You Cant Take the Gypsy Out of the Girl [self mod]

[Nessani Kemenlo]

Approved and overseen by Dark


Bare feet once again crossed the threshold from the sandy streets of Arakmat into the cool interior of Musif’s hookah bar. Nessani paused inside of the ornate iron doors to let her eyes adjust to the sudden lack of suns light. Scanning the clientele and employees alike, the gypsy girl offered a familiar smile to the imposing Nairu that guarded the scene. She started to sidestep a charmed cobra when her sapphire gaze was drawn to the forms that were weaving through the crowd to the accompaniment of the small finger cymbals.

A wave of nostalgia swept over the Air’riela as she watched the women dance. It was the first time she had really been homesick, if that term was even appropriate when one’s home was pulled by a horse. She had been known in her kumpania as a dancer of great promise, even though water was not her element. Now, she felt like she had abandoned dancing along with the rest of her gypsy life.

Crossing the room with a purpose, Nessani dodged cushions and rugs to stand before the large Nairu. She wasn’t particularly short, but she felt very dainty next to the man.

“Tell me… who leads the dancers here?”

The man looked down at Nessani impatiently. He had a job to do and socializing was not a part of it, even if the girl was a regular at the bar.

“Speak with Nahara,” he replied in his deep timber, “she is the head dancer. She’s the one sitting in the far corner.”

Nessani craned her neck to see around the crowd of entertainers, spying a petite lady with dark skin and even darker hair, dressed in the silk scarves similar to the other dancers. She sat next to a very fat man whose tunic and vest didn’t completely cover the roundness of his belly. The man was contentedly smoking from one of the curious contraptions, a chuckle sending puffs of smoke through his lips as the delicate woman lounging at his side whispered in his ear.

The woman turned, coolly considering the gypsy girl as she approached. The smile on her face parted her lips to reveal teeth made all the more white for her olive toned skin. She was absolutely exquisite and for the first time in memory, Nessani found herself intimidated by the being before her.

“Serale.” She actually remembered the local greeting this time. “My apologies for interrupting your conversation,” she offered to both parties, bowing slightly in respect to the man, regardless of whether he was the sultan or the sultan’s dung scooper. The slight woman inclined her head with a soft jingling of bells attached to her person somewhere out of sight.

“I’m told you are Nahara and that you lead the dancers here. I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time.”

The pause that followed her request almost made Ness wish she hadn’t bothered. Perhaps the woman hadn’t heard her. Or was her verbiage off again?
After what seemed an interminable silence, the petite beauty leaned again into the fat man’s ear and after a soft whisper, chuckled throatily, the sound full of promise. The man only grinned and nodded and like that, the women were forgotten to him.

Nahara rose with a gracefulness that would put even Nessani to shame, though the girl had prided herself on her smoothness of form. Without a word to the gypsy, the smaller woman walked away, her hips swaying languidly. Nessani followed uncertainly into one of the rooms to the backside of the bar. It was a plain room with little to redeem it, save a pile of pillows in one corner. Once inside, the dancer reclined against the pillows as if her legs were too precious to waste on standing for this newcomer.

“Why do you seek me?” Nahara purred in a voice so liquid and warm, Nessani relished the very sound of it.

“I wish to learn to dance as you do, here in the Rose,” Nessani stated shortly, getting immediately to the point. Her audience simply looked at her in response, prompting the gypsy to explain further. “I have trained among my people in the ways of Air’riela dance. It is not unlike what you do here, but with some differences.”

She wondered if she should point out that it was prophesied at her birth that she would be a great dancer, but decided against it. Her own mother was the seer who gave the prophecy. It would likely be seen as simply a mother’s wishful thinking.

“Show me,” was all that the woman said in reply, leaning back against one arm.

Nessani took a deep breath to focus. She’d always been in the moment as she danced, spinning about a campfire to the beat of insistent drums. She had never auditioned before a judging audience before and she found it slightly unnerving, especially without accompaniment.

Raising her arms above her head, the gypsy girl brought them together with a thunderous clap. It was all she needed to inspire her. If she didn’t have music, she would create her own by dancing one of the more furious steps she knew. Her hips shimmied to one side and her arms came down to meet them, clapping again off to her left. Bare feet twisted around one another, spinning the gypsy in place and sending her powdery green skirts flaring up to reveal shapely legs. Each move was punctuated by the clapping together of her hands as she spun and postured and shimmied. Occasionally, they would cease their cadence long enough to grab handfuls of her voluminous skirts, lifting them to reveal more of her legs and then tossing them aside again as they raced together to clap.

And then, it was over. As quickly as it had begun, Nessani found herself face to face again with her would-be mentor, her chest heaving and beads of sweat tracing a line down the valley of her cleavage. Her bare feet were both flat on the floor, pressing heavily into the ground as if they couldn’t support her weight for much longer. She waited breathlessly for a response from the infuriatingly quiet woman.

Dark chocolate eyes that seemed too big for her angelic face looked over Nessani pensively. One decisive nod told her it was done.

“Tomorrow,” she said with her usual brevity in her voice of liquid gold. Without another glance at the gypsy girl, the petite beauty glided out of the room

[Nessani Kemenlo]

The morning was greeted with a stretch and a yawn and finally, a pleasant smile on the gypsy’s full lips. It was an expression that had rarely been seen on the girls face since her capture and sale in the slave pits of Vortex, but the promise of a brightening spent dancing was enough to part the clouds of despair with the dawn of hope.

Sliding out of bed, Nessani dressed quickly, slipping her skirts up over her hips and tying the red scarf around her waist like a belt. She tied her blouse between her breasts and slipped quietly out the door, catlike on bare feet as she moved through the inn and out into the street.

The suns light was barely up over the horizon and there were few people in the streets, save for merchants, setting up their wares for the brightening. Nahara hadn’t told her to come so early, but the gypsy had put it together in her mind. Musif’s would become busier as the day wore on. Any later in the brightening would infringe upon their profits, making Nessani even more of a burden to her mentor.

The Air’riela found the nondescript building easily and stepped inside. The Nairu was in his place at the front of the building, but paid Nessani no mind. She wondered if he ever slept as she passed through the eerily quiet room. The lack of snake charmers and dancers with their finger cymbals made the room feel very uncomfortable, too quiet.

A familiar form materialized from the hallway just as Nessani started to wonder where she should wait. Nahara Suku was dressed more simply than she had been the day before, wearing a beaded halter-top and what looked like a matching skirt, but parted down the middle in the manner of very loose pants. Her hair fell in one long cascade down her back, each hair in place and straight as a rod.

She didn’t waste any energy on greetings or explanations; instead, she turned her back on the gypsy girl and wordlessly walked the way she had come. Nessani followed as, this time, she was taken into a large room in the back of the establishment. The floor was swept clean and there was no furniture littering this room. There was, however, a long, thin bar attached to the length of one wall. The wall itself was a solid sheet of polished metal, very thinly hammered out, giving the semblance of a reflection, although the details were fuzzy.

“I must tell you, I haven’t two coins to rub together. I have no way to pay you for this service, unless there is some service I can perform in turn.”

The petite beauty before her didn’t even turn to respond, continuing forward until she was well within the room.

“We shall speak of it when the need arises,” was the only answer given.

Moving to the bar, Nessani immediately began warming up, her knees bending and arms stretching. Nahara took a step back and watched approvingly, but offered no instruction until Nessani paused and both ladies decided she would likely proceed without harm.

“We shall skip the basics of movement since you already have experience. Instead, we’ll focus on how to relate what you already know to my type of dance,” Nahara said in an uncharacteristic speech in her honeyed voice. “We’ll start with harder moves and fill in the gaps as I see them.”

“Basic position,” the chocolate voice ordered, offering no instruction on what that entailed.

Nessani stood straight, her feet shoulder width apart and planted facing forward. Her knees were slightly bent and her pelvis tilted inward. It must have been acceptable since the dancer didn’t correct her.

“Figure eight.”

The gypsy considered the name of the move, her mind already working through what that might entail. She wasn’t left long to ponder, though, before the petite woman before her began to move her hips in what could only be described as a horizontal figure eight. It seemed effortless when she watched it, but her first efforts left her feeling like she needed to go back to basics.

“Push your right hip backward. Now, put your weight on that foot.” Nahara nodded encouragingly. “Right hip out to the side. Front. Back in. Now the same with the left.”

Nessani concentrated on her hips, not moving her feet more than just to lift her heels. As she rotated her pelvis, her instructor came up behind her, placing tiny hands on the gypsy’s hips and shoving in the right directions.

“Once your body gets the feel for, it’ll come more naturally to you. Keep the movement parallel to the floor.”

The words were said just over her shoulder, leaving Nessani with the scent of almonds and oranges. A few more assisted rotations and then the hands lifted free of the gypsy’s waist with a murmured “continue”. The movement came easier with each revolution.

“Figure Eights can also be vertical,” the chocolate voice continued. She emphasized her words by displaying how that was done. Nessani’s horizontal movement stopped completely before she attempted the vertical movement. She found it to be similar to what she had known before, dancing around the campfires, shaking her derrière for the pleasure of the menfolk, so it was easier for her to copy. Nahara didn’t comment on the attempt, but merely nodded in time with her hips.

“I can see transitions are going to be our point of focus. It is very important in this style of dance to move smoothly from one movement into the next. Go back to the horizontal. That needs more practice, but keep this one in mind. We’ll be shifting back and forth.”

Nessani paused long enough to get the first movement firmly in mind before her hips began their rotation once again. She cursed herself silently for not being able to make the change without stopping, but that’s what she was here for, to master this new style of dance.

[Nessani Kemenlo]

"Fine," the liquid voice called, her inflection saying nothing about whether she was pleased or disappointed in the gypsy's performance thusfar.

"Before we try something else, I want you to reverse the rotation on those same moves."

The gypsy's hips were made for movements like these. Her narrow waist appeared even smaller above hips that were made to balance babies upon them - or in this case, made to circle seductively. Spinning her figure eights in the opposite directions was easy, once she wrapped her mind around the change. The transition left much to be desired, but after a brief pause, she managed to do a respectable job of it.

"You can do this while you 'Gush'. A gush at its simplest is a move to the side."

Nahara took a side step, her hips rising and falling with the move, making it look anything but simple.

"Push with your left foot, step out with the other and the hips should follow."

Nessani followed the instructions, first pushing off with the left and stepping over to the right, then reversing it to the left. The petite beauty had been right. Simple enough.

"That's the beginning. You can layer many moves on top of that. The figure eight for example."

A single nod told Nessani that she was to attempt to do both moves at the same time. Sapphire eyes stared at nothing in particular as she concentrated on moving in two directions at once. Her mind was working furiously, trying to picture where her form was to go before giving it an attempt.

"You'll circle the hip above whichever foot is bearing your weight. If the left foot first, round the left hip first."

The girl nodded in mute understanding, her black mane waving across her back. Shifting her weight to the left foot, Ness shoved that hip forward and out. As it came around, her weight moved to the right foot, transitioning easily into the right half of the eight.

"That's it." For the first time, Nessani heard approval in the golden voice. "Again. Watch yourself in the metal wall if that helps."

The gypsy traveled to the right and back to the left in continuous figure eight gushes. As she practiced, her body becoming more aware and familiar with the movements, Nahara walked out of the room. Nessani wondered what she was expected to do, but decided to continue. She didn't fancy having Nahara change her mind about training her. A few seconds passed and the dainty woman reappeared, bearing a water skin and two metal cups. Water was poured out of the skin, into a single cup. The instructor took a sip then set it on the floor next to the empty cup and the skin. She turned back to her student who was still moving to and fro while circling her hips first one way and then the other.

"Enough," Nahara purred, putting a stop to the movement. "The gush can also be layered with other hip movements. The shimmy is the next we'll learn."

The small, dark woman stood straight, but with slightly bent knees, much like Nessani had started with. One at a time, her legs straightened then bent again as she straightened the other. She started slowly for Ness to follow along, but quickened as the gypsy got it until her hips fluttered up and down with a soft jingling of the beads sewn into the waistband of her pants. Nessani followed at about half the pace, but was certain that she was at least doing it correctly.

"Your music will be going much faster than that."

The mild reproach stung, but was effective in getting Nessani's ample hips to shimmy at full speed. Her legs were getting tired and her waist muscles were beginning to ache, but still she kept her hips fluttering.

"To add this to the gush, we'll shimmy twice on each hip as weight is brought to bear on that leg."

It made sense and seemed a lot easier than keeping up a perpetual flutter. The Air'riela shifted to perform the next move, her mentor's chocolate eyes watching the transition with approval as her body moved smoothly from one to the other. Her thighs pushed up twice while the weight was on the left foot, then it was her right leg's turn as she 'gushed' to the side.

"Let's see them all again. Figure eight."

Nessani's hips rotated in alternating circles, each parallel to the ground.

"Vertical figure eight."

Ample hips rose and shifted out and down in the move that probably most suited the curves of her body. This would be a favorite for when she wanted to grab a male's attention, she knew.

"Gush."

Pushing with her left foot, the gypsy reached out and moved to the right.

"Figure eight gush."

She changed direction, pushing off of her right foot, the matching hip swirling out and around as her weight shifted to the left.

"Shimmy gush."

Ness' left thigh pushed up, lifting the hip in a flutter as she shifted again to the right.

Nahara turned without comment, heading again toward the door.

"Have some water. Catch your breath. Five minutes and then we go again."

[Nessani Kemenlo]

A sip of water to wet her parched throat was all the gypsy allowed herself before she stood back before the mirrored wall, her hips traveling the pathways that she had been taught to further cement them in her mind. Her mentor glided back into the room at the appointed time, her slippers making not even a whisper on the ground. Her chocolate eyes watched the Air'riela practice without comment.

"Break is over, little sister. We add arms," she said with her usual brevity.

Nessani wondered at her reference to her as 'little sister'. That was Musif's code for members of the thief guild 'family'. Was Nahara, then, a member? She resided at Musif's, so the likelihood was high, Ness thought.

"'Snake arms', as they're often called, are versatile and used in many ways, but all are innately the same."

Her arms rose to demonstrate, first to her sides, then above her head. The movement was very fluid and snakelike and somehow seductive when Nahara did it.

"Side," she stated shortly.

Nessani interpreted that by raising her arms slightly to the side. Then, one joint at a time, she lifted her arms and let them relax down again. Shoulder, elbow, wrist, fingers.

"Shoulders down. Relaxed."

The gypsy moved to correct, lowering her shoulders and trying to relax those muscles while her arms waggled from them. Nahara's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but she nodded her head slightly. Her student took that as encouragement and continued to snake her arms to the side.

"Front. Both should move parallel to one another."

Nessani watched the petite beauty as her own arms moved to imitate the movement. Keeping the same distance between them, she moved first toward the right, each arm snaking oppositely to the same side. Once the move was complete, she reversed it, moving them to the left.

"Back," was the only word of approval that she received. Her arms moved to the same angle, but behind her back this time. Again they maintained an equal distance as they snaked first left and then right. The movement made her feel very liquid and she wondered, had she been born of water instead of fire and air, if it would come more naturally. It did make her feel sleek and seductive, though.

"Up," came the call and Nessani's arms rose above her head to obey. Again her arms maintained their distance, when one went left the other followed suit until she looked like a mechanical wind up doll.

"Up has more variations. Together." Her arms, and Nessani's as she followed, changed their movement to snake in toward one another, rather than moving in the same direction. The gypsy felt like she was paying homage to some goddess of the dance, but her arms continued to snake toward one another.

"Apart."

Four arms reversed their rotation, moving in waves away from one another as if a boat had parted the waters. As she had said, they were all variations of the same move, so once the basic was learned, the rest were simple enough with slight alterations.

"Final one for today, I think. The Windmill. Keep your palm facing down or away from you as you move. As the name implies, your arms are going to take turns raising over your head."

It was the most explanation she had given anything and Nessani moved to obey almost before the words had died from her lips. Her right arm moved up the length of her body, her palm first down, then shifting to face away from her as it passed her side. Her arm continued its upward progression, led by her hand. Once it was fully extended, it reversed its course, signaling her left to begin its trek up along her curves.

"Do not cover up your face. Your eyes are the window to your soul, you want to draw your audience down into them. Never cover them unless it increases the mystery beneath."

Chastised, the gypsy moved to correct her positioning, her arms never hesitating. The lesson must have been over then, for the instructor turned and left without a word. Nessani's arms dropped to her sides, letting the blood flow back to her fingertips. She paused for another swallow of water and then headed out of the room and down the hall. She was just about to cross the threshhold and out into the hot sands of the city when she heard the familiar chocolate voice behind her.

"Where do you think you are going, little sister?"

Turning, she got a face full of cloth as a rag was thrown in her direction. The fabric smelled of tobacco and musty water. Taking the cloth in hand, she looked for her 'attacker'. Nahara stood by the Nairu guard, her hand on one hip as she considered the gypsy girl impatiently.

"Bus tables. Watch the dancers. Learn something. When you come tomorrow, do not come empty handed."

[Nessani Kemenlo]

The once white fabric swished back and forth across the smooth tabletop but the gypsy who wielded the smelly rag paid no attention to where it went or whether it actually cleaned the surface. The dancers were out on the floor, each seeming to have her own personal choreography, but somehow all performing the same dance. Zills chimed at the ends of their fingers, the tiny cymbals that Nahara had yet to introduce to her student's lesson.

Nessani's eyes were locked onto their moves. Familiar steps were noted with an eye to how they might have differed from the way she had performed them in practice. Unfamiliar ones were watched with fascination, burning them into her memory for the time when it would be her turn.

Music burned in the gypsy's soul and more than once, she found her foot tapping to the beat. Her hips shimmied in imitation of the dancers surrounding her, lifting and dropping in time to the music. So far, her practices with Nahara had been done without the assistance of a beat and Ness found the pounding insistance at times difficult to match.

Her hips swirled in a figure eight, the motion subdued by her position on her knees as she cleaned the tables. A nearby patron apparently took the movement as an invitation, reaching out with both hands to grasp the gypgy's chad. Nessani was startled, but for once, tempered her normally firey reaction, turning to the man with a wry grin.

"Very nice, isnt it? But you should know by now that Musif never offers free samples"

The man laughed and nodded as if her comment was at once, both a joke and a universal truth.

"In that case," he leared, "here's a coin for the trouble." A shiny gold coin materialized between his fat fingers, held out for the girl. "What's your name?"

Nessani's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was it just a simple question or was he one of Musif's, here to test her? It was probably a silly thought and unworthy of the 'father' of the guild.

"What do you want it to be?" she purred in response, slowly taking the coin from his fingers as if she didn't trust him not to grab her or bite or...

Again the man laughed. He turned back to his tobacco and Nessani took the opportunity to beat a retreat, rising in one fluid motion and turning to find another table - preferably on the opposite side of the bar - only to come face to face with Nahara. The petite woman was dressed richly in flowing sashes and silk robe. Coins, bells and beads all decorated her garment, chiming as she walked sensuously about the room, but somehow, she had appeared behind Ness without a sound. Her hand was outstretched expectantly and after a moment's hesitation, Ness deposited her meager coin into the dark palm. Slender, beringed fingers snapped shut around it and with that transaction complete, the small woman was gone.

She appeared again, this time in the center of the bar, as Nessani took up a position beside the Nairu. There was no way she would get into trouble with customers standing by him. Her rag forgotten, she watched as the music started and Nahara began to dance. The other dancers were around the room as well, each striking a pose but not moving a muscle, giving the impression of a mystical forest or magical kingdom in which the solitary dancer moved.

As for Nahara, Ness had never seen such grace. The woman swirled effortlessly and every eye in the bar was on her, regardless of their stage of drunkeness. She made eye contact with each patron as she passed, making each in turn believe that she danced solely for them. Making each one fall in love with her, one patron at a time.

Nessani watched transfixed, her breath caught in her throat as if even to breathe would make her miss the swanlike grace. The tiny Arakmatian woman swirled near to a man just rising from his cushions. His clothing marked him for a wealthy merchant, or perhaps a minor lord - Ness was still fuzzy on gaje titles. Starting at the base of his feet, the petite dancer seemed to slowly shimmy her entire body pressing herself up the length of him as she rose to match his height. Her slender hands touched lightly on his hips as if to balance the movement. The man's eyes closed as his other senses took over, and likely his imagination - Ness was sure he would need a cold dunk in a tub before he would sleep this night.

As the dancer pulled away, Ness thought she cought a glimmer of something in Nahara's hand, but it was quickly lost in the folds of her sashes. The gyosy looked around the room and then at the Nairu to see if anyone else had seen the movement, but everyone seemed intent on the dance, oblivious. Even the Nairu, whose name she still had yet to learn, didn't react, but she hadn't really expected him to. He must see these sorts of things often here, in Musif's.

As if on cue, the rest of the dancers then took up the dance and with so much swirling and shimmying, Nahara's form was quickly lost. Nessani didn't see her again for the rest of the evening, in fact. She stayed until the last of the dancers had given up for the night, some reclining with customers to garner tips on charm alone, others seeking their bed and soaking their feet.

With a nod to the Nairu, Nessani slipped out of the hookah bar, her mind sifting through what she had seen this night and decided what things she might have 'learned' that she could relay to her teacher come morning.

[Nessani Kemenlo]

"Tell me three things that you know today that you did not when you left me yesterday," Nahara said by way of greeting when the pair assembled the next morning. Nessani paused only briefly to gather her thoughts before responding. She had prepared herself for the question beforehand.

"I learned that you are a thief," she stated simply, without any hint of accusation in her tone. "I noticed the way you used your dance to case out the man's body before plucking the purse from his person."

Nahara considered the younger 'sister' with a smile, amusement dancing in her chocolate eyes. "You saw that, hmm? I must be getting rusty.

"What you think you saw, you did not see. I am a thief, of course - I work for Musif, after all - but I wasn't stealing from that man. He was an informant, passing along information to me in much the same way as Khalid first passed the summons to you, though you did not know it at the time."

Nessani nodded her understanding.

"You could do just as you said, feel up a man unawares and slip what you find from him before he gets over the euphoria of your perfume, but I would not do it in Musif's city," she added cautiously. "Perhaps in your travels if you're desperately low on coin... Here, let me show you how it is done."

The smaller woman took up a position behind her student, her hands coming to rest on the gypsy's ample hips. Her knees bent, taking Nahara down until she rested on her ankles. Her legs then reversed course, pushing her up, her feet twisting her legs and hips as she rose. Her body pressed the length of the gypsy girl.

"The key is complete contact," she said over the girl's shoulder. Her breath smelled of peaches and vanilla. "Use the senses of your skin to tell you what is beneath, from belly and bosom. Especially one such as yours. Rare is the man whose attention will be on your hands when your 'assets' are pressed against him, though they do exist."

Pushing herself away from the gypsy, she moved again to face her. "So that is one, you owe me two more."

"I learned that a bit of charm and wit can go further than tactlessness and force." A major breakthrough for the gypsy girl, if truth be told. Forcefulness was her nature, but she was learning that subtle can be more effective.

Nahara nodded in approval. She hadn't said that every learned item must pertain to dance, though this one definitely had its uses for ones such as they. "And third?"

"Third, I learned this... though I do not know its name..."

She stood up straight, her arms floating out at her sides, as if a she were a marionette and some grander person held her strings. She attempted to move her torso, rotating it around in a circle. Her teacher nodded, watching the girl thoughtfully.

"That is called a 'rib circle' and leads us into what we should learn today. You move too much of the rest of your body. Granted, you will be doing many moves at once, but when isolated, this should move the barrel of your chest only. Try again."

Nahara moved along with the girl this time, showing her how to maneuver it properly, but frowned when Nessani still didn't get it right.

"Come with me," she said shortly.

The gypsy followed her mentor into the hallway and into a larger room that she'd never entered before. She didn't get much of a glimpse of the new surroundings before Nahara was pressing a large clay urn into her arms. The smaller woman took a clay pitcher into her own hands.

The women walked together out into the dusty streets of Arakmat. It seemed strange for Nessani to see her mentor outside of the filtered light of Musif's bar - the mundaneness of the location and their errand seemed out of place for Nahara.

A cluster of women stood gossiping around a communal well, their whispers hissed more furiously at the approach of the dancer and the gypsy. As they approached, the women scattered like geese, with looks ranging from jealousy to outright hatred. Nahara seemed unphased by the reactions, blatantly ignoring the existance of the other women. As an Air'riela, Nessani was used to it, but took her cue from the smaller woman, biting off a flippant remark and approaching the well with dignity.

Both the jar and pitcher were filled to the brim. Nahara placed the pitcher of water gingerly on her head. Holding it in place with one hand, she motioned for Nessani to do the same with her somewhat larger urn. The container was filled to the brim and using both hands, Ness barely managed to land it on her crown.

"Water is precious here. Do not spill a drop, little sister, or we will have to come back and do it over again," Nahara warned in a steely tone.

She moved to take the lead, both of her hands dropping to her sides as she balanced her pitcher perfectly. Her form still seemed to sway hypnotically, but the pitcher and its contents remained intact. Nessani had to hold onto hers, with both hands at first, but managed to drop one arm after a handful of practice steps.

They once again entered the relative coolness of the bar, returning to the room set aside for their lessons. Nahara lowered the pitcher of water to the ground, but shook her head as Nessani moved to follow.

"Keep it where it is and show me a rib circle again. If you move the rest of your body, you will know it without me having to tell you."

Nessani's face fell. Not only was the water getting heavy, but she would have a shower if it wasn't done right. Taking a deep breath, she started again, but didn't get halfway around her circle before a fat drop of water landed in her hair.

"Amria!" she muttered darkly.

Nahara lifted her pitcher and poured more water into the urn atop Nessani's head until it was full to the brim. "Again."

The gypsy shifted her ribs again, this time making almost three quarters of a circle before her head was doused with the cool water. Dark raven locks clung wetly to Nessani's face and she sputtered to keep the liquid from entering her nose.

"You're wasting precious water, little sister. You do not need a bath so badly."

Again the urn was filled to the top. Before Nahara had a chance to tell her, Nessani was starting another round. She moved much more slowly and deliberately this time, sliding just her rib cage to the right, then rolling it toward her front and on to the other side. By the time she reached the back, she saw a nod of approval from her mentor.

"Now you may take it down."

A towel was tossed at her in much the same way as the rag had been the darkening before.

"Dry off. We will do the vertical rib circles without the use of the water urn. They are harder than what you just did, but I believe you have an understanding now."

[Nessani Kemenlo]

Nessani shook the water out of her hair like some feral animal exiting the river. The towel was pressed to her face and patted to remove what moisture remained. Once she was dry enough, the towel was tossed on the floor near the exit.

"Vertical," the chocolate voice called, "covers two more directions, both, as the term implies, move the torso up and down, rather than simply side to side."

The dark beauty slithered her torso first to the right, then up and left. She completed the rotation, bringing her rib cage back down to where it had begun. Her hard gaze came to rest on her student, indicating it was her turn.

Nessani's chest expanded with a deep, centering breath before expelling it forcefully. She attempted to get in tune with her body - the most difficult thing about this type of dance was the isolation of each muscle group. Her eyes narrowed in focus as she began to move, her torso shifting to the right as Nahara's had done. It was difficult and she could tell by the look on her mentor's face that her attempt was off somehow.

Nahara moved in behind the gypsy girl, her hands resting firmly against the younger girls sides. "A string dangles from the sky to hold your head upright. Now try." Nessani gave it another attempt, this time with assistance. She still found it difficult to move this way without the rest of her body following, but it came a little easier. She felt a hand leave one side to press between her shoulders, pushing her frame more upright.

On the third attempt, the hands were removed altogether and Ness found she was doing a (barely) passable job on her own. Nahara stayed behind her, moving in again once she felt Ness had a grasp on the concept. Her hands returned to their insistant perch at Ness' side and back.

"Now, the second variation. Forward and back this time."

The Air'riela didn't really need a visual lesson on the third type of 'rib circle'. She had the general concept down enough to apply it to the curt directions. The hand at her back literally pushed her torso forward to begin the movement. Moving 'up' without jerking her body around was strange, but she tried her best. The hand at her side moved to her shoulder, pulling her back and down as she completed the move.

"This is your homework for this darkening. I wish to see progress by morning. For now, lets move on to the lower torso, the belly. Yours is tight enough, it should work these well. For this, I wish you to lie down."

Nessani looked curiously at Nahara. She wanted her to... lie down... to teach her how to dance? Her shoulders shrugged, if your big sister tells you to lie down, then you do as she says, or she may change her mind about teaching you.

Nahara waited until Nessani was lying face up before crouching at her side. Her hand once again came to rest on the girl, this time on her stomach. "This is the easiest way to get in touch with your stomach muscles. They are not just there to carry a tattoo. Take a few deep breaths. Do you feel them against my hand? These, you are going to contract first. Go ahead."

With the teacher's hand on her midsection, Nessani tightened the muscles she approximated were beneath her hand. Nahara's right hand moved to the lower part of the gypsy's abdomen. "Now the muscles here." Ness pulled tight, her neck straining with the effort.

"Now, push against my left hand first, then the other." Biting her lip in concentration, Nessani pushed up with her stomach muscles, each in turn. "Do it again, all together." The girl obeyed, rolling her stomach muscles first in and then out in succession. Nahara lifted her hands, nodding for her student to continue. "Be aware of how you're moving. Let your body memorize the action."

Nessani continued to move her belly up and down as she lay prone on the ground, concentrating on nothing more than the way it made her feel beneath her skin. After a few moments and dozens of rotations, Nahara stopped her with a nod. "Up on your feet, show me you can do it."

The gypsy rose, standing proudly before her mentor. Her thoughts were still on the muscles that she had used when she was lying down. Her body parts had shifted as she stood vertically and somehow, it didn't feel exactly the same. It all moved the same, however, as she showed Nahara that she could, indeed, perform a belly roll.

"We wont practice it, but just know that it works in reverse as well. The same muscles. Just push out before you go in."

Nessani nodded gravely.

[Nessani Kemenlo]

"The last isolated movements we will learn will be for the extremities - your head and your hands. The next time we meet, we will work on full body movements and putting them all together into a dance. Tomorrow is my brightening off, however, and even you will not interfere with that. You are welcome to come practice, if you wish, and indeed, I encourage it.

"What we do today is like honey on the cake.

"First, put your hands on your shoulders." The teacher waited for her student to oblige before moving on. "Now, get a sense of the muscles that control your head. Move it from side to side, turn it about. Just get a feel for your body."

Nessani's head bobbed and slid, moving like it was possessed. Her hands held her shoulders steady as she learned to isolate the muscles above.

"Now, try to move your head from side to side, without moving your shoulders."

The rotation ceased and Nessani's head began the back and forth movement, as if it was visiting one shoulder and then the next.

"Remove your hands and continue, again, without moving your shoulders."

Now that she had a sense of which muscles were to be activated, Nessani had better control as her hands fell down to her sides. Her head still continued it's back and forth trek, spending no more time on one side than the other.

"What you are doing is a 4/4 head slide. Each left is met with a right. You can also do it in 3/4. Right. Left. Right. Then pause before moving Left. Right. Left."

Nessani tried it, feeling like some image of an exotic gaje god. Her head moved with three beats, left, right, left and then paused before reversing the rotation. Her teacher nodded and moved on.

"A third variation is to look in the direction that you are moving. If your 3/4 is mostly left, look over your left shoulder. The same for the right."

The gypsy girl's sapphire gaze shifted to look over her left shoulder, her face moving forward as if in a strut. Her head reversed course, going backwards and then forward again before pausing for the fourth beat.

"Precisely. These aren't hard to learn, but they add another layer to the dances you'll be putting together. The other way to move your head is in a circle, much like the hip or rib circle."

With the necessary muscles already isolated and in motion, Nessani had little trouble shifting into a circular motion. If she had tried it cold, it might have been more difficult, but she was already in touch with that area of her body.

"Very good. But you can also relax your neck and let the circle move your head around."

Her cool hands came again to Nessani's skin, this time along the spine of her neck. "Roll more than circle. This is called the 'Sufi circle'. You can do just half of the circle or the complete round."

The gypsy's head rolled around on the axis of her neck. The movement felt more like a warm up than a dance move. A muscle relaxant. Nessani made a mental note to do these when she was preparing for a performance.

"Fine. Now you may stop. We will finish the day with your hands. They do not just hang off of your arms helplessly. The face may be seen as the center for expression, but do not underestimate what can be expressed in your hands. They can be a subtle way to draw someone in. Seduction can be seen in the curve of a wrist.

"Start with a hand circle. After all of the other circles you've done, this should be simple."

The gypsy's hands circled around her wrists.

"Now, an undulation, starting at the wrist." Nahara's wrist pushed down, followed by her palm and then her fingers. Nessani followed suit, moving both hands in echoing motion.

"And a flutter." Four hands fluttered, shifting one direction and the next in quick succession. "These aren't difficult, but they are the garnish to your feast. You have enough to practice between now and when I see you again. I wish to see perfect rib circles and belly rolls after our brightening of rest."

Nessani nodded her understanding and reached again for the towel before following Nahara out of the door.

[Nessani Kemenlo]

Two brightenings passed uneventfully for the gypsy girl. In all honesty, if it weren’t for practicing her dancing, Nessani wouldn’t have had anything to keep her busy. She was noted by her cousin with little more than mild neglect. Anora didn’t really care what Nessani was doing, so long as it didn’t involve her in any way – and so long as she was staying out of trouble - which, for once, Nessani was doing.

All of her boredom, and subsequent practicing, paid off, apparently for Nahara noted her progress with simply a nod. She didn’t mention what activities might have filled her brightening off, but moved on with her natural brevity.

“You know all of the details. Now, we put them all together with a few full body moves. I have arranged for music today and the dancers from the bar will come practice with you. Watch them and keep up. One cycle from now, you will dance in the bar in my place. It is your task to arrange your own choreography. Study well. Do not let Musif down.”

As if on cue, the door opened and in filed a half dozen people, all of which Nessani recognized from the bar. Two men wearing loose pants and open vests carried drums tucked under their arms. The four women who followed all wore the traditional dance garb in varying colors. The men took up seats by the mirrored wall. The women scattered to positions at each pole surrounding the gypsy girl.

“Start with something that you should be able to do already. Give me a figure eight walk forward.”

The four women around Nessani instantly moved forward, their hips rotating in the way she had learned on that first brightening with Nahara. Nessani only hesitated a split second before she was moving forward as well, all of her concentration on her hips which were circling, depending on which foot bore her weight. Nahara stood back and watched in silence until the group came to the end of the floor.

“Three step turn,” she called in her smooth honeyed voice.

Nessani hesitated, looking around at the other women to see what was expected of her. As one, the dancers stepped out to the right, the gypsy’s foot following right behind. They all turned halfway, before stepping back to the left. Hips shimmied as weight shifted left and then right again and with a final step, the women were facing a new direction.

Ness went over it again in her head as the group figure-eighted their way to the other end of the hall. When it was time to turn again, she didn’t hesitate at all, but moved in time with the four women around her. She didn’t know when the drum beat had begun, but somewhere along the way, she noticed that it was keeping time with her steps, or maybe it was the other way around.

Four more passes and turns were made before Nahara called out again. “Sultan’s mistress.” The gypsy turned to look at Nahara in confusion. Was that a step, or was she commenting on something that Nessani wasn’t privy to?

The women surrounding Ness were not confused, however, and instantly their gait changed. It was a move that was similar to the figure eight walk, but somehow seemed to slow and accentuate the movement of the hips. The seventeen year old decided that she liked the sultry walk.

At the end of the open space, Nahara called out a new turn. “The half soaring eagle.” Five arms lifted in the air at almost the same time, tilting torsos as they leaned in to the turn. Nessani and her entourage worked their way to the other end of the hall again. “Full soaring eagle” came the change of command and this time, the gypsy was astute enough to figure it out for herself. Both arms spread out like the wings of the eagle and again the torsos angled into the turn.

“Folkloric walk!”

This was harder for Nessani to catch on to and she found herself being left behind as she watched the women move forward as one. The drum’s beat changed to a roll and a pop to her ears, the sound mimicking the step that the girls were performing. A slow jog with a hop was the best way for her to describe what she saw, or perhaps a child’s skipping was closer to the mark.

Ness waited for the professionals to make the circuit back to where she stood, her eyes watching, learning, all the while. Once they met up with her, it was just a matter of getting her feet to do what her head knew they must. The smooth movement was freeing and Nessani got the sensation of floating on clouds.

Nahara didn’t waste words correcting her student. She didn’t have to. The women around Nessani gave her a view from every angle for her to imitate and when Nessani did make a step out of line, she heard a hiss of correction from the nearest dancer, whichever of the four happened to have seen the mistake.

“Grapevine” came the call and for the first time, Nahara moved along with the group. The women all gracefully stepped to the side with their left foot. Their right moved in front of the left and after a second step to the side, this time moved to the back. It was an elegant swaying to the side and Nessani performed as well as the women around her.

In fact, each step alone was simple. It would be the layering of what moves she had learned singly that would be the most difficult in the coming cycle, she thought as Nahara called a halt to the collective progression.

“Take a break and catch your breath, then we’ll show you how to put it all together.”

[Nessani Kemenlo]

The afternoon, and every afternoon after, was spent with Nessani sitting in the mirrored room, watching the dancers practice for their evening performances. As they swirled, they would offer suggestions, tips for combining the moves that she had already learned. Occasionally, Ness would rise and practice a particular flutter or step that she had seen, adding other moves on top of it, arms and legs and hips together. Her questions were answered, each time with demonstrations to clarify a marriage of body movements or adding a flourish that Nahara hadn’t deigned to teach.

Her darkenings were spent similarly; utilizing the free time while Anora was at dinner or researching her business to practice grapevines and figure eights. Her belly would roll as she lay in bed, the movement hidden from her cousin by the coverlet. Any errands she was sent on were performed with gushes and swaying walks.

As she practiced, she put together a series of moves that would be used for her final performance in Musif’s bar. Each was strung together and another added on and then practiced in order until she had a rough outline of what she wished to do. Thankfully, this style of dance was well adapted to improvisation, much like the gypsy style of dancing that she was used to, so even if she forgot a step or added something extra, it would still be just as beautiful.

The brightening of her performance arrived and Nessani woke more excited than nervous. At Nahara’s suggestion, her dark mane of hair had been rolled in strips of cloth the night before so that, when they were removed in the morning, Nessani’s hair fell in luscious curls about her shoulders. The women of the bar fussed over her, brushing oil into her hair until the curls shown with a glossy finish. A gauzy veil was placed at the crown of her head to trail down across her hair and shoulders, the edges threaded with coins so that it jingled when she moved.

The halter that they gave her to wear had been altered so that it circled around her neck and then crossed at her chest, leaving her back bare. The waistline of the trousers that she wore was ornately beaded and trimmed with more coins above voluminous leggings. The color of both pieces was somewhere between red and orange – or perhaps it was that the shimmer of the fabric led one to believe it was both, depending on how the light struck it. She looked like fire come to life as she moved, trying out the feel of the fabric. The women offered her sandals in gold, but Nessani declined, preferring to dance barefoot for more control over how her body responded to its surroundings.

Fully dressed, she took a few turns around the mirrored room. The musicians were present, beating the drums to the rhythm and even the snake charmers were playing their instruments to give her a sense of what she would be hearing in the bar – though she had some idea based on the amount of time she had spent there. The women watched her warm up and break into the moves she intended to use, offering pointers here and there to fine-tune her performance. Each suggestion was noted and either accepted or discarded, depending on what Nessani had in mind to portray. A dance was nothing more than a story, visual rather than auditory – a lesson she had learned from watching her sister many times.

She turned in her practice and came face to face with Nahara. The gypsy girl stopped, waiting patiently for her mentor to express what she had come for. A pair of zills were pressed into Nessani’s hands. The petite woman took one, letting Ness hold the rest, and showed her how to put them on her fingers. “Their use comes naturally. You will know what to do with them when the time comes.” When they were all in place, Nessani brought them together into a tentative chime. Her practice continued, this time adding her own chimes to the music to punctuate movements.

The time came faster than expected and finally, Nessani was being ushered to the floor. She wished Oriana could be here; there were few people in her life who supported her completely like her sister. The only other one who came to mind was the man who was responsible for her being in this adopted family. Her eyes scanned the crowded bar to see if he would be there, though she knew he could have been before her eyes and not been seen, if that was his wish. She wondered as well if Musif was watching, but somehow, the only one who really mattered was Khalid.

The music started and the gypsy began to move, only her arms at the first, drawing her audience in with the conservative, snaking movement. She struck a pose, circling her head between pyramided hands. As the music became more insistent, so did her dancing, the movements growing larger and more excited as she gushed to the sides, her hips rising and falling in crisp shimmies. Her arms rose into a soaring eagle, trailing the gauzy veil along. Her hair flounced as she spun giving glimpses of the blazing fire tattoo that spanned her back. The continuous shimmer of the fabric, now red, now orange as she moved through the light, enhanced the illusion that she was afire.

She paused before one unsuspecting client, dancing for a moment as if just for him. Her hips shimmied before his eyes, their movement accented with the jingle of the coins threaded into her waistband. Her form lowered gently to her knees and Nessani bent over backwards before him, her arms and hair trailing the ground behind her as her middle arched into a bridge. She pulled herself forward again with her strong stomach muscles, rising onto one knee, then up to her feet. The bare skin of her belly wavered as the muscles beneath it contracted in rolling waves, sending the tattooed otter circling lazily about her navel.

Her hips rolled into figure eights as she moved away from the man, bringing the rest of those assembled back into her audience. Bare shoulders shimmied beneath hair and veil as her hips undulated, accentuating her walk as she crossed the span of the room. At the apex of each turn, her waist contracted, pulling her hips up and dropping them sharply to the chime of coins.

The movements were a visual extension of the music, sharp and fast and then slow and smooth. The climax of the song was so unrelenting that Nessani was a blur, spinning with her arms extended, her head circling to enhance the effect, though it left her dizzy with excitement. Her hair and veils lashed out about her, tongues of flame and dark that licked at her.

And then the music stopped. It was a sudden emptiness that left the body craving more and in the void, Nessani stood silently, her chest heaving from the exertion of her dance and sweat beading at her brow. Her head was down, her face covered by veil and hair. The blood was rushing to her head, roaring in her ears so that she couldn’t hear the reaction, either good or bad, to her performance. She only became vaguely aware of someone at her elbow, leading her off the floor as the musicians began to play a new song and the dancers that she had trained with moved in to fill her place.