[mostly closed/Windrose pseudomingle!]

[tothefly]

Who: Natasha and Mal
Broadcast: Very much nope
Action: SS Windrose, cargo bay
When: right this second

[[If you're a crewmember on the Windrose, come on in and watch Mal hate Natasha, herself, and all of you by turns!]]


Natasha never forgot the steps. She still practices, though it's more out of habit and a sense of zen than any nostalgia for performing. The Bolshoi was so long ago it's practically a dream, though the smell of sawdust and wax still summon the opening echoes of Tchaikovsky and adrenaline.

The cargo bay of the Windrose smells faintly of oil and socks, a poor substitute for a stage, but it's good enough for what they're doing now. On the floor, legs spread in a split as she stretches, she waits for her newest student to show.

Comments

[deshabille]

It feels a bit like being picked apart, and not in a totally comfortable way. Natasha is very good at observing in the sharpest way possible, and Mal is still getting used to it. But she allows the changes and corrections, sharpening her movements as she's told to do.

When Natasha stops in front of her, Mal takes a moment and just - breathes. Memorizes what she's feeling, how she's standing, what her body thinks about it. Then she nods fractionally and exhales.

"A lot of work for one step." But she doesn't mind it so much, not anymore.

[tothefly]

It's not meant to be comfortable, either the pose or the observation. It's meant to feel wrong, to feel exposed, to make one edgy and self-aware. The more conscious Mal is of all these things, all these little things, the better she'll remember each one of them. They'll repeat the same process for the next step, and the next, and so on until she doesn't even have to think about breathing from her diaphragm or imagining a string running from the ceiling to the top of her head and down her spine. She'll just know Correct from Incorrect, and it'll be easier than thought. It's the way she was taught, first ballet and then the rest. The rest was, in fact, nearly easy after the discipline demanded by Mme. Bolishinko. She'd do the same for Mal.

"It is. It's a lot of work for every step. But perfection takes a lot of work." Natasha ends up facing Mal, easily stepping into first position herself. "Second is an easy transition. Just step out, like this. Feet about a foot apart. Keep your turnout, and your core tight."

Once she gets through these, they'll start on arm positions, then drills. Mal should enjoy those.

[deshabille]

Her lips quirk up at that. Perfection. She is used to being effortlessly perfect, and Natasha is right: it makes her sloppy. Her dependence on her natural gifts will let her down one day (as it has already, more than once, although every time she thinks she can get away with it one last time). It will put those around her in danger. She'd never forgive herself if she hurt them.

And anyway, she's beginning to get the hang of this, she thinks. Not the steps, because of course she doesn't know all of them yet, but the spirit of the thing, the point, the purpose, the feel of dance. As she shifts into second position, feeling the tightness in her core, she stares straight forward, attentive in every muscle and tendon of her body.

"Do you believe you've achieved perfection, Natasha?" she asks, almost lazily, her lips quirking at the burn of underused muscles.

[tothefly]

No such thing as effortlessly perfect, Natasha thinks. Effortlessly close enough, maybe, or effortlessly almost-right. Perfection is something one has to be willing to work for, not something you're born to--no matter your natural talents. She's put a lot into her self, and perfect still isn't a word she'd use.

She shifts, and it's a reasonably good start, but Natasha can't tell her that, of course; she has to correct. Has to make sure Mal doesn't stop thinking about it, doesn't start relaxing. "I get closer every day," is her easy answer, an answer spoken on the slow exhale of breath as she settles into the careful familiarity of the position. It's true. She works for it.

"Shoulders back. Don't let your toes slide. Hips turned out, tailbone tucked."

[deshabille]

Mal takes in every correction and makes it with precision, her muscles beginning to acquiesce to her new use of them, the things she's requesting of them now that she never has before. It's rewarding to have her body under this control, which is so different from her normal control; she has to think about this.

"I used to think I was perfect," she says, quite casual. "And then I met you."

[tothefly]

The words make her smile, a quick quirk of her lips as she holds position, shifting her feet carefully into the next position: left foot held steady, right foot brought back towards it and the heel placed firmly in the hollow arch of her left.

"Flattery won't get you out of warm-ups or practice. Third position. Move your right foot towards your left, smoothly. No sudden motion, no lurching. Just one smooth sweep." She demonstrates again, sliding from third to second and back to third. Perfect. Not quite, but she's getting closer all the time. And Mal...well, maybe Mal can get something out of that, too.

[deshabille]

"It's not flattery," she corrects, tipping her chin up. "I don't flatter."

But she'll let it drop if Natasha would rather. Anyway, she's got something else to focus on now. She draws her right foot in, frowns at the staccato motion of her leg. It's harder than it looks, and she tries again and again, slowly but surely achieving smoothness.

[tothefly]

"Just state the facts?" Her voice is still amused as she slides once more into second position, her arms raised to either side. Hands will come later. For now, she slowly completes the motion and undoes it again, walking Mal through each tiny flexing muscle, each inch of the movement.

"Shift your weight onto your supporting leg. Smoothly, centered in the pit of your stomach. Shift, and as you shift, draw your leg in, then re-center." It's hard, harder still to do without that sudden start-and-stop, but balance is the key to everything, and this will help.

[deshabille]

"Yes." She nods, watching Natasha like a hawk, her focus intent and leaning towards predatory. "With you, anyway. I embellish the truth with those less likely to pick up on it."

She never claimed to be a good person, or an honest person, or an open person. Sometimes she just barely manages to be a person at all. But she's satisfied with it, what she has become and is continuing to become, what she is becoming even now.

Shifting her weight as Natasha instructs, she feels the weight of her limbs in her stomach. It's odd to be so conscious of this; movement comes so easily to her normally. It feels as though she's suddenly grown a million new nerves and is trying to figure out how to control them. It's fascinating.

[tothefly]

"So you don't lie to me, because I'm good enough to catch you?" The words have a faint thread of amusement running through them, under her controlled breathing. Funny, because Mal doesn't really know her well enough for that, not yet, but she already seems to have gotten the right impression. Fury had yet to make a lie detector that could beat the Black Widow. She was always one step ahead.

She's still one step ahead, but this time she's got someone doggedly following her. It's a somewhat new experience. Makes her think harder about every motion, every muscle, as she focuses on her own body but watches Mal's. Watches her reform her own methods of moving, copying Natasha as perfectly as she can. Not doing too badly, for a beginner. Not badly at all.

Once she's got third position more or less down, Natasha slides her foot again, this time forward instead of to the side. "Fourth position. Same placement at third, starting with the heel of your lead foot at the arch of your supporting foot, then move your foot forward. It's a slide, not a drag. You should barely brush the floor. Foot still turned outward, strong supporting leg." If she does it all right, after a good practice session she'll have blisters.