Claude has met enough first row patrons of the ballet to know that Vincent's description is far from inaccurate. The fat opera divas (fatter, even, than those who sing on stage) with their jewellery and their husbands whom one might have felt sorry for weren't they disgusting scum - they render such a matter as women's suffrage highly complicated, because the husbands make it so very obvious how important voting rights would prove in the hands of the women they oppress, prostitutes and dancing girls who have no alternatives than to bite in the dirt, while the ladies... Have you heard them, though? They are shrill. Unlike Vincent whose voice is lighter than Claude's own, but rather sharply accented, too. Like musical notes when you read them on the sheets, only to hear them translated into something much softer and much more poetic in execution.
Raising an eyebrow, partly at himself, partly at the question, he leads the both of them around the corner onto Rue la Fayette where the electrical lighting is stark and chases their shadows behind them which is undoubtedly the fitting place for them to be, tonight. "The ballet master has yet to find a successful way to withstand my charms," he answers, keeping a chuckle at bay mainly due to the fact that it is a gross understatement. As bad as Claude has felt for the disaster that struck their repertory two seasons ago, it cannot compare to the guilt that has been eating away at Jules - at seeing his rising star rot amongst the corps dancers who possess no skills to help reinvent the company's dying style. If nothing else, then for the sake of his own vanity. "Other than that, it's an in-house secret that the middle seat of the first row is never sold until last minute, should the President need to show favours."
They have had memorable incidents, backstage, where it's been announced that they were performing for foreign ministers, ambassadors, delegates, even the President's mistress only five minutes before going into the wings. Compared to that sort of pressure, dancing for Vincent was the greatest pleasure, in every conceivable way.
no subject
Raising an eyebrow, partly at himself, partly at the question, he leads the both of them around the corner onto Rue la Fayette where the electrical lighting is stark and chases their shadows behind them which is undoubtedly the fitting place for them to be, tonight. "The ballet master has yet to find a successful way to withstand my charms," he answers, keeping a chuckle at bay mainly due to the fact that it is a gross understatement. As bad as Claude has felt for the disaster that struck their repertory two seasons ago, it cannot compare to the guilt that has been eating away at Jules - at seeing his rising star rot amongst the corps dancers who possess no skills to help reinvent the company's dying style. If nothing else, then for the sake of his own vanity. "Other than that, it's an in-house secret that the middle seat of the first row is never sold until last minute, should the President need to show favours."
They have had memorable incidents, backstage, where it's been announced that they were performing for foreign ministers, ambassadors, delegates, even the President's mistress only five minutes before going into the wings. Compared to that sort of pressure, dancing for Vincent was the greatest pleasure, in every conceivable way.