<span style="color: #FF0000">Movement. The bitch could move. A mental growl of frustration as he looked at her and wondered just what had he gotten himself into. After years and years of being jaded by the very thought of an existence, but with too much pride and self preservation to do anything about it. Now, there was this annoyance, this woman, this person whom he was forced to dance with. Forced to form some kind of bond with, if he wanted to keep what he had worked lifetimes to obtain. <br/><br/>“Keep up,” is all he said as he continued to drag and pull her along. In a rough manner he did show her the steps, he did show her the proper way to extend and show off her form. At one point he lifted her leg up to his shoulder and pulled her into him, against his form, eyes locked with her own. He spun her around, his hands ran down along her form, before he picked her up and held her in the air. It was effortless to him, she weighed nothing at all to him, while he turned and held her there in the air. <br/><br/>When the move ended he slowly lowered her back down to her feet and held her close against him. Eyes on her own as they had been this whole time, before he suddenly spun her away from him forcibly, his grip slipping from her when she reached the end of the spin out.</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Exactly,</span>she thought to herself.<span style="font-style: italic">Not as terrible as you thought I was.</span>It was a triumphant thought, the distaste clear in his eyes even if he didn’t vocalize it and remained “professional” about it.<br/><br/>The yanking started back up, and she followed as well as well as she could, going through the steps he taught her, extending her lines, and holding her frame more than she’d done before. Even as he lifted her leg up to his shoulder, she had no issue, properly stretched and flexible despite his remark at her being a cow. She allowed her body to be flush against his form, allowed him to spin her around, to feel over her form and lift her, as she would have with any other dance partner.<br/><br/>In order to develop chemistry, you had to get close to the person, feel how they moved; Just the nature of the business, so she’d endure so long as the comments remained to a minimum.<br/><br/>And then came the lift…It was the easiest lift she’d been a part of since she started dancing. Most of the partners she’d danced with weren’t professional like her. They didn’t have training in it, so it was often sloppy at best; It was one of the reasons she liked dancing alone more often than not, not trusting people to lift her and not drop her…But he’d managed it, at least physically. He didn’t drop her, and didn’t show strain in his face, either. Nothing looked like it was working hard to lift her and that just added to her inner smug.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Cow, my ass, you egotistical ass.</span><br/><br/>Her eyes held his, not wavering despite how…intense they were. She’d give him that. Even lacking that humanity aspect of his dancing, his eyes held a certain intensity. Not to be put off, Tempest held them, even as he lowered her, and just held her for that moment. Only when he spun out did she find something else to focus on, a trick she’d learned to keep from getting sick, coming to a firm, but graceful stop. Glancing back over at him, eyes finding his again with a perked brow, an unspoken “next” residing, she waited to see if he’d teach her more or just continue to yank her around like a rag doll, working under the assumption that it was to throw her off and make her look a fool for failing.<br/><br/>Which he clearly hadn’t.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Ass.</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0000">This was interesting to say the absolute very least. <br/><br/>What was next for them? What would he show her next? That perked brow and just a hint of a smirk on her lips...<br/><br/>“Mirror me,” he said and waved her back over to him. “Everything I do, you do. Every step that I take, you take. I want to see if the monkey can see and do,” he remarked before he got into position. It started off slow. Some simple movements at first, that grew more and more complex as he continued. Steps became turns, the turns into jumps and floor moves that would require power, strength and discipline. <br/><br/>It ended with him having his hands on her waist as he guided her in an actual, if simple dance routine. This time instead of pulling and dragging her about the floor, he actually danced with her. Steps in time to her own, eyes ever on her own. Was he happy with this? No. But he had to at least make an attempt at this. That when she finally broke, he could take great pleasure in knowing that he had tried his best. That it was her own failure and lack of true skill and not him not helping her.</span><br/><br/>At his wave, she moved over to him, rolling her eyes at his “monkey” remark. If she were a monkey, he was the business end of a horse, mid-drop. This entire thing was making him look like what he was: a cocky sonofabitch who needed to be put in his place, and she was just the woman to do it. She wasn’t like those prissy dance school students, which gave her a harder edge. She did this because she liked it; Not because some fat, “can’t dance anymore woman” was drilling it into her to live vicariously through her. She gave up what she could have been doing, what she could have earned a living at, to do what she loved, whether he liked it or not.<br/><br/>It wasn’t her fault his director thought he needed someone to balance out his robotic, lacking-in-emotion self.<br/><br/>So, she followed him. The moves were easy at first, but the longer he continued, the harder it got. The more she struggled. Keeping it off of her face, her inner monologue included a lot of, “shit!” and “Fuck!” and “what the fuck is that move and when the fuck would I use it?!” While she had strength, she didn’t have what he did, nor the discipline, so it lacked to some degree. But she tried; No one could say she wasn’t trying.<br/><br/>At some point, she wasn’t sure when, he’d actually started to dance with her. It wasn’t the tug and pull that it was only moments before, but a real dance, albeit simple. She followed his lead, following it without issue, keeping her eyes on his while they moved. And, despite their lack of connection, they could move in sync…Her moves may have been more fluid than his, his own sharper, but they matched.<br/><br/>A fact he couldn’t deny, no matter how much of a conceited, know-it-all he was.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0000">Dancing with someone else was weird and off putting. But, what bothered him the most was that she was able to keep up. At least to some degree. It was obvious she had never been taught properly, that was more than clear with how she struggled to keep up with him. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Yet...she did not give up.....</span><br/><br/>No matter how he moved, no matter what he did, she was there. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Persistent bitch</span> <br/><br/>When they were dancing together he could see how their bodies moved together and immediately noticed the difference. There was a fluidness to how she moved, like ripples in a pond. A soft and simple motion that played into her actions that he faintly remember at a time when he felt more than just contempt. Back in the time when he had been thrilled a the thought and chance to dance. Now....now....<br/><br/>Grumbling he released her waist and then stepped away from her. “We have a lot of work to do. It is painfully obvious that no one taught you anything....” he paused and looked her over. “But....at least you are not so weak and pathetic that you give up when it is hard,” he slipped in while he went and got her a bottle of water. He figured she would need it, even if he did not, though he himself never needed much of anything. <br/><br/>“I want you here tomorrow night early,” he went over to his bag to pack up for the night. “You need to do some push ups and sit ups....” he walked back over to her, eyes glanced over her in another once over. “We will be practicing lifts and jumps tomorrow.....”</span><br/><br/>By the time they were done, she was tired, wary, winded to some degree though she tried to play it off as coolly as possible. “Painfully obvious” was a bit of an overstatement, but she remained silent. “Pick your battles,” her mother would say over and over again whenever her temper would get the better of her. Chest heaving, the mantra was replaying in her head over and over…and then he said something unexpected.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Did he…almost give me a compliment?</span>she thought wryly.<span style="font-style: italic">My god…I think he did…So close.</span><br/><br/>Taking the water he offered, she drank from it, nodding about being there early. Having already intended on arriving early to stretch out, it wasn’t much to ask of her. The push ups and sit ups, she thought would be because of her aforementioned “cow” status, but the lifts and jumps…had her nervous.<br/><br/>“Just one question,” Tempest started, capping the bottle as she meandered to her own possessions, picking them up and rolling her neck out to crack it. “Isn’t it a bit…early to start lifts and jumps? We haven’t built up that trust element yet.” There. She’d said it. “Shouldn’t we have…more time just getting to know each other more and develop at least some form of a connection prior to lifts?”<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0000">Athanase arched a brow and just looked at her for a moment before he spoke up, “Good point. Then dinner tomorrow night instead. You can pick my brain about who I am and what makes me tick. I will do the same for you and we can start this whole....trust thing. What do you say?” he smiled. <br/><br/>He would have preferred that she got more work done, because her ass definitely needed it, but he since she needed to trust him, they could go out. It would give him a chance to learn about her and perhaps even sniff out some weaknesses he could use to be rid of her. Should he find this whole dancing with her to be not up to his tastes.</span><br/><br/>His response had her own brow quirking up, inwardly puzzling at him. First, the compliment. Then his agreeing with her about going out instead to get better acquainted? No fighting it? No quip about how she needed to “downgrade from flabby shamu to reasonably-sized dancer”? No telling her not to eat, or to practice until her soles bled? …And even a smile?!<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Who is this and what have they done to Athanase?!</span><br/><br/>“…That sounds…good,” she finally conceded. “When and where? I’ll meet you there, and then we can start this process? Maybe even do something…dance-related after, depending on how dinner goes?” Compromise. He needed her to get up to his level, and she needed to trust him. She figured that could work. Possibly.<br/><br/>If his own ego didn’t get in the way.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0000">“No need. Tell me where you are staying and I will pick you up,” he offered the smile still there, his mind already on just what he  planned on asking and where they would be going. “You should dress in something....that would work for dance....” he stated. “I will be waiting downstairs at nine o' clock and we can go from there to our evening out,” he smirked and added. “Our date.”<br/><br/>There were probably a thousand reasons why he should not do this with her. Why he should just bow out from this whole company all together and just move on. It would be easier. Less chance of exposure. Less chance of him losing what bit of spark for life that he had left. Yet, here he was. About to go on a date with a woman he could not stand. A woman who made him think and feel about a time in his past that was long since gone from his mind. <br/><br/>Yes, he would take her out. He would learn about her and he would get what he wanted from her and then remove her from his life forever.</span>