Young Writers Society

He let James lead them through the dance floor, trying to think of what he could possibly say and failing miserably. He could see Damascus and Boris a short distance away, and was more than a little surprised when James slowly began to steer them away from the two. Weren't they friends? Then again, he hadn't had more than a handful of friends in a very long time - he might have been misinterpreting how a dance like this was supposed to work when several of your friends were present.


Kartiel looked down at the little Lego figurine, felt a moment surge in annoyance, and then pushed it back down as he slipped the figure into his pocket. Taber had asked him a question, and he needed to give him a response before he went off after Raiden.

Kartiel glanced over in Rendra's direction. She was enjoying every moment of the masquerade, but that was to be expected - this specifically had been her idea. At least Sirun had a tendency to give his workers some free will when it came to designing their ventures, which he supposed he should be grateful for.

Well, the next puzzle wouldn't start for some time, so it looked like he could say yes to Taber's request.

"I'll dance with you," he said.

However long it had been, Damascus picked up the dance astoundingly well.
It was apparent from his furtive overhead glances and the stiff deliberacy of his early movements that he was putting a very serious effort into relearning the dance.
His earnestness was untouchable, incorruptible.

I'd played out similar pictures many times before, with plenty of faces that I would never recall. I was no stranger to leading, to following, to the weightlessness of the chest, the spinning, the lightning connection between what I knew, and the unpredictable element of a fellow human- devil- oh, same thing- the element of another person that made every second a sacred surprise. Until the evening was through.

But this was different. This was Damascus. I knew Damascus.

He wasn't young, by any stretch, or even inexperienced, but he still had this spark of youth, of life, this imperishable light.

I'd never know, even if he tried to tell me, just how much he had missed, just what hundreds of years could mean, I knew but decades and even then, even then, they felt too long.

But there he was, giddy with laughter, giddy with light, the same light I had known in him as a child, putting his all into this moment, this dance.

So when he asked me to end this with a flourish, it didn't matter that I had forgotten any advanced steps that I had known. It didn't matter that I'd forgotten the precaution of taking our respective height differences into account.

This was a dance, and this was Damascus. We could improvise.

"This is embarrassing, but I've forgotten all my tricks." I laughed.

"We'll have to surprise each other." I told him, winking back.

A smirk spread over Damascus' face at this, betraying the resolve that had settled over him. With the steps that followed, a new sort of rhythm picked up in his chest. He was determined to surprise Boris, and to finish this dance in a way that neatly signified all of the breathless moments and thrumming executions he had been experiencing.

As they separated to fold their arms and kick up their steps, he had the premonition that they were on the last stretch of the song. With a sly glance at Boris, he took an initiative when they rejoined, and swiftly placed his hand on his partner's back, putting himself into the lead.

"I have a few things up my sleeve." He murmered, not bothering to catch his breath first.

He was all too pleased with himself as he more or less managed to lead the dance he had only just started picking up again.

Picking up the pace, he twirled them in circles just a bit sharper than the dance called for, and with the way he slid across the floor during the gallops, he slowly merged their steps into another sort of dance altogether.

Damascus stole the lead, and though I could scarcely believe it, I found myself all too glad to let him take it.
He had already impressed me by the speed with which he regained his proficiency, and now, now he led us into something new, something strong, deliberate, spontaneous.

This new side of Damascus was something I was fully unprepared for. But even though I found these new movements a little challenging to follow, at least to begin with, it was all too easy to embrace this intriguing unfamiliarity, this liberating loss of control.

"Damascus, you... you take the lead whenever you like." I told him breathlessly, between slides.

Damascus grinned broadly at this, and moved Boris' hand from his shoulder, gripping them both for a moment.

"I'm going to spin you now." He warned, taking a half-step before picking up a hand and spinning Boris out and then in tightly towards him.

Making things up as he went, he changed up the dance, starting some mingling footwork up in between the sliding.

"You're very light on your feet! I'm impressed." He shouted over the music, and with a bright laugh, grabbed Boris' waist and gave him a little lift across the floor.

It was obvious that any inhibitions he might have had were long gone, and he lost himself completely in the intoxicating feeling of spontaneity. It took him a bit before some consideration for Boris crossed his mind, and after the lift, he took a few breaths and gave a moment of pause.

"Just... let me know if you need me to slow down." He panted.

"Okay!" Taber said, eyes widening and seeming to glitter. This Kartiel couldn't be bad at all - most people were afraid of dancing with Taber for whatever reason. Grin doubling in size, Taber grabbed Kartiel by the waist and pulled him to the ballroom floor.

With Kartiel lifted a few inches above the ground, Taber made a quick few pirouettes and, straining, tossed Kartiel into the air. Whoops, he'd miscalculated - Kartiel flew a couple feet over the partygoers.

"I'll catch you!" Taber said, arms over his head.

James did not want to exert the physical energy necessary to do anything more than a simple dance, but it was difficult to ignore Damascus and Boris as they became more lively. When Kartiel entered the dancefloor with the wolven man, he had a feeling he should bring their dance to a close, but before he could, Kartiel was flying over them.

That was when he stopped. And turned. Watching, as if in slow motion, as Taber ran through the crowd with arms open, reaching to catch Kartiel before he hit the ground.

"Oh, no, please... do that again." I breathed.

A little smile slipped through Damascus' defenses as his face practically glowed with pride. He very nearly asked Boris which part he wanted him to do again, but figured that this dance was meant to be done between the spurs of moments, and not to be stood around and talked about.

So, he simply regained his hold on Boris' hand. He let the other one slip down to his partner's waist and dove back into the music, using thier outstretched arms to guide the way across the ballroom.

This time around, he used his footwork from earlier as a catalyst for his hip movements, stepping and moving with Boris is one fluid motion. This was followed again by more tight spinning.

"Magnificent." He murmered adoringly under his breath, almost for no apparent reason.

Maybe he was referring to the dance, or maybe the entire evening. Perhaps he was referring to Boris. He himself wasn't sure, and, like his steps, he gave it no passing thought. Every action he made in this moment was coming solely from his swell of emotions and the incessant liveliness of the music.

Maahes noticed Kartiel being flung through the air out of the corner of his eye, but looked away before he could see the inevitable crashlanding. But there was no sudden crashing noise as Kartiel hit the floor - he didn't even crash to it. Maahes heard him mutter something under his breath before he could touch the ground, and bravely turned to see that Kartiel had summoned a few gusts of wind to cushion his fall. But Maahes doubted he had needed even that; he landed on the wind on both his feet and not on his back, and gracefully stepped off of the wind.

"It's alright," Kartiel said, rejoining Taber. "I can catch myself."

How long had it been since I had last let someone else take the lead? I struggled to recall it. It was very possible, but I could not bring myself to devote much attention to the thought when Damascus was right there.

The tightness, the fluidity, the sheer haphazard nature of this dance was wholly alien, and I was all too glad to give in to it. To give in to him.
For rounds and rounds I simply reveled in this adventure, striving only to keep up.
But in the last stretch of the song, a different desire took hold.

Damascus had shown me something fully wonderful, and made me determined to match his passion and vigour with equal ferocity.

Slyly I weaved in and out around his legs, curling and twisting into his territory.
In between slides I twirled around his back, and took the opening. At the rejoining, I placed my hand precisely around his waist. I stole the lead.

I whirled him around the floor, just a bit more firmly, just a bit more purposefully than I had before. I wanted him to know the impression he had made on me.

I continued to alternate the twirls and slides with the same curling, weaving footwork as before, but always leaving him space, almost daring Damascus to steal the lead from me again.

Perhaps it was cruel to tease him like that, when I intended to let him do no such thing. Not yet.

"Neat!" Taber said, laughing nervously and looking away. "Eremia can do stuff like that, but I didn't know you could, so that was kind of stupid of me?" He flashed an awkward grin. "But we can still dance and stuff, right? I promise not to do that again."

Damascus raised a brow as Boris broke off to twist and twine around his legs. He attempted to keep up half-heartedly, more focused on watching Boris' every move and trying to interpret his intentions.

There was some sort of charge between them- perhaps it was competition, though in that moment he would have bartered a guess that it was more complicated than that. Regardless, it came as no surprise to him when Boris stole the lead.

Looking down at his partner, his eyes glittered, though his face was rapt with concentration as he devoted himself into retaliating the controlled passion he was being led with.

Their dance had turned into a language, and he was conversing with his footwork. With a turn from Boris, he melted into an equal and opposite twist, always whipping his head back around to make eye contact and further convey his captivation.

When the music reached a fervor of a crescendo, Damascus leaned closer, gripping Boris' shoulder as he murmured tersely.

"The lead is yours." He relented calculatingly, though he was by no means submissive. "surprise me."

"We can," Kartiel confirmed, giving Taber a warm smile before leading him back out into the dance floor.