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Abby waved at her father as he pulled off with the promise that he would be picking her up at the end of her class. She was just a touch late for her solo class but there had been no way to fix that, her doctor’s appointment had ran a bit longer than intended. She had gotten the approval of the orthopedic doctor to begin dancing again only with regular checks and continuing physical therapy until she had a clear bill of heath. It wasn’t like she could explain that she was a senshi and healed faster then regular civilians, she also couldn’t tell them what exactly was pushing her so hard. What was pushing her get back into dancing so soon after breaking her leg and being hospitalized with pneumonia. There were so many things she couldn’t tell a single soul.

Mentally shaking off her rapidly darkening mood the young lady turned towards the doors of the dance studio and hiked her gym bag higher on her shoulder before heading in. Her lilac sundress fluttered against her legs as the summer breeze rushed into the building behind her just as a distant musical chime marked the hour. A new studio, a new teacher, a… not quite so new dance, overall a day of new. It was tempting to just turn around and walk back out but she would never do that, she was too proud to do that. Not after the arguments and conjoling it had taken to get her here. Besides the moment to escape disappeared at the appearance of an older male. The teacher? Or was he another student just finishing up his session? Shrewd eyes took in his appearance and concluded that the man was a teacher or some other type of staff, he just didn’t look like a student.

“Terribly sorry I was late,” She apologized as she did a quick bob, “I’m Abigail Miller. Here for the eleven o’clock class.”

Abby watched in silence as the young man bounced around the reception space, primarily behind the desk, she smiled slightly at his rambling explanation about the room and the class. It all made sense to her but his actions helped relax her further, it helped keep her mind focused on the here and now rather than the past. He seemed to have figured out where they needed to go after one more turn behind the reception desk so she politely followed him to the small room he had picked out for their lesson… he was likely the teacher then. That or the assistant.

“Oh. No thank you. Not right now, I brought my own bottle. I’ll refill it as needed.” She politely explained while patting her dance bag before stashing it against the wall near the door. It would be out of the way there. “Um,” She hesitated for a moment not quite sure what to call him since he never actually introduced himself, “I’m not sure if you were informed but I am currently in the final stages of recovery for a broken leg. I’ve been cleared by the doctor to dance again but it was suggested I stay away from heels, jumps, and hard landings for a little bit longer.” Basically anything that would add additional force on her ‘still healing’ leg. Honestly, if only the doctor believed what he saw on the X-ray… a fully healed bone, rather then assume she still needed to work up to her typical level of dance. “I know this is just the first class but I wanted you to be aware.”

To hide her anxiety over his reaction, not everyone liked the idea of her going back into dancing so soon, the young lady turned away to switch out her flats with the much more worn ballet slippers. “I’m primarily ballet but I also have a general grounding in several ballroom styles. Personally I would like to branch out more and my teacher agrees that it wouldn’t be a bad idea.” With the shoe change she was ready to start class, she was already wearing her dance leotard under her light summer dress and her hair was secured into a dancer’s bun. Short of removing the dress, which she would do if asked but she had picked it with the intention of dancing in it, there was nothing else for her to delay with. Now it was up to the young man. Would he cancel the class now that he knew about her injury? Push her off on someone else? Or actually teach her?

Abby was a bit surprised when her teacher, Mr. Bell, just brushed off her injury when the first studio she had approached for new lessons had turned her away. To be fair she hadn’t yet goten her Doctor’s approval yet but still. Even her normal dance teacher had suggested she take longer to heal rather then push herself to start dancing again, let alone the extra stress of learning a new style as well. She wanted to do it for a few different reasons; first and foremost it was to build back up the muscles and skills she had lost while recuperating, but there was also the added benefit of being able to forget about the fight that had caused the damage in the first place. A type of therapy for body and mind… maybe that's why the Doctor gave his approval. Maybe he had figured that her getting back to dancing would help her heal faster, at least mentally. None of that really mattered in all honesty because this studio would teach her, the wavers had been signed and the check handed over. So what if others would rather she spend longer healing. What did it matter in the long run anyway. It didn’t, not really.

Her rather circular thoughts were disjared with the question Mr. Bell voiced. “My favourite part?” She needed to think about that. Dance had always been part of her family, while her mother prefered ballroom she had drifted more towards ballet. Why? Abby absently stood there, facing the wall of mirrors that was part of every dance studio, watching everything but not really seeing. “The grace. The beauty. The way ballet dancers make it look effortless when in reality it is excruciatingly difficult. The pageantry and storytelling. Ballroom in general is like this but I find that it is part of ballet and less of an afterthought.” The young lady remembered the way her mother would glide across their own little studio, a spare bedroom that had been converted, dancing with a shadow partner and just having fun. She wanted to be just like her when she grew up but as Abby got older she realized that for her, ballet told more of a story. It allowed her to express more. The pain, the heartache, the loss… ballroom could do it but ballet did it better. “That and the kicks.” Not that the few moves she had transitioned into fighting moves really helped much last time.

Abby had honestly expected such a question so she answered quite promptly, “very little. My mother showed me the basic box step for ballroom rumba but that was years ago and we briefly covered the two versions in my normal dance class. Between the American style and the International style I personally prefer the international style.” The young woman did a slow basic box, the quick-quick-slow pattern, while she counted out the beats of an imaginary tune, moving on the second, third, and fourth beats of her count as she was taught. Her lack in of experience showing in the slight hesitation of each step as well as the concentration written all over her face.

It was rather her to keep the right rhythm without real music but once she completed the box step twice she came to a stop. “I don’t really know much else. I’ve also never danced with a partner so,” in a shrug that had the grace of a dancer the young girl trailed off. There was no real point to finishing the sentence anyway since it was pretty clear what she meant. The only person she had ever danced with as partners besides her mother was her father, every other time she had been just another figure in the background. Keeping step with all the others in the corps de ballet. Basically moving scenery but she was willing work her way to the front. Not that she wanted to be a prima ballerina, she just wanted to have fun. That's all she really wanted.

Abby smiled brightly and nodded slightly, “Yes well I have been dancing for almost as long as I have been able to walk.” Even after her sabbatical she took when her mother died and this forced break due to her injury she hadn’t lost the skills she had picked up from years of dancing, years of music filling the house. They had gotten rusty after the long period following her mum’s passing and the move to the states but she had been working hard to correct that, the broken leg had just slowed her down. With another nod she drifted into the starting position for the box step, “I’m ready when you are.”

When the music started Abby took a few moments to get the feel of the tempo before she started to dance. The quick-quick-slow steps rapidly merging with the music, her steps became more sure with each box she completed. As the music continued on and she became complacent the young girl started add flourishes, at first it was just tweaking the dress hem so it would flutter and flare around her but soon she added more daring additions until a spike of pain had her wincing and stumbling slightly.

She slowed down and went back to just the standard steps for a few more sets before coming to a stop. Her leg was sore but not completely atrocious. Abby knew she could continue to dance but she would have to be careful, no more flares or playing around. She did not want to give her father or her doctor any excuse to keep her from dancing. The sooner she was back on her feet, as the saying goes, the sooner she could avenge her friend.

Abby stood there for a moment, silently testing her leg. Mentally she knew she could go on but what he was asking was if she physically needed a break or even the end of the lesson. Under no circumstance did she want to end the class right then but if her leg needed it… the young girl remained quiet, lightly flexing her leg and stretching it, trying to gage the damage her playing around had done. When no real pain answered her she sighed slightly before beaming at her teacher. “No I think I’ll be fine. I just got a bit too ahead of myself.” She had the grace to look away, even her dark complexion took on a slight rosy hue as she blushed.

“It felt good to dance without anyone scolding me to stop.” Abby quietly admitted before taking a breath and straightening slightly, not that her posture had really drooped from its regularly straight spine. “So what now? As long as I am careful I believe we can continue, yes? No salsa for me just yet.” The joke was a bit flat but it got her point across. A broken leg wouldn’t stop her, not now and not ever. It wasn’t her first injury from this shadow war and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Even the bottom of her feet still bore the crisscrosses of silvery scars from the glass that had lacerated them years ago.

She wasn’t just a dancer, she was a fighter… a survivor. A bit of pain wouldn’t keep her from her goal. Even if that goal was something as little as making it through the end of class without making a fool of herself.

Abby double checked her feet position and settled her body into the proper form before she focused on her teacher, she was ready to begin at any point but the comment about the slowed-down bachata had her cocking her head to the side slightly. She couldn’t place that type of dance, or at least she couldn’t visualize it. In all honestly this current dance style wasn’t terribly familiar to her so she really only knew the very basics and even after her classes she didn’t remember a lot of the styles they covered very well. Was bachata one of the ones they covered? Was it something her mother did? Or was it a completely new one that she didn’t know at all?

“Next time perhaps.” Overall it didn’t matter to Abby if she knew it and forgot it or if she had never known it at all, just that she got to try it eventually. Right now though she needed to make it through this class without proving herself a fool who was ‘running before she learned to walk’. Besides she could always look up bachata when she got home. She just needed to remember it. Bachata… Ba, chat, a. Bachata.

It had a nice ring to it actually. “Ready when you are,” she straightened back up and nodded towards Mr. Bell. As the music started back up she started the box steps once more. This time Abby was determined that she wouldn’t make a mistake like she did the first time. No fancy footwork, no skirt twirls, no frills. Just simple steps, one foot after the other.