Movement No. 6
Yasmeena
After over ten years of doing lyra virtually by myself, I’m almost excited about the prospect of doing trapeze and straps with someone. If only I had faith in my new partner.
Performing in any capacity with someone else requires a level of trust, but performing acrobatics takes it to a whole new level. You’re trusting them with your body, your safety, and sometimes even your life.
So yes, I’m a little riled to have to work with Tempest, who clearly hates my guts, but I’m also feeling motivated. I’m sure once we get to know each other, the hostility between us will pass, and these nervous butterflies fluttering in my stomach will cease.
Trapeze is a bit like both of our apparatuses combined.
The fixedness of the trapeze is similar to lyra, but the ropes of the trapeze more closely mimic Tempest’s experience with silks.
More movement, more fluidity. It’s more beginner friendly than straps, so it’s what we’ll start with.
I believe we’ll both have strengths and weaknesses, bringing in different skills that will hopefully transfer over well and balance each other out.
Luckily, we’re not the only ones trying out new things.
Absinthe has been testing new forms of juggling, too.
Using bouncy balls to juggle onto the ground rather than in the air.
Draven has teased doing sword swallowing again, but we’ll see if he actually follows through.
He seems to be pretty content on his motorcycle.
Tempest enters the room in a sports bra and gray sweatpants that hang low on her hips. One muscular bicep is covered in ink, creating a scene of a moon and stars, the other adorned in dark swirls. The air evacuates my lungs.
“Let’s get this over with.”
It’s the first thing she says to me, and any sexual tension between us dissipates like a fire doused by water. It’s fucking rude, and frankly, I don’t want to deal with it, but I take a deep breath and calm myself before I ruin everything before it’s even begun.
“Have you ever done trapeze before?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“Nope,” she answers, popping the P.
Grabbing a stick of chalk, I rub it against my hands and wrists before offering some to Tempest. She takes it, but a sour expression crosses her face.
I understand she doesn’t want to be here, I really do. I know I signed up to be saddled to her, but it was out of necessity, not out of desire. Our people are fighting and it is up to us to mend things, or both species will suffer grave consequences.
That alone is more important than the emotions stirring in my stomach, and I hope she can come to the same conclusion, because otherwise this entire arrangement will be like pulling teeth.
With the exception of Leo, who is here to work the lever to move our trapeze up and down, it’s just the two of us rehearsing today. The silence borders on uncomfortable, but I try to squash any feelings I have.
Today is about practicing and getting used to each other’s bodies, not about us as individuals.
Since we’re doing duo dance trapeze, we sort of have two options right now. We could choose skills that require us to mirror one another, or we could opt for skills that rely on each other’s bodies and strengths.
“I think we should start with something easy,” I suggest, and Tempest nods.
“How about an inverted pike?”
“Where we mirror each other?” I clarify.
Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Obviously.”
We both climb onto the trapeze, which moves up once we’re comfortable, and shift into our pose. It’s not as fluid or dance-like as it’ll need to be, but it’s pretty good.
“Can we shift into mermaid?”
“Yep.” Tempest’s and my bodies move in tandem, and I feel confident that everything is going to work out.
Tempest and I are both incredibly muscular, but she’s taller and a bit leaner, where I’m curvier and more stout. Though our bodies are different, it feels like we weigh similarly, and this helps the trapeze feel balanced.
We’re like the moon and the sun, a river and a mountain.
We flow nicely together in this rhythmic harmony that has me excited about our performance.
We might not like each other—our species might even hate one another—but we’re going to make beautiful partners up in the air of our big top, and that exhilarates me.
Getting off the bar, I walk down and grab some water. “Do you want one?”
“Sure,” Tempest says, and I pass her a bottle. “We should try some spins.”
“I was thinking maybe we’d try some floor work first, get used to working together more.”
Tempest shakes her head. “Floor work is easy, we need to practice in the air.”
“We need to do both,” I say, and look her up and down.
She’s eager and excited. I think. I hope. But we shouldn’t take unnecessary risks, and I really think floor work is a safer choice for day one than spins.
“Do you not trust me?”
“No. I mean, no I do, I just think you’re a little green.”
Tempest’s lips go flat, her voice deadpan. “What the Hel does that mean?”
“Have you ever done aerial work professionally?” I ask.
I already know the answer is no, but I’m trying to be respectful by asking her about her life.
All I know is from what she told me that night at the bar, and what the case file Draven and Gemma provided me says.
Plus, this gives me an opportunity to gather how accurate the information Draven and Gemma obtained actually is. Checks and balances are important.
She shrugs. “No.”
One corner of my mouth turns up. “That’s okay, but I have. It’s dangerous and not something to be rushed. Plus, neither of us have done a lot of duo work. We need to be careful.”
“I might not be a professional, but I’m not an amateur either.”
Is she always this difficult, or is this an act to get under my skin? “That is the literal definition of the word amateur.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. There's a connotation to that word.”
I furrow my brow and stick my head out, unsure of how we got into this pedantic mess.
“There’s a connotation to every word. You are not a professional, therefore you’re an amateur.
I don’t mean it as an insult. It doesn’t mean you’re talentless or that I’m better; it simply means this has been my job for years.
You get to do silks for fun in your free time, I have to do lyra whether I like it or not.
And some nights, it’s not. Sometimes I’m exhausted and sore and it borders on dangerous, but I do it because it’s my job.
It’s not just some fun little hobby for me. ”
Everything moves faster than my mind can keep up. Tempest pushes me against a pole, her claw digging into the bottom of my chin.
“Just because you’ve had the privilege of doing this as a profession, doesn’t mean that this is just some silly thing to me.
Some days, silks are the only thing keeping me sane, but I could never be a performer for my career.
It’s not an option for me. My soul—my life—belongs to my pack.
So check your fucking self before making assumptions as if you know me,” she says, spitting the words like venom, and I still for a moment before grabbing her wrist and pushing her off me.
“I—” I start, but she rushes from the tent.
I don’t know what I was going to say. I think maybe sorry, except I’m not sorry at all.
I’m not privileged because I get to perform.
I worked an awful job where we were essentially tortured—the same job that caused my parents’ death—until Khalid and I were skilled enough to leave.
We worked day in and day out to become better.
We committed crimes to obtain our magic so that we could become even better candidates, and we worked our asses off to join Hel’s Carnival. That isn’t privilege. Our lives were just as fucked up, if not more, and we prevailed.
Why can’t she?
Walking out of the tent, I make my way across camp to find something, or someone. I don’t even know what I’m seeking as I wander aimlessly around until I find myself at the entryway of Lilian and Baelor’s tent.
“Knock knock, is anyone home?” I say before pushing open the fabric.
“It’s just me.” Lilian’s voice is always comforting to me. Though she’s only a year or so older, there’s something maternal about her energy.
Tonight is one of her nights to perform in The Sinner’s Circus, so she sits at her vanity getting ready. Her long, dark pink hair falls onto her back in waves, her horns curling behind her head and back up under her ears.
“Sit. Tell me what’s wrong,” she says as she applies rouge to her pretty pink skin.
I plop onto the edge of her mattress with a huff. “First practice and we’re already at each other’s throats.”
“How come?”
“She’s immature; she wants to rush into things.”
Lilian looks at me in her mirror, golden eyes shimmering beneath her eyeliner. “She is a little younger.”
“Yeah, about a year. And a lot more inexperienced,” I say.
“You don’t work well with others. Even in The Devil’s Masquerade, you’re constantly complaining about Absinthe and Reina.”
She’s not wrong. I am frequently frustrated with them.
“But I work well with Gemma, and I’ve even performed with Khalid. It’s not impossible for me to cooperate with others.” Lilian giggles and I squint at her. “What?”
“You work well with Gemma and Khalid because they’ll obey your every command. This is the first time you actually have to deal with a personality as dominant as your own.”
Fuck me, why is she always right? “She claimed that I’m privileged because I’m an aerialist for a living.”
“Are we not privileged?” I don’t know how to answer that.
Lilian is the definition of privileged. Raised in an upper-echelon half-demon family, she might as well have demoted herself by joining Hel’s Carnival.
She’s well aware of how fortunate she was, and it’s clear she has a lot of empathy for those of us who struggled to get where we are.
Even with her cushier life, she too has baggage of her own.
“What do you mean?”
Lilian puts the brushes down and turns to face me. “You had an incredibly difficult childhood, much more difficult than mine.”
I nod, unsure of where she’s going with this.
“But there is another little girl, another felion out there who is still trapped, diving on Ira. There is a little wolf-boy somewhere on Avaricia without a home. One that never knew his parents, never even knew a hot meal. Am I wrong?”
“No. I know I’m not—I know there are others who have it much worse than I do.”
“So to them, you are privileged.”
I nod again, shrugging my shoulders. “Of course, but Tempest isn’t one of those people.”
Lilian cocks her head to the side. “How do you know?”
I don’t. I’m assuming. “She’s the daughter of an Alpha, isn’t she essentially a wolfy princess?” I ask, recalling what I called her.
“Princesses can get sick. Princesses can be beaten, they can be assaulted and abused. Instead of assuming she’s had it easier, why don’t you talk to her?” Lilian gives me a cocky grin.
“I hate how right you are all the time.”
“I know.” Her smile grows ear-to-ear. “Try to get to know her.”
“She’s such a bitch, Lilian. I’m seriously trying, but it’s like talking to a stone wall.”
At that, Lilian pushes my shoulder. “You were a bitch in the beginning too. Give her time.”
“Geez, tell me how you really feel.”
But Lilian is unfortunately right. I need to give Tempest the same amount of grace my friends here at the carnival gifted me, even if it kills me.