How Green Becomes Wood

Ciara carefully finished off her drink and set it aside with her empty plate. "Shall we?" she asked, offering him a hand.

The band was playing a slower but still upbeat tune, one that could easily be waltzed to if they were so inclined. Others were doing more energetic dances, but a few were also waltzing along and taking the slower route.
 
"He is a friend of yours, then?" Dark asked, dancing well with Ciara while holding her at a respectable distance. He was not the sort to hover his hand over anyone's back, it wasn't helpful, but neither did he presume intimacy even of the sort that very close friends would have. If anything, as Dark waltzed Ciara on the dance floor, it was the way a brother would dance with his sister.
 
Ciara considered this question for a moment as she danced, her hand placed lightly on his arm as was intended by the positioning of the dance. She maintained the space he offered with professional ease, her touch light and uninviting, but not in the least bit hesitant. "Yes, I suppose he is," she finally decided. "It is a very professional relationship. Entirely tit-for-tat, if you will, but I think I would go so far as to say he is a friend. He has never had a date, the reasons for which I have never asked, and neither have I. I believe it was he who approached me with the proposition that we go as each other's dates the first time primarly to avoid the questions. It was an agreeable arrangement, and one we have kept up for many years and many functions. People may still gossip and ask questions, but with less frequency to our faces. Neither of us care for drama."
 
"I am glad you have friends," Dark replied, but wasn't teasing at all. So often Ciara had seemed to him rather isolated, he was glad it wasn't the case, "I hope I have been a suitable replacement thus far."
 
"Yes. You do very nicely," Ciara said with a tiny nod. "You are a slightly better dancer, I must admit, though I am not exactly Ginger, myself." She was a good, solid dancer who knew where her feet were, but, no, nothing spectacular.
 
Ciara was surprised by the twirl but followed it gracefully. She eyed Darks form critically. "When it comes to dance, unless it is for a specific function, one should do what one feels is the most... fun, I suppose, but I hope you will forgive me by saying you do not seem quite built for swing."
 
"I do not consider myself built for much which is upbeat," Dark replied, "but if Daizi came to me asking to try, I would do so readily. She had us try Quick Step once, because she is a wellspring and enjoys to be spun and lifted. It did not particularly suit me, our instructor said I looked fine but I felt silly doing all of the little hops and kicks. We compromise with a foxtrot."
 
"A foxtrot is very nice," Ciara agreed, determinedly not imagining Dark hopping about like a bunny. "I do not find dance 'fun,' but I recognize that many do, and that there are many, many styles."
 
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