bakerstreet | Dancing

Dancing

Dancing Meme

Dancing well takes serious skill and talent, but just about anyone can shake their hips or tap their feet to a beat. No matter your competency in cutting the rug, there's some pleasure to be found in letting loose and moving your body to the music. Not to mention... sometimes it's fun to get all dressed up! (And if not, then perhaps in seeing a partner all dressed up?)

So, let your cares go and let's dance!

Prompts

1. prom
It's the biggest social event of the year - provided you're still in high school! Do you have the guts to ask your crush to the dance, or are you more the shy wallflower type? How about a platonic date with your bestie?

2. ballroom
Ah, the formal gala: it's prom for adults! Dress in your finest and get yourself a partner for a tango or a waltz. It's for charity, after all.

3. alone
Do a little jig in the kitchen, or enjoy a living room slowdance with a significant other to the dulcet tones of your smart speaker.

4. club
You're hitting the clubs and you're ready to grind! What better place to meet new people who know how to have fun?

5. competition
You take dance very seriously. Like, competition-level seriously. Practice with a partner, or face off against a rival.

6. traditional
Let me show you the dance of my people, from the village-wide revelry of a summertime bon odori to the sensual swing of the hula.

7. adult
Some dances are For Adult Eyes Only. And yes, poles and laps may be involved.

8. wildcard
Anything goes!

[ Get Memes! ]

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[she's a dancer herself, also happy to talk assumed cr/aus, especially given her trapped bird backstory.]

[ as arbiter-general of the luofu, it's not uncommon that he needs to meet with foreign dignitaries, most especially when they are navigating the fine lines of an alliance. jing yuan would not consider himself skilled at politics, but it's something he has had to learn along the course of his long life, and he must be courteous if he is to continue gathering allies for the luofu in their endless hunt of the abundance.

so here he is, enjoying a meal with several representatives of the world the luofu is visiting, drinking wine and exchanging old stories. it's pleasant enough, but he does not care for the smug demeanor of some of them, and he can see well that many of these people will do everything in their power to exploit the luofu for their own gain. they will have to be quite careful when forging any contracts.

but that is neither here nor there. the talks come the day after tomorrow, this is only a casual gathering.

when night falls and things quiet, jing yuan sighs contentedly and sets aside his empty wine glass, leaning back against the perfumed cushions behind him. it's quite late, he should retire - but they stop him, insisting that they have a gift for him, something to show their goodwill. not unusual, really. it would be quite rude not to accept, so jing yuan nods, though he looks on in mild surprise when the others all draw away from the table, leaving him alone in the small dining area.

the shifting of fabric catches his attention, and jing yuan turns his head just in time to see a set of gauzy curtains lift, revealing a small stage.. with a single occupant. ]

[truthfully, she no longer questions what she's meant to do. the outrage of it has long worn off, replaced wholesale by the weight of expectation and responsibility. there's a certain irony in the amount of representatives and dignitaries she's met who are leagues more tolerable than His Highness, but that's neither here nor there.

whilst he enjoys his meal, Imami sits, surrounded by attendants as though she can't dress herself—though really she doesn't begrudge them. it is their duty, after all. long hair is braided back loosely, lightly perfumed to some sweet, warm floral note, and gentle hands wrap her in thin gauze.

slowly, silently, the attendants filter out. none speak a word, though they do occasionally converse—these ladies are the understanding ones, those who actually feel for her plight. one touches the intricate bracers wrapped around her wrists, apologetic, and Imami offers little more than a smile in reassurance. nothing to be done about it. the stage is quiet as she steps onto it, the jingle of jewelry muted behind gauzy curtains where she positions herself.

hair coils beside her when the curtains lift, body bent in deep reverence. no music plays when she begins, but the jingling of adornments has always been all she needed. delicate, like an in-breath, she rises to begin the performance. hair flicks behind her with each movement, carefully matched with the colourful sash in her hands so that they don't collide. and after a moment, the circular ends of that sash strike the stage and each ignites in turn, a flash of orange-red rising high and dimming down to something controlled.

each movement, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of metal and the tap of feet, is precise and heartfelt, devastatingly pleading and hopeful. gauze meets flame and ignites, pulled free amid movements and tossed to the air to be turned to acrid dust—not that he can likely tell that much from his seat, near to the stage as it is, with all the careful perfuming in this space—little liberations from expectation or uncertainty. a metamorphosis. there's a deep irony to her performing this dance, and if she were to consider it she might feel bitter at its implications.

then again, that man probably never knew what it really meant anyway.

regardless, as gauze pulls from skin, it reveals the paler patterns over her curves, traditional designs etched into flesh to become the one part of her past that cannot be taken. her dance continues across the stage as a flurry of motion and emotion, until it finally comes to stop near the stairs, flames skidding in a final circle around her before they extinguish, the remaining sound of jewelry dying down in turn.]

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( he loves to dance! also I have a litany of different verses to offer for this guy. )

[ please dance with this bendy-straw man. ]

[the scenario: one (1) goetian prince, stopping by asmodeus' tower for the stretchy little jester, this time, instead of the big man himself. for dance lessons. rather, to give dance lessons, because... well?

stolas isn't too sure about that one, himself. honestly, he isn't sure why fizzarolli would seek him out of all people, given how they've not exactly ever spoken two words to each other, and their across-the-room interactions have been... unique.

but he's been itching for something to do, and as a bonus, teaching someone a skill gives him the coveted sense of being useful, so. dance lessons. he has come in his stupid little romper, so they can really tear it up. with ballroom dancing, as that's the kind of dancing stolas is familiar with.

in any case: a butler of some kind takes him to the now-familiar sitting room to wait for fizzarolli. stolas waits.]

[ it's not long before fizzarolli appears in the sitting room, stepping through the door and closing it behind him. he's smiling, of course he is, but there is a slight air of harried anxiety about him. ]

Heyyy, Stolas! Thanks for coming, I really appreciate it.

[ he moves closer, tilting his head and grinning a little wider. ]

So. Here's the situation. I know how to dance plenty, obviously. I don't know how to do fancy-pants dancing and I'm going to that real bougie [ why do blitz and fizz both insist on calling things bougie? ] gala with Ozzie. I kind of... I want to surprise him by not being a complete embarrassment.

[ oh no... it's to be romantic... ]