notfaking_it | (no subject)

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alexander molokov

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Some nights, Lily finds she can't be alone. She stops by Eden's place to take her out or drops by on Eames, completely unannounced but, not as far as she can tell, unwelcome. And then there are nights like this one, where she has to go out by herself. Nights when it feels like her skin is too tight, the apartment is too small, the city isn't big enough for all the things she wants and all the people she needs.

And she hates that she needs them.

It's easier to go out, find a bar, get lost in a drink and some music and maybe a conversation with a stranger.

Sometimes, in the faces of the other dancers, thin and dark haired, she catches a glimpse of Nina. But she's not here. Just like the others, she's gone. She's somewhere else.

"What do you have on tap?" she asks the bartender when she takes a seat, then glances to either side of her. There's a man and she offers him a smile. "Hey."

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"I am Russian," Molokov answered with a wink, very much amused. "There is never a reason not to drink. But no, there is nothing special tonight, just the satisfaction of knowing that the day is over. What about you?"

"There is never a reason not to drink," she echoes, tipping her glass slightly. It's more than that -- at least, tonight it's more than that -- but she isn't about to start talking about the island she misses. "I think I have the Russian excuse back there in my ancestry somewhere, too."

"I like very much how you think," Molokov grinned, saluting her with his glass. A beautiful dancer who drank - he could think of nothing that could make this evening even better.

"And there is no question in my mind about that," he added. "For after all, you dance so lovely that you have some Russian somewhere in your family. The French may go on and on about how they invented the art but we Russians perfected it."

Lily laughs, delighted by that, and she nods her agreement. "You're certainly right about that," she agrees, even though it makes her a little sad. She's thinking of Sawyer, of the nickname he'd given her, the way he'd called her Pavlova right before they'd kissed that first time. This is exactly the reason she's gone out tonight, trying to escape this, so she forces another smile. "And not any old American is doing it, too," she teases.

"No," Molokov agreeed. "You have done what I thought was impossible, remind me that not all Americans are obnoxious fools with no appreciation for culture."

How de Courcey had not shot Trumper after spending more than a minute with him, he would never know. But then de Courcey was his own special breed of person, after all, and it really was a pity he had been born on the wrong side.

"Only most of us?" Lily asks, her grin still light and teasing. She's spent so much of her life in the world of ballet that she's seen many Americans who love dancing as much as she does. It doesn't mean they're not obnoxious.

And it doesn't mean she's not capable of the same.

"Now, I am trying to be diplomatic," Molokov said playfully. "You would not really have me insult almost all of your countrymen, now would you? I like to think I can be a gentleman about these things."

"I won't make you say a thing," Lily says with a laugh, holding up both her hands in a gesture of submission. "But trust me when I say that spending your entire life around other dancers means you see the less savoury sides of a person from time to time. Or all the time, depending on the person."

Molokov knew very well how unsavory people could be but he kept that to himself. Still, from the tales he had heard from the dancers he had known in Moscow, the corps de ballet could certainly rival the KGB in petty jealousies and vendettas.

"I have heard this," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "I would never have thought it but I suppose all those hours of practicing on your toes could easily fray tempers."

"I think if you're the type to let your temper get frayed, it's going to happen no matter what," Lily says, smiling a little, thinking of someone like Veronica who'd been fun to go out with, but had always had her back up about something. "The amount of backstabbing that can go on in a company is ridiculous." Which is why she tended to keep her work and her social life as separate as possible.

With the exception of Nina. And David.

"I once knew a dancer, very sweet and gentle girl until she started talking about her fellow members of the company," Molokov reflected. "To hear her, the girls were all talentless cows and the boys were incompetent idiots who wouldn't know a beat if it slapped them. The less said about the prima ballerina, the better."

Lily laughs a little, though she's not surprised to hear a story like that. "See, I never got that," she says, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. "I love dancing and anyone else who works in a company usually loves dancing, too. That's enough for me, I couldn't be bothered to spend my time comparing them to each other or to myself." Her days are busy, after all, between rehearsal and the small social circle she's built for herself here.

"If I would be permitted to venture a guess," Molokov said as charmingly as he could. "I would think that it is because you are so confident, so sure of your talent. Others, they may be just as talented but they do not feel it is so and so they take it out on others."

"Low self esteem is definitely the downfall of a lot of beautiful dancers," Lily agrees, though sometimes having too much confidence gets in the way as well. Beth is a fine example of that, a woman with too high an opinion of herself on most days and far too low an opinion the rest of the time. It's a dangerous combination, as she well proved. "And this is why I choose to befriend men in bars instead of the other dancers."

"And I am very happy and honored that you have done so," Molokov smiled and playfully saluted her with his glass. Compared to the other dancers he had talked with over the years, Lily was an absolute delight. Continuing to get to know her would be a wonderful thing and he hoped very much he would be lucky enough for that.

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