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

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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. "

"You have no idea, darling," Astarion purrs, but doesn't let the flirtation linger - just extends a hand to Jacob. "May I have this dance?"

"She could," Jacob snickers, taking Astarion's hand as he stands.

"You can change the song if you want," he tells Rosita, gesturing to the phone. It's still unlocked and the music is mostly country, classic 70s rock, and a smattering of Christian rock.

"Alright, I was only half paying attention." But he will follow Astarion's lead. He's just not as good as Rosita.

"Well whose fault is that," she grouses almost simultaneously with Jacob, but she plucks up the phone to scroll through it.

She watches them over the top of it, though, dark eyes still bright.

Edited Date: 2024-11-12 12:09 pm (UTC)

Astarion has danced with people who stepped on his feet, who've never danced before, who were drunk to the point of near-unconsciousness, who just used 'dance' as a pretext to feel him up - and any combination of the above. Jacob's slightly lesser aptitude is, in that context, absolutely harmless. He keeps him close as they move, casting the occasional glance and smile to Rosita as he turns to face her before sliding away.

He looks down at his feet for a while until he gets the steps, but he's just tipsy enough to not care if he fucks up once or twice. He's not stepping on Astarion's toes yet. Which he considers an accomplishment.

He isn't concerned about Rosita on his phone, either. The background is a , and the gallery is mostly pictures of animals he hunted, fish he caught, and guns. He has a few of his brothers, but they're deep in.

"Hey, I think I'm getting the hang of it," he says as he misses a step.

She could dig in the trove of information she has held in her hand; she doesn't. She just looks at the playlist, considering for a moment before she changes it to another Garth Brooks song.

"If you need to practice," she suggests, "We could always slow it down first."

She sets the phone down, and reaches for the bottle he left behind herself.

Astarion pauses to listen to the new tempo for a few moments, then hums and takes Jacob back in his arms, slowing their steps.

"You're already both perfectly fine already," he murmurs, reassuring. "No need to worry."

"Hear that? I'm doing perfectly fine."

Jacob moves in a little closer, following the steps easier this time. He even sings along with the music as he finally catches on. He keeps it low, but it's a song he knows well, and he gets a little more confident as they go. Or the drink is finally catching up to him. Either way...

Ro downs a mouthful of the whiskey, holding it on her tongue and letting it sink bitter and burning into her tastebuds before swallowing it; she watches, something warm in her chest at the way they relax into one another.

They look good together, she thinks. "I heard. Stop worrying about me, worry more about him."

"Oh, I'm old news now," Astarion teases, and spins slowly under Jacob's arm before moving back in close. "You, darling, he still needs to impress."

There's no hidden insecurity in that, really. He doesn't feel taken for granted, he's just...they're comfortable together. It's nice.

More than he can even express. When Astarion comes in close again, Jacob squeezes his hand.

"You let me handle that," he tells him as the song ends. "I'm very goddamn impressive."

He steps back, joining Rosita so he can hold out a hand for the bottle.

"Oh, is that so?"

It's for both of them, but she sees, too, the flip side of its meaning: that he and Astarion understand one another, at least enough to be sure of one another. It's good. She's glad that they have that, even if she knows it means her own use is nearing expiration.

She gives up the bottle, and moves over on the bed so there's space for two beside her rather than one to each side, kicking off her boots to land somewhere beside Jacob's on the floor. "Because I'm pretty goddamn impressive myself."

Astarion watches this movement over Jacob's shoulder, eyes half-hooded and dark.

"Is this an invitation?" he asks softly. It's a line he and Rosita have yet to cross, but it's starting to feel more like a petty formality all the time.