He cannot help but feel curious, though too diffident to ask what she is looking for, trying not to stare so much. But, Saffron has a strange sort of beauty Ryan can't quite place...
"Saffron," she replies brusquely, glancing somewhere over her partner's shoulder as they stand, alone, in the mirrored rehearsal room, "and you're not supposed to have your hand around my waist just yet."
"I'm a little eager," Brendon replies with what he thinks to be a charming smirk before releasing Saffron's waist, gently taking her other hand.
"I can see that," she mutterers, narrowing her eyes as the dance instructor, Lucy, enters the room, babbling something in a thick Brooklyn accent before flipping on an upbeat, swing version of Cole Porter's 'Begin the Beguine'.
Brendon thinks he sees a brief something crossing his moody partner's features and leans a bit closer. "Was that a smile I saw?" he asks over Lucy's insufferable counting, raising his eyebrows. She creases her brow for a moment, as if concentrating so hard on the fairly simple steps, leading the dance, though making it appear as if he is the one in control. Saffron has a vision of herself competing on Dancing With the Stars with Lance Bass or someone and she almost chuckles, but stops, remembering that she does not like this lead singer person.
"I like this song," Saffron says finally after what seems to be an hour of hesitation, "Cole Porter is my second favorite composer, next to Stephen Sondheim. Though, I suppose if it weren't for Porter, Sondheim wouldn't be as amazing as he is today, though his mad skills could be influenced by Rogers and Hammerstein." Brendon's smile broadens- more than five curt words? It seems as if he's found Miss Moody's weakness. They stop dancing for a moment as Saffron's eyes turn introspective and she goes off on a tangent, explaining Cole Porter's homosexuality.
"Miss Verde," Lucy barks from her comfortable seat by the stereo, changing CDs to the song for the music video, "pay attention, dahling! You start filming your big dance sequence tomorrow!"
Saffron is back to serious and brooding mode; that sparkle in her eyes gone, though not entirely, as she places one hand on Brendon's shoulder, taking his free hand this time as she counts backwards from five to eight in her head. He isn't a bad dancer, she muses as he whirls her into cuddle position as they both kick-one-two in synchronization before he whirls her out again. Actually, he's quite an excellent dancer, though she is far too stubborn to reward him with a compliment. Saffron keeps her face expressionless as she focuses on not falling flat on her face while he lifts her up and sends her spinning in the air until she's flat on her feet once more. ("It's beautiful, dahling!" Lucy cries, applauding)
Her blank face is beginning to annoy him so, for the big finish, instead of striking a pose, he turns Miss Moody around and dips her, bringing his face close as if planting a kiss on her lips, though he decides to be a tease and simply hover.
Saffron's eyes widen, though she cannot do a thing in this particular position, both hands behind his neck, nearly parallel to the ground. However, for once, her temper does not rise; in fact, she starts chuckling as he sets her in an upright position. "What the hell was that about?" she asks incredulously, adjusting her plain black swing skirt, keeping her hands occupied as she tries to make the moment less awkward.
"You had to smile again sometime," is his simple reply, accompanied by yet another cheeky grin.
Saffron rolls her eyes once more as she plops into a convenient chair, grabbing her large water bottle, feeling some of her black tendrils sticking to her forehead in a disgusting manner. Little does she know, she's being watched, in all her sweaty, pouty glory, from the doorway of that large rehearsal room. She presses her bare back to the cold mirror, itching to get out of the stupid leotard and tights, itching to crawl back into bed, put on some Sweeney Todd and figure out her audition song in the morning. She closes her eyes for a moment before Brendon's voice snaps her out of her reverie: "RY-AN!" he sings, waving the guitarist into the studio, "What do you think? It's sexy, right?"
"Yeah," Ryan says absentmindedly with a grin, glancing sideways at the girl before turning his gaze at a sitting Brendon. "Who knew you could look so debonair?" he asks with a smirk, discreetly peering at the dancer out of the corner of his eye to see her reaction- a chuckle- his smile broadens.
"I am very debonair," insists Brendon, gesturing to Saffron, "and, I've got a wonderful leading lady to display my debonair-ness."
She looks up from flipping through her music player (yes, she had to give into that trend eventually, though nothing beats vinyl records, in her opinion), arching her eyebrows bemusedly. "Flattery will get you nowhere because I still don't like you," she retorts in a way that sounds like she only half means it. The man's certainly growing on her.
Ryan slumps into Lucy What's-Her-Face's empty seat to watch the 'witty' repartee between Brendon and his dance partner, more entertained by the fact that this teenaged girl had not mentioned a thing about how cute she thought they were or how awesome it is to finally work with them because it has been her lifelong dream, or how she generally was not fawning over them. (As if he hadn't expressed his opinion on all of that enough!) Huh, he thinks, this is certainly different, and, well, refreshing.
Brendon leaves the room for a brief costume fitting and Saffron (he finally learned her name) is silent once more, eyes downcast as she pulls out what looks like a large book of sheet music, frantically flipping through the page. She furrows her brow again, pushing back dark curls from her face as she hums out different melodies. He cannot help but feel curious, though too diffident to ask what she is looking for, trying not to stare so much. But, Saffron has a strange sort of beauty Ryan can't quite place and her name does not fit her appearance (that was the first thing he noticed, actually) and she hardly smiles, and she probably doesn't care at all for their band and what color are her eyes? He leans back in his chair and reminds himself that the girl is only in high school... and yet another part of his brain mentions that she's eighteen.
"You seem to amuse Brendon a lot," Ryan blurts out of nowhere, suddenly feeling the urge to fill the long silence, mostly wanting to hear her speak.
"Well, I'm not normal," she replies very seriously, still perusing her music books, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Not normal. Ryan grins. Normalcy is sometimes overrated.
Note: I swear, my story will have a plot and a purpose. XD But, hey! distracts you with more mental images of a swing dancing Brendon Please review if you want to see more of this story!