Fleur Delise

Slowly spinning around in gentle, mesmerizing circles the light-forged image was beautiful to behold. An artful ballerina caught mid-action in a pirouette floating above the silver wristband. Said device wrapped comfortably and in a form-fitting manner around the wrist of its wearer, in an old flowing cursive style the words ‘United Dance Academy’ swirled this way and that as if a banner caught in the wind. The afternoon sun’s subtle rays dancing through the branches and foliage of the tree above, that slowly rotating hologram, projected mere inches above the wrist-mounted device held a certain…allure to the one watching it.

Vibrant manicured grass forming a healthy, almost utopian backdrop to the lush and healthy park, resplendent with hale trees and shrubbery alike, it was propped up against one such tree that Fleur, a fair and svelte girl in her early 20’s lounged. Enjoying the clean, pollution-free air of Nouveau Paris, the ivory-haired female let out a heavy, dreamy sigh. Oh, to be accepted into the academy…to be trained by the finest teachers of ballet in all of France, if not all of the European Pact itself…one could dream, couldn’t they?

With the afternoon rays filtering through the canopy over her and showering her with lovely motes of nature’s warmth, Fleur watched the floating image above her left wrist with a keen, overly fond look. She had always wanted to become a dancer of the ballet form, had always wanted to gain fame and glory and renown. Always wanted to practice that dying form of art, that relic of the past which was as graceful as it was…well, expensive. That is what had never allowed Fleur to learn it as a youth, had never allowed her to enroll when she was still growing and her body was still learning itself and its ways. No matter how much she had pleaded with her parents the answer had always been a firm ‘no’. Beyond their price range, a ballerina class was, and beyond their interest or so it seemed, now that she was fully grown, now that she was of age and could make a living herself…it was a reality!

A small marker next to the school’s name indicating that she had an application pending review, pending acceptance, Fleur’s eyes were constantly drawn to that small, slowly blinking light. She knew she would get in- she had to! She had done everything in her life up to this point just to get in, just to have a chance! To be on stage, to have her name appear in artsy magazines and columns as she and her performances breathed new life into the dying art…it was all enough that the mere thought brought a flush to her cheeks and her chest. This was her future…this was her life! She would follow her dreams and seize them, would find succe- A buzzing vibration of the silver band on her wrist breaking that concentration, that inner reverie shattered an exasperated sigh slipped from her delicate fair lips before she flicked her wrist to the right in a quick gesture before holding it straight once more. A larger and less-refined image replacing that of the academy she had been idolizing, the face of a Middle Eastern male in his mid-50’s popped up. In a thick accent from…Pakistan, maybe, the male seemed rather irked as if his patience had been pushed too far. “Fleur, your break ended three minutes ago- where are you? You think customer can serve themselves, hmmm?”

Putting on an apologetic smile, even though it was one clearly forced, Fleur tried to sound sweet and apologetic in her reply. “Of course not Mr. Rhijesha, I lost trac-“

“Yes, yes, always lose track of time. Always head in clouds like some airy American. You here in five minutes or you will no longer have job, understand?”

Already getting up from her spot lounging out behind the tree, Fleur tried to hide her dislike for her ‘supervisor’ as she stood and nodded with a strained smile before quickly and angrily snapping her left wrist to the left- ending the call. Standing tall, or at least taller than some girls at a smidge over 5’8”, Fleur leaned down and brushed any errant bits of grass or leaves from herself and her outfit before setting off at a quick jog across a patch of the park’s grass.

Her clothing something somewhat characteristic of the times and her profession more than anything else, her svelte, ‘twig-thin’ form was heavily accentuated by a somewhat revealing vivid orange halter top bearing the logo of a steaming cup of coffee and a saucer beneath it on the front. Showing off her bare, yet mildly toned shoulders and slender but in-shape upper arms and forearms, around Fleur’s waist was a half-apron akin to those who served or waited on others. The apron, a bright clean white holding various pockets for anything from sugar packets to napkins, beneath it she wore a pair of faded turquoise spandex. About as close to a leotard as Fleur could wear at her job, and something both comfortable (and fitting within her job’s rather revealing dress code), off-white sneakers carried the lithe figure across the lawn and towards a small silvered cart with an orange pennant bearing a steaming cup of coffee and saucer on it.

Slowing down to a more ‘polite’ strolling pace as she neared the cart, feeling lightly winded but having tried to keep herself in a ‘fit’ shape for ballet, Fleur stretched out her arms behind her back to work out a kink in her shoulder from the unexpected run. Approaching the cart and gently waving her wristband over a small screen present on the cart’s surface, the otherwise blank display came to life and a small hologram display projected itself atop the small cart as if a ‘billboard’ menu. Ranging from cappuccino to earl grey tea to more ‘hip’ beverages like ‘mango nut explosion’, Fleur’s dayjob resumed once more- as a barista in a small cart in the park. Toiling away and hoping for tips and trying to appear as happy possible for the various clientele that passed by, what little she was able to ferret away for savings went towards ballet. For a leotard. For shoes. For the application fee to the United Dance Academy. For…for a hope at a better, brighter life.

Intermittently checking a small notifications display on her smartband with its clean, clear-cut surface apart from a small S&A logo demarking it being manufactured by the tech conglomerate of Samsung & Amazon, Fleur waited with baited breath as she hoped against hope that she would be accepted and get a chance at…at a real future. Her application video sent in over a week ago, she had been walking (and sleeping) on pins and needles. Wavering between hope and despair, faith and failure, as the remaining hours of her shift slipped by she had to hope…had to have faith…that someone would find that spark in her and decide to take her on as a pupil…

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27/08/2080 8:14:32AM
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[Image loads of an off-white backdrop and slightly aged hardwood flooring. A thin curtain rod secured to the wall with metal brackets interspaced and offering some semblance of support, the picture’s quality diminishes momentarily from a brief flicker of static in one of the corners before fully refocusing. The image quality clearly subpar by standards of the year 2080 at least, a young, trim twig of a thing steps into the image with a faint flush on her fair porcelain complexion. Long radiant ivory tresses done up in a tight braid behind her that fell over her right shoulder, lovely tender sapphire eyes looked at the camera with eagerness gleaming from them. Fair, delicate lips just begging to be sucked on, an adorable moderately-sized button nose, and a refined jawline and facial symmetry that was as appealing as it was captivating. Clad in a stark white sheer leotard covering her legs, a clean and simple white tutu with medium-length frills covers her upper half. Her legs showing themselves off to be thin in a lovely, delicate and sublime manner, giving her a fair and athletic stride given the whispers of muscle at her slim calves and thighs, the ballet shoes she has on are of a washed pink and seem to be second-hand. Still in good condition, their color gives away their state and age even if they seem to be holding up well despite it all. A deep, excited breath being drawn in and then released from that lovely thin and fragile-looking chest, two small and breathtaking mounds are hidden beneath the tutu’s top. Small points of nipples peaking out through the smooth white fabric, while the applicant seems to waver close to being dubbed ‘flat chested’ there is still clearly something there…and something lovely should any wish to experience it first-hand. A stunning set of thin and agile legs, a lovely body that is slim and enthralling, two slender and lightly muscled arms cap it all off. Showing off even more of that unblemished and impeccable skin, the applicant holds her arms up and together in a typical and ‘polite’ ballerina starting pose. Smiling from ear to ear, clearly encourage, hopeful, and delightful, a faintly accented French voice is picked up by the recording equipment as the application video begins…]

“Bonjour, my name is Fleur and this is my application to L’Academie de Unie Danse. I will be applying with a dance to Bach’s Violin Partita No. 2 in D Minor- Gigue.” Clearly going for the antique, ‘classic’ approach to things and not the modern universalized English or Chinese, speaking in the somewhat out-of-style French (even in France itself), the young woman held herself up high and with a clear level of grace even if it did not seem to come overly naturally to her. The small silvered band on her wrist being tapped lightly, a clean and crisp song begins to play in the background. A chipper, upbeat violin picking up immediately and setting a rather quick and lively tempo and tone, Fleur immediately slipped into motion.

A graceful sway down to touch her lower calves before rising and moving into an artful symphony of momentum and grace, Fleur’s movements matched the pacing and music fairly well, if not ever so slightly off-beat like one who had only had mild criticism and never proper guidance in the art. One who clearly enjoyed, loved the craft even, while she was breathtakingly beautiful, put on an air of grace as she performed with all of her heart, body, and soul, there were simply things that a practiced and learned eye could pick up on. How her pirouette was far from streamlined. How her body clearly lacked the endurance and strength, innate grace and style which a proper student and ballerina would have.

She was rough and weak. Not fluid enough. Not graceful enough. Not skilled enough. Not young enough to properly mold with the usual training dictums and regimens. Not…just simply not quality material for it all. She could become a dancer, clearly, but perhaps in some nightclub or other such service. Too thin and fair to fit in with the more contemporary dancing styles, to unskilled and untalented for ballet…that her application had not been returned quickly was likely understandable to any who was in the field and had seen the video.

Fleur’s dance ending an eighth a beat after the song ended, mildly winded she smiled widely, happily, and performed a deep, enamored curtsey. Shining with happiness, thrilled with the art and its craft, Fleur was positively excited about it all and her stunning performance. No disappointment, no failure on her eyes or in her spirit, that bright, innocent, stunning young hopeful rose once more and doing a small ‘show-off’ pirouette (once more like that of one who practiced by themselves or in front of friends or family), she finished off her video with a long-legged stretching pose to the side as she set her ankle delicately atop the homemade ‘ballet bar’ a moment before the video froze and reached its end.