Fir had missed the grand unveiling of the new wizard nightclub while partying it up at Sophie's. So of course, Fir started owling around friend and his cousin who worked there about how it had gone down. Amidst all the reviews and rumors he heard that his third-year housemate, little miss Naomi with her cute little accent had started a dance off that last the whole night through. Now that Fir was sad he had missed (though the bonfire had been wicked awesome).

Luckily, Fir's cousin had told him about student night. One last crazy hoorah before the new term started and cheap entry? Yes please. He was hoping to find Naomi there since the night was officially open to all years of Hogwarts (shame that alcohol possession or sales was banned for the night because of it).

After checking his robe into the cloak room and ditching his tie, Fir got into the metal lift and descended into Spellpunk. He had already got a little bit of a sneak preview on what to expect from friends who had already gone and his cousin from before the thing even opened. Fir liked. But Fir liked any excuse to have a good time and party.

Fir spotted his cousin at the bar next to a girl with pink streaks in her hair and cheerfully flashed a rude hand gesture his way before going off to find Naomi. Surprisingly, it didn't take him that long. The uniforms helped divide up the crowd enough that Fir's search was greatly narrowed.

"Why hello there," Fir said as he walked up to the girl. "You want to tell me where these supposed dance skills of yours have been hiding?"

Naomi had pulled her hair back with a bandana on the night before the long train ride back to school, mostly to sit around and have some weird color-changing beverage at Spellpunk. It was ridiculous childish, but for every color it changed it tasted of a different drink, so Naomi enjoyed a beverage she didn’t actually have to decide on, and got to taste a little bit of everything, and think of various ways to sneak into Spellpunk every now and then. Which was how she was going to spend her first visit to Spellpunk—at least it was a first visit as far as she was concerned.

Her not-first visit only consisted of her lazily using her metamorph abilities to change her hair color—exciting—and now she regretted not changing her skin color as well. There were only so many tall, dark-skinned girls under the age of eighteen who could dance like Naomi, and a really cool mask isn’t going to hide that fact about her, despite what she may have thought. So the rumor of who the masked person was became a hot-topic, which was a long list if you weren’t Slytherin. If you were, well, Naomi was the only person who could be on that list, much to her dismay.

That was really the only thing people seemed interested in asking her that night, and she took the route of avoidance and completely dodged the question as much as she could, and lied to the best of her abilities. She wasn’t going to confirm that rumor, not with one of the most proper cousins in pureblood society and one of the most wrathful pureblood mothers within reach of a beak of an owl. They didn’t need to officially know any of that.

So when she heard the greeting of Fir Cuween, one of the Slytherins with most of the gossip of the school wound around his finger, she wasn’t surprised, even less surprised by his accusatory question. She just looked at him and sipped her drink, maybe hoping that he would get bored and go away if she didn’t talk. Fat-chance that would happen. So Naomi parted her lips and turned the drink away from her as it turned a bright orange and conjured up a retort.

“Been sittin’ on my hips an’ stuffed in mah shoes, yah?” Then she lazily wove her arms together, keeping the hand that was clasped around her drink from finishing the crossing of the arms. “’Jus need t’ look.” Then she made a rather ‘well maybe not’ face and gestured her drink towards the senior Slytherin’s dust-feather mane. “’Den again you might-not ‘ave time wit’ ‘dat hair of yours.”

Part of Naomi's charm (in Fir's opinion) was the cute little accent of hers. It made her sounds both adorable and sassy. Fir had not idea why or how it worked, but it did, and he rather enjoyed hearing the third year talk. Even if he had no freaking clue what the hell she was saying.

Fir tilted his head and watched her mess with her drink, a little smirk on his face and hand on his hip. Oh but could he pose or what? Seriously, he should be a model. He had the natural look, the face, the skills, the body, and let's not forget his oh-so-incredible modesty.

"Wouldn't shoes be a bad place to hide dancing skills?" Fir pointed out. "I mean they might just randomly force you to bust a move in the middle of class, which could be really awkward."

Though it did bring a very funny mental image to Fir's brain, especially with some less-than-lenient professors. Heh.

"And I'll have you know that I know how to look better than half the people at school. In both senses of the word," Fir said. He scooted up next to her and mirrored her arms-over-chest motion.

"So.  First, what is that drink and how is it? Second, you are showing me some of your dance moves tonight."

Fir was extremely weird and difficult to respond to, Naomi found it more-so difficult because she really couldn’t figure the guy out. He was like a girl who was really a guy—oozing of the same ego and confidence of a guy yet somehow still managing to dip his personality (and appearance) into the other gender’s territory. So Naomi wasn’t ever quite sure what she would do with him if they ever had an actual conversation, which was happening now.

Naomi just looked at him curiously as he struck a pose and made his comment about hiding dancing skills and just took another sip of her drink, which made it flush purple. Yeah, nope—still didn’t know what to do with him, “Too bad yer not in me year t’ see if I might,” was all she could twist out.

Once he mimicked her, of course, she snaked a hand down to her hip and gave him a confusing once-over. Whatever he was playing at, she felt like she might lose, although she was going to try because she’d never played the Cuween game before and didn’t understand how someone lost the game, so she didn’t intend to act like she would.

“Eet’s a Sip-Swap. Somet’in of all th’ drinks, and changes wit’ every taste.” She slipped her fingers around the top and held it up in front of Fir, as if she was done with the thing, “You wanna try?” It was almost at the bottom anyway, so Naomi didn’t think she had to finish it off, she was sure she had tasted all the drinks anyway, and was pretty bored with it now.

Then she addressed the second part of Fir’s question, which, she took quick notice of, wasn’t actually a question, “And you t’ink so?” The Jamaican curved her eyebrows at Fir and dropped her voice as if she dunked it in a drink, “And why would I do ‘dat?”

"My year?" Fir repeated (though without Naomi's accent). "I'm asking for a dance, not a snog, Naomi. Unfortunately, due to the great age gap and the hordes of older girls and boys that you'd have to battle with over me, I will have to ask you to restrain yourself."

He grinned at her confused look. Yeah. He got that a lot. So much that it was pretty much how Fir could tell if he had someone's attention or not- how confused their face was. And what was great about confusion is that it made navigating the conversation a lot easier- well at leas on Fir's end. And look- free stuff!

"Why I would LOVE to," Fir said with a huge grin as he took the offered drink and sipped it. Ooo, tasty. He really should get a drink list from his coz or something.

Once Naomi asked him why she should dance, it was Fir's turn to make a confused face- albeit a very carefully constructed face that had been practiced in a mirror.

"Well for starters you're in a nightclub sweetie," Fir pointed out. "Also I asked, and thirdly because you know you want to."

“Uh huh,” Was the only sarcastic slur that could escape her lips after the flirtatious remark. She was positive Fir wasn’t her type. Actually, Naomi didn’t know if she even had a type, but if she did, she was almost positive Fir wasn’t it, and gladly let Fir take the drink so she could try and recover from such an outlandish remark.

The first jab did nothing to Naomi, and she shrugged it off rather easily, the second point—well when did she ever do anything when anyone ever asked? She did things on her own time, but then the last jab, that burst her bubble and she looked glanced away for a moment and let out a rather lachrymose huff. Yes she did in fact want to dance. She LOVED to dance. Whether or not Fir actually knew that was up for debate, but she wasn’t going to just roll over and give into him.

“So I geev you a drink and ‘den drop legs on th’ floor? And wot-a-bout you? You gonna stand ‘der or make ‘dis even somehow?”

---

Drop legs – to dance

Fir watched Naomi with some amusement as he swirled his new drink. He liked watching the uninitiated figure out how to respond to his overwhelming enthusiasm and persuasive power. It was demanding- Fir sympathized. Sometimes he wore himself out by just keeping up his own awesome level.

Fir tilted his head back and down the last of the drink just in time to hear her speak up. The shifty glance and huff clued him into that fact that he won. Well, like that was ever a question in anyone's mind, really. I mean come on. This was Fir we were talking about here.

Well, he thought he one. This was another one of the times when Naomi was being oh-so-adorable without understanding everything that came out of her mouth. So he'd play it safe and just assume he won.

"I'm pretty sure you just said you're gonna dance," Fir told her. "And asked me if I would join you."

He put the empty glass on a nearby table, then turned back and faced Naomi with a wide grin as he dipped into an over-dramatic bow. "Why I am FLATTERED that you asked, darling Naomi. I would be delighted to join you on the dance floor and bust a move with you."

Naomi dropped her shoulders back and rolled her eyes, deciding that Fir’s ego was just overwhelmingly impossible to overcome, maybe even for the most fancy talkers, which Naomi’s conversational skills didn’t even come close to matching theirs.

As the multilingual creature feature that was Wild Beings began to pick up and play through Spellpunk, Naomi felt a bit relieved. Their music wasn’t as bass and beat heavy as the masquerade night was, and therefore called for a different dance style. Hopefully no one was enough of a dance-o-mologist to relate a style between two different genre of dance, and so she could continue to feign denial about being present for New Years.

 “I hope you cin dance as well on a conver-sate-sion as you ‘cin yer feet.” She finally “officially” decided.  Cuween would keep up with her or the game was over. And if he didn’t do it then she’d just hex him dancing and leave him for someone else to pick up.

Naomi shot a rather pouty and critical expression to Fir as she took a few strides towards the dancefloor with her steps falling with the Percussions that echoed through the club. Then she picked up one long-legged step after a down beat planted it back behind her heal as another drum hit. She then pushed her foot down, on a final downbeat, causing her to spin around with a stoic expression as a growl rumbled through the room.

A rise of melodic drums, echoing Mermish, and English vocals followed, and Naomi made wide twisting locking steps with the music while slinking her arms close to her side, generally keeping them still, and only motioning them against and around the movement of her body. Then a hiss drummed the vocals to a low drone and Naomi rolled a hip to pushing her thighs closer together and then splayed out her shins and bent them down towards the floor.

A slow airy Parseltongue hiss wound over the drone and Naomi rotated her torso over her waist, and then placed her hands on hips, and rolled them with the wave of her torso, and she snaked her legs together from a crouch and then rolled her hands up in front of her face.

The hissing began to make a few selective stutters and she popped her hips from side to side to front, and with a final rolling hissing stutter sent a wave from her hips that crawled to her waist, where the hiss rose into a roar and the crawl shrugged up her chest and snapped her body into a straight stand as she twirled her arms around her head until she gestured them at Fir, pursing a white cocky smile through her lips at the end of the dance.

Fir had started interpreting eyerolls as affirmative smirks to whatever he said. Life was easier that way. Usually. There was the one time with that one really prudish Ravenclaw with no sense of humor. Sigh. He had been really really cute too. And just what Fir looked for in a guy. Except the not being into guys part. Double Sigh.

"Oh Sweetie, my dance skills are like many of my many skills. Top notch," Fir assured her as he followed his little housemate to the dance floor. He grinned at the choice of music. Wild Beings. Nice. A little edgy, a little controversial, a lot of fun. Everything Fir liked in life and music. And it helped that his dad LOATHED the group. Hehe.

Fir watched Naomi start the dance. He was impressed. She wasn't just any old club jumper, shaker or raver. She actually looked like she knew what she was going. Maybe better than Fir. Naw.

Fir's dance skills had all been learned via muggle music videos. His da was a Squib his mum was a muggle, they lived in a muggle neighborhood and had a TV and computer. And MTV UK? It was a beautiful, beautiful thing and had taught Fir the fine art of moonwalking.

Taking the cocky smile as an obvious cue, Fir tilted an imaginary hat her way, spun on his heel and backward moonwalked to her side then pivoted to face her directly.

"Bring it."

Naomi started to snake her hand, with the vocal humming of the music, like a wave in front of Fir’s face and then down her front and rolled her hips with the lead of her hand.

As the low beat of a drum dropped on the song she dropped her palm down in front of her legs where she moved them as if her bones were made of jelly, curving to the beat.

When her hand passed over her knee the joint follow her palm’s lead like a magnet and then whipped, lifted, and spun around with the hand. Her legs twisted around and crossed into a sitting position, without a chair, with the Jamaican’s shoulders and arms dropped back with the echo of some guttural animal call.

Vocal humming rose through the song again and the third year rolled her torso up, pulling herself up from her invisible chair, and spun back around, but made a sudden stop as her arms snapped up and then dropped, stopped and snapped her body around the other way as she held a palm in front of Fir’s face.

She curled her three fingers and thumbs together with another beat of the music, living her forefinger in front of Fir’s face as if to shush him. Then she broke her connection to the music and angled her finger in a point at the seventh year’s face, pursing her lips together, “’Dat all you got Cuween?”

DAMN. The girl could dance.

Fir tilted his head and just watched the girl. Oh sure, his foot tapped and he swayed a little to the beat, but it was a little hard to concentrate on his own dancing while sizing up talent in front of him. He was betting she had a little more hands-on lessons than too many Muggle music videos.

But Fir was a visual learner. He wouldn't be able to come close to duplicating Naomi (not right now at any rate), but that didn't mean he couldn't pick something up and run with it/fake it. Fir was good at that. Faking it like he knew exactly what he was doing and had been doing it for years. Anyone who knew him would know different, if only because Fir didn't have the patience to do anything for years.

"Oh sweetie," Fir told her, "That is never all I got. First rule about Fir Cuween, or one of the top ten: He's always got more."

He began moving his body to the beat of the music, paying attention to the rhythm and eyes on Naomi. It was less polished than hers and a a little more apparent where his influence came from (for anyone with some Muggle background, anyway), but it was decent enough and a hell of a lot better than the usual flailing done by teens.

He finished with a snap and a full twirl and tipped his imaginary hat to the girl. "That all you got, Foley?"

Naomi noticed that Fir wasn’t bad. He could flow with the rhythm of the music, although didn’t seem to be as fluid with his movement. However, he seemed to be learning from Naomi on-the-go while mixing in a bit of muggle influence. In terms of keeping up, Fir didn’t disappoint. Her only concern with showing him up was that there was only so much she could do in a skirt and tights without sacrificing some level of modesty.

She eyed Fir with a suspicious pout when he finished with a snazzy snap, until a white smirk peek through her lips as a she caught ear of a new rhythm beating through the club.

Naomi slid her hands down to her hip and started to elegantly pop her hands off her hips, letting them rise higher and higher as she swayed her hips back and forth. She then rolled a rhythm through her shoulders, down to her stomach, and then through her legs, locking each body part after the other.

Her movements then dropped around to her knees, where she tucked her skirt between her knees, slipped onto her hands, and snaked into a handstand. She spun around, twisting her skirt around her knees and then tossed herself back onto her feet. She immediately brought her knees back up and twirled into a somersault and landed in a spin, kicking herself into a stop.

She crossed her arms and let her skirt bloom back around her thighs, “Gotta long ways ‘fi I call it quits, Cuween.” She gestured at him with a tert nod, “’Dis not a common t’ing fer you, huh?”