@ingridhvwk
None of these idiots knew how to dance.
The hot press of bodies, the music pumping over the loud speaker, the way the crowd writhed together on the dance floor-- Annissa didn't have anything against a little bump and grind, when the occassion called for it, but it hardly fit the theme.
Then again, neither did Annissa. She had made a big splash in her entrance outfit, but even after the night grew hot and she'd taken off her traditional gown, the simple sheath dress underneath was starkly out of place.
Much like Annissa herself would have been in a party like this, which was entirely the point.
Still, Annissa thought crossly as she pushed her way to the DJ booth. It was bad enough that white people stole jazz music, did they have to disrespect it like this?
After slipping the DJ a hundred and a scribbled "recommendation", Annissa grabbed the microphone from the front of the booth. As the tribal thump of drums from the club music wound into a close, Annissa waved her free hand in the air.
"Okay, you Oliver Twists, settle down. Now, I don't know if you heard but this is supposed to be a real party." On cue, the horns started up, slow and sonorous, behind her. The beginning of a real barnburner of a brass band. Annissa's smile grew a little more genuine. "So I'm going to teach you to really know your onions. I just need a volunteer real quick."
Annissa searched the crowd. "You," she said, pointing at a girl with brunette hair pinned up under a beret. "You look like a nice bit of calico, get up here."
