Black Swan | Ghost & König [I] ✓

chapter 19

Act 1. Scene 1. Go.

You almost fucking slipped coming out onto the stage. Of course. Classic [Y/N].

But you regained your composure and moseyed along onto the stage when it was your call, gracefully flowing your arms up and down. You forced a serene expression upon your face, flexed your calves and strengthened your movements — this was second nature.

You recalled each minor flutter and kick and twist and spin of movement placed within the performance, each connected string of choreography like it was your next inhale and exhale. But your mind disrupted this intuition, corrupting your potential in the performance and causing you to be sloppy.

I need to get my head in the game. I'm sure this Clara chick is hella good, considering she's a prima ballerina and all. I gotta keep up the act.

So you furrowed your brows and tightened your figure, pictured yourself being the embodiment of grace and perfection and willed it into reality. You imagined yourself a child once more, back home in France, performing for your parents, mentors, and peers, back when everything was pure, innocent, and lovely.

Though you were currently being put through more vigorous exercise than it may appear to the untrained eye, your inward self was relaxed. You were tunnel-visioned, headstrong, yet aware. You were going to do this, and you were going to do it right.

Maybe you were trying to prove something to yourself, maybe you were trying to prove something to your parents, though they were not actually here. Or maybe even you were trying to prove something to Simon — that you were capable and independent. That any doubt he may possess in his being that you are not either of those things, will disperse once you complete your performance.

You took a deep breath as you prepped for a fouetté sequence. Everything is gonna be fine.

...

König had seated himself alongside Alejandro Vargas, readjusting himself so that he was somewhat comfortable in the rock-hard chair of the theatre. You would think considering the prestige and wealth occupied by the owners and the Hofmann Theatre itself would result in the quality of the seating to be more acceptable... but no.

Who was König to judge? He's been in the military for around a decade sleeping in the barracks. What the hell does he know about quality?

Alongside König, besides Alejandro, (who he felt rather uncomfortable with, mind you, seeing as the only interaction they had proceeding this mission was a awkward 'hello.') was none other than the owners of the theatre themselves.

"The owners may be difficult to locate," König recalled Captain Price stating on the way to Austria. "So proceed with a hawk's eye. They may look like any other citizen tryna watch a ballet with their spoiled ass kids, so try to pick them out the best you can."

"Sounds like it'll be a lot more trouble for us then we initially thought, eh, Rudy?" Alejandro nudged his partner.

"Seems like it, amigo," Rudy sighed. He wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about the ordeal as Alejandro.

"We have our work cut out for us then," said König, addressing Captain Price. His German accent deeply contrasted those of his Mexican counterparts.

"Sure will."

It was not difficult whatsoever to locate the owners.

The second König, Alejandro, and Rudy stepped foot into the Hofmann theatre, people were ogling the owners, all rich, dolled up aristocrats (the only people really able to afford to come here in the first place), begging to speak with them, to get them to acknowledge their existence.