Careless. Arrogant. Certain. All the things he's never been.
And has. He's won with this already. Once that counts. Twice that mattered.
He makes his body follow his arms. Tries to dampen that impatience that seems to only ramp when forced to quiet. Movement helps, though, and he slides through the footwork, hands and feet in tandem. Thinking of the dance. Certainty without question. A seduction no one could stand against. (The one person who could sell that most believably.) Breaks in focus splicing through for those he passes, for realizing where he needs to end up is where someone already is.
Throwing himself from one death drop into another within near minutes, because of the strain, because he can't think beyond the momentum, the required focus of tension, tightness. The rigor of it that demands all of his focus, from all that places it's spooled off to. Sending him back up, but not into his ending. Not yet. It splices from the near end, with a cross back, across one-half end that is free except for one other skater, into enough space to try the salchow after his axel.
The first which is goes like breathing and the second ... which isn't flawless, but he manages not to drop a skate or need his hand. There's a wobble, and he can feel every frustrating inch of the wrongness there, in his back, his arm, his leg, but he still manages to slide into the next move with it. Not slamming the ice. Close, but not close enough. Frustrating, when he's gotten it less times than he hasn't, even without this many people watching. But they are watching. But they have seen it now.
Something in that biting too deep, when he turns, throwing himself directly back at it,
just as the announcement comes to clear the floor.
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And has. He's won with this already. Once that counts. Twice that mattered.
He makes his body follow his arms. Tries to dampen that impatience that seems to only ramp when forced to quiet. Movement helps, though, and he slides through the footwork, hands and feet in tandem. Thinking of the dance. Certainty without question. A seduction no one could stand against. (The one person who could sell that most believably.) Breaks in focus splicing through for those he passes, for realizing where he needs to end up is where someone already is.
Throwing himself from one death drop into another within near minutes, because of the strain, because he can't think beyond the momentum, the required focus of tension, tightness. The rigor of it that demands all of his focus, from all that places it's spooled off to. Sending him back up, but not into his ending. Not yet. It splices from the near end, with a cross back, across one-half end that is free except for one other skater, into enough space to try the salchow after his axel.
The first which is goes like breathing and the second ... which isn't flawless, but he manages not to drop a skate or need his hand. There's a wobble, and he can feel every frustrating inch of the wrongness there, in his back, his arm, his leg, but he still manages to slide into the next move with it. Not slamming the ice. Close, but not close enough. Frustrating, when he's gotten it less times than he hasn't, even without this many people watching. But they are watching. But they have seen it now.
Something in that biting too deep, when he turns, throwing himself directly back at it,
just as the announcement comes to clear the floor.