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A small little drabble for a patron where their OC is making one grand debut after a big injury. She won't have to worry about sharing the spotlight as its far too small for her new frame.
I hope you all enjoy this little tale. If you wanted to see this early, why not be a Patron https://www.patreon.com/user?u=6742496 also image from XanderWulf with permission found here https://www.furaffinity.net/view/39632603/#cid:174099067The Tyrpo Dance Company normally didn’t hold exhibitions on small stages in the suburbs. A free show no less! Those that fancied to see ballet performers do solo numbers were in for a treat, unaware of the show’s true purpose. People who had never seen pirouettes and sweeping leaps were amazed while ensuring each ballerina got the appropriate cheer they deserved.
Tonight’s line-up had a handful of performers, each getting agency in both dance and song selection. Most everyone on the roster had little room to complain: decent practice for an appreciative crowd. There was one dissenting voice. Last on tonight’s ticket, she sat on her plump rear, gorging on whatever fast food she snuck into the venue.
“Uh Celine. I don’t think you’re supposed to eat in here.” A female fox dancer reminded her senior. Someone had to say something to the company’s primary player and key star of any presentation.
“Excuse me. You know this is moi we’re talking about. These people, these ruffians and uncultured peons, they’re here to see my gorgeous return to the stage. If it means I need to regain some energy through onion rings and French fries, then so be it. How can I be expected to close the show on an empty stomach!”
Anyone in earshot was forced to listen to the prima donna’s whining. ‘Key star’ really needed the word ‘former’ before it. Yes, Celine Trinotte had risen through the world of ballet to become Tyrpo’s main star. A swan with moves that no one could match on the stage. A master of her craft that anyone in the dance world knew on a first name basis as though she were Cher or Madonna.
But the swan song had come and gone for Celine. Not that she’d ever admit it or face that she was past her prime. “Are you sure you’re ready for tonight?” A hippo colleague said, fluffing up her tutu before she went to stage. “With an ankle injury that bad, no one would fault you for taking some extra time. You know, like a year hiatus to recover and reflect.”
“Dear, I am bound to the stage.” Celine declared, polishing off her fried snacks, wiping feathered fingers off on her black outfit. “Go out there and warm the crowd up. I’ll be ready to make the comeback of a lifetime!”
It’d be a comeback of a lifetime but not for the reasons she thought. The rolled ankle was particularly heinous. Black and blue all up the side of her foot, Celine truly thought she’d never walk again, much less perform. Doctors and her manager told her to take it easy, use the time off to relax since that’d hasten recovery.
Without the means to dance, Celine found a different way to pass time: food. Day by day, she discovered new eats within the city. Plenty to have delivered to her loft, chowing down while watching her old performances so that she’d remember each beat, step, and cue as though this accursed injury never happened in the first place. If she couldn’t train her body, then training her mind was the second-best approach.
Glued to the television day in and out, eating junk food and other snacks rather than haughty cuisine or sticking to a dancer’s diet, it was inevitable that pounds piled on the way they did. Every item in her wardrobe only barely fit. Costumes would need to be resewn to the new measurements.
Management had two options: cut Celine loose or try to work around her extensive weight gain. Rather than drastically choosing on the spot, the idea was a small show to ease Celine back onto the stage. Surely those who weren’t fully familiar with dance or ballet wouldn’t be too harsh on a grossly overweight swan dancer. Right?
A lone spotlight illuminated the stage, Celine barely fitting in its range. She hadn’t begun her routine and already sweat began to cascade down her body. Whether from exertion or heat emanating off the low budget lamps, any flesh not covered dripped with perspiration. Flabby arms looked slick as Celine stayed in pose, waiting for the music to start up.
In that anticipatory silence, there were murmurs from the crowd. Pearls before swine. Celine thought, vain as ever. Someone with lesser focus would’ve honed in on the comments abuzz in the small theater.
‘That’s a dancer?’
‘She looks like she’ll pass out any minute.’
‘So indecent. Her stockings are bursting at the seams!’
‘This ought to be fun. Not everyday you get a front row seat to a train wreck.’
Celine let out an ‘ahem’, trying to quiet the crowd while nudging the sound department to get her solo music going. Those waiting for the finale didn’t take her seriously. How could they with a swan so ungraceful, a far cry from the other performers they’d seen up to this point.
Finally, the hum of strings got the audience to hush. They dare not look away from whatever spectacle was about to unfold. Celine waited, counting beats in her head, leaping into action.
THUD
BOOM
BANG
CRASH
Every move that her pink slippers made resulted in some type of cacophonous rumble. This stage was not built for leaps of someone so fat performing moves meant for a dancer a few hundred pounds lighter. Its creaks of agony went unheard as Celine was hyper focused on her routine, tunnel vision taking over to nail each move with precision.
Hard to be precise when Celine’s legs were far too thick to do anything as she once did. Thighs stumbled into one another, causing her balance to be off in several instances. Just as someone took note earlier, her stockings began to tear, revealing white flesh addled with cellulite.
Her thighs weren’t the only ones keen on sabotaging her performance. Celine’s belly, still full from fast fried food, churned. Slapping about against her legs, its wobbling made her stumble. Not so much that she’d have another injury but enough that the audience had real cause for alarm.
‘Best be careful in the front row. You’ll get crushed if she falls on you.’
‘I’m more worried about this splash zone. Sweat keeps hitting me in the face.’
‘Wonder what’ll give first: the stage or her outfit.’
The peanut gallery wasn’t convinced that this finale was meant to be a joke. Perhaps trying to showcase a lesser-known star or some sort of nepotistic favor to let Celine dance. None of these people knew her talent but they could tell what they were seeing heavily contrasted with all the other performances.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes when the music came to a halt as did Celine. What didn’t take note of the song’s end was her body, still gyrating, quivering with pent-up energy as it took an extra moment to come to a rest. While Celine didn’t want to grace these people with a bow, she reluctantly tipped forward out of courtesy and professionalism. Ass in the air, giving her a wedgie with her leotard, she received few claps.
Standing back up, her bill curled into a scowl, jowls trembling with indignation. “Hmmph!” Celine cocked her head up, arrogantly walking off stage and back to the dressing room. Out of sight, the audience continued their ribbing. Not as if Celine noticed or cared about that, more annoyed with their comments while dancing.
“How is it the hippo was fatter but had more grace?”
“Far less sweaty too.”
“I’m not a snob. I don’t know much about ballet but that…I don’t think it was anything close to it. More like an afront to ballet.”
“Someone get a mop and bucket for the sweat stains.”
“Hey, why don’t we cheer whoever that is. That’s a performance worth admiring.”
Chuckles echoed from the small audience to backstage. Celine heard it all as she huffed, red in the face, growing irate by the second. A tap to the shoulder caused her to snap. “What?” She made the raccoon stage hand jump back.
“Sorry but your manager said they wanted to speak to you in the VIP box.”
“Good. I have some words for him. How could he let such lowbrow people come see me! The nerve of these wretches!” Celine stomped off, each step making her plush white flab jiggle in a frenzy. Little could she guess that management had words for her too…not the kind of words she was expecting however.
I hope you all enjoy this little tale. If you wanted to see this early, why not be a Patron https://www.patreon.com/user?u=6742496 also image from XanderWulf with permission found here https://www.furaffinity.net/view/39632603/#cid:174099067The Tyrpo Dance Company normally didn’t hold exhibitions on small stages in the suburbs. A free show no less! Those that fancied to see ballet performers do solo numbers were in for a treat, unaware of the show’s true purpose. People who had never seen pirouettes and sweeping leaps were amazed while ensuring each ballerina got the appropriate cheer they deserved.
Tonight’s line-up had a handful of performers, each getting agency in both dance and song selection. Most everyone on the roster had little room to complain: decent practice for an appreciative crowd. There was one dissenting voice. Last on tonight’s ticket, she sat on her plump rear, gorging on whatever fast food she snuck into the venue.
“Uh Celine. I don’t think you’re supposed to eat in here.” A female fox dancer reminded her senior. Someone had to say something to the company’s primary player and key star of any presentation.
“Excuse me. You know this is moi we’re talking about. These people, these ruffians and uncultured peons, they’re here to see my gorgeous return to the stage. If it means I need to regain some energy through onion rings and French fries, then so be it. How can I be expected to close the show on an empty stomach!”
Anyone in earshot was forced to listen to the prima donna’s whining. ‘Key star’ really needed the word ‘former’ before it. Yes, Celine Trinotte had risen through the world of ballet to become Tyrpo’s main star. A swan with moves that no one could match on the stage. A master of her craft that anyone in the dance world knew on a first name basis as though she were Cher or Madonna.
But the swan song had come and gone for Celine. Not that she’d ever admit it or face that she was past her prime. “Are you sure you’re ready for tonight?” A hippo colleague said, fluffing up her tutu before she went to stage. “With an ankle injury that bad, no one would fault you for taking some extra time. You know, like a year hiatus to recover and reflect.”
“Dear, I am bound to the stage.” Celine declared, polishing off her fried snacks, wiping feathered fingers off on her black outfit. “Go out there and warm the crowd up. I’ll be ready to make the comeback of a lifetime!”
It’d be a comeback of a lifetime but not for the reasons she thought. The rolled ankle was particularly heinous. Black and blue all up the side of her foot, Celine truly thought she’d never walk again, much less perform. Doctors and her manager told her to take it easy, use the time off to relax since that’d hasten recovery.
Without the means to dance, Celine found a different way to pass time: food. Day by day, she discovered new eats within the city. Plenty to have delivered to her loft, chowing down while watching her old performances so that she’d remember each beat, step, and cue as though this accursed injury never happened in the first place. If she couldn’t train her body, then training her mind was the second-best approach.
Glued to the television day in and out, eating junk food and other snacks rather than haughty cuisine or sticking to a dancer’s diet, it was inevitable that pounds piled on the way they did. Every item in her wardrobe only barely fit. Costumes would need to be resewn to the new measurements.
Management had two options: cut Celine loose or try to work around her extensive weight gain. Rather than drastically choosing on the spot, the idea was a small show to ease Celine back onto the stage. Surely those who weren’t fully familiar with dance or ballet wouldn’t be too harsh on a grossly overweight swan dancer. Right?
A lone spotlight illuminated the stage, Celine barely fitting in its range. She hadn’t begun her routine and already sweat began to cascade down her body. Whether from exertion or heat emanating off the low budget lamps, any flesh not covered dripped with perspiration. Flabby arms looked slick as Celine stayed in pose, waiting for the music to start up.
In that anticipatory silence, there were murmurs from the crowd. Pearls before swine. Celine thought, vain as ever. Someone with lesser focus would’ve honed in on the comments abuzz in the small theater.
‘That’s a dancer?’
‘She looks like she’ll pass out any minute.’
‘So indecent. Her stockings are bursting at the seams!’
‘This ought to be fun. Not everyday you get a front row seat to a train wreck.’
Celine let out an ‘ahem’, trying to quiet the crowd while nudging the sound department to get her solo music going. Those waiting for the finale didn’t take her seriously. How could they with a swan so ungraceful, a far cry from the other performers they’d seen up to this point.
Finally, the hum of strings got the audience to hush. They dare not look away from whatever spectacle was about to unfold. Celine waited, counting beats in her head, leaping into action.
THUD
BOOM
BANG
CRASH
Every move that her pink slippers made resulted in some type of cacophonous rumble. This stage was not built for leaps of someone so fat performing moves meant for a dancer a few hundred pounds lighter. Its creaks of agony went unheard as Celine was hyper focused on her routine, tunnel vision taking over to nail each move with precision.
Hard to be precise when Celine’s legs were far too thick to do anything as she once did. Thighs stumbled into one another, causing her balance to be off in several instances. Just as someone took note earlier, her stockings began to tear, revealing white flesh addled with cellulite.
Her thighs weren’t the only ones keen on sabotaging her performance. Celine’s belly, still full from fast fried food, churned. Slapping about against her legs, its wobbling made her stumble. Not so much that she’d have another injury but enough that the audience had real cause for alarm.
‘Best be careful in the front row. You’ll get crushed if she falls on you.’
‘I’m more worried about this splash zone. Sweat keeps hitting me in the face.’
‘Wonder what’ll give first: the stage or her outfit.’
The peanut gallery wasn’t convinced that this finale was meant to be a joke. Perhaps trying to showcase a lesser-known star or some sort of nepotistic favor to let Celine dance. None of these people knew her talent but they could tell what they were seeing heavily contrasted with all the other performances.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes when the music came to a halt as did Celine. What didn’t take note of the song’s end was her body, still gyrating, quivering with pent-up energy as it took an extra moment to come to a rest. While Celine didn’t want to grace these people with a bow, she reluctantly tipped forward out of courtesy and professionalism. Ass in the air, giving her a wedgie with her leotard, she received few claps.
Standing back up, her bill curled into a scowl, jowls trembling with indignation. “Hmmph!” Celine cocked her head up, arrogantly walking off stage and back to the dressing room. Out of sight, the audience continued their ribbing. Not as if Celine noticed or cared about that, more annoyed with their comments while dancing.
“How is it the hippo was fatter but had more grace?”
“Far less sweaty too.”
“I’m not a snob. I don’t know much about ballet but that…I don’t think it was anything close to it. More like an afront to ballet.”
“Someone get a mop and bucket for the sweat stains.”
“Hey, why don’t we cheer whoever that is. That’s a performance worth admiring.”
Chuckles echoed from the small audience to backstage. Celine heard it all as she huffed, red in the face, growing irate by the second. A tap to the shoulder caused her to snap. “What?” She made the raccoon stage hand jump back.
“Sorry but your manager said they wanted to speak to you in the VIP box.”
“Good. I have some words for him. How could he let such lowbrow people come see me! The nerve of these wretches!” Celine stomped off, each step making her plush white flab jiggle in a frenzy. Little could she guess that management had words for her too…not the kind of words she was expecting however.
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