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siren-sashimi · 1 year

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Hemimetabolism [HC scenario; Marquis Vincent de Gramont x ballerina!reader]

Contents and warnings: female presenting reader, work place pressure (highly competitive work environment) , Reader has self loathing thoughts, instances of stalking, allusions to exploitation, power plays, intimidation, very long outline…

[Based on an anonymous prompt; HCs on their beginnings] Don't forget, you're working in the arts. Talent alone isn't going to save you a safe spot in life. Patronages in ballet aren't rare, you've to dance every part perfectly, smile at the sponsors, no finger shall be moved the wrong way, never badmouth anyone in your company, your mentor knows you dance your part perfectly yet dance it again and again and again and again to perfection, don't fall off the rails, don't show your exhaustion, don't let anyone hear your crying, perform always towards anyone in excellence.

♦ You know you're good, you wouldn't have been invited for a season to Rome. For nothing but the constant demand, constant scheming for the best part, pressure by patrons, by the artistic director, by the instructor, and by company members, be it for the pettiest reasons, leaves your self confidence raw and frail, tiptoeing the line between a the proverbial stiff upper lip and a breakdown. While everyone around you, including yourself doesn't show any of it.

In addition, patronages are the actual stepping stones for someone's career - someone might be influential enough against the director's will, maybe someone's the choreographer's old classmate . Most hope that whoever throws an eye on them isn't this unpleasant of a person, perhaps someone highty-tighty about arts but not about their protegée's body. And if... maybe they're not too violent, their touches not too unbearable.

♦ New play for the season: "Sylvia". Since you're new, you become a dryad. And the costume-department has some lovely ideas creating dresses for each tree a dryad could be. Not overwhelming but you made it as part of well-regarded company, you have a visible part, you can work up and up each season. Still, only a dryad as a guest... You surely hadn't put it all in your performance? What could you've done more? Surely, there was something you missed, to focused on your own steps that you didn't lay your eyes on the actual main characters, how well they master their technique… Maybe the excitement over the invitation into a renominated position had you blinded for everything else. You hadn't been attentive enough, you hadn't been good enough for another role.

♦All company members are asked to attend the season opening party (and of course, training next day starts at 8 am sharp!). An opportunity to garner the favours of sponsors and patrons of the theater, maybe gain some yourself. As ambitious as you feel, you hope a simple dryad will be too uninteresting to make an easy prey.

♦ Tough luck, some guy is extremely interested in picking wall flowers. He seems important enough that people talk to him, a quick chance for you To slip through the cracks. Yet he moves progressively closer to you through the crowd to the point he begins to end conversation with a smile that's straining more and more. Polite save distance isn't safe anymore. You begin to slowly but surely try to move towards the upper bathroom. Are these steps other guests who need to use the facility or...? In increasing panic, you rush past the door and run up even more stairs. Rushing down the dark hallway you almost collide into a large figure. He tells you that you shouldn't be here, why are even here?

♦ The place you planned to become your escape is now guarded by this tall men who seems ready to attack you at any wrong move. "Chidi!" an authoritative voice calls upon the man. The tall man steps away from you, only one step, his gaze still fixed on you. Next to him, behind the door of the balcony area of the building steps another tall man. His clothes are of finest quality as well as way too fancy even for an season opening event at classic arts.

Something in your distressed look, your eyes constantly twitching to the banister you can't see behind you, to check if the creep from downstairs is following you must've told the well-dressed man something. "Rather scared and lost. Leave her be." he tells the one called Chidi. "Um... I am sorry, I didn't want to interrupt." Whatever you could've interrupted anyway "I just wish to go upstairs." "To do what?" Chidi snides in. "I..." you look back "Just a rest, the party got quiet too crowded." Chidi looks unimpressed yet the other shrugs, and waves vaguely behind him. You're allowed to pass.

♦ It is only at the top at the stairwell of the 4th floor, you hear Chidi and the other man again, at least you recognize their voices. These voices arguing with the one of the down-stairs creep. But within minutes the minutes end - all you hear is a dull sound and a wail which quickly ends. What on earth happened? Should you go or not? That didn't sound good although... if that creep won. You retreat into the shadows, deeper into the hallway. At one point, no idea how much time passed, the night is getting too cold, you need at least some slight hours of sleep for the next day. Passing the hallway none, nothing is to be seen. The catering staff is cleaning up the buffet and decorations.

♦ Training starts, one of faunes is already rumoured to have gained himself a sugar daddy, if Orion falters, the faun might become the hunter soon. You are only relieved, your company will stay in their own circles. Even on a night out, you surely won't meet anyone who has any say or money in casting. No consequences, you're not asked to change position so whatever happened at the opening party, you were lucky this time. Only during last rehearsal before the day of first costume fit, your choreographer urges you to actual excellence, you will dance in front of one of the most esteemed patrons. They freed some of their time to pay an extra visit, so shine! A performance during which everyone is nervous, your choreographer's voice harder. Only in the distance, somewhere at the upper balcony all of you can only muster out the dark silhouettes of someone sitting in the chair, other people standing around them.

♦ Next day is first fitting day. Diana is clad in the palest silver, wearing a wreath of stars, on the center a sickle moon. All the dryads wearing bodies in the colour of the stem of their tree, yet the tights are appliqued with the ornaments of these trees, the headwears even have fake leaves. But when you ask for your costume, the seamstress is a bit at loss explaining that yours will need to wait. Here you are, all your fellow dancers transforming into mystic spirits and characters of old tales, whereas all your wear are your regular training attire, colourless, simple. Maybe you had made a big mistake at the party. A detrimental mistake even. ♦ Even the next day your mind is clouded. If these aren't thunder clouds wearing your head down. That is until the seamstress catches you before the changing room. You will be the spirit of a birch tree. Your costume is white except your skirt and sleeves are dyed black on the hems, white tights painting with black marks, gold and green leaves sewn on all over. You're the only dryad with a golden wreath. Maybe you shouldn't feel like a gleeful five year old. You're only a side character, a decorative dancer but the thought how magical you look… your movements feel much livelier. Even back in regular training attire… something magical blooms in you.

♦ This weird giddiness still lingers through all the rehearsals up to the premier. Your entire body is fluttering and floating like a birch's leave in the wind. As if someone saw you and figured your style would come out best in the character of a birch dryad. Dancing like this comes so easy to you, you almost forget that you're just a side character. Of course when you see Sylvia dance, it is as if her body was a petal in the wind, Diana's movement swift, effortless whereas even the lift of her little finger demands all attention on stage, you think that you maybe be a happy tree but in the end you are tree on stage.

♦ For the evening of the dress rehearsal the theater has good news: As little appetizer, the patreons of the theater organized a little meeting with champagne and snacks. They even somehow booked the Villa Borghese. All of your nerves are too tense to actually care much about the idea of party. And what if you meet that creep from last time? At least everyone would be lenient on you excusing yourself early, all of you would understand needing a rest. But when you arrive there, only the entrance area being lit for a get-together, dancers and instructors small talking in pleasantries, the man from last time was nowhere to be seen. In the evening's twilight, slowly drifting away from the crowd you finally have time to actually view some art in Rome, in peace, only far off voices, no crowd of tourists… Admiring the great Titian, and Caravaggio for yourself.

♦Of course, so many Bernini's, so, so many. One you know from previous art references of aestheticized pictures of the Internet. The beautiful Appollon hunting after the despairing Daphne. The physicality, Daphne's agony immediately understandable. Having the time and silence to study the statue you perhaps got you so lost in it, you only resurface after you become aware of another person's presence next to you.

♦ He stands perfectly still, hand in his left pocket. Perhaps that perfect poise and silent movements hid his presence for a while. Otherwise he's hard to overlook. Definitely taller than many men, an aura at ease as only someone untouchable, so powerful is (almost like Diana of stage), and that suit… "Oh, it is you…!" you remember loudly from the last party. Still studying Bernini's work, he lightly tilts his head, giving at best a small hum. Then he turns his head towards you. "So you remembered?" That comment tucks at the corners of your mouth. "You're not easy to forget, Signore. Your style alone…" No reaction from his side. Due the difference in height he of course has to look down to you. Yet… perhaps it's just the natural form of his big eyes, the way eyes in lighter colours pronounce the pupil. It feels like being watched. You quickly try correct and impoliteness. After all he… "You saved me that night. That's hard to forget." "Hmm" he shifts ever so slightly "how so?" Carefully you eye him. "Perhaps I was a bit speculating but the last things I heard were your voices and-" that uncomfortable sound of a body hit, perhaps a cracked nose "he was gone." This man's nose looked intact. "Perhaps there's also thanks due to your… companion, the one in the grey suit." Whatever you said seems to amuse your saviour. He huff, his grin showing his teeth. "Well" he says "It's been a long time since I wasted fists on an cretin like him. It was worth it." What has been worth it? You tense. Perhaps you were too alerted by the nightmare idea of having to crawl at a patron's feet but suddenly you become aware of the man in front of you. Both of you are too far away to hear any other voice from the party. He was practically towering over you, hands large, strong enough to break a nose with one hit… His attire, his hair, his cologne reeked of wealth. Good grief, he was part of the group that could book out the Villa Borghese for a private event.

"Such philistines wouldn't even recognize art if it would scream at them. They only throw money at the idea of titillation. And I've to share my sparse time at the same meetings with these swines." In his monologue your breath became more even. Just a bit intimidating looking bohemian, wasn't he? Suddenly his eyes snap back at you. "Don't you think a thanks is appropriate to the one who saved your skin? I even sullied my hand hitting him" Don't flinch! you remain to yourself, doing your best to overhear your mind screaming at you to run. Have you ever had paid attention how broad his shoulders are? How even these so well cut suits betray a strong physique? If you play any game you can only loose. "Thank you." you decide to reply. Simply, that's all. ♦ A smirk carves into his face. A silent prayer passes through your mind when you see this, a litany begins when he bows down to you. "No, no, that won't do." Large green eyes fixing on yours. Internally you check all the technique you've ingrained in yourself, breathing calm enough, posture not too tense - if only no fear creeps upwards your eyes.

Not too close, but close enough to smell his subtle perfume, refreshing, dark, like a forest, so elegant. "I would say you owe me some damn good performance. Your effort for mine, sounds like a fair exchange, wouldn't you say?".

His smile looks satisfied, less directed to you. He leaves you standing there, leaves you confused. Is your patron - with these words he is, right?- just a chivalrous peacock or a patient wolf?

♦ The premiere is met by roaring applause! The titular Sylvia isn't only loved by Amintas, the audiences adores her too. At the last step, all of you fauns, nymphs, Artemis herself, beholding Sylvia's happy end, all you can think how grandiose the first dancer was. At the thought how good you have to get to reach any glory of hers, your toes ache beyond the exhaustion of the evening.

♦ It's party time announcement! While the faun, lead by Sylvia's dancer are popping open their first champagne, the adrenaline rushing as much as the bubbles in the flutes. Maybe you would've celebrated too but after the curtain fell, tiredness struck heavy on you. You don't know why. You dance's impeccably but only as much as a dryad can… Did you do your best performance. And compared to the greatness of the lead dancers…

Trying to sneak away you bump into something heavy. Trying to figure out whatever this object is you recognize that it was the familiar frame of someone you already had bumped into. Chidi… hadn't that been his name? "Would you be so kind to accept the Marquis' invitation?" he tells you, ignoring you just trudged on his polished leather shoes. "Who…. You mean your…" in what relation did they even stand to each other? And what Marquis? "You mean the… sharply dressed companion of yours?"

"The Marquis yes. So what do you say to dinner?"

"Just dinner?" The way Chidi doesn't bat an eyelash nor moves any muscle makes you wonder if he ever danced too with his composure. Yet offers you a small kindness: "The dining place isn't exactly what I would call discreet. If you please, Miss, the Marquis isn't patient."

♦ With only the most flashy parts of your stage makeup hastily wiped off, and off-stage clothes which look drab and tired even against Chidi's impeccable grey uniform, you're escorted to a louder part of the inner city of Rome. The place is well packed for a Friday, definitely more quaint than chique. Chidi and you are greeted by a quiet yet friendly waiter, led to a room behind a curtain. In it, a door's open to a much more quiet backyard.

The Marquis, it is him, the man from the parties, is dressed in champagne white, more befititng a visit to the opera than this (albeit cozy) place. Leaned against the back of his chair, eyes following one of Rome's cats, balancing on the walls of the backyard. At Chidi's announcement he gives you polite smile.

♦ You're served fried artichokes. (Chidi is relegated to a table behind the curtain, presumably designated to dine on his own.) In spite of the tiredness seeping into your bones, the bewilderment of whatever goes in, the smell so rich, savoury, the sweet bitterness of the artichoke… At your host announcing: "Bon appetit, you worked for it." only your manners save you from wolfing it down. The melange of and the smoky after taste, rich golden taste of oil, turning the bitterness sweet is nothing you've tasted before, a sensation so gladdening it washes over your thrumming nerves. Looking up, you see your host smiling, again. You can't read it. "It's good" you initiate the conversation "it really is. It was kind of you to invite me here. Thank you." "It's nothing chique yet I remember it from my first travel to Rome. Even in better establishments nothing comes close to this."

♦Surprisingly, the conversation flows easily. Your nebulous host introduces himself as Marquis Vincent de Gramont, he's from France (he's fine with English, if you want to drop the Italian you meticulously put together for this season). Although such mentions make you almost drop your fork, he easily smoothes from such grand revelations to talk about your play. Apparently he's a patron of the Opera in Rome, indeed he's very fond of ballet. Asks how you came to balett. Actually the conversation is so lovely, you almost forget your first meeting, his title. But after the dessert plates are taken away (Chestnut tartellette), he stands up and offers you his arm, it all comes back. "Walk with me." Hesitance from… precaution? Nervosity from the attention from such a vibrant man (and what all that could mean…)?

The pause has been too long to appear as courteous. Without looking into Monsieur de Gramont's eyes your threat your hands around his elbow, leaving the now empty restaurant, Chidi following you in some meters of distance. ♦ Outside, Roman night life is as vivid as it can be on a Weekend, although calm enough that you can be unbothered. Vincent walks comfortably whereas you… don't know where you're going. "Monsieur…!" you speak up out of a sudden before suspicion morphs into panicked fear "why…" The deep orange light of the street life cuts a sharp profile of the Marquis' face, even in the dark his eyes are clear enough about to flit… in the profile you see one eye slowly, almost lazily slide towards the direction of the tense figure on his arm. "What is it?" "Why are you doing… why are you so nice to me?" Now he pulls his arm out of your hold, stands up before you, looking down to you. So, so many people pass loudly talking, laughing, arguing over the cobbled streets, the two of you could as well stand in the silent. Next to you only the silent, immovable marble, Daphne's face contorted in metamorphosis and despair.

"Why can't I be nice to you?" "May I be frank?" "I doubt anything you say make me even quiver. But if you need, I'll permit it."

"None in a position such as yours…" (if there's anyone else who could ever be in a higher position, if there was anyone ever like this man, you just know it by the richness of his clothes, by the day he still moves as if he was invisible for those who shouldn't see him) "Any patronage, be it art for art's sake, isn't out benevolence. They demand at least a good piece of art in exchange. At least…" you stress "And you… well, see where you got us. What you wear, what you make possible. In all frankness, if your ever were to ever ask anything of me, there's no chance I could refuse. You probably know it by instinct. And I'm afraid your words make such a probability become fact." "Please don't take it as an accusation of your character, this world I move in works on unspoken rules." you add quickly. Have you gone too far? Probably he would only need to lift his pinkie of the left hand and you could forget even having a silent role in a local theater production.

♦ Indeed he huffs, shakes his head. "Well, I wasn't wrong about you. Indeed I want to bring you to a hotel room, if you would be so kind to follow me." Once again for this evening he offers you his arm. In your eyes it has the same outlines of a noose. By the unspoken rules of the world to literally tip toe in… you have to tie it around your neck. For a while you two (Chidi somewhere behind) walk in silence, your stomach churning. The food was too good to turn sour in your mouth. Your thoughts are racing. Sure, he's handsome, and could move heaven and earth with no effort, he reeks of money. But what would you need to do for him? Men this handsome and rich are the least suspected (if anything could ever reach such a man). For some patrons already having a dancer on their whim was an ideal board of powerplay… sex just one that gratified ego and sexual urges. Maybe a slither of hope is that the Marquis' this rich that you would be a quick past time. "You know the story of the nymph Echo?" His questions tears you out of the current of your racing thoughts.

♦ Quickly you roam through your mind. "Wasn't that the story with Narcissus?" "Indeed. And?" "Um… she… was cursed to repeat the last words that could be spoken to her. Narcissus wouldn't have her any way, he… I don't know if I remember it correctly, either he thought of her as stupid as she only repeated his words or he already was in love with his own reflection. "Do you know what happened to her." "I only know that he drowned himself." You two stepped into the hallway of a baroque hotel, only by passing you noticed a small plaque naming it "il Continentale". While recounting this story, the Marquis lead you up a spiral staircase. Why wouldn't he take an elevator? The far rings of elevators were to be heard in the lobby. "Echo", the Marquis continued "was so humiliated, she retreated into a cave, didn't eat, didn't drink, he bones turned to stone. But nymphs are, in a way, immortal. He voice remained. "The arm you held pulled you down a carpet laid out hallway. "You know the other way Echo died?" She would die once again? You could only shake our head. Room numbers, there were so few rooms, they passed into a blur. 21, 22… there, there it was a bight door. Even the pristine white paint couldn't elevate how heavy the wood must be. "The god Pan was in love with her, she didn't. In fury of her refusal of him he tore her apart, threw all he parts between the mountains. There they ghost around, still resounding from the rock faces. Now you two stood facing the door. No taste in mouth, no feeling in any of your usually so sharp limbs. Your palms felt under the rich material of your patron how hard the Marquis' arm muscles were. He has told you all this like he talked about the weather forecast. Hadn't looked at you but opened the door. You sprung to run the other way. In the hallway, a forecast shadow, in the middle of it all stood Chidi. "Come on in." the Marquis called you. "we don't have all night." If Echo's last remains was only her voice, you dearly, dearly wished it would be the thing that would be heard of you too. But in the end all there was left was memory, she's died violently anyway. ♦ The room was excessive. In the way Baroque is excessively luxurious, heavily, suffocating though. Like a cat finding quick comfort, the Marquis seated himself into an armchair of the room, facing you. His face hardly readable, although you would guess it was… relaxed? Unbothered? What should you do know. Chidi hasn't followed… "You know what's your problem?" Monsieur de Gramont asked you. You're still standing, close by the door. Over your silence he continues. "You're selling yourself short." Have you even offered yourself to him yet? "You don't know your worth yet, and lesser men, like that rancid trash who followed you… well, even he knows about your worth and wants to exploit it." "You don't?" It slips out quietly. Suddenly the Marquis' face drops, he jumps up, and struts over to quick like a leopard falling over it's prey. He does this again. Again he hulks over you, green eyes drilling into you, lighting up too brightly. The silent look itself is a command to your to respond whereas your body, your instinct screams to barge through this heavy oak-wood door somehow, somehow dash past Chidi, somewhere, anywhere away from this transfixing gaze. "Would you like me to?"

♦ His cologne is so clear, even in panic you notice how tasteful it his. You two are so close, the warmth of his breath brushes over your lips. It is almost too hot, it melts your frozen body as if someone threw boiling water on ice in winter. The paralysis cracks a little - enough for you to drop you gaze. ♦ A clack of shoes. Carefully you eye the Marquis who'd taken a step back. "There, you did it again." He shakes his head "You're probably clever enough to notice by know but I wouldn't need to waste any time or money on a dinner and a chat "You think that all this" a broad hand waves over the golden glittering, fresco overpainted room "is for fornication. Pardon me, my dear, but if for such a brachial purpose, I wouldn't need time to satisfy such needs." So why creep me out like this? You wanted to scream although there was this little observative, sharp part in you. This part in your picking up in clues, listening to the little bits dropped in conversations that could offer positions, roles, opportunities… Where was this conversation going. "My life is unpleasant enough. I would like to enjoy at least something beautiful. Both of us can agree that out exchange is created for mutual exchange. In simple terms: You will be granted my protection from any unsuited… let's call them supporters, and I demand your excellency. But" Vincent raises a finger "you have to deliver myself excellency. Understood."

Entirely flabbergasted you can only nod. "Excellent. So we have an agreement. If you would be so kind to not look like a deer in the headlights anymore." ♦ Through the confusion all your relief bursts through with all the fear Monsieur has indeed helped build up. And if you can judge by all the years of pressure induced in your training, he knew exactly what he said. Every single, every single damn word was cleverly laid out. "So that's all?! And what is this" grand gesture over this excess of a room "then?! Why tell me about the gruesome of murdered women-" "Echo" "starving or ripped to shreds, these stories are still scary."

As an answer there was this cryptic smile on his lips. The Marquis stepped forward, reach past you for the door handle. In the often so repeated gesture, his hand waved over an room with stucco at every corner, covered in gold leaf, walls painted with scenes of luscious forests, too tame, too bright to resemble any real forest, in-between branches half-dressed characters, from myths your partially knew or believed to know, dancing, holding the other down, laughing, vases full of flowers smelling in their own beauty, a window open to the deep blue night. "This" Vincent says "this is a little thanks for your splendid work tonight. I choose the right tree-spirit for you, my dear dryad. A taste of my upcoming thanks. And the stories…" For a moment he might have looked at you, yet his thoughts were somewhere else "…just the coincidences what role you play, that I meet you at the statue of Daphne's. Romanticism is a blinding understanding of the world yet… I think if you give a thought about all these nymphs… I think you might draw an revealing thesis for yourself." With a nod he opens the door. "Good night, my dear. Breakfast is ordered for you. Recover well. I will see you on stage tomorrow evening."

Notes: Gosh, I really wanted the statue of Apollon and Daphne featured so re-wrote everything to take place in Rome, I don't even know if the Roman Ballet is this good that Reader develops complexes.

While writing Chidi interactions, I was also shortly inspired by the idea how reader is a protegée for Vincent purely for art for art's sake. Chidi has to watch the Marquis at all time, so naturally he has to accompany the Marquis at his leisure views as well. And Chidi falls for her. Could be cute, Chidi using the few minutes his boss doesn't inflict trouble on himself trying to be sweet for the reader, complimenting her, and wanting to learn more about classic ballet to talk to them a bit more. Make of that dark menacing guard dog pining, blushing and fumbling for words to start a conversation.

#Marquis de Gramont x reader #Lily note pad #long post

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