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Momo was proud of the many things that her girlfriend had done. She was proud of her for sticking through UA, The War, for getting over her many fears and becoming a hero, even for being brave enough to meet her parents. And here she was, tackling yet another hurdle.
“Very good! Now just repeat those steps, one, two, three…one, two-oh!” Momo paused in her lessons. Mioko had pulled away, frustrated, and crossed the distance from the middle of the ballroom where they danced to the corner set at the side with tea and snacks. One of the two maids on standby left to replace the quickly dwindling jamon ibérico that Mioko was currently stress eating. Momo sighed and walked over to her girlfriend. She could already see her crest opening up and spewing fire.
The redhead didn't want to tell her what was going on, but Momo knew. She was nervous over going to the ball and being formally presented as her soon-to-be-fiancée. Mioko could deal with hero events, she would smile for a bit then scurry off to the side. Her rankings were not super important, she just wanted to help and do what she could. But knowing about the impending ball that was in a few week's time, it wasn't just her she had to worry about. Her reputation could tank for all she cared, but it was different now. Everything she did could now affect Momo. Now it wasn't just the vultures of the press she had to watch out for, but also high society. She didn't have to care for higher ups before, they gave her nothing, she owed them nothing. Now? Now they were the people she had to talk to, make nice with and hope they liked her. They were people in Momo’s circle, or people related to her circle. If she ever decided to badmouth some CEO, she would have to pause before speaking and wonder if he was Momo’s distant cousin, or her father’s golf buddy.
And now, the dancing. Momo had been trying to teach her ballroom dancing, but it drove her nuts. After the first few steps she began to zone out, the music lulling her to sleep rather than actually making her want to move. She greatly admired the people that did it, and sometimes found herself envious of it, but she understood that it just wasn't her schtick. But she wanted to look good for Momo, and it all just served to make her even more frustrated.
A hand was placed on top of her wing as her claws reached for a handful of almonds and pistachios to shovel in her already full mouth. Mioko stopped, and looked to the side, agitated. Her crest died down as soon as she saw who it was. She swallowed the half chewed food in her mouth painfully. Momo smiled at her sadly, and asked her what was wrong.
Mioko’s hand dropped to her side and she looked down, ashamed. “I want to-I don't want to make you look bad . I am trying my best, but I just can't! And it's so frustrating!” Mioko’s crest opened up and was set ablaze once more. Her eyes held unshed tears, her claws dug into her palms, her talons threatened to break past their caps and destroy the polished floor.
“I know. I know you are trying your best, and you would never make me look bad.” Momo said, making a wet wipe and cleaning the blood and salt off of Mioko’s hands. “Maybe we could try another approach? The party is a few weeks away, we still have time to change it up a bit. Perhaps another type of dance?”
Mioko sighed and mumbled; “I know another type of dance, but I'm not sure it will be seen as ‘proper’ or whatever…not high-brow enough.”
“Show me.”
The day of the party came, and Mioko had kept to herself in one of the rooms, fussing over her clothes. She kept staring at herself in the full length mirror in Momo's room. She swished the white skirt to and fro, fixing her colorful head covering and looking over her makeup. Momo's face appeared in the reflection, leaning over and resting on her shoulder.
"You look lovely. I'm sure they will love it."
Mioko took a deep calming breath, and smiled at her beloved, letting her take her hand and carry her off to where the party was already taking place. She looked down from the banister over the hall where she had previously endured the ballroom dancing lessons, and later on taught Momo her own dance. They descended quickly, and Momo signaled to the musicians she had hired (the ones for Mioko, not her usual string quartet) to begin taking their place. Mioko stood in the shadows as the drummers filed in. Part of her loathed the idea of some huge announcement, and standing on some big stage. Besides, here, among the people, was where it could be danced best. Not separated up there.
People, mostly men, in white clothes flooded the area with huge drums, and all sat in a circle. Some of the party-goers looked a bit confused. Whispers, murmurs, a performance? The people chatted amongst themselves, wondering at the nature of the display. Mioko's ears twitched.
Then, silence.
A maraca .
Mioko picked up her skirts and entered the drum circle, lining her space, strolling and glowing vibrantly, her long tail swishing behind and sweeping alongside her. She stepped in the center, and waited. And then, finally, words.
Dicen la negra Martina
Qué brinca por los palacios
Cayó dentro de una olla
De bandazo entre las mallas.
And then drums. Mioko stomped to the rhythm, gave her salutations to the primo and began her dance.
¡De bandazo va ella, de bandazo!
¡De bandazo anda ella, de bandazo!
¡Ay, qué de bandazo, oh!
¡De bandazo!
¡La negra Martina cayo en la malla de bandazo!
Here, in this foreign land, a place where she never imagined her drums would speak, Mioko stepped firmly, and set her challenge to the primo , who would have to either keep up or lose the game. Here, she danced with the rhythm of the earth, and felt the drums vibrate across the dance floor. Quick, short steps, as she raised her skirt, backing up, and then ending with her hands on her hips. She looked at the primo, then at everyone else, a challenge for anyone to take her place, to do what she was doing, and knowing that no one could. Not because they lacked the skill or the know-how but because in that moment, she absolutely knew that she was the best. She was a queen, a leader, a force to be reckoned with. Fire, and hurricane, and the blood of each and every person that came before her. There, in the center of the drum circle, there was no one that could question who she was, or her worth.
She was leading them all.
¡De bandazo va ella, de bandazo!
¡De bandazo anda ella, de bandazo!
¡Se pasaba todo el dia
buscando, busca en Palacio
a ver si alguien la queria pero todo fue un fracaso!
Momo's eyes shone with unshed tears, her girlfriend had never looked more beautiful than now that she was in her element. Swaying hips, rolling shoulders, Mioko kept up her dance and invited the drummers to up the tempo, telling the story of her struggles. Hands began to clap along with the drums, and it seemed to energize her even more. Her head covering was actually set aflame, her hair coming loose after its destruction. Her crest in full display, hair on fire, and tail spread, she was a sight to see. Mioko sent her a smile, and jerked her head, inviting her to the dance floor.
¡De bandazo va ella, de bandazo!
¡De bandazo anda ella, de bandazo!
¡Ay, qué de bandazo, oh!
¡De bandazo!
¡Ahi va la negra, va la negra, de bandazo!
Momo had been taught a few basic steps before the ball, and despite her inexperience (and understanding that it was only supposed to be one dancer at a time), she entered. She gave her salutations to the primo, who smiled at her. At the very least she could do that part right. Momo seriously hoped that he would actually follow Mioko instead of her.
¡De bandazo va ella, de bandazo!
¡De bandazo anda ella, de bandazo!
¡Hoy toditos la recuerdan,
cuando resbalo en Palacio
cuando se cayo en la olla en la malla paso a paso!
The dance actually got even more heated, now that they were dancing together. Mioko couldnt contain her smoldering gazes, and Momo felt the heat being in such close proximity (as much as was allowed in bomba) to the phoenix hero. She copied her girlfriend and tried to follow her as closely as possible, but with admittedly less confidence. Regardless, at some point, Momo found herself focusing more on enjoying herself and less on if she actually looked good dancing. And if Momo was being honest, she preferred this to whatever other thing she was trying to teach Mioko. She already felt that this had been the right choice, but seeing the happiness in the red-head's face just confirmed it.
¡De bandazo va ella, de bandazo!
¡De bandazo anda ella, de bandazo!
¡Ay, qué de bandazo, oh!
¡De bandazo!
¡La negra Martina cayo en la malla de bandazo!
More stomping, more twirls, more skirts swaying to and fro. Mioko let out a trill from deep in her throat out to the heavens, a shrill bird-like call that startled some of the party goers. Momo answered with a laugh full of glee and joy. Any worries had faded away for the both of them, nothing mattered now but the music, the drums, and eachother.