Personal Rehearsal: Open RP

mosthonestliar:

Alex was losing herself, but she wanted to keep it that way; dancing out her stress was a lot better then drinking in her apartment again. The bass was thumping in her chest and her limbs flowing with the melody as her muscles tensed and stretched to carry her across the floor.
The studio felt unnaturally hot right now, but that was good for her—it was far better than the chilling cold that signaled a visit for a less than welcome guest for her. She would push herself like this, almost to the point of exhaustion if she had to. It was the only way she could bring herself to rid her mind of the stresses and angers that had been clouding her thoughts as of late.
As she drew in towards the end of the song her eyes snapped open at the sound of clapping and—what the hell was that accent? Her stance tensed and eyes narrowed as she turned towards the door, wondering who would’ve wandered into her studio this late at night uninvited.
What a minute. Who the fuck was this guy?
“Who’re you? No one’s supposed to be in here after hours.” She said, perhaps a bit too coldly. Her arms crossed themselves beneath her bust, unsure of what to make of the foreign looking guy in the doorway. She was fairly certain he wasn’t one of the new guys, but then again she hadn’t met all of them just yet; still most new dancers didn’t show up at the studio this late at night—or have weird as fuck accents.

Shuichi certainly wasn’t a dancer – and he certainly didn’t look like one. He wore large and flashy, neon green Doc Martins and quite a bit of bulky, spiked jewelry. His pants were tight and ripped – definitely not good for moving around in – and he wore a loose, off-the-shoulder, white shirt with nonsense English printed across the front.

He smiled at her, gaze averted politely. “Ah, I am Shuichi,” Came his soft answer, remembering that Americans used first names instead of surnames to introduce themselves. “I am… ah, lost."

Mar. 11, 2014 19