Dancer
'I guess I did forget one thing at home – my language guide.'
A mare stood alone near the entrance to one of the many circular intersections that dotted the grand city of Marecelona. Once a remote outpost at the fringe of Equestrian influence, it had grown into the nation’s second largest shipping hub and a transfer point for thousands of travelers each year. Yet those who called Marecelona home worked just as hard to maintain a strong link to their city’s past, and to this mare’s immediate frustration, that included the street signs, which were printed in the Canterlan tongue that once dominated this region.
She shifted beneath the full length, dark red coat that covered most of her form, leaving only her head and her hooves exposed to the balmy night air. Gaggles of ponies and a few zebras flowed around her as she scanned the area. Shops and cafes lined the sidewalks, while wagons and carts rumbled through the cobblestone streets, circling around the large median before darting off onto one of many side streets that looked exactly alike, except for their unpronounceable names. 'Ugh, why did I take Prench instead of this?'
“Are you lost, señora?”
The unexpected voice pulled her back to the present. “Not yet, but I will be if I can’t make sense of these signs.”
“Ah, the old Canterlan. It’s not so bad once you get used to it.” The older mare, a unicorn, smiled at her. “But I think I know where you are wanting to go.”
“You do?”
“I’m sure of it,” she replied. “Those are a dancer’s shoes, are they not?”
She couldn't hide the bit of shock in her eyes. “Why yes, um, they are. How did you know?”
The other mare sighed and laughed. “I used to own a pair just like them; I must have replaced the heel tips a dozen times over the years.”
A kind of warmth filled her veins as she looked to the older mare in a new light. They had not even exchanged names, yet behind the light blue coat and the spectacled hazel eyes, she saw the dim embers of the same fire that now burned in her own heart. They stood quietly for a few moments – not as strangers, but as kindred spirits.
“So, which way should I go?” she asked as she looked toward the bustling street.
The older mare glanced at her. “Follow the music. It will guide you as it did me.”
She stared out at the street for a moment more before the words clicked in her mind. "What do you mean– H-hello?" She turned, but the older mare was already gone. She looked all around, but saw no signs of her presence; not even the shadows betrayed that the unicorn had been there at all.
“Follow the music…” she whispered, letting the words sink in while she surveyed yet another roundabout. Streets and alleys jutted off in many directions, some nearly deserted, but others packed with traffic. She turned in place for a minute, eyes scanning every avenue, still unsure of her next move.
“Perhaps I should follow the crowds first.” She pushed a stray lock of red hair behind her ear and set off down the busiest looking path.
Marecelona was a study in contrasts. By day, ponies, griffons, minotaurs, zebras, and dozens of other creatures bustled through the well-worn streets, trading goods, making business deals, or processing the dozens of ships that called to the docks each day.
When the sun went down though, an entirely different city sprang to life. Dozens of restaurants, cafes, tablaos, and bodegas sprang to life, beckoning residents and visitors alike with the smell of delicious food and the promise of good times. Ties were loosened, clipboards were put away, and together, the city would sing, dance, eat, and drink as if it had not a care in the world.
But to the mare that danced and weaved her way through the crowds, the only thing she could hear was the rhythm of the city’s heart, the cadence of its soul. She couldn't resist tapping her hooves as she snaked through the crowds, her body moving to a beat that only she could hear – a beat of freedom, of expression.
Of life.
Few paid her more than a passing glance, but those who did could not help but turn back for a second look. Some mares muttered enviously over her shoes or elbowed their partners for staring too long at her retreating form. Yet she ignored all of it, her mind focused solely on heeding the music’s seductive call.
She slipped past a pair of food carts, doing her best to ignore the tempting smell of fresh hay and daisy wraps that would soon become the late-night salvation of many a drunk pony. Twisting past another group of singing griffons, she turned down a side alley and for a moment, she was lost in the shadows of the buildings to either side.
'Is that… Yes, I can hear it!'
The first distant notes played at the edge of her hearing, and her pulse picked up immediately. The music grew louder with each step she took, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She followed the slight curve of the alley until she emerged from the shadows and stepped into a dream made real.
She emerged from the shadow of the alley into a small courtyard. Apartment buildings and bodegas ringed the area, their faded walls and copper-tiled roofs almost glowing in the moonlight. An ornate stone fountain dominated the courtyard's center, but the mare's green eyes were drawn to the building directly across from her.
“Tablao Rosa…” she whispered as she slowly took it all in. One of the original trinity of flamenco halls in the city, the club – known simply as ‘La Rosa’ to locals – was one of the crown jewels of the flamenco world, and as much a part of Marecelona’s history as the ancient shipping docks or the soaring towers of the grand central hall.
Ponies and non-ponies alike filled the small patio out front, drinking and chatting away, or quietly soaking themselves in the rhythmic sounds that flowed out through open floor-to-ceiling windows. With the exception of the two neon tubes that framed the entry way, the building looked frozen in time, as if the tides of history had completely missed it while the city changed all around it.
Still, she had not come this far just to stare from a distance. She had put too much time and effort into preparing for this day. Besides her namesake flower, the flamenco was her first and perhaps only love. She enjoyed her flower business of course, but the thrill of the dance was like nothing she had ever experienced. From the moment she wandered into a free demonstration in her university days, flamenco became the near center of her universe. She spent countless hours studying its history and foundations, and any remaining spare time was used to practice a dizzying array of dances and forms, all while training herself to hold a nearly upright posture for minutes at a time.
And now, years of work were about to come to fruition. Her flower business had grown enough to afford her this grand trip to a place she thought she’d never see in the flesh, and she was intent on making the most of it. The music grew louder and the anticipation grew stronger with every step across the square, and as she reached the entryway, she could barely tell if the beating in her chest was from her own heart or the music itself.
She stepped through the entrance and in her mind, she may as well have stepped hoof into a new world when she crossed the threshold.
The music washed over her like a slow-rolling wave, filling the air around her, while magical lamps and candelabras gave the space a warm but subdued light. Tightly packed tables and cushions spread out to her left, leading to a large bar that dominated the far wall, while round high-walled booths spread out to her right.
After a brief stop by the bar for a glass of Malbec, she made her way to a small table near the front of the room that afforded a good view of the stage. She had just reclined on the plush blue cushion when a trio of stallions emerged onto the stage. Two of them sat in one of the provided chairs while the third stood behind them. The buzz of the crowd waned as their attention turned to the stage, and a moment later, the music began. The guitarist opened with several long, deep thrums of his instrument, as if he were setting the mood for the room. The pony standing behind him clapped his hooves in a slow, deliberate pattern, gradually working his rhythm to mesh with that of the guitar.
Then a few seconds later, the stallion seated to his left added his booming voice to the ensemble. It was rich and powerful, but there was a depth to it that the mare had never heard from a baritone before. She did not understand the words, but she didn't need to; the sadness, the sense of love, longing, and loss in his voice spoke volumes by itself.
The sad but beautiful song washed over the room as she sipped from her wine and relaxed into the cushion. The sudden appearance of a spotlight drew her attention to the right side of the stage, where a fourth stallion, this one a dancer, emerged onto the stage. “Dear Celestia…”
She had never seen any stallion, much less another Earth pony, with this one’s physique: toned where most were bulky, svelte where others were too thin, and almost unnaturally handsome. A chiseled jawline gave way to a beautiful, soft complexion. A sheer green scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, as did the luxurious strands of his green and black mane. A dark green top and black pants concealed most of his body, but what captivated her the most were his eyes. With a single glance she was bewitched by their vibrant electric blue color, captivated by the energy, the warmth, and the mystery that swirled beneath them.
The musicians slowed only enough to provide an opening for him and within seconds, he was dancing in time with the song as if he had been there from the opening note. She stared at him with wide, nearly glazed-over eyes. ’Impeccable hoofwork, perfect form, and the way he moves...‘
He danced with a kind of grace that she had never seen before, flamenco or not. His every step was perfectly measured, each sweep of a hoof precise and deliberate; even a simple hoof stomp had just the right amount of force to complement the music. It was as if she were watching a physical manifestation of the music itself, an embodiment of the emotion expressed in its notes.
In a word, he was “...Perfect.”
Her trance-like state was broken when a shadow landed on her table… a very tall, very handsome shadow. 'Heavens help me, he’s right there…'
She looked up into his eyes, and a furious blush ran across her face. Every fiber of her conscience told her to look away, to stop staring like a fool, but her heart wouldn't let her. There was something in those bright blue eyes, something magical, something that spoke directly to her soul, and the dancer that yearned to break free.
He said nothing, but there was nothing to say. She knew in her heart what he was about to do, though that did nothing to diminish the joy that filled her eyes when he offered her his hoof. Where this would lead she did not know, but not even Nightmare Moon could have kept her on that cushion.
She stood and unbuttoned the coat, well aware that the eyes of the entire audience were on her now. A quick swipe of her hoof shook out her mane, the long strands of red and pink shimmering in the stage lights. Her self-consciousness got the better of her for a moment, and she stopped to look herself over. ’Didn't come all this way to have a fashion crisis,’ she mused while quickly checking her black dress for obvious snags. ’Especially not tonight.’
In the recesses of her mind, however, she was concerned not with the audience’s opinion of her, but that of the gorgeous stallion standing behind her. She draped her coat over her table and took a deep breath. ’Here we go...’
She turned to face him and was immediately taken in by the intense look in his eyes. She wasn't sure if he was appraising her looks or her potential skill, though parts of her silently hoped for both possibilities to be true. But the smile on his face told her that he liked what he saw.
He offered his hoof once more. “Señora, would you care to dance?”
She could have melted on the spot. His voice was deep, but like the rest of him, it was balanced by a velvety smoothness that she had never heard from any stallion before.
“I-I’d love to, but—” she looked into his eyes and had to fight back the urge to swoon “—this is your performance, is it not? The floor does not open up to the audience for another hour.”
He chuckled a bit before raising her hoof to his lips. “Ah, señora, your beauty is matched only by your mind.” He placed a small, chaste kiss on the end of her shoe, and her heart nearly exploded.
“Besides, why come all this way—” he looked again at her gleaming red shoes “—and wear those shoes, only to watch?”
She glanced down at her hooves for a moment before answering. “I had no intentions of watching, señor, but how could I refuse such a gentlestallion?”
He waved her forward before signaling to the band to begin a new piece. The sound of the guitar and the rhythmic tapping of hooves resumed, but this time the singer’s baritone voice did not join them. Rather, a new, entirely synthetic beat rose to join them. The mare looked to the far corner of the room, where a light red pegasus was perched behind a small fortress of sound equipment. “A DJ? Here?”
“Something new that we’re trying,” the stallion remarked as he led her onto the dance floor. “Even the most timeless arts must reinvent themselves on occasion, if they wish to survive the passage of time.”
Doubt sidled into her mind for the first time that night. 'Flamenco I know, but a hybrid I've never heard before?' She glanced between the musicians and the DJ – one old, one new; a familiar comfort and a murky unknown.
Her gaze went unnoticed by the DJ, but the musicians caught her wandering stare. They smiled warmly at her, with the guitarist nodding in the direction of the dance floor, as if he could sense the indecision behind her eyes and was saying 'welcome'.
That boost of confidence pushed her on. She began to step forward when she felt a hoof against her shoulder.
“You can refuse, of course," the stallion said, offering her a comforting smile. "I wish not to impose. This is still new even to me, and there are many others in the audience.”
“True,” she said, offering him a slight wink, “so I guess we'll have to learn together.”
The opening notes settled into a steady rhythm with the two musicians blending in surprisingly well with the thumping speakers and synthetic melodies. She took up a position near the center of the stage, mere feet away from the stallion who had only minutes ago turned this same wooden floor into his own playground.
“A warm-up, perhaps?” he asked.
“Gladly.”
Eyes closed and ears perked, she called on every bit of knowledge and training she had to unravel the many new layers of sound. Only a stray tap of a hoof or bob of her head let him know that she was moving at all. ’Wait… Ha! Got it!’ She smiled as the underlying rhythms became clear to her.
She snapped her head around to face the stallion directly and lifted a hoof in his direction, holding that pose for but an instant before lowering her hoof and her gaze to the floor. ’One, two, and three!’
She reared back on her hind legs and threw herself into the music. Her long black dress began to move like a tightly confined wave, swaying to and fro, ebbing and flowing with every move she made. Each step grew her confidence, each tap of her hoof on the floor sent another shock of joy into her veins. Before long, she felt like a bit of an enchantress herself, with the beautiful stallion her audience of one.
The band and the DJ continued their odd duet, filling the room with some of the most beautiful sounds she had ever heard. A quick step and a pivot to her right brought the stallion in view again. He smiled and nodded at her from the edge of the dance floor, adding his own hoof stomps into the mix. She smiled back, silently hoping that the warm lighting hid the blush in her cheeks.
Hoof extended, she had just begun a slow spin when a thought hit her. ’What if – no, that’s never done, especially not in the flamenco puro.’ Her mind was ready to discard the idea on the spot, but a look over her shoulder caught the stallion’s blue gaze again. ’Then again, he did say something about modernizing...’
She let herself flow backwards as the spin completed, slowly closing the distance between herself and the stallion. She was still aware of the audience surrounding her on nearly all sides, but in her mind’s eye it was just her, the slowly building music, and the stallion. Everything around her began to fade away, as if she was living in the most fantastic dream her mind could conjure. 'Dear Luna, if this is a dream, don’t wake me up.'
The tempo of the music slowed to a near stop, leaving only a fading high note as the guitar’s only accompaniment. A few more measured steps brought her alongside the stallion, and she couldn't help but shiver when their sides brushed together.
Their eyes locked once again, but instead of a timid, unsure gaze, her eyes showed nothing but an intense, unwavering focus. The music began to speed up again, and her mind blocked out her surroundings once more.
“Care to join me?” she asked.
He looked at her with wide eyes. “You have me at a disadvantage, señora. I was not aware the Baile was performed as a duet.”
“You’re right, it is not.” she looked to him with a sly grin. “Consider this another part of that reinvention you were talking about.”
He laughed at that. “I see this will be a night of surprises for us both. Is there room on this floor for the both of us?”
She just closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and braced herself against his side.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teased. “Though if I may ask, who are you?”
She glanced at him and smiled. “I am a dancer.”
The music came back to life, the heel of her shoe cracked against the floor like a cannon shot, and the dance of a lifetime began.
They spun away from each other before coming to an instant stop. They stayed like that for a moment, their hooves tapping on the well-worn floor and their bodies swaying like reeds along the Marelantic shore. It was difficult for the mare to separate her heartbeat from the rhythmic boom of the bass speakers, or the loud echoes of her shoes off the wooden platform.
Yet through the haze of adrenaline, her eyes never left his face. The rush of blood in her veins, the pounding of the music in her ears, the debilitating look in his electric-blue eyes… it was enough to send her pulse into overdrive.
As if on cue, the music rose to an even faster pace. Framed by the twang of the guitar, the synthesizers kicked into an entrancing sequence that seemed to lift her very soul. With a final smoldering glance to her beautiful, nameless partner, she widened her stance and coiled up her forelegs like a snake ready to strike.
’Wait for it… wait for it...’
The high notes recycled their pattern; the speakers roared.
She reared back to her hind legs again.
’Go.’
And she danced.
Her every nerve was on fire as she poured herself out onto the dance floor, becoming little more than a blur of black, pink, and red. The emphatic wave of a hoof, the swing of a hip, the staccato clap of a red heel on polished wood… it was as if the music was channeling itself through mind, body, and soul. The beat began its next transition, and she didn't even try to hide the joyous look in her eyes.
Her hooves cracked across the floor like endless lightning strikes, matching each thrum of the guitar, each thump of the bass. A bow, a stomp, then a precise wave of a hoof, and she pivoted again. The pink and red strands of her mane resembled a beautiful silk fan as it whipped through the air behind her.
The tempo of the music slowed for a second, and the stallion had his opening. A thunderous stomp announced his presence, and when she turned again, he was right beside her. She looked into his eyes and saw a beautiful energy, an unrestrained passion, and more than a hint of desire. The third member of the band, the singer, shouted out above the music to call for the crescendo, and the music shifted a final time.
The mare just smiled at him. “Shall we?”
The whole ensemble boomed at once with enough force to rattle the simple wooden floor. Together, they attacked the music as one, giving and taking from each other’s movements in equal measure. When she stepped right, he would go left. He turned, and she was there to meet him. She barely touched him, but in her heart she could almost feel a connection with the stallion, as if it were a magic all its own.
In the back of her mind, she wondered if this surreal feeling, this shared sense of purpose, was felt at one time by the older mare she had encountered earlier.
The music continued to build, and the mare could almost feel the buzz of a magical aura surrounding them both. The heat, the adrenaline, the desire to dance – to live – in that moment consumed her from the inside out, and when the music reached its zenith, she gladly threw her spirit, her very soul, into a joyous blaze that outshone the sun itself. She spun right into his waiting hooves as the last notes of the music played out, throwing her head back as he caught her and dipped her towards the floor.
She stared up at him with a look of pure, unfiltered fire in her eyes, and saw that much and more staring back at her. If she had any doubts about the thoughts running through her mind just then, they crumbled like sand under his beautiful eyes. She braced her hoof against his neck and drew him into a smoldering, passionate kiss. Their lips met and the mare’s heart nearly burst again. 'Oh, wow…'
He returned the kiss, gentle where she was passion itself, but she felt the heat of his burning just below the surface, thrumming with the beat of a heart that raced as hers did. The last strains of music faded around them as their lips parted, their eyes locked in a stare as though the fiery passion of their hearts had burned away all else but them.
It lasted for a single, frozen, all-consuming moment before the roar of the crowd broke over them, snapping them back from a brink she had not felt until she teetered on it, held back by his embrace.
Scores of roses and hats flew from the crowd onto the stage, but that only gave the mare cause to smile even wider as she reveled in the happiest, most liberating moment of her life. A slight touch drew her attention, and she looked down to see the stallion’s hoof wrapped gently around her own. She gripped his hoof tighter and raised them as one, eliciting another loud cheer from the audience. The musicians and the DJ stood and clapped as well, and as they turned to repay the applause, the mare saw the guitarist smile and give her an approving nod.
They took a final bow, but before rising the stallion reached down and plucked a red rose from the floor. He reached over and, with an almost reverent touch, slipped it behind her ear. She made no effort to stop her cheeks from turning a deep red, opting instead to gently grab his muzzle and kiss him again.
“Please, señora, I must know who you are," he whispered into her ear as their kiss broke, "neither my eyes nor this place have ever seen such beauty, such perfection.”
“I am just a florist; a simple mare from a far away town,” she whispered back, “and one who found so much more here than she had ever dreamed of.”
“Truly, the honor has been mine.” He smiled and embraced her for a moment, leaning his head up to brush the tip of her ear. “But, please do not say that the night must end here.”
She brushed her muzzle against his as she moved to look into his eyes. The intention in his gaze was without pretense or reservation, and the half-lidded stare she gave back to him made her reply equally as clear. Like his invitation to dance, this mare from a town far away wasn't just powerless to resist – she gave herself willingly.
They left the club at a walk that soon became a trot and quickly broke into a gallop as they raced through the streets towards his home just outside the city center. The front door had barely closed behind them when he turned on her with a heated, fervent kiss. She gasped and sagged back against the door as their lips met. Her heart melted instantly under his passionate embrace, which she was more than eager to return in kind.
Her mind was awash in a haze of adrenaline, cologne, and pheromones, the blood in her veins like molten lava. But as he wrapped a hoof through her mane to grasp the back of her head, her last shred of resistance shattered like glass beneath a hammer.
Their embrace finally broke, leaving both of them panting for breath, but yearning for more. “H-how long can you stay?” he asked.
Her smile faltered for a moment. “I… I head back tomorrow. The next passenger ship won’t be here for another three days after that.”
He paused for a moment as if in thought, and she could almost see his heart clench inside his chest. “Then in whose name should I remember this fleeting moment?” he asked quietly.
“You may call me Rose.” She stepped out of her red shoes and kicked them to the side before languidly stepping up to him and placing a hoof on his chest. “But tonight, you can also call me yours.”
Bright rays of sunshine beamed in through the windows to herald the new day and gradually wake the stallion from his sleep. He stretched lazily and rolled over to wake the gorgeous and mysterious mare that had literally danced her way into his heart the night before, but he found the other side of his bed empty.
A sense of desperation clawed at him as he trotted down to the lower level of his home and searched every room for any sign of her. Yet as he entered the kitchen, he found it too as empty as his bed… as empty as his heart now was.
Utter silence pressed in on him like an anvil, and he slumped against the counter with a long sigh. Memories of her dancing still occupied his mind, the taste of her lips still lingered on his tongue, the sound of her passionate cries still echoed in his ears, yet as he stared out his kitchen window onto the slowly waking city, memories were all that he had.
The sound of a foghorn pierced the air just then, signaling the departure of a ship, and though he could not see the docks from his home, he knew in his heart that she was on that ship. The foghorn sounded a second time as he stared out the window, hoping that she was looking back in his direction as well.
“Until we meet again, señora.”
As evening approached, he returned home and began his preparations for another night of dancing. When he entered his closet, however, he found only a part of his usual ensemble.
In place of his green scarf was a single red rose… the same rose that he had slipped into her hair the night before. He brought it to his nose, relishing the faint whisper of perfume that still clung to its ruby-red petals.
When the stallion returned to the club that night, that same rose was pinned to his shirt. He did the same the next night and every night after that, and when that rose withered, he replaced it with another. For as long as he danced on the floors of the Tablao Rosa, he wore a rose on his shirt, in honor of his dancer.
His night rose.