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This is Rosita. I'll hit you back when I can.

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Astarion keeps close to her, more than usual, their arms bumping lightly as they walk together. Nothing protective about it, it just...feels like the correct thing to do, for whatever reason.

Jacob stays for a minute longer, watching the flickering lights of the candles. Then he hurries down to his room to pack a bag as quickly as he can and feed Mae.

He knocks at the door on the 4th floor.

"It's me."

Rosita still carries her pack with her, more convinced than ever that it's the right move. The contents change, but knowing she needs it with her at all times has not.

She pulls more candles out, sets them around the room, lighting them with her cantrip. She doesn't speak either but by the time there's knocking on the door, she's humming softly enough it's barely audible.

She drags a chair over when she opens the door to shove under the knob once Jacob is inside.

"Not too shabby. I don't know if skipping the empty room makes them good pirates or shitty ones."

"Efficient, for better or worse," Astarion suggests. He's sitting down on the edge of the bed, having been watching Rosita light candles. "I'd suggest we consider stashing a few things in rooms like this, but who knows what'll become of them when they're occupied?"

"They'll probably fucking disappear."

He takes out two bottles - one rum, one wine - and sets them on a desk so he can fiddle with his music. His phone is next and he leans against the wall after unlocking it.

"Alright, guess I'm in charge of music." He turns on some comfortable country, starting with Garth Brooks, and keeps it low.

"Gonna give you some music education," he tells Astarion with a laugh. "Maybe Ro can teach us a line dance."

"I have a few stashes here and there," she adds. "Nothing I can't replace if someone else finds them, but they're there."

She's comfortable enough, calm enough, that the thought of Jacob being in charge of music doesn't raise alarms even in the paranoid part of her brain, and she grins when she hears the first guitar strums.

"Oh wow. I haven't heard this in forever, after a lifetime of thinking I'd never get away from the man." She crosses back over to the other two. "I already taught Astarion to twerk," she smirks, then glances at the elf in question: "Line dancing is nothing like that. Different kind of club." And yes, she absolutely can.

"I am not going to demonstrate," he says crisply to Jacob. "But, I don't mind dancing in a way that's slightly more dignified."

Astarion gets that out before Jacob can request it. Just in time. He gives him a smirk, though. Just so he knows.

"I'll ask for it later," he says lightly, seemingly unburdened now by the weight that had been hanging on him at the ofrenda.

"Come on. I can two step," he tells Rosaita and slides in close to take her hand. "That might be dignified enough for him to learn."

"Maybe I will," she teases, but then again her position is, "Dancing isn't supposed to be dignified. It's supposed to be fun."

And then Jacob is there, and she turns to face him readily. Comfortably.

"Why Mr. Seed," she answers with a lazy drawl she absolutely does not normally have. "You do know the way to a woman's heart." She's the one who steps forward as the lead though, just to see the look on his face.

Astarion chuckles under his breath and sits back to watch them. He's become passingly familiar with some of the more formal dances from their culture, catching glimpses in films and the like.

She makes to lead and he snorts. "Take it away, Dallas," he says and then, over his shoulder, tells Astarion.

"Don't let her fucking boss you around like this."

He will, however, follow her.

"You like it," she tells him, her voice back to normal; and more importantly, she likes that he does let her. It had once upon a time become something of a quick litmus test, telling her if the man she's dancing with can take a joke or gets mad about it.

She'll switch back after a few rounds of their little dance floor, not the least because she has to go up on her toes to spin Jacob successfully under their hands, but for the time being she flashes Astarion a grin.

Astarion is, by this time, humming along quietly to whatever this is that Jacob has been playing for them - and he smiles back when she grins at him.

This is...nice, he decides. A moment of peace they've stolen away for themselves.

He ducks under her arm and takes the lead again, maneuvering her through the empty room.

"Alright, Astarion. Your turn."

He lets go of her and reaches for the bottle on the table. "I need a break."

"It's easy," she promises, flipping her hair back over her shoulder from where it ended up and holding a hand out to him.

"Especially since I know you won't step on my feet."

"I've been known to be a decent turn on the dancefloor," Astarion says, and offers the kind of affected, flourishing bow that wouldn't be out of place at an Upper City gala - then smiles and lets her lead.

Jacob takes a long drink from the bottle. He smiles around the top of the bottle to see them. He sits on the bed with the bottle, turning the volume up for them.

"Oh my," she comments on the bow, the exaggerated drawl putting in another appearance as she fans her face with one hand for effect. But she's quick to take up his hands and position them across from one another, and show him how the basis for everything she and Jacob had done is exceedingly simple: two quick steps, two slow steps, wash, rinse, repeat.

"Once you have that down, there's spins and dips and things, but - this right here? Bread and butter."

"Simple enough," Astarion agrees, taking up the rhythm of it easily. He's light on his feet, aware of his body, and he's had experience before now. "There are similar dances in Faerun, though I've never had quite so pleasant a partner."

There's something so nice and safe about watching them dance. He takes another drink and sets the bottle aside again, unlacing his boots to get comfortable here.

"You'd look really good in the jeans with some boots. Both of you. A hat, some glitter..."

"I look fantastic in jeans and a hat and as little else as I can get away with," she replies confidently; Astarion can attest to some of this from their twerking lesson.

"Is there a dance you know that would go with this music?" she asks, not stopping moving though.

"I - yes, I think so. Let me lead, darling."

He changes their positions slightly, guiding her in something like a waltz, with frequent turns and spins.

His few shots of rum start to catch up with him as he grows pleasantly warm. He hums along with the song, just watching.

Once upon a time, in a life that doesn't exist anymore, as a girl she no longer is, Rosita had loved to dance. She didn't even care what kind, just as long as there was someone there with her, someone beside her, dancing too.

She follows Astarion's lead, and she laughs when they find their balance and he spins her particularly well. She's not excessively graceful, not trained by any means, but she learns quickly and she's confident in the use of her body and both fearless and comfortable.

It's very, very close to being happy, and when the song finishes she's grinning at her partner as she sketches a curtsy and then flops back next to Jacob.

"Your turn. He's a wonderful partner. "