Millie brings her dancing mistress methods to the fore. A choir of groupies is constantly attending to her very last whims and desires. She demands pu-erh tea – and so they pour her a warming, soul-purifying mug.
The atmosphere indoors gets too stuffy when the flow reaches its crescendo. The groupies keep waving their long feathers Egyptian style, exotic, fancy legging trodden slaves to this green-eyed pharaoh.
Millie stares with a half-cynical smile at the book Dora has been reading on her way to the studio, which the latter’s neatly placed on the reception desk as she clocks in. This will be the end of her. Millie has spotted a new weakness in Dora, that bespectacled student who thinks, reads and breezes past the dance flow in too fast a fashion. Once she identifies her prey, Millie will jump straight to her neck and bite really hard.
“Look at my eyes, not at my feet.
“Look. Here. Like this!
Not like this, once again!”
Inconsistent cues provided with astounding artistic flair. She does not need to follow logic when the soul speaks to her in poetic whispers.
Ikea-like maps of dance steps would make her a greater teaching service, though. So Dora muses.
Fresh mint tea. Dora prefers this to pu-erh, which tends to dilute her brain cells and leaves her wanting to jump, run and fade away, faking her way through hell, even when she is the purest soul on earth.