Sueltate

Greetings all,

Here it is. Nooshy has captured my imagination and I have at least one multi-chapter fic for her, with this being installment one. With this being my first multi-chapter in a while, please feel free to leave comments and feedback – but as it shouldn't have to be said, don't be childish please. No one has time for that.

This was fun for me to write and the chapters I have planned give me much excitement...I can't wait to share them with you.

Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen I present the first chapter in my new full-length story: Sueltate.

Happy Writing,

Sehmti

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The best cure for stress was always a rhythm – it didn't matter to her if it was some grand thumping beat or a classical harmony, it didn't matter if the words flowed from the artist's mouth or from the songbook in her head, and it certainly didn't matter if the music even existed to the rest of the world or just her. She had the hardest time in the world explaining what others apparently had the easiest time displaying, and so Nooshy expressed it in another way. Today's chaos had her wrapped up in some (what was supposed to be) calming music strumming through her wireless earbuds – a very thoughtful surprise from Buster - as she tried to burn off her excess energy in a way that she had been unable to do for quite some time.

It had been a long time since she had any kind of space to even consider doing gymnastics, even if she only new the bare bones basics it was the best way she knew to keep her flexibility where it needed to be. In Redshore that took the form of parkour or running from the authorities...but whetever's clever, she had always told herself. Here the game was different, and when Johnny had off-handed mentioned to the owner of the New Moon Theatre that she had a pension of all kinds of mixed arts, he had been so incredibly excited to set up what was once a dead zone in the back hall into a makeshift studio for her. She had her own uneven bars, her own balance beam, her own shock mats – oh for heaven's sake he had even put in a bearing pole for when she sucked up her pride and altered to her minimal knowledge of ballet. That was a rare day; today was even rarer in her arsenal.

Buster had made one thing clear to her the day he had almost brought her to tears (she would never tell him that though): she was free to use this room however and whenever she saw fit to do so, because he made it abundantly clear that this room was hers...with an exception. If she was doing anything other than basic dance she needed a spotter. They didn't need to be actively involved in what she was doing, they didn't have to say anything, they didn't even have to really keep track of what she was doing. To her irritation, they were the safety net in case things went south. She had understood but still felt the twinge of frustration. She didn't need the handicap.

But that was a small price to pay for this – in this moment she was free to pivot and turn on the balance beam, her bare feet remembering this surprisingly well with the time she had missed doing it. Clay had wandered in on his own when she had retreated here from the stage earlier, almost like the old lion understood that she was dangerously close to boiling over with something that she couldn't bring words to. This was stress relief to her, and his heart went out to the young lynx who was so obviously stressed that she had only offered him a grateful smile for joining her before almost chucking her hoodie onto the back of a chair, shaking off her boots and socks, and jamming the earbuds in her ears before starting her warm up.

Clay didn't need to hear the music she heard and moved to, her movements illustrated it enough. Her stress levels were high...and he didn't need to guess why. Oh, there was a whole list on the kid's shoulders.