The Auditions

On Point

Good Luck!

By Rena Rouge

A massive good luck to the dancers taking part in the Agreste auditions today. Remember belief will be your first step to success.

*****

Lyall Watson once wrote 'Dancing is surely the most basic and relevant of all forms of expression. Nothing else can so effectively give outward form to an inner experience', well if that was the truth, Marinette was quite sure that her dance would look nothing more than a cheap imitation of the tangled spaghetti currently occupying her stomach.

It was no surprise to her that every single girl within the studio was pure perfection; each dancer was the perfect height, or had the perfect hair. Majority had a crisp and clean leotard, framing their perfectly straight back and well worn pointe shoes. Yes, she knew there was no such thing as perfection, yet every single dancer in the holding area was attempting to prove that theory wrong.

She felt unbelievably out of place as she stood at her less than desirable height with her 'lucky' leotard on — and she was quite sure her wrap skirt had a hole in the back. It hadn't been her idea to audition. Not that it wouldn't be a dream to attend such a prestigious school, it's just her school director, Madam Bustier, seemed to think a lot more highly of Marinette's talents than she did herself. She wasn't like the others here, and she was sure she never would be.

She watched the girl to her left with great awe as she extended her développé in second to a height where it had bypassed her shoulder. She must train — a lot!

"Pin this to your front, then head to Studio 6."

Marinette's head turned away from the girl with the amazing legs to the woman in front of her — straight face to match her straight stance. Nathalie Sancoeur looked every inch the one time star of the New York City Ballet.

"Your number," the curt voice said again.

Marinette curtsied, putting herself into motion and grabbing hold of the number, pinning it to the front of her leotard. She scurried away, heading past studio 5 (where an audition was in full swing) to studio 6 where the last group of auditionees were just finishing up. Marinette watched the perfectly poised ballerinas ending with their formal 'thank you' before exiting the studio and picking up their bags.

She noticed her group swapping places and positioning their own belongings into the cube shelves outside, moving into the studio and preparing themselves with pre-warm up: warm ups. In true competition style, Marinette caught how their focus' wavered from practising demi -pliés to performing demi-glares.

The last couple of girls came out of the audition studio, both looking forlorn and crying, and Marinette couldn't help but empathise with them — she felt like crying too.

She was ushered forward, her arms reluctantly throwing her belongings onto a shelf on the way into the studio.

The two principal ballerinas who'd been demonstrating for the dance master walked past her, exiting the studio with an air of grace and poise she could only ever dream of possessing. Her eyes followed them all the way past the studio and down the corridor, her back unconsciously straightened as they walked away.

"Come in and gather around."

The stern voice of the ballet master beckoned them all in further, Marinette being pushed to the back as each girl battled to be noticed by placing themselves centre front. Maybe she should just turn around now and head home? Save herself from the embarrassment which was teetering on the horizon. It's a good job she was used to laughing off her unfortunate circumstances — nothing could be worse than... actually, right now was certainly not time to be thinking about that event.

"You're totally giving off fresh meat vibes. I'm guessing this is your first audition." A girl approached her with the most beautiful, flawless skin and dazzling brown almost orange hair. She stood out straight away from her looks alone — which only added to the imposters syndrome Marinette was already feeling.

She tried to laugh, instead she ended up spluttering out a hooting noise, the girls around her turning to give her a disgusted glare.

Alas, here we go again!

"Oh wow, you really do what to get eaten by the wolves," the girl chuckled.

Marinette felt her face flush, and made a mental note to never listen to Madam Bustier again. Yes, she had been pretty successful in the amateur world of dance; she was a crowd favourite at festivals and small local galas, but her ballet ability was nowhere near what everyone here possessed. Talk about small fish in a big pond.

"Come with me." The girl who'd been talking to her, grabbed her hand and pulled her closer to the front of the pack. "Try to at least look as stuck up as the rest of them. You don't want to be heading out onto the dance floor with a target on your back."

Marinette attempted to smile as she followed the girl, whose name she was yet to learn, into a suitable centre of the auditionees. Marinette began to warm up her ankles again, pushing against the hardened tip in a demi-pointe, before pushing over and up into a relevé, marching herself on the spot one rise at a time. Anything to keep her mind off what she was about to do.

Marinette kept her focus on her feet, not really affording to fall off her well worn loved pointe shoes. She tried hard to hide the wince, her toes already feeling the sting of the art. For such a beautiful form, people just couldn't believe the excruciating pain which went with it. From the tip of your toes to the top of your head.

"No way!"

"I can't believe it's them."

"Oh, no!"

Voices began to lift and overtake the anxiety screaming in her head, her eyes searching and noticing how all attention had moved to the front of the studio and the two girls who'd just walked in like they owned the place — and they kind of did.

Lila Rossi and Chloé Bourgeois were the company's Prima Ballerinas. (And two class A bitches).

She hadn't seen them since she was 16, but it wasn't like she was living under a rock. She knew they danced here, she just didn't expect to see them. The company's most treasured ballerinas were rarely seen outside their regular classes and rehearsal schedules, and definitely not at an audition for newbies.

Marinette watched as the two girls turned away, both checking their hair in the mirror — they might not have been the greatest fan of her, but they hated each other a lot more, their side eyed glances a give away of how much love was between them — precisely zero.

"Really? Out of everyone in this company, why the hell are these two here? I wouldn't have thought they'd lower themselves to our standards." The girl beside her seemed to be as curious as she was. "What's next? Gabriel Agreste himself coming down to scope out the talent and shatter some dreams? The name's Alya, by the way."

"Marinette," she said, smiling in greeting.

"Okay, everyone, gather round."

The ballet master called to the studio, gesturing to everyone to move closer. The girls gathered in and waited with baited breath.

Luckily, the audition was void of pas de deux work — something Marinette was extremely grateful for. She'd never been a pas de deux dancer; she worked better as a soloist thanks to her clumsy tendencies, there was also a clear lack of males in her studio back home, meaning when she did pas de deux it stayed clear of lifts.

"Good luck," Marinette whispered to Alya, moving further forward with the crowd. Chloé and Lila stood observantly at the front of the studio — two lionesses looking out for their pack.

"Before we begin, I just want to make it very clear, a position with Agreste School of Ballet will only open the door to a possibility of joining the company. If you make it through today, you will be observed and monitored closely. As you know this company is one of the greatest in Europe and therefore we will only be accepting the best. I wish you all the best of luck. Now, let's begin."

The dance master was tall, skinny and instantly recognisable. Plagg Fu was a long time Principal at Liaoning Ballet of China before being poached by Gabriel Agreste to tutor his son — or so the rumours went.

A hand clap of his hands and the girls scattered around the room, finding their position on a barre, instantly forming into a clone of one another.

With a deep breath and one last look in the mirror at her too tight hair, Marinette headed for a space opposite Alya, between dancer 167 and 169, and placed her hand delicately on the barre, her other positioned perfectly in front of her in bras bas — belly button height, relaxed shoulders, soft hands.

Marinette began to imagine this was just any other class. It was just Madam Bustier reminding her of the technique. It was just her Maman reminding her as she practised at home. It was just —

"And one. Two. Three." There was no more time to think as instructions were called out one by one, almost at lightning speed. Four tendus en croix from fifth with port de bra, relevé to sous sus, soutenu to the other side, repeat left.

In almost perfect coordination, each girl performed the barre combinations, the soft flow of music accompanying them, helping them stick to the beat; Plagg, Chloé and Lila moved around the room, correcting alignments and commenting on positioning. A couple of girls in Marinette's line of sight were already releasing tears through their well rehearsed 'performance smiles'.

She prayed the two Primas stayed away from her.

"Are you chewing?" Averting her eyes to the left and over the barre, she saw Plagg standing beside Alya, watching her intently.

She made a show of stopping what she was doing and swallowing the gum down, throwing a smug smile Plagg's way as she continued the exercises. Marinette's heart was about to explode out of her chest, there was no way Plagg was going to let this slide; chewing gum when dancing was a big no, no and chewing gum at an audition or gala? You may as well kiss your career goodbye.

Marinette's mouth ran dry, her counts fumbling as she waited for her new found friend to be thrown out the studio; however, instead of anger came laughter from the older man.

"You have guts, I'll give you that. Now, relax your shoulders a little, it's tensing up your arm fluidity." Alya did exactly as instructed, Plagg checking her over once more before commenting and moving on. Marinette felt at ease, the man's reputation was obviously a lot more fabricated than she imagined. He continued moving around, coming to Marinette's side and beginning his critics.

This is where they found out she was a phoney. That she wasn't anywhere near good enough to make the school and definitely not the company. She continued to concentrate hard on her positions, her pointe work and her back. Straight and narrow.

"Good energy through your feet."

Marinette looked over to where Plagg was looking intently at the body part he'd just praised, the whole interaction causing her to point a little harder. He suddenly turned towards the window and the viewer — or should she say audience — on the other side.

Her relevé faltered as she looked into the eyes of three people: Nathalie Sancoeur, company founder Gabriel Agreste, and company royalty, Adrien Agreste. And she was quite sure they were all signing her exit ticket.

*****

"So, we'll be watching audition 3 in studio 6, that's our highest acclaimed dancers, you'll get a chance to choose one girl as an addition to Plagg's chosen three. Do you understand?"

Adrien sat opposite his father in the main office of the school. He felt more like he was having a telling off from a principal, than a friendly conversation with his father. Though, friendly and father rarely came up in the same sentence when you spoke about Gabriel Agreste.

For the first time in 18 months, Adrien had agreed to return to the company with the intent to take more of a choreographer role than a principal. His father, however, had other ideas.

Where Adrien couldn't face the performance side anymore, not since his mother's passing, the love of dance hadn't faded, it had just changed. Gabriel wanted his son back out on the stage, but he wanted to choreograph. He wanted to train dancers. He wanted a more hands on approach. He'd still trained over the year and half he'd been absent from the company, his talent and technique still flawless, but not having his mother there just made performing seem lacklustre.

"Whatever," Adrien replied. There was no point arguing, it wasn't going to help, not when his father pretty much had him in an ironclad contract since his agreed return. Who did that to their own child?

He knew when he took the position in the company he would be signing the same contracts as everyone else, he never had a reason to doubt it. When he was younger, he rose high on being one of the famed Agreste's, but now he'd do anything to put a barrier between himself and his last night.

"Adrien, you need to take this seriously," Gabriel demanded, Adrien working hard not to laugh in his face.

"I'm performing, aren't I?"

Gabriel stood from where he was sitting on the opposite side of the desk and made his way around to rest against it in front of Adrien.

"I know this is hard for you. But life moves on, and you need to, too."

Adrien rolled his eyes and grabbed his phone out of his pocket, if he didn't do something to control his hands, it was most likely he'd do something he'd regret.

Life moves on Adrien! You should too! How could his father be such a dick?

Checking the time, he stood up abruptly and headed towards the door. "Let's just get this over with."

Adrien led the way out of his father's office and down towards the studio. As they got closer, they were joined by his father's assistant.

"I have the list of attendees here." Nathalie handed over a clipboard and a pen, Adrien taking it with a lazy thanks. "Do you want to go into the studio for a closer look, or stay out in the viewing area?"

He knew full well what 'Adrien Agreste' did to a room full of ballerinas and there was no chance he was getting into that again. He wasn't what they thought he was, he never would be.

"I'll just stay outside."

"Sure." Her curt voice came out like an arrow, straight to the point and no way of being misinterpreted. One of the things he adored about Nathalie.

Adrien watched as Plagg began to walk towards where the dancers were all currently at the barre, giving constructive criticism and looking at technicalities; Chloé and Lila, however, were walking around trying to see how many girls they could probably make cry – already a few showing streaks in their otherwise flawless make up.

Adrien had to give dues to all the hopefuls. He had never been to an audition for the school where a girl didn't make an effort. They came almost overly glammed up for the event – hair perfect and glued to their head with the best hair spray around, their performance pointe shoes (rarely worn and unloved), a brand new leotard and perfect pink tights — everything a training ballerina was not.

He moved closer to the glass, eyes surveying the scene. There were many, many pretty girls in the audition room, and his younger self probably would have been looking for his next target. The next girl willing to do anything to be the next big thing.

Scanning the scene, his eyes caught Plagg studying the turn out on a dancer and couldn't help but be surprised to see her in this heat of auditionees. Everyone in the studio had won some sort of major festival, or scholarship to a major school. New York, San Francisco, London. But she was shorter than the others. Her build was different. She looked stable enough, almost as if she was a major in a different style of dance. Maybe contemporary or jazz.

She continued moving through the exercises. Her arm positioning was beautiful, her neck long and lean. She was stretched right from her toes to the tip of her head. She was captivating. Almost familiar. He continued watching her transition from move to move, attempting to picture her on the stage.

Then she looked up.

Her eyes caught his own as a startled expression took over her face and she fell off her pointe. He screwed up his nose and looked away. He'd caused her to lose concentration, the exact reason he wanted to stay well away from these auditions, but if he wanted his opportunity for more, he had to play by his father's rules — pretty pathetic for a 22-year-old.

As much as he wanted to turn back and look at the girl with the raven hair, he kept his eyes looming over the studio, fluctuating between the girls and the clipboard he had grasped in his hand. Unconsciously, his eyes searched her out again, this time catching her number.

168 - Marinette Dupain-Cheng - Madam Bustier (Paris)

She was local. He thought he knew all the local dancers from his years of keeping up to date on the festival circuit before he moved into professional work, but the name meant nothing to him. Had he seen her before and not noticed?

The girls stepped away from the barre, heading in the direction of the corner ready to take part in their combinations.

The first dancer was the tallest in the group, but her technique was exquisite, almost flawless. He heard his father approach behind him, calling out the girl's number and asking for Nathalie to make a note of her height and arm positioning. His heart went out to her as she was judged on something she couldn't control. She moved across the floor with grace and ease, shouldn't that be more desirable than the size of her upper arms?

Chloé performed next, moving as fluid and perfect as always through grand-jetés and Chaîné turns. She was swiftly followed by an overworking Lila. Once again, the two Prima Ballerinas were in competition with each other, his father probably standing proud at his influence on the girl's abilities.

One after the other, girls began to move in sync down the room, a leaping train of beautiful girls, and pointed feet.

And then it was her turn.

He studied her. She wasn't as pristine as the others, almost like she'd never taken part in an audition before. Her pointe shoes were battered and old, the front turning black over the perfect peach they should be, her ribbons slightly frayed and tights edging towards the see-through side. Her leotard was a basic Bloch brand thin strap, nothing special or stand out. It was almost as though she didn't want to stand out.

Taking off into her chassé, Adrien couldn't help but marvel at her arms again, they opened out effortlessly. Everything about her floating as though she was on a cloud. As he watched her leap, Chassé Pas de Bourrée, Glissade, Grand Jeté, moving into a perfect split in the air. It looked effortless, almost as if she was controlling herself not to push the split over hip height, her flexibility both impressive and intriguing. This girl had talent. Maybe not 'professional ballet company talent', but 'pure dance talent'.

Adrien could just imagine her now, throwing herself freely about the room, arms and body expressing things words struggled to. His father would hate her, but he wanted to know more. No. He needed to know more.

"Number 168 isn't right for this company. Make a note next to her name."

Marinette.

Adrien didn't know what to say, all he knew was his father would be making a mistake. He glanced over at Plagg, his dance master giving him a quick nod of reassurance, before turning back to the crowd in the corner.

Chaînés down the room.

Rolling his eyes, Adrien watched as Marinette once again fell off pointe.

"I don't know, father. I think she has style."

Finally having enough of the display in the studio, Gabriel turned aggressively, marching out of the room and back to his office, Nathalie hot on his tail. Plagg would be meeting them once this audition group were complete and all the fates of the girls would be decided.

He just couldn't help but wonder who would be the one, hopefully, freeing him from his cage?

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