tomorrow starts now // rwaht!

[Angel Sinclaire]

and she said tomorrow starts now

When she was on stage, the audience didn't exist. The bar didn't exist. There was nothing but air beneath her feet and the warm light of the candle-lit chandelier on her skin, and she was happy.

This was what she was born to do.

It was a familiar routine in an unfamiliar place; this was a small bar way out of town, very much off the beaten track. There were less than a half-dozen people in the whole place, but that didn't matter. It didn't matter if she had their attention or if the few patrons resented her bright, whirling presence; she was doing what she loved and she was getting paid to do it. Even if her light-footed steps were on a hastily constructed, somewhat rickety mockery of a stage, it didn't matter.

Angel threw her head back and grinned. Step, step, twirl; the loose fabric of her skirt and sleeves erupted in veritable waves with every move she made, making every step seem that much more graceful. It was a simple routine, elegant. She had done it a thousand times before, and by the time she had finished, she wasn't even breathing hard.

But her smile never faded.

[rwaht]

x x

Path of Honour

The swordsman sat to the back of the room,

watching the dancer in silence. He supposed he wasn't much of a swordsman any more. He didn't even carry a real one, just a wooden sword that he disguised as a walking staff. The impressively foolish would likely be tempted to compare the dancer to a swordsman. Only one who did not take a cutting edge seriously could ever compare it to a dance. Dancing was only of grace and beauty. Swords only involved killing, which was as graceless and ugly an art as there could have been imagined. He enjoyed watching dancers. Their art was for nothing other than the happiness of others, and themselves. There was precious little, in Rwaht's mind, that was more admirable, than a devotion to peaceful beauty.

He did not often get out, to places like this, so busy was he with the protection of his daughter and ensuring her peace of mind and body. Every now and again, though, he would take these small moments for himself, to simply enjoy the atmosphere of the waking world. It was something he too easily forgot, and distanced himself from; he needed to be aware of other men not only to preserve his sense of reality, but also to maintain his sense of how best to protect his daughter. Well apart from his own enjoyment, he needed to know where she might be accepted, where not, where her reveal would result in bigotry or even active violence. Nothing mattered more to him than keeping her safe, and as happy as she could be.

Right now she was sleeping, though she'd probably wake up in a couple of hours or so. He knew he probably should begin to leave, but the dancing was nice, and something about the atmosphere of the place kept him there. There was a sort of ... peace to it that he appreciated. It left him with his thoughts, which, contrary to what one might expect, were not of loss or regret. When he was alone, at peace, his thoughts typically drifted to one place, and it was a happy one.