ooc; written half asleep but I wanted to get a post up xD xx

My brown eyes hastily flipped through a dusty ad book that the librarian had. She was oldâ€"too old almostâ€"and seemingly struggling to not doze off during this fine afternoon. I noted her bright coloured glasses with a dangerous point on each end at the top, feeling a little uneasy with her eyes looming shut so very often.

My finger pad lingered down the page with my mind internally reading every main point. Bartender needed, cleaner needed, babysitter neededâ€"like I would really babysit anything under eighteen if at allâ€"mechanic needed, and then I see it like a bright neon sign in the middle of the desert. DANCERS NEEDED, APPLY AT GIVEN ADDRESS. SEE BELOW, which of course made my eyes trickle down to see more. I had never danced, wellâ€"that is a lie. I had danced.

His name was Marekâ€"in this age translated to Markâ€"and had beautiful blonde hair. His eyes were unmistakeably green, to which made him the only man I had ever fallen for that didn't have blue eyes. His hands were large and chapped from working outside on his father's crops. His skin tanned and bruised from the long hours in the field; some may call them imperfections but I liked to view them as evidence of living.

"Would you care to dance, miss?" He once had asked me so humbly that I nearly melted into a puddle at his feet. That day he had dressed himself in a handsome black suite with a formally fitting tie; the best of the 1900's some might say. I had smiled sheepishly at his formal gesture, but embarrassment slowly faded as I watched his confidence sink. His hand that was held out to guide me started to slightly shake, and I couldn't help but get giddy at the sight. He was worried of my answer while I was worried that I wasn't good enough.

"Thank you," I had replied smittenly before practically falling into his step as he swung me into his chest. We had danced for hours before my father had decided the beer was getting stale and the rum paired with coke had lost its fizz. My burly dad had demanded mother we leave at once, and I had been forced to part with an upsetting goodbye. Even as we exited, I had watched over my shoulder at Marek standing satisfied with this evening. That was the day before the christening, and of course I hadn't seen him since.

He is dead now.

I remember that people told me I am great with movement. I have a musical background and a talent for beats. Maybe this was something I could finally do. At the very least, earn myself cash until I need to jump ship to another city. So I nod to the lady behind the deskâ€"though I am almost positive she let herself fall asleepâ€"and exit out the front door.

The wind nips my nose and snow litters my expensive black trench coat but I am not far from where dancers are needed. The sun is just starting to set and street lights are slowly flickering on as I make my way. Only winter-song birds keep me company as I hum myself a little tune to occupy my mind. My brown hair tangles around my face as the wind decides I look better messy. Nude lips begin to chap as Iâ€"out of habitâ€"lick them furiously. I feel nerves beginning to set as it has been decades since my last interview, and I begin to nibble at the tips of my black painted nails. This will be easy, I tell myself.

The door to the shop is unlockedâ€"I noteâ€"as I hinder in the snow. My left hand has found itself to the door but obviously chickened out on finishing out it's job. My mind has done this plenty of times; convinced my body to do things. For example: Getting dressed had been thanks to my mind this morning. Eating had been thanks to my mind this afternoon. And now, opening the door would be thanks to my mind as well. It ran the show, while my heart complained and wilted at every decision.

"Hi," I say more confidently than I feel which I internally applaud my brain for. "I might be of assistance," I walk past a girl who must have arrived no earlier than I, past another girl looking overly eager, and past a boyâ€"the only boyâ€"who seems almost as content as the first girl had. The ad that had directed me here is placed securely in my hand as I reach it out to the woman securely hanging on to her plump round belly. "I can't say I know how to do that sort of dancing... But I like music and I like challenges, and I know I can make myself be the best if I get opportunity to learn." I don't go into detail of my brief experience of rhythm with Marek because I am sure she won't take waltz into consideration.

"I hope I can help," which I truly hope I can. "Faerie," I quietly add (hoping the reluctancy isn't rolling off my tongue).