Post by Christian Moynahan on Jan 30, 2014 16:34:23 GMT -5
Learn to fly, learn to fly
Show the world how you try
But don’t let go until you know,
until you know
Me
-Two Door Cinema Club, “Settle”
(Thanks, Colleen!)
While the place was small and dimly lit, it was well kept, both outside and inside. The neighborhood was much the same, such that one could leave a car parked on the street and be sure of still finding it there upon returning. The people were friendly but not nosy, just the sort of people Christian preferred. Perhaps that all was why it was “No Place.”
He had convinced Maurelle to attend a ceili. How, he was uncertain, but he asked no questions. Why she had agreed was a mystery as well. It was hardly important. It was the fact that she had agreed that mattered. This was a part of his life that no one saw. It was not much of a secret, but it was a place to start.
Ceilis were an important part of Irish culture; or, at least, that was what it seemed to him based on his upbringing. There had been a small Irish community in Roanoke, and while Christian's mother had raised him in a strict English manner, his father had made sure to include a good deal of Irish culture into their little bubble. Since then, for every city he had lived in, he had done his best to find at least a small Irish community of some sort. Los Angeles had been easy. There was a bit of every culture there, he suspected. That was a thing to love about big cities.
The evening had not started with the ceili, however. Earlier, Maurelle had met him at Áine to look at how best to approach the situation of Maurelle’s losses. They had both started on it independently, but Christian had not had the actual numbers on his end. Now, working together, they came to a very feasible and efficient - Christian’s favorite part - solution.
He must have looked like a madman, he thought in retrospect. It might have been considered a fit of adrenaline-fueled mania. They had the books spread out on the coffee table, and a large standalone pinboard-slash-chalkboard near the clear back doors. Christian, dressed with a few buttons down and his sleeves rolled up and his hair going slightly more askew as he moved, kept racing from the table to the pinboard to scribble the numbers onto general ledgers and income statements, and flipping the pinboard over whenever he needed to do math. It took them only the late morning and early afternoon to determine where Maurelle’s remaining assets should be divided and placed in order to help her best recover. It was a good solution, he thought. Caused in part by him, solved in part by him. It evened out. Just as it should.
He’d had to shower and dress after that, picking out more casual attire, and Maurelle could have as well if she wished. For the ceili, he had suggested she wear something slightly form-fitting as a top and something loose on the bottom. A dress or a blouse and skirt - but not a skirt so long and wide that it spun too much - or pants if she would rather. It was not an attempt at controlling what she should wear; it was just that they would be dancing, and ceili dancing was fast-paced and flowing. There was a threshold of comfort there.
They made a small dinner and, at Christian’s suggestion, ate it outside on the porch while the sun was setting. They’d had a little time for idle chat after that, since dancing on a full stomach was never a good idea.
When the time came, Christian drove them to the place and pulled the Civic up onto the curb. They had both probably had enough of teleporting that traditional transportation was one part strange and two parts relief. The evening had just begun in earnest by then. Ever the gentleman, Christian went around to Maurelle’s side and opened the car door for her, and they walked up together to the front door. Above the door was a sign that labeled the place as “No Place,” which became clearly a misnomer.
The little place was light enough to see faces, without the darkness of a club but also not as bright as a ballroom. It might have been called a pub, since it did have a bar, but it also had a large dance floor and a raised platform. A scattering of both familiar and unfamiliar instruments were laid about there, as most of the place’s patrons were gathered near the bar.
It was almost as though he had announced himself, even though he hadn’t. Quite a few people looked up as Christian and Maurelle entered. “Christian!” There was a rush of hugging and pats on the back.
After the cheer, when everyone stepped back a bit, one of the young women looked him up and down. “Seriously, Christian,” she said, a little softly. “You look as though you hadn’t just come out of a coma three weeks ago.”
He gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Dee.”
All of the regulars knew who he was. This was only his third visit, but he tended to leave an impression.
An older man gestured toward Maurelle. He, like many of the others, spoke in a thick brogue, but there were others who didn’t and who, like Christian, were less directly Irish. “And who’s this you’ve brought with ya?”
“It is time for introductions, isn’t it?” Christian chuckled. “Everyone, this is Maurelle. Maurelle, this is… well, everyone. You’ll learn their names throughout the night, because I don’t feel like introducing each of you at once.” He gave them a look. There were a few chuckles and a good many grins.
“Well, good point. ‘Everyone’ ought to get themselves onto the floor. We’re about ready to start.” The group dispersed, and the older man nodded respectfully to Maurelle. “I’m hoping you’ll both be joining us.”
“We will.” Christian nodded as well. “Give me a moment to get her caught up.”
“We’ll see you, then.” The man headed off toward the dance floor, where many of the others were gathering; beyond them, the musicians picked up their instruments and plucked or tapped at them. Christian led Maurelle to the side and gave her a smile. The group that gathered at No Place could be overwhelming. He wouldn’t have blamed her if it was a bit disconcerting.
“The dances are easy,” he told her. “It’s the footwork that could trip you up. Here.” He stepped back a little so she could see his feet easily. “Not all of the dances will need these, but they’re good to know.”
He stepped forward on his right foot, tapped it against the floor, then his left foot, tapped it, then stepped backwards on his right foot, tapped it, and then his left foot, and tapped it. Right, tap, left, tap, right, tap, left, tap. Forwards and backwards. He smiled as Maurelle started getting into the rhythm of it. “Perfect. Now, sevens.”
He started to step to the side, crossing his right foot over the left, then going back to the first set of steps. Then, the reverse. “These should be all you need tonight. It gets more complicated if you’re a serious, competition dancer. Part of the group are going to a competition in Las Cruces next month. I’d go with them if I could.” He grinned. “I’m a professional-level ceili dancer. The more you know.”
The way he pronounced “ceili” was nothing like the spelling; the pronunciation was “kay-lee,” at least in this sense. He tilted his head toward the crowd, the musicians, the dancers, some with beers in their hands, all chatting amongst each up, sending up a wonderful noise. “Welcome to my world.”
Taking one of her hands in his and placing the other below her arm, such hat she would place her arm on his shoulder, he started to dance her around their little corner. “Are you comfortable with this?” he asked softly, with a gentle smile.
He had convinced Maurelle to attend a ceili. How, he was uncertain, but he asked no questions. Why she had agreed was a mystery as well. It was hardly important. It was the fact that she had agreed that mattered. This was a part of his life that no one saw. It was not much of a secret, but it was a place to start.
Ceilis were an important part of Irish culture; or, at least, that was what it seemed to him based on his upbringing. There had been a small Irish community in Roanoke, and while Christian's mother had raised him in a strict English manner, his father had made sure to include a good deal of Irish culture into their little bubble. Since then, for every city he had lived in, he had done his best to find at least a small Irish community of some sort. Los Angeles had been easy. There was a bit of every culture there, he suspected. That was a thing to love about big cities.
The evening had not started with the ceili, however. Earlier, Maurelle had met him at Áine to look at how best to approach the situation of Maurelle’s losses. They had both started on it independently, but Christian had not had the actual numbers on his end. Now, working together, they came to a very feasible and efficient - Christian’s favorite part - solution.
He must have looked like a madman, he thought in retrospect. It might have been considered a fit of adrenaline-fueled mania. They had the books spread out on the coffee table, and a large standalone pinboard-slash-chalkboard near the clear back doors. Christian, dressed with a few buttons down and his sleeves rolled up and his hair going slightly more askew as he moved, kept racing from the table to the pinboard to scribble the numbers onto general ledgers and income statements, and flipping the pinboard over whenever he needed to do math. It took them only the late morning and early afternoon to determine where Maurelle’s remaining assets should be divided and placed in order to help her best recover. It was a good solution, he thought. Caused in part by him, solved in part by him. It evened out. Just as it should.
He’d had to shower and dress after that, picking out more casual attire, and Maurelle could have as well if she wished. For the ceili, he had suggested she wear something slightly form-fitting as a top and something loose on the bottom. A dress or a blouse and skirt - but not a skirt so long and wide that it spun too much - or pants if she would rather. It was not an attempt at controlling what she should wear; it was just that they would be dancing, and ceili dancing was fast-paced and flowing. There was a threshold of comfort there.
They made a small dinner and, at Christian’s suggestion, ate it outside on the porch while the sun was setting. They’d had a little time for idle chat after that, since dancing on a full stomach was never a good idea.
When the time came, Christian drove them to the place and pulled the Civic up onto the curb. They had both probably had enough of teleporting that traditional transportation was one part strange and two parts relief. The evening had just begun in earnest by then. Ever the gentleman, Christian went around to Maurelle’s side and opened the car door for her, and they walked up together to the front door. Above the door was a sign that labeled the place as “No Place,” which became clearly a misnomer.
The little place was light enough to see faces, without the darkness of a club but also not as bright as a ballroom. It might have been called a pub, since it did have a bar, but it also had a large dance floor and a raised platform. A scattering of both familiar and unfamiliar instruments were laid about there, as most of the place’s patrons were gathered near the bar.
It was almost as though he had announced himself, even though he hadn’t. Quite a few people looked up as Christian and Maurelle entered. “Christian!” There was a rush of hugging and pats on the back.
After the cheer, when everyone stepped back a bit, one of the young women looked him up and down. “Seriously, Christian,” she said, a little softly. “You look as though you hadn’t just come out of a coma three weeks ago.”
He gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Dee.”
All of the regulars knew who he was. This was only his third visit, but he tended to leave an impression.
An older man gestured toward Maurelle. He, like many of the others, spoke in a thick brogue, but there were others who didn’t and who, like Christian, were less directly Irish. “And who’s this you’ve brought with ya?”
“It is time for introductions, isn’t it?” Christian chuckled. “Everyone, this is Maurelle. Maurelle, this is… well, everyone. You’ll learn their names throughout the night, because I don’t feel like introducing each of you at once.” He gave them a look. There were a few chuckles and a good many grins.
“Well, good point. ‘Everyone’ ought to get themselves onto the floor. We’re about ready to start.” The group dispersed, and the older man nodded respectfully to Maurelle. “I’m hoping you’ll both be joining us.”
“We will.” Christian nodded as well. “Give me a moment to get her caught up.”
“We’ll see you, then.” The man headed off toward the dance floor, where many of the others were gathering; beyond them, the musicians picked up their instruments and plucked or tapped at them. Christian led Maurelle to the side and gave her a smile. The group that gathered at No Place could be overwhelming. He wouldn’t have blamed her if it was a bit disconcerting.
“The dances are easy,” he told her. “It’s the footwork that could trip you up. Here.” He stepped back a little so she could see his feet easily. “Not all of the dances will need these, but they’re good to know.”
He stepped forward on his right foot, tapped it against the floor, then his left foot, tapped it, then stepped backwards on his right foot, tapped it, and then his left foot, and tapped it. Right, tap, left, tap, right, tap, left, tap. Forwards and backwards. He smiled as Maurelle started getting into the rhythm of it. “Perfect. Now, sevens.”
He started to step to the side, crossing his right foot over the left, then going back to the first set of steps. Then, the reverse. “These should be all you need tonight. It gets more complicated if you’re a serious, competition dancer. Part of the group are going to a competition in Las Cruces next month. I’d go with them if I could.” He grinned. “I’m a professional-level ceili dancer. The more you know.”
The way he pronounced “ceili” was nothing like the spelling; the pronunciation was “kay-lee,” at least in this sense. He tilted his head toward the crowd, the musicians, the dancers, some with beers in their hands, all chatting amongst each up, sending up a wonderful noise. “Welcome to my world.”
Taking one of her hands in his and placing the other below her arm, such hat she would place her arm on his shoulder, he started to dance her around their little corner. “Are you comfortable with this?” he asked softly, with a gentle smile.
For reference:
the general idea
basic footwork
sevens
Christian's outfit