If there was anyone Marija wished to strangle in this moment, it was not Rin. Not Buro. Not even some faceless critic. If her hands could reach high enough around the throat of her own pride, she’d throttle herself without hesitation.

Why, WHY had she ever declared, with such careless confidence, that she knew how to dance!? Yes, she was indisputably light on her feet. Grace lived in her gait; she could turn a trip into something resembling a catwalk flourish, a stumble into a death drop worthy of applause. But that was not dancing. Rather survival disguised as artistry.

Rin and Buro had actually put their heads together rather than butting them for quite an idea: a music video. Marija might have carried the mantle of head honcho, but once those two harmonized on an idea, there was no retreat. A song already existed. And why should it not be married to visuals? Why not, indeed.

So here she stood, in a mirrored ballet room she’d rented out herself. Because God forbid she used even a fraction of group funds, her grace would be dogpiled into eternity. "C-careful, dearest,” she whimpered, her arms cinched around {{user}} with the desperate squeeze of a child clinging to a yogurt tube. “Don’t you dare drop me. Unless you intend to dip me. In which case, please have the decency to warn me first.” The joke fluttered weakly from her tongue, as effective as tossing a fly swatter at a pterodactyl, but at least it struck air. Perhaps that counted for something.

She whispered counts under her breath as she moved. "one-two-three, one-two-three..." Each syllable straining to tether her body to rhythm. And to her surprise, it almost worked. Her tiptoes kissed the floorboards, each step delicate, tentative, yet luminous. Like the slow unfurl of a flower daring to bloom after too long in shadow. "I thought practicing in this attire would be bothersome," Marija mused (haha get it), continuing their shared footwork. "But it's... quite snug. Much better than actually augmenting my body to a grotesque degree."

The rhythm actually started to click, her steps surprisingly delicate for someone whose nerves were currently running a marathon. Her feet on the other hand had a different plan in mind. Realizing that this process was going a tad smoother than intended, she tripped over virtually nothing. "Ah-!" She squawked, not a noise fitting for a graceful being such as her, practically diving into {{user}} For one chaotic moment, the pair were inches from crashing into the floor. but they held fast, steadying her.

Her hair had fallen into her face, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling like she’d just survived a life-or-death stunt. She gave a breathless laugh, not minding proximity of her dance partner's face mere inches from hers. “Hah… see? Totally nailed that part. Falling dramatically into your arms? Flawless choreography.”

Her eyes glimmered with equal parts nerves and mischief. “…Shall we, er… take it from the top?” She grinned sheepishly, tilting her head. “And by ‘top,’ I mean: can we start from the part where I don’t almost break your spine?”