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"And Ophelia's solo! Let's keep it moving," Echizen Nanjirou called, leaning against the mirrored wall by the piano with careful casualness that couldn't quite hide his pedigree as one of the National Ballet's most legendary principals. Atobe had grown up studying his leaps and spins, just like every dancer in this room, and most in any studio around the world. Now as a principal in his own right, he relished the opportunity every day offered to surpass the master in his own company. His pas de deux partner piquéd her way through what everyone else in the studio called "the crazy dance", with its alternating waltz time and 6/8 time while Atobe himself stayed warm at the barre.
Arms draped over the wooden beam to either side of him, he dropped into a grande plié in second and held it, pushing his quads to strengthen the wide pose while working his glutes and stretching his hamstrings almost into split position. He had his own crazy dance coming up soon, and he damn well wasn't going to pull anything. There'd be no time to heal with the show in three weeks. Not that there was ever a good time to pull your groin, but Hamlet did so many split leaps in a row in his next bit, Atobe felt like a damn jumping jack.
Sanada said, "You're slacking," of course, between sips from his water bottle and efforts to perfect his tendu and dégagé beyond human limits. "Stand up straight."
"I am visualizing! To portray the Bard's words with one's body instead of one's lips requires the ultimate internalization of every syllable! I must not act Hamlet, I must be Hamlet."
"Unless you straighten your back, you'll be Hamlet with abysmal posture. Your muscles remember everything you do with them."
"Yes, which is why you, my friend, have no ability to relax." Straightening up, pushing from grand plie into a series of small jumps to shake out the stretch, he took a drink of his own water bottle and scanned the room. "Did you see the little Prince's rehearsal? His father would have a fair argument to promote him to a full soloist, and skip demi-soloist altogether. He's coming up fast. We'll have some competition in the next casting. Do you think he got Fortinbras in the A cast so the managers can do a 'Debuting New Talent' feature?"
"I'm not scared."
"I didn't say I was scared. I can still dance circles around a kid his age."
"Don't take him out drinking to get him wasted before auditions like you did with the last one. He's the director's son."
"I would never. Besides, I merely invited Akazawa out as a gesture of welcome from his fellow featured dancers. My motives were pure. No one made him drink an entire bottle of tequila."
"I often wonder why I put up with your bullshit, Atobe."
"Because I am an exquisite dancer whose artistry you respect," he answered, despite Sanada's scoff, "my wit is flawless, as is my taste in wine, I can cook, and my fellatio is as expert as my pirouettes -- which is to say, I am perfection itself."
"Shut up and practice your penché. Your hips are always out of alignment and you look like a duck fishing in a pond."
"You wound me, sir."
Although his balance never did feel quite right. Nanjirou was still coaching their Ophelia in how he wanted a series of jétés to go, so they'd have a few minutes yet. Straightening up next to the barre, he brought his leg to arabesque, as high behind him as he could go. Sanada stepped in without needing to be asked, laying hands on his hips from behind like they'd all learned in their first lessons in partner dancing. "Remember to stay square when you take it forward."
"Your hands are more useful than your commentary, my dear Sanada."
He knew perfectly well he had to square his hips. He was a professional. And he was certain he kept everything in proper order as he took the dip forward, keeping his back pressed as close to his leg as humanly possible. There was nothing wrong with his leg's extension toward the ceiling, his core was solid, his arms curving back like wings were certainly nothing anyone could complain about. And yet something wasn't quite right. Sanada's grip tightened, shifting his hips a few millimeters, but the feeling didn't go away.
"I don't think hips work the way you think they work."
"I know where someone's positioning needs to be in a penché. I've partnered on them thou--"
"You realize, of course, that men's hips and women's hips are entirely different."
"That's beside the point. You'll be doing this one without support, so it needs to be perfect."
"Everything needs to be perfect."
There was just enough time to loosen up again and take another swig of water before Nanjirou called, "Hamlet! Claudius! Get your asses over here. Take it from the top of the confessional."
They took their places in the center of the room, quickly but careful not to seem rushed, and fell into character with the first notes of the tango rhythm coming from the piano. He, standing with his back to the mirror/audience, would melt into the black draperies of the scene's set while Sanada did Claudius's dance of sin. He didn't need to see the slow turn, like a fall into a tombé with his hand up to shield his eyes, to know that Sanada had hit his mark perfectly as always. The whispers of his feet were enough. Like the music, that started quietly, his at first subtle movements built from smaller, lower turns to a run of tour jetés, spinning in soaring spirals in a circuit of the room. Finally, in a last crescendo, casting himself to his knees with his hands up to Heaven, slowly bringing them down in prayer.
What Sanada sometimes lacked in spontaneity, he made up in verve, as always. But Atobe was hardly too lost in admiration to miss his own cue. He pivoted, going from utter stillness that could be mistaken for a set piece to a burst of movement, lunging toward his praying dance partner with his fingers in claws. Slow, liquid steps brought him closer, leaning to either side, stepping back to pull a sword from a corps member representing a piece of armor they'd have on stage.
"Like you want to kill him, Hamlet, not fuck him! Remember, you think he's a filthy, murdering, sister-screwing douchebag!"
Right. More contortion of rage in his face, a more aggressive angle to his pose. He visualized the motion of running the sword through Sanada's back, pushing himself to act like he really might do it up until the musical cue to turn away. Raising his own hands to the sky, he hammed up a stroll to the opposite side of the floor and started in on his jumping splits, ending in a swoon to the ground. All through his torque into fourth on the floor and his steps back toward Claudius, he fought down the nervousness in his gut with a healthy dose of his his persona's dilemma. How, and when, to best kill his uncle? But that damn penché was coming. The end of their little tango.
He lifted. He pulled himself up and let his leg push his torso down so he curved into the praying Claudius's space. He would be perfect!
The smack of Nanjirou's rolled-up notes on the asscheek of his standing leg tensed his muscles in a flash, shifting the alignment of his leg and back with a twist that he was surprised didn't crack his spine. Instead, it tightened his back muscles more than he realized they could go -- but his balance felt perfect. So this was where he needed to be! Clearly he'd have to make time for more reverse sit-ups in his regimen. If he tried to do this for too long without a little extra training, he'd risk a cramp during the performance.
"He was right about you looking like a duck, you know," Nanjirou whispered. "And about what I'll do to you if you get my son wasted. Don't be a dick, Il Divo."
"Yes, Maestro."
"All right, not bad, people. Everybody here take an hour for lunch!" The director pointed at Atobe. "Except you. Time to teach you the 'To be or not to be' variation."
He nodded silently, waiting for Nanjirou to go discuss music with the pianist before offering Sanada a hand he didn't need to get up -- which he promptly used to pull in close for a goodbye peck on the lips. "Get me Thai, would you? Extra noodles? I'm thinking I'll hit the weight room after rehearsal today."
"Don't overexert yourself."
"I would never."
And with yet another a disbelieving scoff (well earned), Sanada left the room. Hopefully to return by the end of this lesson with a carton full of delicious noodles.