"C'mon, you owe me a dance!" Ivy takes your hand and tugs you towards the stage roughly, ignoring your complaints about some 'recent head injury'. "You know the Charleston?" She asks.

"No," you say.

"The Lindy Hop?"

"No."

"The Roundabout?"

"No."

"The Jingle Jangle?"

"No."

"The Hoopty Noodle?"

Before you can even protest further, you're already on the stage, being taught the steps to whatever dance Ivy was forcing you to do. Your movements are sloppy, and you keep stepping on her shoes, apologizing profusely each time you do so. She laughs it off every time, saying, "It's okay! You're learning!"

You wouldn't be apologizing so much if you weren't so worried about Ivy's shoes! You held onto her hand, nearly slipping at every new step.

You gasp. "Well.. Your shoes look very high quality I just--" you stammer, staring at your feet.

"Zip!" Ivy snipped, making you focus on learning the dance. "Try not to look at your feet too much, you'll probably trip more!"

After getting used to the dance, you started getting the hang of it, and actually enjoyed the moment, a small smile creeping onto your face. The jazzy music flooded your ears, and the now run-down speakeasy looked.. alive. It felt like the place was brand new, like a grand opening to the fanciest restaurant in the world.