The foremost event of the Muse Academy academic year is underway.
As discussed on the planning thread, the theme in the ballroom is “Victorian ruins” — aptly enough, as wealthy Victorians were fond of ancient ruins, had plenty of them on their own island, loved to travel to see others in Greece and Rome, and often built fake ruins (known as “follies”) to enjoy. The ballroom is festooned with simulacra of ivy-twined crumbling Corinthian columns, collapsed Norman chapels, and, in the center, a bubbling fountain flanked by two Grecian urns.
Dress is formal. (If you don’t know what that means, look it up.) This being Muse Academy, all the clothes fit perfectly and look wonderful. Hats resembling those recently seen at the Royal Wedding are much in evidence.
Music, at least to begin with, consists of ballroom and/or classical works composed before or during the reign of Queen Victoria, with emphasis on lush romanticism.
For fresh air and a break from the dancing and mingling, there is, as always, a rooftop garden.
The rest is up to you.
Oh, lovely!
I walk into the beautifully decorated ballroom. Because I’m the only one here, I walk over to the tea bar.
((Ah, but you’re not the only one there. Many students have already arrived. Some are clustered with other members of their houses — Coontz, Lasley, Spector, and Baker — but there’s a lot of interhouse mixing going on, too. After all, they all have classes together. You don’t know them all but recognize everyone, as is inevitable in a small school.
Of course, all the teachers and staff members are also present, decked out in astonishing finery. I myself am equipped with a walking stick capped with the solid gold head of a heron and am wearing a black cape lined with scarlet satin. I stand with my fellow GAPAs near the refreshment table, sipping Icelandic mead and sampling the delicacies described on the planning thread. This year, to my delight, Helga Gunnarsdóttir came down with a bad cold during the preparations for the ball and was unable to supply her traditional specialty, puffin puffs. Out on their windswept cliffs, the seabirds of Hyperborea no doubt share in my rejoicing.))
((In fact, I misspoke. You don’t recognize everyone. For every single MBer at the dance, there is at least one extremely attractive Mysterious Stranger furtively checking him or her out from across the room with a slight but definitely encouraging smile.))
Wearing an outfit that – while aesthetically pleasing – I would never have expected to wear in a million years, I am standing unobtrusively in the background – which is even more astonishing – as I wait for more people to arrive.
I step inside, wearing, as I’ve become used to, a kimono. This year’s is lilac with a pale blue sash. I admire the faux ruins as I make my way to the fountain.
I consider asking someone the old “What’s a Grecian urn?” joke, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, so I sit on the side of the fountain and wait for other guests to show up.
I enter, wearing an outfit which I would never wear in real life. I hesitate, and then decide to go stand unobtrusively in the background. Too late, I realise there’s already someone there doing just that.
“Oh, um… hi!” I say.
I slip into the room, wearing a purple and silver dress. I take a seat on the ledge of the fountain and wait for more people to arrive.
I am wearing the dress I wore as a Puritan (in the Crucible), simply because it is my favorite dress worn this year–and now it fits perfectly. The dress is floor length, a very light denim blue, with a square collar, revealing my collarbones. The skirt, while not overly full, is definitely good for twirling. My hair, which is gold-ish, is down to a bit below my shoulder blades and lightly curled, with one side swept out of my face and behind my ear by a clip.
I’ve brought my girlfriend to introduce to all of you. Her name is Bronwyn, she’s about an inch taller than I and wears a suit. Since I’m in Puritan dress perhaps she is as well, she was rather fond of that suit. Her suit includes mid-calf length grey pants, tall white socks, a loose white shirt (rather like a pirate) and a grey vest with a silvery backing. She also has a coat, but she’s not presently wearing it, and she might be wearing a tie. Her hair is less yellow than mine, and cut close to her head, yet her bangs still fall in her eyes on occasion. I brush them behind her ears.
We walk in, and I enthusiastically drag her over to some of the artifacts to explore, and, after laughing at my energy, she quietly reminds me that I ought to be introducing her to people. I’d forgotten about this, but now I scan the room, and begin walking around it to introduce her to all those now here.
Small talk is not something either of us are good at, but we try.
Suddenly, hordes of Muse Academy students swarm into the room, and everything is as described in comments 2.1 and 2.1.1. The musicians finish their preliminary music to applause, and then, with a sweep of my cape, I step onto the low stage to greet the assemblage.
“Welcome to the Muse Academy May Ball!” I say, beaming. “You all look magnificent. I think I can safely say that the splendor on display at our school is worthy of the court of King Arthur or Kublai Khan and matches any pageantry ever seen or imagined anywhere on Earth.
“As is customary, the dancing will begin and end with a waltz. When not dancing, I hope you will avail yourselves of the sparkling conversation of your peers and, of course, of the delightful fare festooning our refreshment table. Beyond that, words fail me, except to say: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! And enjoy yourselves, one and all.”
I enter the main hall, wearing a short yet flowy teal dress, a matching ribbon tying my hair out of my face, and silver slippers, admiring this year’s decorations and gleefully noting the lack of Puffin Puffs. “I can’t believe this is my third May Day Ball…” I say wistfully, then as Mr. Coontz begins to speak I turn my attention to him.
“I wasn’t aware that Mr. Coontz’s alter ego was Dumbledore.” I comment quietly to a person standing nearby. They give me a strange look. “That was supposed to be funny…? Oh well, nevermind.”
((I actually do own the dress I am wearing, it’s the outfit I’m wearing for one of my dance recitals and it’s actually a unitard with drape-ey things flowing down from the waist that makes it look like a dress. I like it because it’s very pretty and elegant but I can still do cartwheels and other unladylike/childish things.))
I enter wearing a black dress crisscrossed with pink ribbons and tiny flowers, and wander over to look at the fountain.
((Are we having a maze in the rooftop garden this year?))
((I’ll try and get to this, just let me design a dress~))
((Um, could I link from DeviantArt? Or is it only Photobucket and email? Cause I power-drew and got it done…))
((Oh! I knew that May was coming, but somehow managed to assume that I would remain in mid-April. Living extemporaneously has some drawbacks.))
((2.1.1–Robert Coontz: Mysterious strangers are indeed an important part of all fantasy balls–thank you for reminding people they exist!))
To begin with the ever-important outfit: I am wearing a slim-fitting rich green gown underneath a sleeveless plum kirtle. The kirtle’s skirt is knee-length and cut to resemble petals. A drawing may be forthcoming.
I skip up a set of old brick stairs and stop short. The ballroom’s usual doors have been replaced with a door that ought–by the laws of imagination–to lead into a beautifully wild garden. To my delight, it does.
I pause between a pair of slightly unsteady-looking columns and see, in amongst other guests, a number of familiar-to-me lasses. I wave to no one in particular and note that Mr. Coontz (who looks very sharp) is addressing the attendees. I grin, unable to recall a finer dance-kick-off speech.
I slip through the crowd to get a glass of cranberry juice. “Oh, um…hi!” someone says. I glance up.
“Hello! You’re ZNZ, yes? I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Cerulean Pyros–welcome to the blog and to the ball!”
((I stated that I am wearing a dress, but, to avoid any confusion: I am a lady who looks like a lady, and not a dude who looks like a lady. No need for Aerosmith tunes.))
((Something else I should have noted about the Mysterious Strangers mentioned in comment 2.1.1: You’re allowed to power-play them. In fact, you may create, and power-play, any number of previously unheard-of Muse Academy students at the ball. Or you may describe them as scenery in the background.))
I enter the ballroom from a back entrance of the ruins, in a crisp grey suit and top hat. I wander about, looking for someone to dance with. I approach a Muse Academy student whom I do not recognize.
“Are you knew here?” I ask.
“Kind of. This is my first year here, but I went to the Collège des Muses in Paris for a few years.”
“Really? Vous parlez français?”
“Bien sûr! Euh, tu peux me tutoyer.”
“Merci. Veux-tu danser?”
“Oui”. We start waltzing to the music playing in the background.
As the students nearest to me struck up a conversation, I wandered over to the comestibles table and took a cup of tea in order to calm the slight nervousness I felt at being at my first May Ball. I noted with slight surprize that the tea was brewed exactly as
I liked it. It was surprizing because I liked my tea rather stronger than most.
I retreated back to the fringes and sipped slowly. The slowness was born of necessity; every time I caught a glimpse of my outfit I started slightly, because it was so odd for me to be wearing a dress, and even odder that I looked nice in it. Or, rather, the dress looked nice despite me. It was a pleasing green, with reeds of a deeper orange enbroidered into it to provide a nice contrast.
((Can I send in a picture of my dress? Also, ignore where I said I was wearing a ribbon in my hair- I just found an excellent half-sized top hat on a headband the other day, and it’s very lovely and I must wear it.))
As the dancing music starts up, I start scanning the crowds, noticing many people I hadn’t met before. One of the unfamiliar people approaches me. “Would you care to dance?” he asks politely. I laugh. “I love to dance. Although the question of whether or not I’m any good at it has yet to be decided.” I answer jokingly, and he grins. “I like your sense of humor.”
I sweep in wearing full Qurtvian Navy regalia (perhaps lighter on the gold braid than some uniforms, as it might be too heavy to dance). I first make a beeline for the buffet, but seeing that there are no puffin puffs, I sigh and turn to look for a partner. “Randomosity, may I have this dance?”
I head for the buffet table, pick up a china cup from the Tea Bar, and fill it with rasberries so that I can munch and carry them around without staining my hands or outfit.
I finish my tea and set aside the cup just in time to hear POSOC’s request.
“Why, yes, I would love to dance.” I say, with a smile. I glance at the uniform POSOC is wearing appreciatively. “That is a ravishing outfit, by the way.” I note, as we make our way from the fringe to the dance floor.
(( My gown! Scanner killed it.
Doing that is still allowed, right? ))
((Awesome, thanks~! I’ll start commenting when I have time.))
((PRETTY!!!! I wish I could draw like that. :3))
That looks amazing!
I enter, wearing a light green dress and a black necklace, along with lace-up boots. The dress is edged in silver–piping? lace? There’s a word for it, but I can’t remember it right now. I take a deep breath. The ruins are stunning. I edge over to the refeshments table and get a fancy sandwich and some tea. As I take a sip, I notice a mysterious stranger examining the table, apparently looking for something. I hear en mutter, “what? No puffin puffs?”
“There aren’t any puffin puffs?!” I exclaim. Scanning the table, it soon becomes clear that en is right.
My first May Ball and I already feel awkward, even though I haven’t spilled any food yet.
I enter wearing a brown dress, with intricate embroidery near the hem. I’ve braided my hair to the side, and I’m even wearing the giant black sparkle butterfly headband that should be absurd but somehow still looks nice. ((The hair I’m describing I’m actually wearing now; I’m about to go to a band concert.))
((AL: Awkward? This is Muse Academy. Your education here, along with the beneficent influence of your peers, has left you fully prepared for any eventuality, up to and including world domination. Just take a couple of deep breaths, and you’ll be fine. More than fine — remember my speech? You’ll be magnificent.))
((Sorry. I probably won’t be awkward, but I have an inborn, instuinctual sense of awkwardness. It’ll subside soon enough.))
((I understand the feeling. Yet all the more reason to practice the freedom of putting awkwardness aside for a little while.
P.S. You’d be amazed how often awkwardness can pass for grace to outside observers when you plunge ahead and act as if you know what you’re doing. A fair percentage of awkwardness comes from what we hear in our heads and passes unnoticed by others. </Lady_Bunniful’s_field-tested_maxims> ))
((Awesome. Thanks.))
I enter (fashionably late) wearing a standard suit with bow tie and double-breasted frock coat, black, and carrying a strange package under my arm. I walk briskly to the buffet table, set the package down, and announce to no one in particular that the reason for my lateness was a last-minute visit to the home of a certain Madam Gunnarsdóttir. I open the package, set the platter of puffin puffs on the table, and walk away to admire the decorations.
((Puffin puffs? Curses! Helga’s sister Gleda must have stepped in and whipped them up at the last minute. All is lost.))
((Bowties are cool. *shot*))
“Well,” I say “I suppose it wouldn’t be an MA ball without puffin puffs.”
((Alas.))
((They followed us into space, how could we escape them on Earth?))
I walk in from the back, pulling my armbands more towards my elbows as they began to bunch up. The ball seems to be progressing nicely, and the puffin puffs have finally arrived so I can come out of wherever I was.
I wait for something interesting to happen, be it a dance, a conversation, or just a day-to-day oddity.
I look at the puffin puffs skeptically, walking over to Piggy. “Did you really have to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Bring the puffin puffs?”
“Of course! It’s not a MA Ball without them, as Kai said!”
“I suppose that’s true, isn’t it. If they start exploding like they did at my first ball, though, I’m holding you at fault.” I give the puffin puffs one last skeptical look, then turn my back on them, deciding that if I ignore them then hopefully nothing will happen when I’m not looking.
BOOM!
“What was THAT????”
Oh dear….
I still refuse to look at the puffin puffs, I still refuse to look at the puffin puffs, I still refuse to acknowledge that puffin puffs exist at this moment at time…
Apologies for arriving very late. I was all prepared to attend, and was just fortifying myself with tea and a few cheese straws, when my insides began doing things that it would be indelicate to describe in detail. I have a suspicion that one of the cheese straws was, in fact, a puffin puff. There was one that certainly tasted more like fish than cheese, but I put it down to the natural variability of flavouring ingredients. In any event, I have been flat on my back for the past couple of days, apart from regular visits – well, you get the picture.
But no more! As you see, I have returned, in full Tudor regalia, and brought the shawm band with me. I have no sensitivity to anachronism. The little palm court trio that was playing Strauss in the corner has sloped off in disgust.
So, here we go – Tant que Vivrai at full blast. We’ll play it at pavan speed for a grand opening. Everyone can do a pavan. Then we’ll do requests. We don’t know anything much past 1630. Pick your tune, partygoers. Your band awaits!
((Can I join? I keep meaning to participate in these. If so:))
I walk in extremely late wearing a rich purple medieval-style dress with a cloak-like device over it. My hair is pinned up in a sort of twisted ponytail and there are a large number of brightly-colored flowers in it. Being me, I walk straight over to the refreshment tables, scrupulously avoiding the puffin puffs and going instead to the tea and cucumber sandwiches. After eating, and having greeted a few people, I walk onto the dance floor and pretend to know how to dance a pavan.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone!” I hurry in, cello in one hand, guitar in the other. I am wearing a rather inconveniently big gown in a rich maroon and rose color. It has a fitted bodice and a large, flowing skirt. My hair is down, straight, and dotted with red flowers and doodads. I wave to everyone, smiling happily, and go up to join the band. Pavans are difficult, but I catch on quickly.
((Dress design to come!))
Good grief, girl! A Cello? Here, have a tenor viol. You can read tenor clef, can’t you? If the six strings confuse you, just play the top four. They’re in a slightly different tuning to the cello, but you’ll pick it up. And you’ll find the frets help. Honestly, you will. No, put your hand UNDER the bow. Use your third finger to tension the hair. Lead with your wrist. Nice and smooth. That’s it. When you’ve grasped it, you can play divisions on the fourth time round, and we’ll drop out the top two shawms so everyone can hear you. Here we go again, then –
Tant que vivrai en age florissant…
No, dancers, no. A PAVAN. Going forward, ready? Left – together – right- together – left- right – left – together. That’s it. Repeat. Again. Now again, but backwards because we’re about to hit the wall. That’s it. It’s going nicely. I think w’ell leave the Volta till after tea, though. That one’s cracked a few ankles before now.
But nowe tel mee, is not it a moste marvellous Daunce?
“Tenor viol it is, then, my good man.”
((Remember how I wanted an all-white suit on the fashion thread? Since we can wear anything, well, I realized that the best thing to do would be…))
I walk in, wearing an all purple suit with a black rose tucked into the lapel.
((PURPLE SUIT!!!))
As student after student walks in, all wearing lavishly designed outfits, I accidentily step too close to the Puffin Puffs, which have spontaneously combusted. Wiping the mess off the hem of my gown, I go to join the dancing.
I hear a noise and turn my attention away from POSOC for a moment as I glance at the refreshments table. Seeing a smoking pile of unidentified charred remains on a platter, I shake my head in a half-annoyed, half-amused gesture. “Kai just had to bring the puffin puffs…” I say to myself. I then return my attention to the pavan, a dance hitherto unknown to me.
((It wasn’t me. It was Piggy.))
((So sorry. I don’t know how I made that mistake!))
I walk in, dressed in a suit that is patchwork of different colors.
Moving over to the food table, I inspect the remains of the puffin puffs, and cautiously nibble on one that appears undamaged. Afterward, I go to join the dance.
How do you dance the pavan? I don’t know, but I seem to be good at it. After a while, I walk over to the refreshments table.
Has anyone ever actually eaten a puffin puff? I wonder to myself. Too bad they’re too burnt to sample now. I remind myself to ask Kai for the recipe, and join back in the dancing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see agrrrfishi playing the tenor viol. I should have brought my saxophone, I think to myself. Oh well.
No problem. Here – alto shawm. More like an oboe than a sax. Double reed. But you’ll get it. Watch the low end, though. Shawms have power. Open her up and you can do damage. Like a stray cow.
Awesome! Thanks!
I take the shawm and begin to play.
((Is it just me, or does Paul seem picky today?))
I listen to the new musicians while I watch others investigating the puffin puffs. I’ve never had the courage to try one myself.
((He’s in his element. Don’t disturb him.))
I may be absent for a few days. Potentially minimal internet access. I’ll try to keep my eye on things here, but if I don’t manage it, apols.
Agrrrfishi, your third fret sounds a bit flat. Try sliding it down the neck a bit. That’s better.
If anyone else wants to join the band, come right up. I’ve brought a second chest of viols, about twenty recorders of various sizes, three lutes, a couple of citterns, four renaissance guitars, a theorbo, three cornetti, four sackbutts, a rackett, a consort of crumhorns, a regal, a little portative organ, and three virginals. Oh, and I tucked in the geigenwerk for the tea interval.
“I’ll take the portative for a while,” I say, “though I call dibs on one of the virginals.”
One in each hand, rock style. I dare you.
“If someone volunteers to pump the portative for me, sure–unless I can–hmm–ah–there we are. If I set it just so, I can get my foot up on the bellows to pump. If someone could scoot that virginal a bit closer to me, I’m all set to go.”
“This is by far the most entertaining and complicated instrument I’ve ever picked up.”
And you play it divinely. Just a bit more staccato on the canzona entries. Top shawms – tenor viol solo next time round. Grab a cuppa.
I pick up one of the viols and realize that it’s out of tune. I begin to adjust it, joining in the clamor of tuning instruments. This is much easier than the pavan.
I don’t think it’s out. It’s in quarter-comma meantone, you know. You can’t get away with equal temperament in a Tudor band.
Incidentally, we’re still playing. It really shouldn’t sound like tuning. Is someone playing at Italian pitch?
Oops, sorry. Forgot what country we were in.
I walk up to Radiant_Darkness nervously. “Um, would you, um, like to dance?” I say, mentally kicking myself for my awkwardness.
We may have to ban the word “awkwardness” from this ball. Or maybe this is a job for HPBs…..
I’d say it’s a job for wungs.
I join the growing group of musicians, picking up a recorder and starting to play along. Everyone sounds excellent, mostly, although Paul does seem to be a bit picky. Perhaps merely a side effect of having recently been ill, but still.
As the tenor viol solos, I examine the new instrument, which I am learning marvelously.
The recorders sound marvelous. Somehow I’m not losing the tempo, which is pretty impressive considering I’m still not clear on what time signature we’re in.
((36–Agent Lightning (and other interested parties): I believe that to dance the pavan, you begin by joining hands with a partner. You then walk forward a few steps, pause, walk forward a few steps, pause, and so on, until you run out of room. Then you do it backwards, turn in a complete circle, and do it all again. Easy to learn, impossible to forget, facilitates conversation and frustrates most anything indecorous.))
ZNZ has a faraway look on her face; I don’t think she even noticed me. I decide it would be unkind of me to intrude upon her thoughts, so I go to join the dancing.
I tap a vaguely familiar-looking fellow on the shoulder. He is looking quite sharp in a nice coat, red dress shirt, a kilt, and a top hat with poppies stuck into the band. “Salutations, my good young sir! If I were to ask you to dance, would you say ‘yes’?”
He grins. “Unequivocally.”
“Then let’s go walk in formation!” I clasp his hand and we join in alongside POSOC and Randomosity.
I leave my dance partner to try and join the musicians.
Now, I normally play French Horn, though I’m guessing the closest there is to that is a Hunting Horn/ Natural horn? Hmm, I’d really better wait for the expert.
((POSOC, would you please post?))
Apologies, I got distracted. What’s up?
I munch on the strawberries and appreciate the music. For not having practice with these instruments, my classmates are remarkably skilled. But then, that’s why they’re at Muse Academy.
“I would love to, Ducky,” I reply. “As long as you’re not put off by my suit.”
“In fact, purple is my favourite colour!”
As I play, I realize something:
I like this instrument. A lot.
That’s the way shawms get you. They’re addictive.
As I come out of my daze, I realized that everyone is starting to dance. I walk over to the table, and groan upon seeing the puffin puffs. I guess it wouldn’t feel right without them. Poor puffins. As I honor the puffins brief life, I notice Radiant Darkness with a purple suit.
” Lucky!” I mutter. I notice Kai eating the strawberries.
” Are the strawberries good? I’m wondering if I should try putting them in the tea.” I ask.
I walk in, wondering how in the world I ended up in a dress. In fact, I don’t really remember. The skirt makes my center of balance shift all over the place, and I can’t even see my feet. But, this was Muse Academy, and I suppose that anything really can be bearable when one is among Musers.
I do know that I am late, however, since large amounts of people are milling about the place. Shrugging, I walk over to the food table. And immediately notice the puffin puffs. Sigh…well, I’d have been an idiot to think that they wouldn’t be there. Putting the puffs in the back of my mind, I reach for a cup of tea.
I hear Pie Girl ask me how the strawberries are and turn to face her.
“They’re prefect- not too crunchy, not too mushy. I think they were picked at the best possible moment.”
((POSOC- Not much. The orchestra is amazing despite having no practice whatsoever with the instruments they are using – that’s Muse Academy for you – we are dancing the pavan, and Piggy brought in the puffin puffs which, being puffin puffs, spontaneously exploded.
Mago Berry- I’m glad I’m not the only one uncomfortable in a dress.))
“Don’t be ridiculous, you two. You look wonderful.”
Ducky and I walk over to the dance floor. “I have to warn you, I’m not what you’d call an expert dancer.”
“Oh, I’m not either. I haven’t danced in a while, not that I was very good at dancing in the first place.”
I begin to dance a jig while playing my viol, until I realize no one else is. Fingers worn out, I return to the refreshment table and scan it for puffin puffs.
((Does anyone know how puffin puffs taste, anyway?))
I continue to play the shawm, defying all laws of the universe by sounding good my first time on a double-reed instrument.
((like puffins, perhaps?))
I smile in response to POSOC’s compliment. “Thank you.” I hadn’t noticed until now that the pavan we were dancing had taken us to the edge of the dance floor near the comestibles table.
“Hello, Mago Berry. How are you doing?” I ask with a smile.
Pavan! Here we go!
I nibble at a puffin puff; while it’s not exactly yummy…
Then it bursts into flames, and I am forced to dunk it in my tea, then gulp down the tea.
Watching the action, I say to Lady Bunniful: “What did she put in those things? I never thought I’d miss Helga’s puffin puffs, but her sister’s are ten times as bad.”
I suspect it’s the tamarind-seaweed sauce that pushes them over the edge. And either she didn’t clean the salt off the kelp or forgot to rehydrate it. Or maybe both
Is it a chemical reaction, or could osmotic pressure somehow be behind all this? Whatever it is, those poor puffins are certainly taking their revenge.
“I would, too, if someone baked me up into a mediocre baked good.”
“Either way,” I splutter. “Poor puffins.”
And so I return from holiday to find that w’ere still playing pavans. Galliard next, everyone! This is your chance to show off your fancy footwork.
Band – “If my complaints” at dance tempo. Not too fast – if any of these youngsters start leaping around, we need to allow time for them to land on the sixth beat. Anyone contemplating putting in some fast divisions – go for it!
Mr. Baker, would you direct me towards a chronologically appropriate instrument similar to a French Horn? I suppose the closest would be a hunting horn or natural horn, though I’d like to have expert advice.
Well, a hunting horn or a post horn would do, but if you want to make yourself useful in the band, grab a sackbutt.
Yes, Mr. Baker! *runs off and grabs a sackbutt*
I know what they are from the article you wrote/ will write (I don’t know what point on your time line I’m meeting you, sorry) for Muse about Tudor instruments.
((Aren’t they like a small trombone? I just learned that today, actually.))
They are essentially trombones, except with more Tudor Awesomeness.
Having found an innocuous-looking puffin puff amongst the remnants of many a comestible explosion, I gaze about the room and wonder how one asks other people to dance. Taking a cue from the others, I find KaiYves eating the Academy’s ideal strawberries and put down the puffin puff, which has begun to smoke at the edges. “Care to dance, Kai?” I ask.
I feel my lack of attending dances catching up to me as I ask worriedly “Um… Could somebody please inform me of how to dance a ‘Galliard’?”
Well, basically – you fit five steps into six beats. That’s why it’s called “cinq paces” or “Sinkapace”.
Beat 1 – do a little hop and land on your left foot.
Beat 2 – do another little hop and land on your right foot.
Beat 3 – as beat 1.
Beat 4 – As beat 2 but then do a small jump, landing with both feet together on beat 6.
http://youtu.be/CbCTUvnawSg
“Of course, Choklit.” I say. “I’m a bit clumsy, but I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks!” I say. “It’s okay, I’m probably clumsier than you. Tell me if I’m about to crash into something.” We step onto the dance floor.
((Strange beings, these MuseBloggers. Ask them to imagine that they can levitate, read minds, or heal wounds at a glance, and they say, “No problem!” Ask them to imagine that they are poised, self-assured, and graceful, and they say, “No way!”))
Some of us are already poised, self-assured, and graceful.
LIES LIES LIESI thank Mr. Baker for his instructions and start dancing with the others. “My, this dance seems very… energetic.” I say, thouroughly enjoying myself.
You can make it as energetic as you like. The galliard is one to improvise on, for dancers and musicians alike. That small jump on the fourth beat can actually be a huge leap, with lots of fancy mid-air footwork. If you go high enough, the musicians will have to put in a fermata on the fifth beat, just so you have time to land. But don’t worry. We’ll follow you.
“Can do.” I tell Choklit, and we begin to dance. “So, how has this year at Muse Academy been for you?” I ask
“Thank you for telling me.” I say to Mr. Baker, while experimenting with differently sized jump., “Though I think I shall refrain from “mid-air footwork” just until I find a sort of groove for my jumping style.”
I finish my tea and set down the cup, glancing around shyly. …How exactly do you join in a dance? Oh well. I surreptitiously edge my way in.
((…Did I just randomly get transported to Diabolus in Musica? I swear I didn’t click anything.))
“Oh, quite well, actually,” I say. “The only school, I think, that I’ve ever really enjoyed. And yours?”
((I never was on any of the MA threads before this… I think I’ll just pretend I’ve been here for ages))
I suddenly realize that Randemosity was talking to me. “What?” I say suddenly, somewhat embarrassed that I hadn’t been paying attention.
“I asked how you were doing,” she replies. I smile. “Excellent! The food is wonderful, and nobody is playing loud pop music…”
She laughs and goes off to ask for dance instruction. I still can’t really bring myself to try it, but I satisfy myself with a strawberry.
“Pretty good. Hard to believe it’ll be four years since I got here come Christmas. Did you see the shuttle launch on the 16th?”
As I get more comfortable with the dance, I begin to experiment a little. I don’t think my footwork qualifies as “fancy”, but it’s certainly getting more interesting. All the while, I’m hoping I don’t trip over the hem of my dress.
“I did! It was extraordinary. I’d be terrified to be on a space shuttle myself, but I do like the idea of them. Mind that pillar.”
((I’m new here on MuseBlog. Do I still get to attend this ball? *looks hopeful*))
((Naturally! Join right in.))
“Whoops…” I maneuver around the pillar. “I think I’d be afraid, too. And I’d panic far too easily to be of any use if something went wrong. But those who ARE the right sort of people for the job… I respect wholeheartedly.”
I walk in hesitantly, wearing a specially tailored plum colored gown, and a matching ruby pendant. I am new at Muse Academy, so I do not know many of the people here. I feel too shy to ask anyone to dance, so instead, I grab one of the famed Puffin Puffs and slip quietly into a corner.
I scan the room, and realize that the party had begun to dissipate. I am dissapointed. I was hoping to use this ball as an opportunity to meet other Muse Academy students. I decide to stay a while longer and wait to see whether someone will introduce themselves.
musketeers: Are you sure you’re in the right room? The party is going strong. The musicians are booming out tunes, and the dancers are jigging and reeling away. At the moment none of them happen to be MuseBloggers, but that shouldn’t stop you from enjoying yourself.
Both Choklit and I see Musketeers sulking. We come over and ask en if en is feeling alright.
I eventually tire myself out from my energetic dancing. I have one of those uncontrollable smiles on my face that I only get when I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. However, I need to take a breather, so I head over to the comestibles table for another cup of the amazing tea and some strawberries. I see someone I don’t recognize ((musketeers)) standing in a corner. I figure it must be ens first May Ball too. Choklit and KaiYves go over and talk to en, and I decide to follow their lead, walking over to the stranger.
“Hello,” I say, “I hope I am not interrupting. I am Randomosity101. What is your name?”
A random en has volunteered to be the lead shawm player for a while, so I momentarily slip out into the crowds.
I look up and see three strangers approaching.
“Hello,†one of them says, “I hope I am not interrupting. I am Randomosity101. What is your name?”
“I’m musketeers33397.”
There is an awkward silence as I think of what to say next. Finally I blurt out, “Would one of you like to dance?”
“Of course, musketeers33397.”
I smile, “Hi, musketeers33387. Nice to meet you. If you two will be dancing, I won’t bother you. I just haven’t seen you around before, and I like meeting new people.” I smiled and stepped aside so as to not be in their way.
“Well, Random, you’re probably a better dancer than I am, and I was meaning to check out the Rooftop Garden, so if you really want to dance with en, you can.”
I laugh at the thought of being a good dancer. “By the Muses, no! I’m a mediocre dancer at the very best! Also, musketeers33387 asked you, and shouldn’t it be ens decision? I’m fine wandering about and talking to people.”