Chapter Text
“Excuse me?”
Tobias glanced sharply to his left. He had been trying to decide whether he wanted the turn in this section of the piece to be En Dehors or En Dedans; it changed the tone of the dance completely, and eight dancers landing the turn in unison to the right versus the left– at the three minute and 26 second mark, no less– would surely indicate whether or not he had gotten this one right and it would be ready for opening next week.
Also, he realized with a press of his hand to his stomach, he was very hungry. Did he eat this morning? Yes– yes he did. He ate a croissant with Gabin and then they walked to the theater together and Gabin held his hand and it was nice. He liked croissants; they were like tortillas because they were always good but lighter and fluffier and more buttery. His hunger was unrelated to a lack of breakfast. He’d had a croissant.
Tobias blinked. All of his dancers stood at the bars, chatting and drinking water or stretching. Gabin was rolling his ankle and adjusting the bandana in his hair– distracting. Not good. Cocking his head, Tobias forcibly redirected his attention to the girl who’d asked him a question. Or he’d asked her a question? It was hard to remember anything over the loud, wretched protests in his stomach, and now he missed New York yogurt again. Anyway. It was the short one named Mimi or something else that sounded like that.
“Hello,” he said. “Why is no one dancing?” He asked it pleasantly, because Genevieve said it was good to ask things pleasantly.
The girl whose name might have been Mimi furrowed her eyebrows at him. “What?” she asked.
Tobias felt a flare of irritation in his chest, and reluctantly removed his headphones because her voice was much too quiet to hear over the muffle in his ears— in a studio, no less.
“Dancers. You’re all,” he gestured violently, “not moving. I need moving and I see that none of you are moving. Why is that?”
“You told us to take a break.”
“No.”
“Pardón?”
“I didn’t say that.”
The dancer looked like she was trying not to laugh, and Tobias was surprised by the pang of appreciation in his chest. The girl might have been contributing to the lack of dancing presently plaguing the room, but she also didn’t seem afraid to talk to him. Most people were afraid to talk to him. He reminded himself that he liked that, because it meant people couldn’t bother him.
The pang in his chest felt like appreciation, anyway.
“Gabin suggested we take a break so you could decide on the turn,” the dancer explained, an amused— if slightly bewildered— gleam in her eyes. “You agreed?”
Tobias blanched. “When was this?”
“Six minutes ago!” Gabin called out from the bar, smiling in a way that Genevieve said he only smiled when he was looking at Tobias, who didn’t know if she was trying to trick him or not.
“Impossible. What did you want?” Tobias added, gesturing for the girl to continue.
She shrugged. “It wasn’t important. Just a question about the ending pose. I can ask later if the break is over.”
From the left side of the studio, a tall, lean dancer with pale blue leg warmers called out, “We don’t like delaying rehearsal in Paris, Nepo Baby!”
His tone was jovial– friendly, even, as a wide smile spread across his face and he gestured to the space next to him on the bar, seemingly inviting the young woman to join him. But her face burned red, suddenly, and her eyes turned downcast.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to disrupt rehearsal.”
“What is he talking about?” Tobias asked sharply.
She began pulling at a loose thread on her sleeve, the white fabric only unraveling more as she played with it. Tobias almost asked if she wanted a scissor to cut off the fraying ends.“It’s nothing.”
“Obviously that isn’t true.” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know, but he’d worked with the girl in New York once, and she was good and never asked him stupid questions, and for some reason that made him want to know why her face got red when a man in ugly leg warmers called out to her. “Tell me.”
“Really, it’s fine.”
“Just tell me what I’m missing,” Tobias said frustratedly, failing to understand what on Earth the people around him seemed to get out of being vague and keeping others in the dark for no reason. He realized he might have raised his voice as the dancer flinched slightly and Gabin stood up, crossing to the pair in less than a heartbeat. Shit. Maybe people were scared of him for a reason. It would seem that today, that irked him. Irked him like the dancer with the leg warmers. He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling. It was probably the lack of yogurt in his vicinity.
“Everything okay?” Gabin asked, raising a hand to the small of his lover’s back, which Tobias couldn’t focus on because if he did then he would abruptly cancel rehearsal and make good use of the red piano bench, which seemed like a bad idea. Maybe.
“Fine,” Tobias managed to say.
Gabin narrowed his eyes at him and wordlessly handed him a granola bar. “Right. Mishi?”
Mishi, that was her name. “You were about to explain,” said Tobias. He didn’t say it like a question as he tore into the granola bar with a word of thanks to Gabin.
The girl– Mishi– shrunk back in a way that made her seem young, and Tobias idly wondered how old she was. Her shoulders got bunchy in the same way that his sometimes did.
“He was just–” Mishi bit her lip, and her left eye twitched like she was arguing with herself. The part of her that was bothered about something clearly won, because she said, “Henri doesn’t think you should have picked me for the dance, that’s all. It is not a big deal.”
Tobias stared at her. “But… you’re good,” he said bluntly.
“You do not know me.” There was something suspicious in her tone, something that Tobias was pretty sure he didn’t like. He definitely didn’t like having to spell things out for a teenager, especially because if Tobias didn’t personally know someone, he had no clue as to why a compliment from him, specifically, would matter very much, and he certainly didn’t know Mishi. He wondered if she was fishing for praise.
“I do know you,” he argued. “Objectively. So why does Hector–”
“Henri.”
“Henri think that you shouldn’t be in my dance?”
Mishi clearly didn’t like having to spell things out, either, and a surge of not-quite-understanding but not not understanding, either, coursed through him. She sighed through her nose and said, “He just… thinks you chose me because of my mom. See? Not important.”
From beside him, Gabin swore under his breath. “Still?” he moaned with a roll of his eyes. Mishi frowned at him, a surprised crease in her eyebrows.
Tobias, for his part, wondered if everyone in the room was playing some kind of prank on him. There was a missing puzzle piece to this picture, one he evidently wasn’t going to find on his own. He glanced at Gabin like the answers to his bewilderment might be hidden somewhere in his face. They weren’t, but sometimes they were, so it had been worth a try.
“Who is your mother?” Tobias asked, exasperated.
Mishi’s jaw dropped, and even Gabin laughed in surprise, and for a second Tobias wondered if it was the mean kind of laugh but he knew it couldn’t have been. He squirmed as the two dancers looked at each other, clearly in on something that Tobias wasn’t. He put his headphones back on.
Gabin stopped laughing. “Mishi’s mother, Top Gun,” he said. “Clea Duplessis. French Minister of Culture.”
“So?” Tobias crossed his arms.
Gabin winced. “So… some of the dancers here think that Mishi, eh…”
“They think I only get solos– that I got here in the first place– because Big Scary Madam Duplessis called around and started demanding things,” Mishi finished impatiently.
Tobias blinked. “What kind of things?” he asked.
Mishi glared at him. “The not true kind of things,” she said, and it sounded vaguely like a warning.
The pieces were slowly falling into place, and Tobias looked between his partner and Mishi. “I’m sorry, Henri thinks you’re in this dance because your mother made me?”
Mishi shrugged. “Yes. Most of them do.”
“Most of them?”
“Yes.”
“Why would they think that?”
“Calm down, Tobias,” Gabin muttered gently, in that way of his that actually made Tobias calm down.
He huffed. “This is ridiculous.” Turning to his left, Tobias marched toward the bar. “You! Leg Warmers.”
Henri, all six feet of him, looked up in surprise and pointed at himself.
“You. Yes. Hi! Just curious. What power do you think the French Minister of… Something–”
“Culture!” Gabin called out.
“Culture,” Tobias gritted out. “Why would she hold authority over me?”
Henri looked bewildered. “I’m… sorry?” he asked.
“My choreography would be ruined if even one of you was a sub-par dancer. So I’m wondering just exactly why you think the word of a French woman whom I do not know nor have I ever spoken to would dictate who is and isn’t good enough to be in my dance. Because to me that doesn’t make any sense, but it appears that most of my dancers are under this impression, and I’d like it to be cleared up. Is that something you can help me with?”
Henri glared over Tobias’ shoulder, presumably at Mishi, and Tobias moved to block his gaze. He wasn’t sure why this was making him so angry, but Mishi was a good dancer and she had been a good dancer in New York, too, and if word spread that he only let spoiled children into his ballet because he was easy to control– by French people– no one would ever take him seriously as a choreographer. Not to mention that Mishi was a good dancer and if you’re good then others are supposed to know that you’re good. Besides, she smiled at him whenever he met her eye instead of quickly looking away in fear.
“Mishi is light on her feet, and she smiles at the audience like she's comfortable and not like the dance is too much for her to handle,” said Tobias. “Which is more than I can say for you, especially regarding that last bit, if you’d like to work on that. It would be good if you did. She’s also excellent at leaping. Happy?”
Henri said nothing.
“Good.” Tobias walked away, announcing, “We’re back!” to the room.
Dancers slowly peeled away from the bars and corners of the room to reassume positions as Tobias crossed to his preferred place to watch the rehearsal on the wall opposite from the piano.
Mishi stopped him. “Thank you, Tobias.” She looked like she wanted to say something else, but she seemed to change her mind and offered him a tight smile.
Tobias did not particularly feel that they were on a first name basis. He should correct her. He opened his mouth to do just that, but instead found himself saying, “Take the turn En Dehors.”
Mishi looked at him for a moment. Then she nodded once. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He clapped loud enough for the room to hear as Mishi scurried to her place beside Gabin. “I’m playing the music from the top. Start again.”