Good morning all and happy Christmas Eve day. I hope all is jolly and bright.hile i will be posting the fifteen minute writing prompt today and tomorrow, there will be no writing article this afternoon. Normality will resume soon though, so don’t worry. And speaking of normality, it is time for the morning writing prompt before the holiday fun begins. Timers ready? Then let’s go.
Well, that was not where I expected my brain to go. Somehow i thought it would lean towards New Year’s. Oh well, it’s kind of a fun story start that my brain kicked out so I can’t really complain. Although if fleshing this one out i think I might lean steampunk…
Thursday, December 24th: And so, we start again.
“And so, we start again.”
Catherine tried not to roll her eyes as her dance instructor raised his baton in the air. Ballet was never her idea, but her mother proclaimed that all young ladies of quality needed some show of artistic skill.
They needed to be accomplished.
When the quest for an accomplishment began, they started with music. Catherine proved utterly hopeless at the piano. Despite, her failure, her mother persisted running through every acceptable musical instrument available and some that weren’t exactly beau monde, but might be construed as delightfully eccentric, should she prove proficiency. Catherine failed at those as well.
Once music was stricken from the list of possibilities, art followed. There at least Catherin showed some promise. And it had been fun. The only issue was that she was hopeless when it came to the delightfully bucolic landscapes that were not only the fashion but considered suitable for young ladies to paint. According to the conversation she overheard her mother having with Monsieur Michel the simple landscapes showed an innocence of spirit in the artist that could entice potential marriage minded men.
Unfortunately even when Catherine tried nothing she painted came out looking innocent and bucolic. According to Monsieur Michel even her cows looked like they were plotting some sort of revolution.
When her final attempt at a seascape made him and everyone else who saw it, believe that the arrival of the Kraken was eminent, it was decided art was not her strong suit.
Which is how she ended up here, at Monsieur George’s studio. She was learning something called ‘Dance Suitable for young ladies of quality.’ Technically she knew she was supposed to think of it as ballet, but she Monsieur George also taught actual dancers and she heard the snickers and dropped comments from those girls when she showed up for class with the others from her social set deemed destined to call dance their accomplishment.
The actual dancers didn’t voice their comments in English where the young ladies might be able to understand them. They used their native tongues, French, Russian and Italian for the most part. All of those were languages Catherine managed to master. If her mother would accept languages as an appropriate accomplishment for a lady of quality then she could have been done with this face. Instead she was here with several of her least favorite contemporizes being sniggered at by professionals.
Catherine had the distinct impression her attempt to replicate the steps were giving Monsieur George heart palpitations. And if he hit her calves with his instructors baton one more time she was certain she would snap and forget she was a young lady of quality. It was only her second week and already her calves were crisscrossed black and blue.
Ten til Midnight 