audette rousseau

Ballet was an intensely competitive art, a fact that Audette knew far too well. How many times did the young girl's boast over the schools they had attended, their recommendations from their Premier Maître de ballet, or those techniques they so excelled at? Passion, though undeniably invaluable, was simply not enough in a world filled with so many dancers with such undeniable dedication. The very number of young girls who stayed in those classes to become true danseuses. Did Maeve have it within her to be one of the greats? She could not say and yet, Audette knew well that the simple act of believing could cause great things - particularly in those childish fantasies. "I think,
petite colombe, that, one day, you could be one of the best." She commented, leaning forward to press her finger lightly against the small child's nose in an almost playful fashion. How quickly the child was to so embrace that idea! That very excitement upon her features so lit up her pale skin, prompting a near beaming smile from Audette herself as the girl's head bobbed quite enthusiastically. "I would love that, Maeve. You must train extra hard, okay?" She commented, her own thoughts already shifting with distinct ease to that very production that had crossed the fae child's own mind. After all, it was one of the few in which the theatre ever searched for talent outside of the company. It was the very production that could guarantee a young dancer's future employment within a ballet company!

Her attention was drawn from such thoughts, however, with the sound of a name, one that was altogether meaningless to the youthful ballerina. "Nadya?" She inquired, her French lit particularly strong as she contemplated that name. Her head shook ever so slightly. "I do not know this Nadya, but I would advise you to ensure she has proper training in ballet. You do not want to go in front of the Art Director with anything less than your best, especially when there will be other children with instructors from Julliard and the like." Audette nodded firmly, utterly certain of her advise, even if it was with some worry for the little fae. Perhaps, she would look up this school and it's teacher sometime later. For now, however, she watched as Maeve moved around her on her tiptoes, the girl clearly already prepared for those pointe shoes if she had not already been introduced to them. A small simper crossed her features as she listened to the young child speak of her very passions in the dance world. A small giggle left her lips at the young girl's bashful admittance that, once upon a time, she had won trophies for her very skill. "You should never be shy of your accomplishments, Maeve. You did something great and in the ballet world, no one will talk for you but yourself." She assured the small child, simply watching as the young child danced around her with such distinct intrigue.

That warm simper shifted slightly at the young child's admittance that those trophies had been thrown into the trash, her head merely tilting to the side ever so slightly in consideration as the French woman mused softly. "Is that so?" Any thoughts that might have crossed her mind, however, went wholly unvoiced as Maeve's hand reached out to grab her own, the ballerina all too willing to allow herself to be twirled. "I cannot say I am fond of jazz either. I do quite like tap though we were not taught it at my school. We did Character dancing instead. I might like to try tap, one day." Audette contemplated aloud, only for a different thought to cross her mind. Her attention turned pointedly back towards the young fae as she offered to ensure that there were tickets for the young girl for her own studio's production - the very idea of which clearly provoked its fair share within the child. A soft giggle left Audette's lips at Maeve's insistence that she would be early. "Good, I will be counting on it. I will look for you, oui?" She inquired, that warm grin once more settling upon her fair features. The ballerina hardly anticipated, however, the young girl's whispered inquiry, that very notion of wings was hardly new to the French woman and yet, she was almost remiss to admit that she too had none, though why she had little notion. That small simper hardly wavered, however, at Maeve's suggestion that perhaps for Halloween, she might don some. "Perhaps, maybe you will have to join me, hm?" She inquired, her clove colored irises sparkling with some sort of mischievousness.