Chapter Text
Rain drummed rhythmically against the windowpanes of the empty, two-bedroom apartment. Sikah remembered her roommate mentioning some sort of plan with a coworker after their workday ended, which left her alone to her own devices. She had the week off due to renovations in one of the museum’s exhibits, so she had more free time than she’d known to care for. Deciding she had nothing better to do, Sikah grabbed her car keys and an umbrella, then made her way downtown.
The dance studio’s parking lot was barren on the dreary, mid-week afternoon. Classes weren’t to start until later that evening, but Sikah doubted many students would show up due to the weather. As she approached the large glass doors, she noticed only one person inside behind the front desk. Not wanting to cause a disturbance, Sikah pulled the studio keys out of her pocket and unlocked the front door, waving to Jenevelle as she left her umbrella by the doorframe. She made her way to the small practice room at the back of the studio. The room had become some semblance of an office for her; along the back wall, several costume books, class rosters, and old CDs lay strewn across the floor. In typical studio fashion, one of the walls was lined with large, floor-length mirrors; the remaining three half paned in oak wood with ballet bars of varying heights lining them. The hardware of the studio was a bit dated, especially in the lesser occupied spaces, with old stereos fitted for cassettes and CDs embedded in the room’s far corner. Sikah had since replaced and rewired the speakers to modernize the sound, but she held onto the old command center to play her mother’s cassettes.
After removing her sneakers and wrapping her feet, she sat in the middle of the floor to pull on a pair of compression socks before she withdrew her worn practice shoes from her bag. Sikah tightened the laces and stood, moving up and down on her toes to alleviate extra pressure.
A low rumble of thunder prompted her to go and fish a tape from the drawer beneath the audio hub and feed it into the player. Sikah idly tapped her foot as she waited for the soothing, pre-music static to tickle the speakers. Once it began, she started to perform an old routine, one that she couldn’t allow herself to forget.
Since she could remember, Sikah’s life had always revolved around dance. When her mother was alive, she ran a small, yet successfully competitive dance studio. Elturel, as it was called, was her mother’s pride and joy— besides her daughters of course. Sikah would accompany her mom to the studio when she taught. She would watch in wonder-filled awe as her mother elegantly choreographed routines in their living room, and she remembered waiting in the stage wings next to her father and sister with a bouquet at competitions. As she grew up, Sikah herself began to dance under the guidance of her mother, and she loved every second of it. When she was dancing she felt strong, empowered, and alive. Sikah loved spending hours upon hours rigorously practicing routines till her muscles ached and she could no longer stand. She remembered the exhilarating feeling and the rush of adrenaline that surged through her heart when her company won their first competition.
Her sister followed soon after with natural talent and grace that turned heads. Fotiah was incredible in every way. Despite not being able to hear the music herself, her sister was able to bring songs to life with motion and emotion that brought even the toughest men to tears. She quickly became the star pupil of Elturel, dancing in companies composed of dancers much older than she. She was cast as the lead in productions, and she was even recruited by other studios for a place in their ranks. However, Fotiah always refused. You could not pay her to dance for she did not dance for others, she danced for herself.
After their mother passed, the sisters struggled to keep the studio open. Their father had tried convincing the girls to sell the studio, claiming the memories it stood on were too much to bear. Sikah knew there was more to it than that. To sell the studio was to put their mother fully to rest, to end that chapter of their lives and begin writing anew. Without the studio to remind their father of his late wife, he could swallow the pain and move on. The girls were adamant in keeping the studio, but their father was stubborn.
He remarried, and in the end, Fotiah urged Sikah to let matters rest. If they didn’t compromise with their father, they would lose the studio completely. Elturel was signed into new ownership, despite Sikah’s protests, to their father’s second wife.
Trielle was… fine. She was nice, she didn’t overstep and pretend to be someone that she wasn’t, and she didn’t pretend to be their mother. She did, however, bring change to the studio, expanding to multiple locations and franchising their competitions, seeking high-paying sponsors and luxurious venues to perform elaborate productions. As the studio continued to grow in both size and popularity, so did watchful eyes. More prospective students meant more instructors were needed, and thus Sikah put a pause on her endeavors to assist with instruction. However, Fotiah, ever the star, the poster girl of Meropi’s Elturel, taught few classes and maintained the practice of her craft. Sikah was responsible for choreographing and executing routines for both competitions and performances, which oftentimes made dancing feel more like a responsibility and a chore rather than the respite it once was.
Thus, Sikah found herself valuing otiose days like this. Days she had to herself when she could ignore her responsibilities and fall back on old joys. When she danced, she escaped to another realm. One with no pain, no annoyances, no obligations. She hoped that was where her mother was now, dancing alone on a cloud in the sky without a care in the world. She hoped her mother would occasionally look down, smile upon her, and be proud of the work she’d done.
As she allowed herself to get lost in thought, Sikah was soon interrupted by the heavy sound of a shoe bag hitting the hallway’s hardwood floor. Gods, she needed to remember that even when the studio seemed desolate, to still close the door. Sikah paused her routine and turned to the noise.
A tall, muscular woman stood awkwardly in the doorway. Despite it being cold and rainy outside, she donned no jacket but wore a muscle tank and a baggy pair of sweats. Her coarse, black, pixie-cut hair was pushed away from her face with a headband; showing off her complexion littered with sun-kissed freckles.
“Shit, my bad! I must have the wrong room. I mean not the wrong room, I’m supposed to be next door. The lady up front told me that the back rooms were up for grabs for solo practice and I heard the music and got curious, plus the door was open. I kinda started watching and then I couldn’t stop and I guess I dropped my stuff, sorry about that.” She sheepishly bent down to pick up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder with a smile. “Lady at the front also told me you had the key to unlock the room across the hall. You looked really into your routine and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“It’s fine,” Sikah walked over to the audio player and paused the track, grabbing her carabiner of keys from where they lay beside it. She twirled them around her finger as she brushed past the woman in the doorway and strode across the hall, motioning for her to follow.
“I haven’t seen you at the studio before, and by the looks of it you aren’t here for classes,” Sikah pondered aloud as she unlocked the door. “New in town or something?”
“Erm, kinda? I grew up in the area and moved back a few months ago,” the mystery woman answered as she followed the other into the now unlocked room.
“If you know the Ravengards, Wyll’s the one who recommended I check this place out for a practice space; said he and his girlfriend dance here.”
“Yeah, I know Wyll. I’m surprised he didn’t text me to let me know he had a friend coming to check out the place, he’s usually good about that.” Sikah took a mental note to text her sister’s boyfriend about this later.
“Ah, well I wasn’t planning on coming by today, but I was passing on my way home from the doctor’s and I figured why not? I can come back if now isn't prime time; didn’t know the owner was gonna be here or I would have at least made myself decent.” She absentmindedly shifted her weight between the balls of her feet.
“The name’s Karlach, by the way. Probably should have introduced myself first.”
The shorter woman, who Karlach assumed was the owner of the studio, shrugged, seemingly unbothered by her lack of manners.
“Owner? No, I’m not. Well, not fully. My step-mum owns the studio, my sister and I keep it afloat. You probably know Fotiah, if you know Wyll.” Sikah spoke freely as she walked around the room to move clutter out of the way.
“And you are?” She asked expectantly.
“Sikah,” she answered as she pushed a box backward into the corner with her foot. “Let me show you how to work the sound system. These two rooms aren’t as up-to-date as the rest of the studio, but you can still plug in your phone for aux.”
Karlach zoned out as Sikah explained the practice room’s equipment and amenities; focusing only on how the woman moved, how she carried herself, and how she stood. She was as beautiful as she danced; with piercing gray-blue eyes and speckled cheeks, her ash blonde hair twisted up in a bun.
“… and if you need anything, just knock on my door okay? I’ll keep my music low,” she came back to reality just as Sikah finished her speech.
“Any questions?”
“Can I have your number?” Karlach spoke before she could think, immediately wishing to bite off her tongue. “You know, for future reference. Just in case I uhh… have trouble with the aux and you’re not here!”
Nice save Karlach.
“Sure?” Sikah raised a slightly suspicious brow.
She took Karlach’s phone in her hands and filled in her contact.
“Anything else?”
“Nope! All good!” Karlach beamed, “Thanks a bunch, Sikah, I appreciate it. I knew Wyll would send me to the right place. Don’t practice too hard in there, alright? I bet you need to be in top form for your performances.”
“Yeah, something like that, thanks,” Sikah feigned a small smile.
“Have a good practice, Karlach.”