One. [OPEN]

[amable côté]

God I'm a dancer.
A Dancer dances.
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Amable walked into an empty practice room and tossed her purble bag in front in of the mirror. She threw her green plaid hoodie on top of her bag and looked in the mirror. She was wearing her usual black tanktop on top of her back tight dancer pants and her hair was back in a messy bun. Amable reached into her bag and pulled out her ballet shoes. She slipped them on swiftly and laced them up her legs. She walked over to the boombox and popped in her CD. Amable turned it on to track eight and pressed play. She stood in front of the mirror and waited for the music to turn on. Her singing voice was alright, but a bit raspy. She sang along to the music.

Give me somebody to dance for,
Give me somebody to show.
Let me wake up in the morning to find
I have somewhere exciting to go.

Amable turned to the left, her arms in fifth postion. Kick, kick and legs fourth postion. She loved to dancer for herself because she invisioned herself on a stage, somewhere dancing for a large crowd. Step, step, ballotté. She landed the jump with ease and faced front. Chassé, chassé. Amable grinned as she threw her head back. She loved this song. Amable felt just like Cassie in A Chorus Line. She imagined herself under the lights, singing to Zach, asking to be in the show. Amable didn't want to be an actress, but she felt the emotion Cassie was feeling.

Give me somebody to dance with.
Give me a place to fit in.
Help me return to the world of the living
By showing me how to begin.

Play the music.
Give me the chance to come through.
All I ever needed was the music, and the mirror,
And the chance to dance for you.

Relevé, détourné, en face. Amable never dared dance like this in front of anyone at Hoffman. she was strictly a ballerina, and it would be embarassing to have anyone see her outside of her element. She never sang in front of people, because she wasn't a voice major and she wasn't that good. Fouetté en tournant, keeping turning. She stopped facing the door to catch her breath during a small break in the music.

[liam rewoldt!]

it was just another ordinary day for liam, following an ordinary routine with ordinary events; wake up, eat, get dressed, dance, dance, dance, eat some more, and then sleep. repeat. you could basically see his passion for dancing, breathing, eating, and living just for the feel of the air brushing against him with every swift movement he made. it also brought out his competitive side, no doubt about it, making sure every foot step and arm swing he made was absolutely beyond perfect. and dancing was just a way to get away, yes, get away from everything, his past, his life, his dead brother.

liam took swift, confident strides towards the dance studio, as a simple black strap rested on his shoulder. his backpack, which quite obviously rested and sagged on his back, was filled with a pair of dance clothes, shoes, a healthy supply of water bottles, and a handful of jazz albums. the items collided against each other, causing to make faint, little clashing noises along the way to the infamous dance studio.

he was simply clad in a pale blue, button-up shirt, with an array of green, blue, and purple thin stripes running downwards. the sleeves were scrunched up to his elbow, and it was left unbuttoned, revealing a regular white tee-shirt. jeans hugged his hips, with a somewhat loose fit. what was with it these days with guys and skin-tight pants? a pair of fresh converse accompanied his feet, finishing off his outfit. a hand was lifted, raking through his brown locks.

when liam arrived at the door of the dance studio, he heard an unfamiliar singing voice. his curious hazel eyes stole a glance into the limited, transparent space of the window, spotting amable. a grin appeared on his face, as his fingers twisted the metal knob. "hey there," he said, after entering the studio.