Chapter Text
“‘In a surprise move that shook the dance world, the Concordia Ballet Company announced yesterday that they have parted ways with principal dancer Din Djarin.’”
You could hear the sudden gasps through the open door of the large studio as you walked towards it. You recognized Clara’s voice as she read the news aloud, you assumed from her phone.
“‘Djarin, 27, who trained at the rigorous Concordia Ballet School from a young age, has been with CBC for 10 years and is in the prime of his career. He was promoted from soloist to principal two years ago, as is the norm at CBC, where they do not promote dancers younger than 25 to principal. His performances have been highlights on the CBC schedule over the last two seasons, earning many rave reviews.’”
You turned the corner to enter the studio and found most of the company class crowded around Clara as she looked down at her phone.
“‘The CBC press release did not indicate the reason for the split, which only makes this mid-season decision more disconcerting for fans and donors alike.’”
The group around Clara murmured and shifted their weight. You had just read the article on the bus and knew what was coming next. You slid down to sit against the wall by the door, watching.
“‘This decision comes amidst the company’s preparation for spring and for the last show on their fall schedule, Don Quixote, with no explanation as to how their roster of principals and other dancers may be adjusted to compensate for this enormous loss. Djarin is well known for his powerful physique, technical mastery, and classically perfect performances.’” Clara paused, and then continued, “then it talks about some of his work, we know all of that already, blah blah blah, ok whoa!” She gasped. “Ok. Listen to this – ‘Djarin has not been available for comment, but was seen boarding a flight to Nevarro two days ago before the announcement was made public!'”
You started to put on your shoes for barre and watched as everyone else in the room started to completely freak out.
“Here?!” Owen exclaimed, hand thrown over his mouth. “Is he coming here here?” He gestured around the studio as he asked.
Clara shrugged. “It doesn’t say, look, that’s the end of the article.”
Sophie had started rising up and down on the balls of her feet by one of the barres and you weren’t sure if she was aware she was doing it. Her tone was excited as she asked, “would he come here? Why? We’re, like, not his style.”
The room broke down into several noisy conversations at that point, and you felt your friend Adrian slip down the wall to sit next to you. “So, what do you think?” he asked, nudging your shoulder.
You shrugged. “No idea. I can’t see any reason he’d even want to come here. CBC is so…” You trailed off, but he knew what you meant.
“Yeah. Traditional. Rigid. Not like us at all.” Adrian waved his hand towards the mismatched group of dancers in front of you and you both smiled. The Nevarro Ballet Theater was different from the Concordia Ballet Company in many ways, and the diversity of dancers in the company was one of the things that set NBT apart the most.
You nodded. “Right. If his flight destination even means anything.”
“If it does, what would that mean for us?” Adrian looked around the room. “We already have a full roster of soloists and principals.” He bit his lip. He looked nervous, and he wasn’t the only one — you noticed Sasha, Lu, Carlos, and Isaac were huddled around the bar, clearly worried. All principals, you assumed they were nervous about losing out on parts. For Adrian, you knew it was because he had just made soloist at the start of the season. A new superstar coming in might shake things up too much.
You nudged his shoulder with your own. “I was thinking about that when I read it on the bus. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I heard what Karga said, about how good you are.”
He nodded, but didn’t look reassured. “At least you don’t have anything to worry about, Ms. Soon-To-Be-Principal.”
You rolled your eyes and shoved down the anxiety lurking in your stomach. You’d made soloist a couple of years ago, and then first soloist this season. There were some people (including Adrian) who seemed to think you’d be promoted soon, as early as the end of the current season. But there were at least a few critics who disagreed, and for months you’d been having trouble putting the words of one in particular out of your mind. You could quote it from memory:
“While her lyricism and skill are undeniable, one wonders if she has the artistry or stage presence to carry a narrative. She more than deserves the promotion to first soloist, but is this her ceiling?”
You wished you’d never read the article, but it had seemed to be the usual season preview and you hadn’t been expecting the targeted commentary. You’d spent the last few months trying not to think about it too much, or you knew you would get all in your head about it.
“Shut up.” You nudged him again and he laughed.
He opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the door opening next to you. It wasn’t your teacher who walked in, though, and once you saw who it was you both leapt to your feet.
Greef Karga, director of the Nevarro Ballet Theater, looked happy, but then he usually did.
“Good morning, dancers!’ His voice was deep and loud and you all scrambled into a semi-circle facing him at the door, where your ballet instructor, Alexa, followed him in. You chorused a “good morning” in response.
“I’m sure you’ve all seen the news,” Karga continued, with a knowing smile on his face. “And you must be wondering why I’m here!” You glanced in the mirror and noted that everyone did indeed look both curious and a little wary. “Well, I am very pleased to confirm that Din Djarin will be joining us for the rest of the season here at NBT.”
There was some general murmuring and shock in response, but he was not deterred.
“I know we’re in the middle of the season, with many roles already planned. Din and I have agreed to try not to disrupt that too much this year. We’ll be adding some things to the anniversary gala and the mixed programs.” That made sense — the latter were showcases of the work of different composers and choreographers and could be more easily rearranged to include a new dancer. “We won’t be making any changes to Midsummer, Swan Lake, or Cinderella, which I know we’re already planning for and rehearsing.” You felt Adrian take a deep, relieved breath beside you. He was supposed to be Puck this year for the first time and it sounded like that wasn’t going to change.
“Din will start joining your classes and the rehearsals for the gala and other programs over the course of the next two weeks. Please introduce yourself and welcome him — we are very excited to have him join us.”
You all nodded, of course, even though you knew a lot of your fellow dancers would be wary of the newcomer.
“Well!” Karga clapped his hands together and smiled. “I’ll let you get started. Continue with your rehearsals as normal unless you hear otherwise. Have a wonderful day, everyone!”
Alexa moved towards the stereo system in the corner as Karga swept out of the room, and you turned to look at Adrian.
“Well,” he said, turning towards his usual place at the barre. “This should be interesting.”
You nodded as Alexa turned on the music and you took your usual spot next to him at the barre. It definitely would be.
After all that excitement, you didn’t even see Djarin for a few days. He didn’t join the morning company classes right away, but you couldn’t really blame him — moving suddenly across the country wasn’t easy. It didn’t stop you from glancing around every room as you entered, trying to catch sight of your elusive new company member.
You heard from the others that he’d dropped by a couple of rehearsals, and they’d overheard him talking about plans for the mixed programs with some of the choreographers and other staff, including Talia and Jee. You wondered if he’d ever met Kuiil, the current guest choreographer in residence, who traveled and usually worked with different companies every few years. You somehow doubted it — Kuiil’s style was much too contemporary for CBC.
You’d been in rehearsals for Nutcracker and Midsummer all week, though, so you weren’t really surprised that you hadn’t run into him yet.
Finally, on Friday morning, you arrived early for class to find a group of your fellow company members huddled by the mirror and staring awkwardly across the room. You followed their gaze and found Din Djarin, in the flesh, warming up at the barre. For a moment you couldn’t reconcile the sight of him in your familiar space. He was tall and imposing, and dressed all in black — black ballet shoes, black tights, black sweats that cut off below his knees, and a tight black long sleeve shirt that showcased the breadth of his shoulders and just how strong he was. His curly brown hair was tousled. His signature mustache, somewhat uncommon in ballet, was in place, though you knew he often shaved for performances — there had been articles about his daring breach of the Concordia status quo when he didn’t. At least at NBT he’d be allowed to keep it, you thought. His face was blank, completely expressionless as he stretched.
You knew he had to know the rest of the group was watching him, and when you glanced back and found them still huddled you sighed. You felt someone step into the room behind you and turned to find Adrian taking in the standoff.
He shook his head. “Great start.” His tone was dry, and you laughed under your breath.
“Should we say hello?” You sat to put on your ballet shoes and Adrian sank down beside you.
“Who, us?” Adrian raised an eyebrow at you. “Do I look brave to you?”
You laughed again, and were about to suggest going together for moral support when Alexa walked in. She took in the situation and sighed, shaking her head as she crossed the room to where Djarin was still warming up alone.
“Look! Alexa took care of it.” Adrian nudged you and smiled. “No need for us to take one for the team after all.”
The two of you watched as she spoke with him, though you couldn’t hear what they were saying. He nodded at her, and she smiled before walking towards the stereo.
“Alright, let’s get started!” She called out without looking to see if anyone listened, but you all did. You realized as you took your normal spot that you were diagonal from Djarin across the space between two of the barres in the middle of the floor. You’d be able to see him whenever you were working your left side, and somewhat in the mirror on your right. You resolved not to stare.
You only sort of succeeded.
The problem, you quickly realized, was that his movements were beautiful. Even while doing simple pliés or tendus you could see the power in his body, the strength in his muscles, the rigor of his training. Every movement was precise, clean, and perfectly placed. The elegant line of his arm and the curve of his hip drew your gaze like a magnet, over and over again. His effortless coordination and control were mesmerizing. You watched the slow extension of his leg into grand battement until you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away.
Well, you thought, he certainly lives up to all of the hype about technique. CBC had a reputation and he more than exceeded it.
It made you painfully aware of the limits of your own abilities. You knew you were good – you’d made it this far, of course, and now you were first soloist, despite having what was seen as a late start in ballet (at age 7). And despite what the critics said, you were considered to be one of the better technicians at NBT. But you were no match for his level of skill, for the rigorous training you’d heard about at CBC. That much was obvious just from looking at him.
You tried to clear your mind as the class continued, knowing your worries would start to show in your movements if you let them. It was hard to do that when so much strength and technical perfection stood only five feet away from you, demonstrating the ideal version of every move and transition that you attempted.
As you finished at the barre and quickly put on your pointe shoes to work in the center of the room, you finally put it out of your mind. There was no use in comparison, you’d learned that a long time ago. In the end, the only dancer you could compete with was yourself. And NBT was not a company that encouraged that kind of competition among dancers anyway.
You found your feet going across the floor, letting yourself sink into it as you moved through some jumps and short combinations. You tried to feel nothing but the pull in your muscles and pattern of your breath. By the end of the class you felt a little steadier, a little more centered.
Alexa dismissed the class, and you started to gather your things. As you slipped off your pointe shoes, you felt someone brush past you, heading for the door — Djarin didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold into the hall. You realized as he did that he hadn’t spoken a single word for the entire class. You wondered if he was unhappy to be here, after all.
By the time you stepped into the hallway, he was nowhere to be seen.
Adrian fell into step next to you as you walked towards the larger rehearsal studios at the other end of the building. He hooked your arms together and looked around quickly to see if anyone was nearby. He leaned in to whisper, “did you see that? He was amazing!”
You nodded. “I know. I didn’t think anyone could live up to all that hype, but he does.”
Adrian shook his head, looking dismayed. “I know they said some roles wouldn’t change but, ugh. I wouldn’t blame them.”
“Hey,” you elbowed him lightly. “Don’t. You’re going to be amazing as Puck. And you know that role plays to your strengths. I don’t see him taking that one from you. It’s not really his style.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Ok, let’s hurry, I need to tape my knee before Nutcracker.” You winced in sympathy, knowing how much he’d be jumping in practice for both the Russian dance and the jack-in-the-box roles. But his words jogged your memory.
“Shit.” You froze in the hallway. “I left my tape in the studio. Go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”
He nodded, but you were already turning as you said it, waving him on.
You heard him jog off towards the rehearsal rooms behind you as you walked quickly back the way you’d come, turning past the bathrooms and the administrative offices. It didn’t take long and your tape was right where you’d left it.
Tape in hand, you turned around again and started walking back down the long hall.
As you approached the offices, though, the sound of Karga’s raised voice stopped you in your tracks, just around the corner from his office door.
“We talked about this, Din. It's part of this company’s identity. You want to break away from them? You need to make a statement.” You heard the slapping sound of one hand against another and imagined Karga hitting his hand with his fist for emphasis.
“No, Greef, listen. I don’t—“ You startled. It was the first time you’d heard Djarin’s voice and it was much deeper and more pleasant than you would have imagined.
Karga interrupted him. “No, you listen. Din, you can do this. I know you can. And it will show them everything they’re missing, everything they let slip through their fingers. They are so stuck in their ways, they have no idea what you can really do. What you’re capable of. Let me help you get there.”
You heard Djarin sigh. “This will go badly and I’m going to blame you.”
Karga chuckled. You tried to picture Djarin looking amused, too, and failed. All you could conjure was the expressionless mask he’d kept in place for all of class that morning. Karga continued, “I’ll take it happily. This is going to be great, don’t you worry! We’ll ease you into it. Now, let’s go share the news.”
You heard them start to move around in the office and startled into motion. As you turned the corner, the door to Karga’s office swung open in front of you and Din Djarin stepped out of it. He was moving quickly, shoulders hunched, brow furrowed. He barely glanced in your direction, but when he did, you took a surprised step back at the fierceness of his glare. It was the most emotion you’d seen from him so far, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant. He didn’t stop, though, and quickly turned away from you to move down the hall towards rehearsal. You blinked, frozen mid-step, unable to shake the look he’d just given you. What was that about?