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leslie057 · 6 months

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Marianna Tsembenhoi and Giacomo Rovero as Clara and Clara’s Nutcracker in rehearsal for The Nutcracker (Royal Ballet, 2023)

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tikitania · 6 months

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Nutcracker Season!

Nutcracker season can elicit an array of feelings. Some love it, some hate it. I was falling into the indifferent category. I don't live in a major city, so the month long onslaught of ballet school-civic rep level productions has me a bit bummed out…and ready to tune it all out. AND THEN…I stumbled upon this very interesting panel discussion lead by ballet critic, Alastair McCauley, comparing the original Lev Ivanov Sugarplum PDD to the Balanchine version, getting into the nitty gritty of the score and the choreographic language that can be found in both versions, pointing out the various ways in which Balanchine quoted Ivanov. This is so interesting and only available online until Dec. 17, so hurry and watch it while you can. Who knew about the original version of the Sugar Plum sliding across the stage on point on a hidden stage tracking device?! If you do anything, watch this first video with the panel talk and demonstrations. The videos I included after that are just if you want to get obsessive like I did to dig deeper. Panelists: Suki Schorer, Wendy Whelan, Sara Mearns, Jonathan Stafford. (Watching Suki coach is worth watching!) NYCB Dancers: Chun Wai Chan, Ashley Hod (Balanchine version) & Anthony Huxley, Emma Von Enck (Ivanov Version)

MacCauley mentions the Fonteyn version a few times during this talk, so I found it for you. The tempo is certainly much faster, and it really makes you appreciate Fonteyn's speed! But I actually prefer the slower tempo, which allows the music to really soar. But I also wondered if it was the audio quality of this historic recording is simply too compressed and tinny to do it justice.

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The Mariinsky dances the Vasily Vaionen version of the Nutcracker, and I wanted to see how it compared to the Ivanov version. I really love the Mariinsky version. It's a departure from Ivanov, but still very classical and regal. PPD below with Baby Shakirova.

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BONUS: If you want to watch the full Mariinsky Nutcracker, here's a 1994 recording with Larissa Lezhnina and Victor Baranov. And for some real fun going down the rabbit hole, this is an amazing Soviet black and white recording of the PDD with the late Svetlana Efremova (SHE IS AMAZING!) and Sergei Vikulov. Notice that the extra four cavaliers are not in this one, so the choreography is adjusted. I have a thing for soviet era black-and-white ballet films. Not to be overlooked, the Grigorivich version at the Bolshoi is worth mentioning. There are a few things that stood out to me. Its religiosity, for one. The PDD essentially starts with Masha and her prince praying together as if at a mass. And then, towards the end, are the huge lifts that end with an upside down ballerina (not my favorite pose…)

Interestingly, ABT's version by Ratmansky also incorporates the same big lift, but transitions into a spin. You can see it here, and it's a much smoother transition. Ignore the weird speed manipulation in this video. It can give you motion sickness.

AND….I found this POB version. The Nureyev choreography is horrible and Tsikaridze knows it. He can barely hold back his own laughter as how bad this performance is. When I watched this, my first thought is that Nureyev must have been a misogynist because the Sugar Plum/Clara choreography is so god awful that it seems like he's trying to humiliate ballerinas. Poor Myriam Ould-Braham, she does her best to dignify the choreography with her impeccable technique, but there is no saving this. Another thing that bothers me is that the couple are hardly dancing together, it's like a bad ballet class where they dance side to side. I hope this version soon disappears forever. Watch at your own risk. It made my blood boil.

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Okay, that's it for a while. I may go see the Houston Ballet's Nutcracker if I have time. But I will mostly be focused on taking time off with the family, puttering in the garden, and catching up on my ever-expanding to-do list. Wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season!

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justalittletomato · 5 months

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“Why she’s the Sugar Plum fairy! Just see her dance!”

Aster Oppress danced from the time she was a small tot, it was only natural that she took on ballet 🩰 a graceful but demanding art form. She is considered the Prima Dona and takes on the role of the Sugar Plum with pride. Give her some roses 🌹 for her performance! She adores the praise!

@eyecandyeoz @patchiefrog @stardustbee @storm89 @gran-maul-seizure @id-rather-be-a-druid @pixiestookourstardust @apocalypticwafflekitten @dukeoftheblackstar @hannagoldworthy

#star wars #star wars oc #baby tomato #zabrak oc #aster #aster oppress #ballet #ballerina #oc art #clouds oc #tomatochats

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scribbleseas · 9 months

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Straight Laced, Chapter V: To Be A Force of Nature…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

Author’s Note: idk I have nothing to say for myself. i’m sorry this is so late. anddd keep an eye out for an upcoming poll! I need some input about which story you guys would like to see from me next, since we’re now officially halfway through this journey! As always, let me know what you think about this chapter! I love love LOVE audience interaction. So fun and so motivating. i love you all and hope you enjoy it!!

Happy Reading,

- dan (Depression Barbie LMAO)

MASTERLIST

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

The End of October

The Royal Opera House, The Practice Room

“Try it again, Y/n,” Natasha ordered. The bottom of her cane knocked against the floor to cue the pianist to start the music.

Despite your obedient nod, your whole body protested.

Every single muscle in your feet begged for mercy, and your legs and lower back began to do the same. The amount of complex pointe work and arabesques in the variation were what made it such a challenge— maintaining the perfect form but without being too stiff. The Sugar Plum Fairy had to be regal and majestic; you needed to be buoyant on your toes to create the vision of a fairy ready to flutter her wings and fly.

The Nutcraker’s Sugar Plum Fairy Variation was the physical and emotional equivalent of a chess game with Ciel Phantomhive. You watched yourself in the mirror, eyeing the streams of sweat that fell from your hairline and down the bridge of your nose. Still, your arms fanned to either side and your leg drew back to create your starting position: b-plus.

This was the piece that established the fairy’s power in the land of sweets. It needed to be perfect or near perfect by now or Natasha would have your head.

“Your pas de bourreé needs to be lighter,” the director criticized, catching every error in your movement. Her gaze was heavier than a magnifying glass. “It should be airy— and you must maintain the connection between your fingers and your head.” You frowned, your eyebrows knitting with concentration.

She has cautioned you about a heavy step sequence before, Y/n. Try harder— Tchaikovsky wanted this dance to be as light as raindrops; this is the second time Natasha has told you to land gentler.

Your throat felt dry with embarrassment, but you forced yourself to power through. The music hesitated to a short stop while you spread your arms as if you were bracing for a wide hug.

Seconds later, the music launched into its famous chorded sequence up the keys and you stepped into your piqué manége. While a pas de bourreé resembled a sideways sequence of you rapidly tiptoeing across the practice studio floor, the piqué manége and coupé jeté combination was a constant step and turn rotation. You had to spring into small jumps to make each turn, repeating the process until you outlined the perimeter of a square with your spins around the studio floor.

Your head swam, dizzied because you skipped breakfast and lunch that day because you wanted the extra time in the studio. The investigation with Ciel was eating more into your practice time than you wanted to admit— he summoned you to take short promenades through parks, short appearances at bakeries, and specialty boutiques, spoiling you. Showing the public that you were well provided for — frankly blooming under the warmth of his generous fortune— was the Earl of Phantomhive’s ‘love’ language.

“Keep your chest up,” Natasha’s voice felt distant, even though she was in the same room as you and the rest of the company. “You should be thinking of your spinal cord as a fixed structure that your ribs rotate around. And keep your arms controlled with these spins. You are delicate, but there is still a commanding firmness to you.”

You took your final spins, returning to the middle of the stage to chassé up— otherwise, arrange yourself into the performance’s ending position. Both of your arms were straight and angled upwards like you were reaching for a high shelf, and your back rounded to create an energetic arch. Your left foot extended behind your right leg.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Natasha inspected your chassé, peering at you in the same way Ciel examined whatever literature he happened to be reading at the time. Her cold fingertips guided your chin a few centimeters upwards before her head bobbed in a content nod. “Keep your gaze in line with your arms, in this position. Always.”

Natasha’s lips were relaxed in their frown. She was in a particularly stormy mood during this practice, all fortified scowls and impatient scoffs before this moment. Now, rather than completely vexed, the choreographer only seemed mildly frustrated. You struggled to hold her frustration against her— you had been having the same difficulties with this dance since the beginning of the month. You were frustrated with yourself.

“I appreciate your feedback, Natasha” you replied, maintaining your appreciative pretense for the rest of the company members present. Your smile was mechanical and fake, nothing more than the flimsy curtain that the backstage hands rolled in and out between every act. For you, harsh criticism gracefully was an act— smiling while your chest burned with indignation was incredibly blood-boiling.

Especially after you dedicated at least a full afternoon to perfecting the same piece.

She sent you a curt nod in response, only proving to you that there was something on her mind. Something unpleasant…along the lines of her husband being a serial rapist and potential murderer. Guilt sweat beamed in your hairline because, by Ciel’s orders, you still were not allowed to inform her of what you learned about William. But if she found out on her own…you could certainly comfort her, right?

“You are all dismissed,” Natasha addressed the class. “But remember! Soldiers have their designated costuming times with myself and the costuming director this upcoming week! Talk to one of us for your appointment.”

You waited until Natasha finished answering every post-rehearsal question, sending a nameless company member scurrying off with notes on the performance, or some set of miscellaneous instructions. Now that dress rehearsal was only a month away, it was time for each company member to make their dances technically perfect. Natasha preferred to focus on mechanical accuracy before adding the art and drama back into the ballet with the addition of stage makeup and glitzy costuming. Furthermore, Natasha was the heart and soul of the London Royal Company— it was a risk to so much as inhale at an undesignated time.

“Is there something bothering you?” you asked, your eyes breaking away from the door once you were sure everyone was out of earshot. “You were harsher than usual. I know dress rehearsal starts soon but—”

“Everything is fine with me, Y/n,” Natasha replied chillingly, jumping to the defensive. Her hand adjusted on her cane’s grip, bringing the walking accessory closer to her to re-shift her weight. She hissed through her clenched teeth at her bad leg, suggesting the old injury was hurting her. “If I were you, I would be more worried about my dancing than my director. Your rendition of Plum’s variation left much to be desired,” she said without a hint of hesitation.

Of course not— when it came to the choice of sparing a cast member’s self-esteem or breaking their confidence into jagged pieces of shrapnel for quicker results, Natasha would always, inevitably, choose the latter. She wasn’t the best prima ballerina in London five years ago because her feedback was obsequious. “Honestly. I would have thought you would have a breakthrough with your pointe work by now,” Natasha continued, disappointed.

With her sharp cheekbones and straight, raven hair, her visage reminded you of a slightly grumpier and career-driven Snow White.

“I will dedicate every free moment to it,” you insisted, your cheeks hot. Tears stung at your eyes, but you were accustomed to the suffocating feeling and managed to hold them in until you reached the closed door of your dressing room.

The moment you turned your lock closed, you turned towards the inner side of your door, resting your forehead on the cool wood. Your tears tracked down your cheeks, but you made no effort to flick them away. Not yet. You needed to sulk. You deserved to sulk.

“My wife doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” a man’s amused tenor told you, causing your head to jerk back in surprise. “I say, ignore her. I, for one, had a lovely time watching you today, my new prima.”

Ballerina, you wanted to finish the title. Prima felt much too familiar; much too oppressive.

William Wood was as relaxed as a lazy cat, his long and lean body poised comfortably on your couch. He gave a fleeting, yet bitter, look to the gold wedding band around his left ring finger before returning his gaze to you.

You made a rapid effort to wipe your distressed tears away. Normally, you were never one to cry over some constructive criticism, but you guessed it was your building stress— the amount of time and anxiety it consumed. The dark knowledge you had weighed on your mind heavily: knowing the truth about the man sitting in front of you, how he potentially murdered ballerinas like you. The fact that he was responsible for horrendous crimes and was still free to flash a winsome smile at you with the expectation that you’d fall for it.

Moreso, you imagined he used the same strong stare and enticing words to trap all of his victims; whether or not he persuaded them that he cared about them, or ripped all of their confidence away with his own surplus of it.

You cleared your throat, hesitant to meet his cool gray eyes. While Natasha’s were slightly blue, William’s were only a monochrome silver— as if all color was drained from them. His thin lips pulled into a half smile that he likely meant to be seductive and welcoming, but the longer you watched him, the more pursued you felt. He was watching you with the salacious eagerness a hunter would, aiming his rifle at an unsuspecting deer.

How could the other girls have reacted? Amélie, Eliza, Janet? Your heart was heavy with grief. The pain that these girls would never be able to share their stories with the rest of the world. Their lives were stolen from them. By this man.

“Thank you, Mr. Wood,” you greeted tersely. You knew your smile was unconvincing; you couldn’t bring yourself to bring the warmth of recognition into it, or the respect an employee would show to her handsome and potentially homicidal employer. All you could think of was the blood on his hands and the utter certainty across his lips. He was a huntsman. “I see you have returned from Paris. How was your trip?”

How could he live with himself?

“Just fine, Y/n,” William stood to his feet and took a leisurely set of steps towards you, casually crowding you against the door you just locked. There was enough room between you for him to deny his lack of respect for personal space, but so little room that you could spot every individual freckle across the wide bridge of his nose and his cheeks. “But I’m more interested in you. Your technique has simply flourished since that Janet girl left us.”

Left us?

You tensed, but you forced your body to remain open, fighting its natural urge to curl in and shield you from the danger. There was no hesitation in William’s face— not when he started flirting with you, and certainly not now, after he suggested that Janet simply retired from dancing and disappeared. Of course, the Yard was keeping these ballerina disappearances out of the papers. No one else knew there was anything wrong except for those clothes to the ten women, those investigating, and of course, the killer.

Ciel would tell you to talk about Janet and the recent company losses to gauge William’s response. His body language, what was saying, what he was not saying. He would tell you to either ignore the flirting or use it to your advantage, as rejecting Wood would likely bruise his ego too much for you to continue pursuing this…angle. Embarrassed, William would never speak to you again…or if you angered him, he’d simply kill you later.

You would need to use this interaction to set up future time with William. That way you and Ciel could make a plan to get his confession or gather concrete evidence, considering Ciel was too cautious to make the arrest if he wasn’t completely convinced.

If the course of the investigation was solely your choice, you would have already had William arrested for assault, abduction, and at least one murder. Unfortunately, your authority only extended to waltzing tips and how to make Ciel’s publicity smile appear less like a grimace.

William’s eyebrows raised, prompting your response. He was suspicious of your hesitation— which was surprising, given that he was married to your director. How could you fail to notice this…aggressiveness before this week? Now, it was clear to you.

“That is so kind of you to say, sir,” you paused, unsure of what to say next. How could you extract more information about Janet without appearing accusatory? “This opportunity has been extraordinary for my career. It is so hard for me to believe that Janet would give it up so senselessly.” You watched William’s face, looking for any flicker of emotion, but there was none beyond his pensive nod.

“You should know how it is, by now, Y/n,” William drawled with the wisdom of an experienced man who had been watching the ballet field for a near century, rather than a measly thirty years. While the Wood family owned the opera house since its construction in 1732, William only started running the Wood’s business empire five years ago — after his father, John, died abruptly. Heart failure.

The last production the opera house had under John Wood was the Sleeping Beauty run where William met Natasha, the new prima ballerina. They were both around your age at the time. You couldn’t imagine meeting your future spouse and marrying them only for your father to die a month or two afterward.

“Not everyone can take the heat. Not everyone should. They can’t handle it because they’re not like you. You’re a shark. A force of nature; someone special. I can see it,” William continued, taking a loose strand of hair that fell free from your bun and tucking it behind your ear. His fingertips lingered on the side of your neck, and the top of his thumb kept your chin tilted upwards towards his face.

“A force of nature?” You asked, almost as puzzled as you were uncomfortable. You wished you could take a step away, but your backside was pressed against your only exit.

William chuckled, pleased to have the opportunity to explain himself. It made him feel smarter than you— something that most men adored as much as staring at you. “Yes. That means, unstoppable, strong, and…unforgettable. Beyond control. Like I said: don’t listen to Natasha. You were flawless. You are flawless.”

Your breath hitched, unable to hide the euphoria that came with praise, but of course, not without recalling that these were lines he likely rehearsed. William knew how to attract his victims with honey before resorting to vinegar. Ultimately, it made you realize that this was how Amélie, Eliza, and Janet felt. Seen. Special. Noticed by the owner of the opera house. Frankly, if you hadn’t been promoted, you doubted you would have been William’s next target.

Still, even if you knew you were a force of nature before William said so, there was something more empowering about hearing so. For once, it wasn’t your ego; it was praise. Genuine, few and far between, praise. Something educated and intricate— it might have been nearly leagues more satisfying than faraway applause from an audience that didn’t know the first thing about ballet…if you didn’t know that William had ulterior motives. If you didn’t know that this was the trap the huntsman fabricated to catch his next meal.

William took your prolonged silence as encouragement. He leaned downwards, each gaining centimeter only pushing him closer to your lips.

“Mr. Wood…” you cut his advance short, hesitating as you remembered that rejection was not an option. You tried to soften your expression, and your body, given that your words came out somewhat flat. You thought of the weak-willed princesses in children’s tales; the submissive character you put on for all of your old patrons; the long set of polite society’s rules Sebastian branded into the front of your brain.

William’s approach was to take vulnerable and insecure girls and make them feel like a force of nature because of him. Not because they were, inherently.

But you were. This time, he didn’t know who he was messing with.

“I think…we ought to wait until we have more time together,” you said sweetly, your hand coming from your side and adjusting William’s shirt collar. It was folded unevenly, and even the minute gesture was enough for him to think you cared about him— that you were looking intently enough to realize that there was a problem with his wardrobe in the first place. Any special attention from intended prey was like a drug to these power-starved men. It made you wonder why they thought they had all of the power. “Could you imagine the scandal? If everyone in the company found out?” You asked, widening your eyes with ironic innocence.

You were the black swan, Odile. Mischievous, conniving, confident. Frankly, thinking about making the arrest and putting the bastard away was what created your reluctantly seductive grin— much in the same way as Odile’s excitement to manipulate Odette’s prince.

William’s back straightened as he considered you once more, looking over you with reignited vigor, now that you were fully committed to playing his game. He tilted his head, though his eyes were slightly more hesitant to leave your lips.

“I think you’d get some enjoyment out of all that attention, Prima,” William joked, taking your hand in his. He pressed a kiss onto your knuckles before doing the same for the inner part of your wrist. His thumb rubbed the same spot on your wrist as if he wanted the feeling of his foreign lips on your skin to linger. “But unfortunately, you do have a point. I think I have a remedy for us, though,” William looked ponderous before he fished out a ring of keys from his jacket pocket with his free hand— he was still holding yours until he needed both hands to sift through the crowded keys.

To you, it suggested he had several places he needed to keep locked away. That could be residences, safes, closed doors, drawers... the number of potential areas to hide murder weapons and implicating items could be limitless if all of the locations for these keys were his. It was suspicious.

Once William found the key he was looking for, he unlinked it from the key ring. He pressed it into your palm so hard that you could feel it indent in your skin. “Here. This opens the back door of my country house. We will meet there. Tomorrow— after your performance,” he ordered, closing your fingers around the key for you. He pointedly failed to ask if you were available, presuming you would make the time for him.

“The one in… Southampton?” Your mouth felt dry. You went to William and Natasha’s country home once— about a year ago. Natasha allowed you to spend the night after you arrived at the docks after midnight, returning from a short visit to France. Your director didn’t trust you to make it back to your home safely, and she insisted you stay the night with her and William.

The Wood’s Southampton house was a symbol of Natasha’s kindness to you, and now, you were about to use it to further betray her. Failing to tell her about her husband’s crime was the first; and now, you were about to seduce him in order to expose those misgivings.

“Yes. Natasha stays late with the costuming director on Thursdays and Fridays. It’s perfect,” William reminded you. While most companies started costuming for the lead dancers, Natasha liked to start with the ensemble. She claimed it was best to get all of the mass-produced costumes fitted and out of the way before focusing on the standout pieces like yours.

Thinking about your Sugar Plum Fairy costume made you giddy with excitement. While you haven’t seen the ensemble itself yet, Poppy (the costume director that William failed to name) showed you her beautiful sketches for it.

“Meet me there at eleven. Sharp,” William ordered decisively, offering you no chance to protest. Within seconds, he unlocked your door, made sure there was no one outside to see him exit, and swiftly made his leave.

The Same Day, Dusk

Ciel’s Carriage

“No. Absolutely not,” Ciel’s stoic, yet resolute frown pursed into a line. He angled his chin upwards, daring you to argue with him.

“What do you mean?” You demanded, your eyebrows knitting together incredulously. You wanted to stand up to punctuate your surprise and frustration, but the moving carriage wouldn’t allow you to. “This is the perfect opportunity. You said it yourself: We need to investigate William Wood. If he is with me, his guard will be down! And we need evidence and a confession!”

“We would do better to explore a…different angle. I would prefer to meet with him,” Ciel said boredly, opening his book to his current page. He clearly didn’t think much of this disagreement; you thought it was, by far, the most ridiculous one the two of you dealt with up to this point. He was being brainless— you had an opportunity to get into William’s home and make him vulnerable, and Ciel didn’t want to so much as entertain your idea! Your lead!

“But, why?” You insisted, protesting like a child fighting their mother for an extra piece of candy. “What could possibly be wrong with this plan? Setting a meeting up between you and him — without looking suspicious — could take ages!”

“It will not take ages,” Ciel said, emphasizing his use of your words. He skimmed over the words in the passage of his book — The Canticle of Saint Eulalie — idly, speaking while he read. The novel was a relic from medieval French literature, a name you vaguely recognized only to have Ciel snicker at you for not being as inclined to know every facet of your home culture. It was disquieting to know that Ciel was fluent in your first language. When he offered to speak to you in that language, you had denied it vehemently because it was simply too personal. Speaking in French took you back to your mother, dance school, and every painful memory you left back on the European mainland. “I want to extend an invitation to Wood about a business venture.”

“Ciel, it is too convenient. No one will believe that we are in love if you make a business deal immediately after courting me,” you insisted.

“It only matters if he believes that it is a true business meeting,” Ciel said, flipping the current page over.

“I guarantee you, he will not,” you shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “William might be a sadistic criminal but he certainly is not a moron—” unlike you, genius “…and he will make the connection between you and me. Natasha has to have told him already.”

“Honestly! You are being stubborn because this is my lead! It was my acting and my efforts that gave us this opportunity. You are insecure. You are selfish! If we let our investigation progress slower than necessary, more people die! Is it worth it? Is your—” You would have proceeded with your tirade until you and Ciel reached your destination, but he slammed his book closed with a start. The heavy sound caused you to hesitate, giving him the opportunity to intercede.

“Y/n! Your plan is too dangerous!” Ciel snapped. “You are an untrained civilian. You are not going to meet a man who has assaulted and likely killed ten other of your peers. Certainly not when he likely imagines you as his eleventh! Honestly! You must be mad. Do you have a death wish?”

“I do not care about that,” you admitted, taking in a long inhale through your nose and quickly glancing out the window. Your fingers intertwined in your lap as your shoulders fell sheepishly. “The danger,” you clarified at the Earl’s perplexed expression. “I truly…it is of no importance to me.”

“And why is that?” Ciel demanded.

“Why do I have the right? They all…died. Why do I get the privilege of…” You let the sentence die, gesturing with your clammy hands because you couldn’t string the proper words together. How could you to know to be careful when these girls didn’t know what they were getting into? They deserved the same warnings you had, but that would never be.

“Come on, Ciel. We need access to his home and his belongings. We will not get it if we pursue your business meeting idea. Please, please, let me do this,” you said, fishing William’s house key out of your jacket’s pocket. The silver key had his matching initials engraved down the side of it in cursive. “While I keep him occupied, you and Sebastian can find the spare office keys in the studio and—”

There was a new grudging respect in Ciel’s face, paired with a thoughtful frown. He was considering your idea, freshly reminded that you were extremely committed to the investigation. After all, it was a personal matter, now.

“No,” Ciel started. He quickly sent a silencing look at you, noticing the confrontational way you leaned in toward him. The carriage was rather small, putting you in the same proximity William was to you, earlier that day. “Not without us. I will not, in good conscience, permit you to go tomorrow without Sebastian and myself. We don’t know what William might try with you.”

A slow smile spread across your face, victorious. You truly were a force of nature.

“You care about me,” you grinned, nose wrinkling with glee. “How kind. Who knew the magnificent, oh-so-powerful, Lord of Phantomhive could care for someone besides himself…” Your hand flew over your heart dramatically. “I’m touched!”

“I had no idea it was controversial to ensure a civilian’s survival,” Ciel smarted, his exposed eye-rolling. His face flushed, but you couldn’t decipher the cause. Frustration from having to accommodate your ever-shifting mood? Embarrassment? No, Lord Phantomhive could never view himself as lesser-than!

Or perhaps, you were right. He did care about you.

Your cheeks grew warm at the thought, causing your head to jerk away before you could regard his lips anymore. (Were they always this plump when he scowled? And that pink?) You were all too aware of your closeness, given that you hadn’t moved back to your original position in the carriage and had been leaning towards him with the severity of either someone enraged or in love.

Enraged. You were enraged.

“Admit that I persuaded you,” you demanded, unable to keep the play stoicism on your face.

“I will not,” Ciel shook his head, relieved that the carriage was coming to a stop because it gave him an easy reprieve from the conversation at hand. “We need you to confirm the body’s identification. Will you come inside?” The Earl asked, gesturing to the Yard’s station outside the carriage. He reminded you of the meaning behind your excursion: confirming that the body found floating in the River Thames was Janet Fischer or a nameless victim. While there were numerous pictures of Janet, they needed a person to confirm her remains.

“Yes, I can.” Your heart sunk, bringing your joy with it. Your smile melted as you nodded gravely, well aware that there was no need to maintain any pretenses in front of the body. Ciel forced the Yard to clear any non-ranked personnel to avoid conflict with your public appearance versus your intended utility to the case.

Within minutes, you were facing Janet one last time. She was truly perfect— the type of beautiful that belonged between pages of a storybook. Her cheekbones were high, but her cheeks were full; her lips were soft and pink. Her blonde hair fell in wisps, too thick to stay in her bun perfectly. Even in death, her eyelashes were long and curled, kissing her cheeks.

Unlike Amélie, there was little sign of death on her, save for her lack of breathing and the obvious bruise on her temple. Otherwise, there was no foul smell, no bloodshot eyes, or gaping mouth. Janet looked as if she was only napping, her face serene without the deep sadness that used to inhabit it. No one in the company carried the same innocence and melancholia— that was why she was Natasha’s first choice for Odette.

“This is her,” your voice hardly registered above a whisper. “Janet…what happened?” you asked, blinking rapidly to keep tears from falling. You wished she could wake up and tell you. There was nothing you wanted more.

“She was officially reported as missing on the night of September 28th,” Ciel said, his presence somewhat comforting to you. Janet was already dead— there was nothing to be done except to bring her killer to justice and ensure this doesn’t happen to anyone else. “Exactly one day after the last time everyone has claimed to see her— the night of Thursday, September 27th.”

“This wound seems as if it was from a blunt object,” Sebastian noted, peering at the purple bruise on the side of Janet’s right eye. “But she was found near the Tower Bridge, the rest of her wounds consistent with a high fall.”

“Could she have been hit with the object and subsequently pushed?” Ciel wondered, not truly looking for a response from either you or Sebastian. He crossed his arms, searching for answers from Janet’s body.

You battled a fresh wave of nausea.

“The bruise appears to be circular. I believe the object we’re looking for is slightly round — like a hammer, the pommel of a dagger, or even the end of a cane might create this shape of bruise,” the butler continued, the broad number of potential items doing nothing of note.

If the bruise wasn’t leading to anything concrete, you opted to focus on something — anything — else. Janet went missing on a Thursday… Today was Wednesday. William wanted to meet with you on another Thursday. You had full Nutcracker rehearsals on Thursdays and Sundays, but William said that Thursday would work the best because Natasha always stayed at the studio to work with Poppy.

That made Thursdays the ideal day for him to kill someone: Natasha was out of the picture, and the whole cast was exhausted after a full show rehearsal and a showing of Swan Lake.

You stiffened, your head jerking to look at the Earl. He startled at your sudden movement, knitting curious eyebrows together. What is it now, Y/n? He asked without having to speak.

“Ciel, do you have the dates for any of the other disappearances?”

“Sebastian?” Ciel prompted.

“Annalisse Sterling’s last sighting was Thursday, September 14th and Harriet White’s was August 31st, and…” Sebastian continued, as you flipped through a calendar. You ripped off one of the officer’s unoccupied desks. You circled every date Sebastian said until he stopped at Amelie’s disappearance date.

“The majority of disappearances have taken place between these three weekdays,” you declared, showing Ciel and Sebastian the months of circled Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays. “Look. And these are days where we have full show rehearsals and his wife is thoroughly distracted…it cannot be a coincidence.”

Ciel considered the theory, nodding slowly with perceptible hesitance that you wanted to kick out of him. There was absolutely no basis for him to doubt you! Why did he need to be this stubborn? All of the time? “Is there anyone we can speak to regarding Janet? We have already spoken to her family and Lord Taylor, but—”

“She never had friends,” you shook your head. It was true— Janet always distanced herself from everyone. Even Natasha, who seemed to be the entire company’s older sister. “What did Lord Taylor tell you?”

“He has a solid alibi— hosting a birthday dinner for his niece in Tanglewood. His son’s betrothed,” Ciel said. “The party location puts him too far away from the Tower Bridge at that time, and there is no evidence that Taylor told Janet to meet him there.”

“She had to tell someone that she was going out of her usual way,” you shut your eyes for a moment to organize your thoughts. “Janet was not stupid, she would never leave without notice. Her mother and her brothers relied on her income to live.”

“The mother insisted Janet found a note in her dressing room, but there was no one — and no note — to corroborate that,” Sebastian recalled, as perplexed as you’ve ever seen him. Anyone could have left a note in Janet’s room— the murder had to be premeditated if that was how the killer lured her. They knew to leave it there after the performance and to either dispose of it themself or take it from Janet after killing her. Not only that— they had access to those backstage areas. It needed to be someone who blended in at the opera house, otherwise, the interviewed dancers and stagehands would have noticed a suspicious character.

“Ciel, we need to look into William. He owns the opera house— no one would think anything of seeing him backstage. William knows when rehearsals are, and his wife’s work schedule,” you demanded, wide-eyed. Honestly, if Ciel continued to doubt you, you would suspect he was in the wrong line of work.

“Say it is William,” Ciel pinched the bridge of his nose, “how would we proceed?” He asked flatly, guessing that you had a few ideas.

Your expression wasn’t gleeful. You were unsure what to call it, besides fierce and unyielding. It was forceful, it was serious. A real force of nature would do this. You were going to do this.

“We get a confession, then. Tomorrow night.”

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gamerbearmira · 10 months

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Ballet au thoughts and ideas

Yes, they do have a big dance studio and a record player to play some classical vinyl records on a gramophone record player. Most of the music is from Alma’s time, gramophones were invented in 1887 so I think Alma would have one.

Alma isn’t hard on her if Mira makes a mistake. Alma, of all people, knows that mistakes happen and you can’t be mad or upset at them. Just get up and try again. Neither does she tell Mirabel to watch her weight, she’s seen all body types doing ballet back in her day so she would never say anything of the sort.

She also likes sharing stories of her past ballet experiences with Mira. She does sometimes get a little choked up about it but pushes through to tell the story.

Also, Alma told her all about the famous stories ballet dancers danced to such as swan lake, the nutcracker, la bayadère, Giselle, and the sugar plum fairy.

I have a feeling that the sugar plum fairy is her favorite story because 1. It’s a good story and 2. She was in a play about it when she was little.

And yes, Alma is on a nostalgia kick and pressures Mirabel to do it more. And doing ballet with instruments is not the “perfect” way to go. But I believe Mira isn’t as stressed out as the others, she just feels like she is being a little forced to limit herself (don’t worry, she dances with instruments when Alma isn’t around)

Bruno doesn’t really mind though, he sees a new side to his mother that he rarely ever saw so he’s happy for both of them.

You know how everyone headcanons that there’s a big stage in Camilo’s room? Well Mirabel’s is a little bit bigger than his, like dis

That was by Alma’s request as well

When Mira’s in the mood for it, she’ll do a couple shows inviting the whole village to watch. When it comes to shows, she sometimes does solo ones, shows with alma, or with the village ballet dancers. And if she can, she’ll sing in them, which is 90% of the time.

Casita often helps with the props or FX just to make things a little more magical, and they're kind of like a built-in stage hand too.

Angst section, you don't need to take it seriously, but I needed to put these thoughts somewhere:

For angst, everyone thinks Alma’s playing favoritism (like in the werewolf au). But no one talks about it. We all know she isn’t but y’know.

On top of that, Imagine how flabbergasted the triplets (yes, Bruno stayed) are when they see Alma doing ballet. They do know what it is, they’ve seen the small ballet class in the village. But they didn’t know Alma knew it, you gotta know how hurt they felt knowing that they’re mother didn’t let them know something that their sabrina/daughter knows.

I would be a little upset, how you gon let my child/niece know something that I never knew about you? And TEACH it to her?!

Julieta and Pepa however, feel there is some favoritism going on.

Bruno doesn’t really mind though, he sees a new side to his mother that he rarely ever saw so he’s happy for both of them.

More angst tehe; for some “odd reason” most of her family, ( except bruno, antonio, luisa, agustin, and felix) can’t come to her shows. They're either “too busy” or “too tired” or “ it’s too loud”. All of those things are lies, of course. Pepa, Julieta, Isabela, Camilo, and Dolores are never that tired, or that busy, and Mirabel made Dolores ear muffs just so she can watch the show.

You best believe Alma isn’t pleased with this behavior and sometimes has to force them to come.

“You can’t be that tired to miss your prima/daughter/sister’s show. You have missed them for the fifth time and I’m tired of it. I expect you to be there on time or else, and I’m NOT taking no for an answer”

And of course, they are blown away by Mirabel’s flawless work of ballet. But they won’t admit that they’re too pressed.

RAHHHHH❗❗

Nice to see there's a company. Can't really get behind the family for their excuses tho like. Seriously, why are you so pressed, shouldn't you be happy??? I mean it's not like she just acquired the skills through magic, she has to work hard everyday to get that good. Like stop being so salty and just admit that she's good 😭 pride isn't a good color <33

Shootout to Bruno for staying and going to the performances❗❗❗ And the other family members who go to the performances as well. Major W's on their parts <33

Funny little idea. A suggestion. Luisa absolutely ADORES watching Mirabel and loves going to her shows and watching them. Like Luisa is arguably one of, if not the busiest Madrigal, and she still will straight up drop whatever she's doing (or rather finish up whatever she's doing) and go straight to wherever Mirabel's preforming. And if she's doing a public performance in like the plaza or whatever, she'll just. Stand there and watch. She'll have whole donkey's on her shoulder and just stand there and watch.

Luisa ties the ribbons on her shoes so they look like pointe shoe ribbon and. She helps Mirabels tie her bun when she goes to practice. I think Luisa would peek in on Mirabel's practice when she's at Casita.

Luisa trying not to scream out and throw flowers at Mirabel while she's performing:

Just an idea of course <333

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto alma #encanto luisa #ballet au #ballerina mirabel au

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princesssarisa · 5 months

Text

As long as we're discussing different filmed performances of The Nutcracker, I'd like to mention a very interesting one that I just discovered on YouTube: the Royal Swedish Ballet production.

I would share the link, but it's blocked from being shared on other sites besides YouTube.

It dispenses with the ballet's traditional characters (Marie/Clara, Godfather Drosselmeyer, the Sugar Plum Fairy, etc.), and combines the plot with that of a popular Swedish children's book, Peter and Lotta's Christmas by Elsa Beskow.

As it happens, I grew up with Elsa Beskow's books despite not being Swedish, because my mom discovered them in English translation and fell in love with them when I was in kindergarten. The Peter and Lotta series is about two little orphaned siblings who live with three middle aged sisters, Aunt Green, Aunt Brown, and Aunt Lavender; the other major character is their family friend, Uncle Blue.

In this Nutcracker production, Lotta starts out in the Marie/Clara role while Peter replaces Fritz, but they both go through the magical adventure at night rather than just Lotta. Uncle Blue replaces Drosselmeyer, while the three foster aunts provide comic relief, and the role of the Nutcracker Prince is taken by a friendly charcoal-burner from the Peter and Lotta's Christmas book. During the Act I Christmas party, the charcoal-burner and Uncle Blue's housemaid share obvious romantic feelings, which Peter and Lotta encourage them to act on. Then, in the battle, the maid is the one who saves the day by squashing the Rat King with her broom. Thus she becomes the Nutcracker Prince's lady-love, sheds her plain serving clothes to reveal her true beauty, and becomes the Act II prima ballerina who dances the pas de deux with the Prince.

This staging also incorporates aspects of a traditional Swedish Christmas that obviously aren't seen in most productions. Instead of the traditional soldier, the nutcracker is shaped like the Yule Goat!

I'm not sure anyone who didn't grow up with Elsa Beskow's books would fully appreciate this production, but it is a very interesting one.

It makes me want to come up with my own Nutcracker production concept based on some other children's book series. Madeline, for example: I think a Madeline-themed Nutcracker could be fun...

@themousefromfantasyland, @ariel-seagull-wings

#ballet #the nutcracker #royal swedish ballet #peter and lotta #elsa beskow #sweden

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scr-ppup · 10 months

Text

@puriette 800F coining event ~ malice `✨

Primalideitic

A term connected to being a deity of malice who has been long forgotten centuries ago, merely being kept alive by a fading memory by those who barely know of them, and the link between the emotion of malice and anger, feeding on these strong emotions.

Prim + mali + deit + ic (prima, malice & deity)

Coined by the eternity aka Primuscapere

ID. A 9 stripe flag with a center circle, the colors go from top to bottom as red black, vibrant red, dark plum, dark raddish red, pomegranate red, dark raddish red, dark plum, vibrant red, and red black. The circle has a hand drawn creepy face on it. End ID

#black seas of infinity : term coin #puriette800 #liom #liom community #liom label #liom safe #mogai #mogai community #mogai label #mogai safe #eyestrain #tw eyestrain #cw eyestrain

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formeroklahoman · 1 year

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...January 24, 1925 ~

Remembering America’s first Prima Ballerina, MARIA TALLCHIEF, today on her birthday ❤️

Born on the Osage Reservation in Oklahoma, Tallchief began taking dance lessons at an early age. The family moved to Los Angeles, and at age 12 she began training with dancer/choreographer Bronislava Nijinska. Her dance career was beginning to accelerate, and at age 17, Tallchief found herself in New York City, as a member of the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo. Then in 1944, she met with, and began working under, George Balanchine. In August of 1946, Tallchief and Balanchine married each another.

In 1947, Tallchief became the first American to perform with the Paris Opera Ballet. Back in the States, in October of 1947, she then became the first Prima Ballerina of the New York City Ballet. In 1949, Balanchine created the title role for Tallchief, in the electrifying “The Firebird” - with scenery and costumes by none other than Marc Chagall. This was the role that put her on top of the ballet world.

In 1952, she took some time off to go to Hollywood, appearing as the dancer Anna Pavlova in the Esther Williams movie “Million Dollar Mermaid”, a retelling of the life of Australian swimmer/actress Annette Kellermann. More demanding roles followed in the years to come.

In 1954, Balanchine took an obscure ballet titled “The Nutcracker”, completely restaged it, and put Tallchief into the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy, transforming it into the classic it is today. More roles followed: the Swan Queen in “Swan Lake”; Eurydice in “Orpheus”; and principal roles in numerous plotless vehicles. She was Rudolf Nureyev’s partner for his 1962 American debut, which was broadcast on national tv.

Tallchief retired from dancing in 1966, moving to Chicago and founding the ballet school in that city’s Lyric Opera. She also became the artistic director of the Chicago City Ballet. She received the Kennedy Center Honor in 1996. Maria Tallchief passed away in 2013 at age 88.

Her legacy as a dancer is one who was electrifying, passionate and fiery, but also one of unsurpassed strength and technical brilliance.

Tallchief is honored as one of the “Five Moons”, i,e, the five Oklahoma-born Native American ballerinas, which include Maria Tallchief (Osage); sister Marjorie Tallchief (Osage) - and who sadly just passed away in 2021 at age 95; Yvonne Chouteau (Shawnee); Moscelyne Larkin (Eastern Shawnee/Peoria); and, Rosella Hightower (Choctaw).

PHOTOS -

L: Photo still of Miss Tallchief from the 1952 movie "Million Dollar Mermaid", where she portrays Anna Pavlova.

R: Miss Tallchief in her role of "Eurydice" in George Balanchine's production of "Orpheus"; photo by George Platt Lynes, 1948.

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princess-ibri · 1 year

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Who did you use as inspo for your Sugar Plum Fairy?

Misty Copeland! She was in the Four Realms movie as just a ballerina but I felt like if you're gonna have a big professional ballerina be in your mocie vased on a famous balley have her at least play the prima ballerina part. So I made her the Sugar Plum Fairy and did my own take on the design :)

#asks #Disney #the nutcracker #nutcracker and the four realms #DisneyVerse #misty copeland #ballet

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gcldfanged · 2 years

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@ver-dot

He was drowning in velvet the color of old blood, a hellish den of stale sweat mixed with the sharp acrid aroma of hard liquor and tobacco smoke, when Veld had shown up. Hadn’t even kicked down the door and rushed in like the Public Security grunts might, the way he’d imagined they would have months ago. Had lost hope for saving any of them by that point, because Masa worked with all the big names in Wall Market’s supply chain. The scumbag always had a veritable army of little girls slithering all over him, refilling his plum wine and taking hits from the same gold-handled pipe. Most of them were already heavy smokers or drinkers, or both- purpling track marks decorating their arms like bruises decorated his face and torso from his hyung’s special brand of ‘tough love’.

It was Kato who dropped first, just went limp like a ragdoll- a marionette whose string had been cut. Then Shige. All hard men, professionals in the worst senses of the word, just... dying like roaches in the middle of a house fumigation. The girls stopped whipping their clothes off and stared with their dead, jaundiced eyes, like bloomed gelatin sitting over two pools of nara ink.

Six more half-wits with more muscles than brains tried their luck and Veld ripped them apart like a slow moving hurricane. No, it was more like the Turk was moving normally and everyone else had been cursed with a whammy of a Slow spell, leaden limbs trying to force their way through ocean water.

Veld’s fists just crunched into people’s necks, their temples, his hands snapped bone like they were dead twigs, and one guy had his kneecap smashed in so bad, he broke his own neck falling down onto one of the tables.

It was like a movie, poetry in motion- Or Hell, even a dance. If ballet involved murder, then he’d be the fucking grand prima-ballerina.

Masa was crippled with just as little fanfare, his switchblade flying back and embedding itself into the fabric of the booth seating. He was begging and pleading for his life, Jae-hyo swore he might even have seen tears glimmering on his sharp cheekbones like diamonds in the club’s strobing lights.

He was as good as dead, but Yoon grabbed that knife like a switch flicked on in his brain and turned all of the lights back on. Jamming his hand beneath Masa’s chin, he pulled swedge of the wicked blade through his neck, even sawing it in hard just to make sure the bastard was extra dead.

Veld had just watched and gave him a look- just the barest tilt of the chin in a nod like ‘Yeah, you did the right thing, kid.’

A hard clap on the shoulder and Jae woke up, startled with his nostrils filled with the phantom aroma of gunsmoke and blood. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes, wiping away any specks of dirt that had gathered at the corners.

“I’m good,” he states casually, cracking his neck by giving a slow roll of his head to loosen up his cramped muscles. Being strapped into a helicopter always managed to jack up his posture something fierce.

He ducked his head as they disembarked, glancing at his company issued flip phone to check the time.

“So- What’s the plan, Boss?” he asks the elder agent, cold mountain air whipping against the fabric of their suits.

#ver-dot #◈ RP THREADS #child abuse tw #drug mention cw #alcohol mention cw #gore tw #I didn't get too dark actually i lightened it up some after the third proofreading

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balanchine-ballet-master · 2 years

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Books on Balanchine

I’ve been meaning to list as many of the Balanchine- and NYCB-related books as I can. This post is limited to biographies of Balanchine, memoirs of Balanchine, and biographies of those closely associated with him. (A few are by or about people who didn’t work with him but who talk about dancing his ballets.)

Later posts will list books relating to his ballets, his teaching, criticism, NYCB history and general, School of American Ballet, fiction (yes, there is some!), and maybe the Ballets Russes (Balanchine-related).

Balanchine Biographies Bethany, Reine Duell Balanchine—Russian-American Ballet Master Emeritus (author is the sister of Daniel and the late Joseph Duell)

Buckle, Richard George Balanchine, Ballet Master (friend of Balanchine’s)

Charles River Editors George Balanchine: The Life and Legacy of One of the 20th Century’s Most Influential Choreoraphers (80 pp.)

Costas Balanchine: Celebrating a Life in Dance (photos)

Gottlieb, Robert Balanchine: The Ballet Maker (concise)

Homans, Jennifer Mr. B: George Balanchine’s 20th Century (Nov. 1, 2022)

Kendall, Elizabeth Balanchine and the Lost Muse

Krista, David George Balanchine: American Ballet Master (for children)

Portrait of Mr. B (photos, with introduction by Lincoln Kirstein)

Shearer, Moira Balletmaster (Royal Ballet ballerina who worked with Balanchine)

Taper, Bernard Balanchine: A Biography: With a New Epilogue

Teachout, Terry All in the Dances: A Brief Life of George Balanchine (concise)

Memoirs of Balanchine Ashley, Merrill Dancing for Balanchine (ballerina, 1960s-1990s)

Bentley, Toni Winter Season (journal of a corps member from the 1970s)

Boal, Peter Illusions of Camelot (principal, 1980s-2000s) (Oct. 18, 2022)

Bocher, Barbara The Cage: Dancing for Jerome Robbins and George Balanchine 1949-1954 (soloist)

Clifford, John Balanchine’s Apprentice: From Hollywood to New York and Back (principal, 1970s)

Danilova, Alexandra Choura (second wife)

Farrell, Suzanne Holding on to the Air (ballerina, 1960s-1980s)

Fisher, Barbara Milberg In Balanchine’s Company (soloist, 1950s)

Geva, Tamara Split Seconds (first wife; wonderful book)

Hayden, Melissa Melissa Hayden, Offstage and On (ballerina, 1950s-1970s)

Karz, Zippora The Sugarless Plum (soloist, 1980s; title refers to her diabetes)

Kent, Allegra Once a Dancer (ballerina, 1950s-1980s)

Kirstein, Lincoln Mosaic

Kistler, Darci Ballerina: My Story (for children) (ballerina, 1980s-2010s)

Martins, Peter Far From Denmark (principal and NYCB director)

Martins, Peter and Steven Caras Balanchine: Photo Album and Memoir (mostly photos; 62 pp.) (Caras was a corps member, 1960s-1980s)

Mason, Francis I Remember Balanchine (hefty volume of reminiscences from all periods of Balanchine’s life)

Newman, Barbara Striking a Balance (interviews with Doubrovska, Lifar, Christensen, Youskevitch, Shearer, Nerina, Le Clercq, Mason, Kelly, Bonnefous, Martins, Ashley, Ananiashvili)

Newman, Barbara Grace Under Pressure (interviews with Schorer, Tomasson, Russell, Frohlich, Verdy, Denvers)

Ohman, Frank, and Emily Berkowitz Balanchine’s Dancing Cowboy (soloist, 1960s-1970s)

Patelson, Alice Portrait of a Dancer, Memories of Balanchine (corps, 1970s)

Soto, Jock Every Step You Take: A Memoir (principal, 1980s-1990s)

Tallchief, Maria, and Larry Kaplan Maria Tallchief, America’s Prima Ballerina (ballerina, 1950s-1960s)

Tracy, Robert Balanchine’s Ballerinas: Conversations with the Muses (interviews with Danilova, Geva, Doubrovska, Toumanova, Boris, Reiman, Marie-Jeanne, Moylan, Tallchief, Hayden, Adams, Kent, Verdy, McBride, Farrell, Mazzo, von Aroldingen, Ashley, Kistler)

Villella, Edward Prodigal Son (principal, 1950s-1980s)

Zorina, Vera Zorina (wife #3)

Biographies of Balanchine-Related People Duberman, Martin The Worlds of Lincoln Kirstein

Jowett, Deborah Jerome Robbins, His Life, His Theater, His Dance

Kavanagh, Julie Secret Muses: The Life of Frederick Ashton

Kavanagh, Julie Nureyev

Lawrence, Greg Dance with Demons: The Life of Jerome Robbins

Leddick, David Intimate Companions: A Triography of George Platt Lynes, Paul Cadmus, Lincoln Kirstein, and Their Circle

Lesser, Wendy Jerome Robbins, a Life in Dance

Lobenthal, Joel Wilde Times: Patricia Wilde, George Balanchine, and the Rise of New York City Ballet (ballerina, 1950s-1960s)

Osato, Sono Distance Dances (minor mentions)

Protopopescu, Orel Dancing Past the Light: The Life of Tanaquil Le Clercq (fifth and final wife; principal, 1940s-1950s)

Robbins, Jerome Jerome Robbins by Himself (letters, journals, drawings, etc.)

Sills, Bettijane Broadway, Balanchine, and Beyond: A Memoir (soloist, 1960s-1970s)

Vaill, Amanda Somewhere: The Life of Jerome Robbins

West, Martha Ullman Todd Bolender, Janet Reed, and the Making of American Ballet (principals, 1940s-1950s)

#Balanchine #George Balanchine #ballet #New York City Ballet #books #ballet books #dancers #choreographer #dance #dancing #biography #memoirs

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