If I Can't Get The Starring Role (Seb, Casual)

[JAMES WINDSOR]

'Take it easy,' they said.
He should have listened.

In fact, James wished that he had listened so much that it was just about all he was able to think about as he sat glumly in the audience of the New York City Ballet's production of 'Giselle'.
As he sat in the audience with a dodgy foot whilst Charlie Springbourne danced his part. Honestly. They chose Springbourne to portray Albrecht, of all people. It was safe to say that James Windsor was certainly not happy in the slightest.

He hadn't told Victor. Though at that moment he rather wished he had, just simply so that he would have somebody to complain to as he watched the performance. But instead, he had immersed himself in a crowd of strangers, sinking even deeper into his slump the further the dance went.
Charlie Springbourne.
Disgraceful.

James vowed that if the man put one toe out of line, he would return as soon as his 'injury' (he could have danced on it, of only they'd let him) healed and rage at the man for performing badly as much as he was able. He donned Victor's hawkeye, scrutinising every move his understudy made with increasing agitation.

It wasn't even his bloody fault that his foot had decided to disagree with him.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

It wasn't every day that Sebastian the opportunity to see the New York City Ballet, so he couldn't really pass up a chance to go when a fellow English teacher had to give one up to go on a skiing trip with her aunt. He'd laundered his best suit and bowtie, not sure if he was overdressed but making sure as hell that he wasn't underdressed. He'd asked his neighbor to dogsit Data and taken the subway to Times Square, really not feeling up to walking all the way there in dress shoes.

Unfortunately, however, the subway wasn't the best idea either. Somehow he'd picked the wrong time to enter the Greenwich line, and ended up getting shoved to the wall of the transit. That wouldn't be so bad, except a very, very large wad of gum was stuck to that very patch of space. He groaned, as this was the absolute nicest coat that he owned, but he shed the damn thing and folded it over his arms, careful not to get any more of the gum on himself. He would have to get it off later, after the ballet...

People eyed him now that he had taken off his covering, seeing his nice suit and tie. He was a bit worried he was going to be mugged, though the subway was usually a lot safer than the streets. However, he was luckily at his stop by this time.

Tonight just wasn't his night, however, as as he made his way to the theatre he was not only absolutely freezing to death, he also tripped on a pothole and got his coat in front of him even more dirty! ... and then it mysteriously ended up disappearing from his hands by the time he reached the marquee of the NYCB. He rubbed his arms with his hands, his breath totally visible in the cold air of New York. It was just his luck, really, that the one time he could even air out the damn coat was the night it would inevitably be stolen. He hoped whoever grabbed the thing enjoyed it, since he obviously could no longer.

For a moment there, however, Sebastian was about to panic, because he thought he'd left his ticket in his estranged coat, but luckily he found it in his breast pocket. He entered the building and was seated with an exasperated sigh. He didn't know what the ballet was even about, but he'd always enjoyed seeing shows like this, at least every once in awhile. After all, he lived in the theatre capital of the world!

As the ballet went on he became aware of the man sitting beside him. The show wasn't making him feel much better about his lost coat, and the man beside him seemed to be feeling just as agitated as he. He tilted his head at his intense gaze toward the stage. Was he criticizing the ballet? Because that's what it looked like.

He wasn't going to say anything, because that would be rude to the performers, but he couldn't help but stare at the man's face. He was just... really rather handsome, honestly. Sebastian was entranced by his jawline, but again, it was impolite to stare. He turned his head, blushing a bit and looking back toward the stage.

[JAMES WINDSOR]

James inhaled a deep breath through his nose, and narrowed his eyes as he practically glared at the stage. If Charlie Springbourne made it through the solo without making a mistake, James would leave.
Well.
He would leave, but getting to this seat with his foot as it was had taken rather a lot of effort. And he quite supposed his dramatic exit would be ruined by the fact that his walk would be a little awkward, and embarrassingly ungrateful.
Very well, if the solo was performed without a slip-up, James would throw something at him.

That was do-able.

Honestly, his eagerness for the man to fail was not usually in his nature. But truthfully he was quite terrified of what would happen should somebody important think that maybe Charlie is better than he. Then, well then everything he had worked for would be gone.
James leaned forward a little, easily slipping into the appearance of Victor with his mind set to work - calculating all the wonderful things he did from the dances. All the time he spent watching James' performances had to be good for something, didn't they?

Again, the dancer felt like kicking himself for not inviting Victor along. But then, there had been that argument earlier. And James had made it a habit to not invite the man to the ballet if he had done something irritating again. And James felt that flaunting the fact that his ankle was knackered because he hadn't listened was more than irritating. Victor deserved not to be there. But James didn't deserve to be alone.
It was such a difficult situation.

Come on James, focus. Shut up and just focus you massive great-
"He's missed the last turn!"
His exclamation wasn't quite the triumphant shout it should have been. Rather it was a very pleased, triumphant murmur.
He may be angry, but he still respected common courtesy of the theatre. To an extent.

But Springbourne had made a mistake, he'd slipped-up. Oh thank Christ. He hadn't turned on the beat, and for that, he deserved the bad reviews he was bound to receive.
James let out a light sigh and flopped back into his seat. He was still immensely infuriated by the fact that Charlie stupid Springbourne was under studying him.
Who even decided that anyway?

James' eyes drifted to the side, and his head soon followed when he caught the stranger to his left staring at him. Staring. Rather openly, too. The man soon turned away, however, but that didn't mean that the dancer hadn't seen it.
"What," he asked, "Do you want?"

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

Sebastian's attention thus far had either been directed at the stage or the drop dead gorgeous man sitting next to him. He wasn't just interested in his looks, however, for the man appeared to be uncomfortable, aggravated even. It wasn't until he exclaimed and startled both Seb and the theatre-goers around them that he -- somewhat -- understood the cause of his misfortune.

Why was he so vindictive of one of the dancers...? Could he be a critic? Or perhaps a rival dancer himself? At any rate, he was relieved by whatever screw-up the poor ballerina made, not necessarily angry. Sebastian didn't know why he found it so interesting. Perhaps it was because he was more on the edge of his seat by the way the man's emotions danced across his face than by the actual ballet going on on stage. Or... perhaps he was just pathetic and bored and in serious need of a wake-up call.

Because of his lack of focus on the ballet, however, he was alerted to the fact that he'd been staring a bit too animatedly. The man's head turned slightly, and he looked straight at him. Sebastian gulped, whipping his head back to the stage and sinking back into his seat with embarrassment.

If he could have crawled into a whole and died it would be too soon. Not only did the man address him, but he did so in an annoyed manner, which was what Seb was afraid of. He saw a few heads turn in the seats in front of him, but thankfully they turned back again when he didn't engage immediately.

He couldn't very well leave the man hanging, so he whispered apologetically, "Sorry, s-sorry... You just seemed upset." He didn't look at him, lest he turn an unheard of shade of red and embarrass himself further.

[JAMES WINDSOR]

The man turned away as soon as James caught eye contact, and soon mumbled both an apology and an explanation.
"Sorry, s-sorry... You just seemed upset."
The dancer continued to watch the stranger (hypocritical of him, but suprisingly James didn't actually notice just how so it was), and after only a few seconds felt himself begin to calm a little. It seemed he had startled the man into being a little afraid of him, of all things!

Oh, bugger.
He really hadn't meant to do that.

James let out a sigh, and motioned toward Springbourne on the stage, still mid-way through his solo (James' solo).
"He," the hand he indicated with flexed angrily, "Is my understudy. Currently dancing my role as I'm resigned to the audience because of my stupid bloody foot."
The man huffed angrily, before he glanced back at the stranger sat beside him. Oh dear Lord, he really wasn't making a very good first impression. James seemed to sink a little, and the tension drained from his muscles as he relaxed into the seat. Springbourne had made a mistake, after all. He didn't need to worry anymore. It would be fine.
Now for Christ's sake Windsor, show some manners.

"No, I'm sorry. Really. I guess I am quite upset," he let out a sad sort of chuckle, running his hand through his hair with a slightly exasperated expression.
"I cannot allow any opportunity to be replaced. I'm worried that he's better than I am."
Just why he felt like sharing his problems with the stranger, he had no idea. It actually wasn't the first time he had done so, though, so he didn't think too much on it.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

Sebastian really wasn’t expecting the man to say anything else after that, at least not what he did end up saying. It had been rude of Seb to stare anyway, and by all accounts he shouldn’t feel obligated to pay attention to him now. So he was startled and jumped in his seat when the man told him what was bothering him. He looked at him, but quickly turned back to the stage to see what the dancer was talking about. ”And you want him to mess up...” He nodded in understanding, but he still felt like he was prying into somebody’s business. He should be watching the ballet, not a jealous dancer have a fit!

He continued not looking at him, lest he actually end up drooling. Instead, his eyes were cast down to his programme, clutched tightly in his hands. “That’s too bad,” he whispered. He would have loved to have seen the handsome man move across that stage... The understudy wasn’t nearly as good as he probably was. Not nearly as good-looking either... “I’m sure you’re fantastic, I mean great, yeah...” God, there was the blush on his face. He was just like a little girl! He pushed his glasses up his nose just so his hands might obscure his redness, in case he did see.

A few moments later the man apologized for his abrasiveness. He finally dared to look at him again, and felt himself relax. He was nervous, maybe even angry, but it wasn’t Sebastian’s fault. It was understandable, really. He wouldn’t want to be replaced by someone he found inadequate, either. “I understand, really.” Sebastian was compelled to run his hand through his own hair when the dancer did. He still felt guilty for ogling him.

“I’m sorry, again, for staring at you...” ‘It’s just you’re so incredibly beautiful there are no words to describe it...’ he wanted to add, but he might just get called an asshole for doing so. He went back to watching the ballet. The people around them still looked annoyed, so he decided to shut up...

That was until he noticed the understudy slip himself! The man clearly stumbled, something even an idiot could say was incorrect. His eyes widened, and he looked at the the gorgeous dancer incredulously “Are you kidding me?” he whispered to his now fellow critic. “Even I could see that!”

[JAMES WINDSOR]

The stranger understood. Well, of course he would, James' mood was hardly for nothing after all. And if a man who looked as though he really didn't visit the ballet too often could understand his dilemma, then it must be obvious.
The dancer wasn't entirely sure whether this was a good or a bad thing.

Whilst the man voiced his opinion on James' capabilities as a dancer (which was, all in all, rather silly. For all the stranger knew he could be absolutely terrible - but it was definitely nice of him to say such thing, so he was willing to let it pass), he seemed to become immediately interested in the programme in his hands. Yeah, okay. Because that wasn't obvious that he was trying not to look at James.
To be quite honest, the dancer didn't really mind the other man looking at him, it was flattering, actually. He had never noticed strangers doing so much before, and so as far as he knew this was all rather strange for him.

“I’m sorry, again, for staring at you...”
No, no, no. Don't apologise. Silly man.
James gave a small shrug of his shoulders and, surprisingly, cracked a smile.
"It's fine, really. Sorry again for being grumpy."

He had just about finished the sentence, and was converting his gaze once again to the stage when the bloody Springbourne slipped. Of all things, he ruined the performance in the most obvious of ways - as evidenced by the man sat beside him's exclamations.
James retained his slightly shocked facial reaction for around a silent half minute, before suddenly and unexpectedly beginning to chuckle lightly.
Well, the stranger had lightened his mood quite well.
Now sporting a broad smile, and thankfully able to ignore the sense of shame at the silliness of his grouchiness moments earlier (he slipped! James' career was surely under no peril after that), the dancer turned to face the stranger - who, he noticed, was already looking back at him.

"Thanks to you I don't think I shall be sulking for the remainder of this," he considered the man. He was good-looking, there was no doubt about that. James just found it unusual for somebody to pay such attention to him, other than Victor. And thought Victor's attention was a constant and comfort for him, the difference of this man's stare was shockingly welcome. He rather appreciated it.
"I'm James, by the way. I'm sorry you had to meet me at my worst." He chuckled again, all consideration for the audience around them seeming to have gone. It wasn't like they would throw him out, anyway.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

"Thanks to you I don't think I shall be sulking for the remainder of this."

Sebastian blushed a little again, but it was to dark to see. He smiled shyly though, and looked down at his hands. "Well, you're welcome. I'm glad I could make ya happy." He was a little embarrassed that his accent was showing up, so he rubbed his mouth as if to hide it. He kept on blushing, especially since James was now paying attention to him instead of the ballet.

"It's nice to meet you anyway, James... I mean, yeah... Not your fault really..." Seb mentally wanted to add that if this was his worst, he really wanted to see him at his best. He stared ahead again, ducking his chin toward his chest like an ostrich burying its head in the sand. It took him a moment to realize he hadn't greeted the man himself. "Oh, uh... And I'm Sebastian." He turned his whole body a little and held out his hand to James, trying -- but failing-- to look him in the eye. "M-my friends call me Seb."

Over James' shoulder he saw another audience member staring at him with angry eyes, obviously annoyed that they were talking through the ballet. Sebastian backed up a little, mouthing a sorry to the person, even though he was being quiet the whole time.

[JAMES WINDSOR]

The smile James wore was slightly lopsided, as it usually tended to be (though not in the way that his just-for-Victor smile seemed to be, as that was always, inherently one he unconsciously reserved just-for-Victor), and his attention - which had previously been focused solely on spotting the flaws in Springbourne's performance - was now intently on the man sat beside him. Seb.

"Sebastian is a lovely name," James' voice had adopted the light tone he often used when not entirely aware of the fact that he was speaking his mind, "Though I suppose an abbreviated version offers some form of time-saving. I daresay the effort to say one's real name over a shortened alternate is hardly anything that should repel to many people."
But then, 'just like that', he snapped back into the attentive tone of his ordinary speech as he shook the offered hand and ducked his head just so, in order to catch the other man's eye.
"Would you mind terribly if I call you Sebastian?"
He remained somewhere between oblivious and ignorant of the audience's increasing irritation at their conversation - however hushed it was - and continued to talk contentedly to the other man. It had definitely increased his mood, not spending the entire performance scrutinizing his rival's every move.

"You're a polite chap, I suppose you think I'm being rather petty by attending a ballet only to nitpick my understudy's performance." He laughed slightly, before twisting elegantly in his seat to face Sebastian.
"You're not from around here, are you?" he cocked his head to the side, unsure whether to determine the man's accent on the few words it seemed to crop up for. Why on Earth he felt the need to cover it, James had no idea.