summary :: Karen-dayuu danced; and the body, she believed, remembered.
The body, she believed, remembered.
Routines had, over the years, become precisely that - series of movements that no longer required conscious thought, because the muscles and mind were separate and her body had a knowledge all its own. The steps were to dances she could have waltzed in her sleep, all smooth curves and deceptively delicate arches and thoughtless airy grace. (And always, always, the touch of fire; something as instinctive as the rest and too much a part of her to deny. She wanted to offer the world her warmth, in any capacity she could.)
The body, she believed, could blur lines; and she performed to make herself a bridge. (Male and female, air and fire, ritual and contradiction; she held herself poised in between with hands outstretched.)
But sometimes, the detachment ran too deep, slipping dangerously into something both familiar and foreign. She remembered practised, graceful movements still; that much never changed. But these were somehow sharper, more demanding, off-kilter. She found no freedom in this dance, and instead her muscles ached with strange phantom pangs, with the profound and ironic memory of alone.
She called it déjà vu, letting her own flame caress her skin as her eyes restlessly scanned the crowds. As she endlessly searched in habits just as strongly ingrained.
The memories of the face were untouchable and indistinct as well, curved lips and kind eyes and nothing more (never hands or frames or skin), but her faith in them was just as strong.
And her performances were always their most lovely when she pretended he was watching. (Hovering just behind her shoulder and almost close enough to touch, to lead. To make the connections even she could not and fill the voids her thoughts retreated to escape.)
If you’re out there, dance with me?
Theme :: June 6th, “Grace is sometimes, even, a raging fire” [31_days]
Fandom :: Tsubasa: RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE interlaced with X/1999
Characters/Pairing :: Karen-dayuu; Karen/Aoki implied; allusions to X!Karen and X!Aoki.
Rating :: PG-13
Wordcount :: 300
Summary :: Karen-dayuu danced; and the body, she believed, remembered.
The body, she believed, remembered.
Routines had, over the years, become precisely that - series of movements that no longer required conscious thought, because the muscles and mind were separate and her body had a knowledge all its own. The steps were to dances she could have waltzed in her sleep, all smooth curves and deceptively delicate arches and thoughtless airy grace. (And always, always, the touch of fire; something as instinctive as the rest and too much a part of her to deny. She wanted to offer the world her warmth, in any capacity she could.)
The body, she believed, could blur lines; and she performed to make herself a bridge. (Male and female, air and fire, ritual and contradiction; she held herself poised in between with hands outstretched.)
But sometimes, the detachment ran too deep, slipping dangerously into something both familiar and foreign. She remembered practised, graceful movements still; that much never changed. But these were somehow sharper, more demanding, off-kilter. She found no freedom in this dance, and instead her muscles ached with strange phantom pangs, with the profound and ironic memory of alone.
She called it déjà vu, letting her own flame caress her skin as her eyes restlessly scanned the crowds. As she endlessly searched in habits just as strongly ingrained.
The memories of the face were untouchable and indistinct as well, curved lips and kind eyes and nothing more (never hands or frames or skin), but her faith in them was just as strong.
And her performances were always their most lovely when she pretended he was watching. (Hovering just behind her shoulder and almost close enough to touch, to lead. To make the connections even she could not and fill the voids her thoughts retreated to escape.)
If you’re out there, dance with me?