I originally posted this on FB for some good friends of mine and I thought it would be good to have it here as well. It is a cool little scene. I hope you like it.
There is an online writers group I belong to called the Writer's Dock Party (WDP), made up of writer's, producers, playwrights, poets, etc..
One of the threads was to write a scene that has the elements of a dance with the WDP as the location and also incorporating the next writer so they can carry it on. I've pasted the person who tapped me and my scene as well. Another rule was we had to write it in 20 minutes. It was a lot of fun:
Danielle Jeffery wrote:
No one can see me. I am standing back in the shadows hoping that one of the dashing young men would look my way.
It is a perfect night. I have never seen the moon shine so brightly.
The Writer's Dock Party is the hottest ticket in town, and I should be happy to be here, but I am miserable as I watch all the other beautiful women dance.
Someone might ask me to dance if I stood closer to the dance floor. But I am afraid to move. What if I trip? What if I bump someone? No, I will stay here in the shadows. I will be a miserable wallflower, invisible to the rest of the...
I jumped and looked towards the source of the voice.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."
I wanted to tell him that it was alright, but I couldn't find my voice. The lights from the dance floor made his eyes sparkle. He was tall and handsome, and he was talking to ME. What did he want?
He cleared his throat and said, "I've been watching you from the bar, and I was hoping you would come over so I could buy you a drink." He chuckled nervously, as I stared at him. As one song ended and another began, the man smiled and asked me, "May I have this dance?"
"I-I am not much of a dancer," I said, shyly.
He held his hand out to me and said. "Neither am I."
With all the boldness I could muster, I took his hand. "What is you name?"
I took Danielle's delicate hand as I led her onto the dance floor. My head turned sharply to the left as I noticed the clock on the wall out of the corner of my eye. The church bells up the street from the WDP saloon started to sound. In my head I could already hear the train whistle that would carry me to my daily labours in the morning.
"My darling," I began. "I'm afraid we must continue this dance tomorrow. Will you wait for me?" I asked dreading her answer.
"I will," she replied with a winsome smile.
"Tomorrow then. But I should warn you. There is a faerie enamored of me, and she is extremely jealous. If we are not careful, blood may run into the sawdust beneath our feet. Until tomorrow..."
(I was tapped late at night and had to work the next day so I couldn't really start it.)
The next evening:
…The moon was unusually bright, making the objects below easily visible to the faerie riding the warm air currents, her wings barely moving as she glided down onto the porch of the public house of the bards, the WDP saloon. There was no one around, but laughter and music spilled out into the street from the bar’s noisy patrons.
The faerie stood in the shadow of the swinging doors and peered in. The bar stood on the opposite wall, with a balding red-faced man cleaning a glass behind it. Several scholars and scribes occupied the stools and were toasting some great success they had just achieved.
She scowled. Humans always had such a high opinion of themselves. But compared to faeries, their lives were just a vapor on the wind and blown away, time erasing any trace of who they were and whatever small accomplishments they may have achieved. The faerie scanned the room. Several oaken tables placed on a bed of sawdust formed a ring around a highly polished dance floor. The occupants seated at the tables were engaged in various gaming activities. But she did not come to play dice or cards. She was looking for a man, who had twice failed to show at the promised hour. She examined the dancers as each in turn spun in her direction. Then she saw him. Her eyes took on a feral look and the blood in her veins turned to ice as she witnessed his body pressed tightly against another female other than herself.
“Roland!” she shouted as she stepped through the swinging doors, the light fully illuminating her features.
The customers of the saloon turned as one toward the entrance to see a flaxen haired faerie. Her green eyes were blazing and her black wings were open and as rigid as iron pokers. She wore a soft leather skirt that ended at mid-thigh with a halter top covering her breasts to match, leaving her midriff bare. Buckskin slippers adorned her feet, with thin leather straps that crisscrossed up her perfectly muscled calf. Her eyes were slanted like a cat and she was taller than most men there. She kept pushing a stray lock of yellow hair behind her pointed ears as she studied the scene before her.
“Leah!” Roland cried holding Danielle closer to him.
Leah removed a small red stick, about the size of her palm, which had been attached to a strap that encircled her bicep. Pressing a hidden clasp the stick expanded into a six foot spear that was sharpened on both ends. She walked purposefully over to Danielle and pushed Roland behind her so that only a foot of space separated the two women.
She looked Danielle up and down, taking in her dark complexion and flawless skin as if trying to memorize every facet of her being. Danielle’s dress was cut low, and Leah could see her breasts rise and fall with her heavy breathing, worried this day might be her last. Leah tried to find some imperfection, something to make this human less in her eyes, but there was none. Bringing her eyes up to meet Danielle’s, a kinship was sparked between them, a sisterhood that all women of any race seemed to share.
Without even a flinch, or breaking eye contact, Leah thrust her spear behind her and up. The sound was a sickening crunch as it pierced Roland’s chest and came out his back. No cry was uttered. Not a sound from the bystanders of the bar. Blood ran freely down the spear and over Leah’s knuckles on its way to the floor.
Leah gave Danielle on last look as she muttered under her breath, “Human males are snakes, be wary of them.” She turned and braced her foot on Roland’s chest as she pushed him off her spear and let him slump to the floor.
She started to leave, but before reaching the swinging doors, Leah noticed a movement from one of the tables. She looked over and saw a man she recognized, who at the moment was trying for all he was worth not to be spotted. Leah smiled mischievously and walked over to him.
“Ed Crowe,” she said leveling the bloodied spear at his throat. “Let’s dance you and I.”