DH Skies
June 26, 2018 9:28 AM
Dance lessons by DH Skies
A few weeks before the ball, posters had appeared in all the common rooms, reminding the students that the portraits of the MARS dance room were available to offer instruction. The posters had been addressed to all students, and she thought there were any number who might want to improve their skills before the dance, though personally she wanted to remind the prefects in particular. After all, now that they were all fifth years and older, they’d probably got into their particular habits with using the rooms, and the availability of help might have slipped their minds. Some prefects would not be in need of instruction, of course, having grown up with dance lessons but, where she could, she liked to level the playing field between those of different backgrounds. Sonora was, in many ways, a fairly liberal school, and she was sure its founders had not meant to make any kind of class statement when they chose to have a ball in the rotation of summer events - they had lived in an era when everyone knew how to dance (at least, that was her mental picture of said era - whether accurate or not was another matter). However, times had changed, and it was the case that only a certain type of student grew up being taught how to waltz. She did not want those prefects who weren’t from a Pureblood background to be shown up. Certainly, a lesson or two in MARS was not going to bring them up to the standards of people who had taken their first steps in three-four timing, but it gave them a fighting chance of getting through the thing without stumbling.The reminder had advised students to ask for Ms. Adelaide. Selina had tried entering the MARS rooms in a number of different mindsets and found different portraits upon doing so. Some had had rather a brisker manner than others, or attitudes she didn’t find entirely pleasant. The portrait of Ms. Adelaide showed an elderly woman, hair pulled back in a harsh grey bun but with kind eyes. She seemed gentle, and had smiled encouragingly even when Selina had deliberately fumbled her steps in front of her. She had clearly loved to dance, and loved to see other people enjoy it. Her only slight flaw as a tutor was that she would go off on occasional rambles about dances she had attended in her youth, and the gallant young men she had met at these parties (an avenue Selina had also pushed, just to see where it might go, but the stories all seemed perfectly innocent - Adelaide appeared to have been a beauty and an accomplished flirt, but not to have done anything terribly scandalous that should not be said in front of teenagers. Or at least, nothing she’d seemed willing to admit to).
In the non-space of not-yet MARS, Adelaide’s portrait waited to be summoned by someone entering the room with her name in mind. Hopefully any prefects in need would take advantage of the help, along with anyone else who wanted to make the most of attending an occasion like the ball.
OOC - as with all the MARS portraits, you are free to write for Adelaide, and/or to have your character summon a different portrait if they have particular qualities in mind for a dance tutor when they enter the room.
Subthreads: Why can’t you be real? by Heinrich Hexenmeister with Sylvia Mordue
Studying foreign customs. by Tatiana Vorontsova
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DH Skies
Dance lessons
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DH Skies
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Heinrich Hexenmeister
June 26, 2018 12:28 PM
Why can’t you be real? by Heinrich Hexenmeister
Heinrich had thought he had a pretty rounded education. His tutors taught him practical things like reading and math, and cultural things like music and dance and literature. He’d even had English lessons that he had believed he was doing very well in until he found himself attending an English speaking school.It was this latter failure to pick up the foreign language as well as a native speaker that also had him doubting his dancing skills. He’d gotten the basics at home, of course, but he had never actually attended a German ball nevermind an American one.
So after seeing the fliers up in the common room (his reading comprehension was good enough now that he’d only struggled over a few of the words) he found himself down in the MARS dance room, hoping the portrait instructor was familiar with German dance as well as American dance, and could maybe speak German, too.
He was surprised therefore when the woman in the portrait did not introduce herself as Ms. Adelaide as the posters had recommended, but instead said, “Hallo, ich bin Frau Schmitt. Willst du tanzen lernen?”
Heinrich almost cried. He wanted to hug her, but she was just a painting. So he kept himself in check, swallowed the big lump in his throat, and croaked out, in German, “I know a little, but what will the Americans expect me to know for their ball?”
OOC: the portrait says “Hello, I am Mrs. Smith. Do you want to learn to dance?”
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Heinrich Hexenmeister
Why can’t you be real?
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Heinrich Hexenmeister
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Sylvia Mordue
June 29, 2018 10:47 AM
How about me instead? by Sylvia Mordue
Sylvia had ordered a perfectly lovely gown for the ball, one which would compliment her Christmas jewellery nicely, and she was very much looking forward to getting all dressed up in her beautiful things. However, the ball could not yet be said to be living up to her expectations. Victor Callahan had asked Emerald Brockert quite early on in the year, and Sylvia readily understood why - Emerald was pretty, and was Victor’s age and was the granddaughter of the headmaster. Sylvia was very aware that she could not realistically compete there. And with Victor having set the bar that high, it was sort of inevitable that Winston would follow. She couldn’t see him really taking her when Victor had such a superior date, and the age gap between them had suddenly seemed really very big, and she thought maybe she might be better focussing on people her own age. Excluding Nate, there were only a handful of suitable boys in her class. There was the other Callahan, but she had never particularly taken to him. He didn’t seem to have the strength or presence that his brother did, and she thought she had heard his name being giggled over in Cascade Hall, although she wasn’t sure why. There was the Montoir boy, but he might feel unfriendly to them seeing as Nathaniel had accidentally punched him, and anyway there seemed to be the possibility that he was dating the Russian girl - they were certainly very close, and Sylvia had seen him caressing her during Transfiguration, a move she certainly would not have expected from a young man unless he was her sweetheart, but then they were both European, after a fashion. Vladimir Brockert was a possibility, although she didn’t really know him at all. In her own year, there was Beauregard Tate, who was a little arrogant, and Heinrich Hexenmeister who was weird and foreign. She had decided to keep an eye on the three latter boys, and to see what chances presented themselves.She was just exiting the music room, having been practising some singing, when she saw Heinrich’s blond head disappear into the dance room. That was… interesting. She had seen the posters in the Common Rooms (or rather had seen the one in Crotalus, and had had it confirmed by Nate that Teppenpaw also had one). Heinrich was supposed to be proper. Heinrich was not supposed to be the kind of person who needed to be brushing up on dance. Of course, he could have been going there for non-ball related reasons, but it was hard to imagine most boys doing a lot of voluntary dance in their free time. Sylvia hesitated a moment, and then followed, finding Heinrich in conversation with one of the portraits, both of them speaking German.
“Hello,” she greeted him. “Are you practising the type of dance that needs a partner?” she queried. If so, that gave her a good chance to evaluate his potential.
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Sylvia Mordue
How about me instead?
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Sylvia Mordue
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Tatiana Vorontsova
July 03, 2018 1:51 PM
Studying foreign customs. by Tatiana Vorontsova
Tatiana knew how to dance, of course. It was part of a proper young lady’s education, a form of exercise which was also supposed to support grace and self-control (this had not worked out as well as Mama might have hoped in Tatiana’s case), there were traditions that required girls to dance, and it could even be fun. She was not, however, sure she knew how to dance like an American girl.Dancing at home was an energetic affair. The bals blancs were more sedate, but traditional dances and the rumors of what went on at the bals roses - oh! She could hardly imagine some of the American girls she had seen keeping up. Sometimes Mama and Papa didn’t return home until four in the morning during the Season – and never mind that Mama did sit down half the time now. Tatiana had heard that when Mama was a young woman, she had been one of the best dancers in St. Petersburg – that she had danced so well with Papa at the bals roses and the suppers at the Restoran Gavana shortly after their marriage that other men had wanted to fight Papa over her. She must have been able to keep time very well and shown marvelous posture and proficiency for them to get that animated over dancing – Mama said that dancing was a good way to show strength (the mazurkas were very fast, and the khovorod required everyone to move together just so or they’d bump into each other) and discipline, but that ladylike behavior and good taste were more important factors for a young man looking for a wife, so her dancing must have been really really strong and disciplined.
American girls, however, were different. Jasmine was fun, and Ingrid was fun. Tatiana had at times been under the impression that many of the others were frail, and she had worried for them occasionally – her sister Anya really was frail, she had had a complaint with her lungs when she was a baby and she still lost her breath easily, but she had discipline to a point it was held up to Tatiana as an example: she would complete her part in a khovorod for the town festivals and attend the balls she was expected to attend as a young lady no matter how tired she was afterward. At the Bonfire, Tatiana had not seen anyone dance (what was the purpose of setting a great big fire if no-one was going to perform a circle dance around it?) and one never really saw most of the American girls exerting themselves at all. So what did they do at a ball?
Ask for Ms. Adelaide, the sign had told her. French name. The French danced well – quadrille, a proper dance for an unmarried young lady, that was a French word. Now if she could just say it correctly….
When the room became a dance room, there was a portrait of a grey-haired woman. Tatiana looked at her. “You Msss Adlaid?” she asked.
The portrait hesitated, apparently not initially sure of what she had said, but then nodded and smiled. “Yes, dear,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“I want to know how American girl dances,” said Tatiana, and steeled herself for a long afternoon.
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Tatiana Vorontsova
Studying foreign customs.
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Tatiana Vorontsova
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