Dance Party

[Armande]

Her hand was warm and light in his, soft and silky and he smiled down at her. She was taller than he expected, for a woman. Her eyes seemed to shift from light brown to greenish in the changing club lights, and he found he could not look away. And while she seemed light and feathery in his arms, she was not a person to be pushed. She had presence, which he very much liked. Earthy.

The song had an insistent beat to it, though in an interesting metre and shift. An Indian influence was definitely noticeable- was it the scale, maybe? His knowledge of music theory was minimal at best, but he knew the Indian scale was very different than the western chromatic scale, with finer gradations between notes. The words themselves were based on Carrol's Alice and Wonderland, clearly. It was vaguely familiar, though American music from the 60s and 70s was not something he knew much of.

But it reminded him of the dance of a cobra...and Rowan was in his arms, flowing and swaying in a way he had never experienced and yet came upon him with ease. Not the raves of his youth or the frenetic energy from ecstacy, none of that barely controlled club movement.

And yet he felt high and under some hypnotic control all the same, the feel of Rowan against him, the way her hands moved across him, the press of her body into him, two flames licking and flicking around each other, the head of the cobra swaying, forked tongue tasting the air as it followed the music even as hers flicked his ear.

She was a living thing in his arms, the two of them, point counterpoint, agonist antagonist...and he was lost in her.