Focusing her attention to keep from getting dizzy, she danced. If you asked her why she danced, she couldn't explain it -- she just did it. Moving with the music, an instinct almost as primal as laughter. She smoothly transitioned from one song to the next, one style to the next, without a definite idea of where exactly the seam between the two were. If you asked her what dancing meant to her, she wouldn't be able to tell you that, either... it simply filled her with motion, like a light that shined on the inside.

What she could tell you, is that when she danced the world went away, that running was a type of dance, and that she could lose herself in the floor, the music, the sound gently buffeting against her skin as sweat lightly beaded her face, her arms, her chest, her back. She could tell you that she only truly felt alive and free when carried away by her rhythmic motions. That joy in the feeling flooded her so completely that it caused an ecstasy bordering on pain, her emotions draining into movement, expressive and obscure at the same time. She could tell you exactly what to do with your suggestion that she stop, or even, "take a break."

She couldn't tell you why, or what it meant in terms that you could understand it fully, but he would tell you to shut the hell up and just watch her. He sat behind a card table watching the tracks on the digital mixer jump around randomly and her still never missing a step, or faltering where it would seem as these musics didn't belong together, and watched her. He absorbed the grace with which she floated before him upon the worn-smooth boards of the hardwood floor. He admired the lines of each turn and pause as her nearly 6-foot frame traveled through the tenuous territory of tonality so seamlessly she satisfied a hunger for the eyes.

The end came with a finality that was almost painful for both of the two in the room, she so absorbed in feeling it, and he in the grace of it. She paused, her chest heaving with the effort below the light tank top she wore, but the grin staking claim to her face made it quite clear that had she the energy, she would have continued indefinitely. She raised her hands above her head and interlaced them, as she did with running, and began to pace in a small circle to allow her body time to come to a resting spot. He startled and lifted the softest and fuzziest towel from the table for her.

"Robyn," was all he said before she glanced up at him, her lashes parting the curtain of her damp unruly haystack of hair. He smiled in return and tossed the towel to her, which she deftly snagged from the air and wiped across her face with a moan at how soaked with perspiration she was. From beneath the towel came a muffled, "fmhrannx."

He laughed lightly as he replied to the blissful companion, "You're quite welcome. Thanks for the show." He was rewarded by a laugh from her as she repeated clearly (and clear of the towel this time), "Thanks, Fischer."

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome already," was his almost embarrassed reply as he now tried to find something to do with his now-empty hands.

They walked over to the bench at the sidelines next to the card table in silence. Comfortable with each other to the point that there weren't any 'uncomfortable silences' like with most people, so used to each other that they could very nearly carry on conversations without doing more than being in vaguely the same room as each other. They sat for moments that seemed like hours, and he tapped her on the shoulders so that he could rub the forming tension out before it could settle.

With a happy little sigh, Rob(yn) let him rub her shoulders before carrying on with the conversation they started before the music began.

"There. That's what I do when I come here. I dance. I float. I fly. I lose myself in my passion."

"It was -- wow, you're tightening up -- it was amazing, beautiful, downright graceful -- can you lean back a bit? -- and frankly... *mumble mumble mumble* anyway."

She leaned forward away from his hands. "What was that?"

He sighed and even blushed a bit before answering.

"I said, anyone who could see you move like that and still think you should be a guy needed a CAT Scan, anyway."

She giggled.

"Aww, offering to subject people to random costly medical procedures for my well-being. I don't know what to say... I'm touched. It's just such a warm gesture --"

"Oh, stop it, chica... no need to tease me. Sarcastic wench! I should just let you deal with your own shoulder rub... "

"Nooo, pleeeaaase... I'll be good," she half-moaned and half-whined as he swallowed his chuckle, never even pausing in his task.

She was very nearly purring as he went about his kneading.

"So, have you told them yet?" he asked.

She tensed up again sightly and then sighed heavily.

"I tried, but it just never seemed... right... to tell them, y'know?"

"No, actually," came his reply, "I wouldn't have any idea of how to approach that."

She let another weary laugh come out and then swatted him on the arm.

"I'll tell them tonight. I promise. Hmph. With best friends like you..."