Sean stopped.
Eljara did not.
She made it another six steps into the crowd before noticing that he was no longer beside her.
She turned.
Sean stood at the edge of the improvised dance floor, drink in one hand, studying the people in front of him as though someone had just presented him with an unexploded bomb.
Eljara came back.
“Well?”
Sean took a drink.
“Well what?”
“You stopped.”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“I’m comfortable here.”
“You were comfortable over there two minutes ago.”
“I’m adaptable.”
Eljara looked past him.
The square had changed as Bluetime faded.
What had been an afternoon celebration was becoming a night out.
The artificial blue overhead was bleeding into violet. Plasmovision screens burned brighter against the approaching darkness. Old brick, iron balconies and soot-blackened stone disappeared beneath advertisements, electric signs and coloured lights.
And somewhere between two rows of tables, several dozen people had decided that a patch of open ground was now a dance floor.
No official announcement.
No permission.
It simply was.
Eljara looked back at Sean.
“You’re afraid.”
Sean nearly inhaled his drink.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I’ve been shot at.”
“Yes.”
“Stabbed.”
“I remember.”
“I once climbed through a third-floor window while two men were trying to throw me back out of it.”
“And yet twenty people dancing have finally broken you.”
Sean looked at the crowd.
“I don’t dance.”
Eljara held out her hand.
“You have two legs.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Anatomically, it’s an excellent start.”
“Eljara.”
“Sean.”
“I don’t dance.”
She smiled.
That smile worried him considerably more than the dancers.
“Oh, this is wonderful.”
“Don’t.”
“Sean is frightened of dancing.”
“I’m not frightened.”
“Then dance.”
“I have dignity.”
“You spent the first eleven minutes of this evening eating something you couldn’t identify because the man selling it told you it was good.”
“It was good.”
“I know. I stole some.”
“You see? Sound judgement.”
Eljara kept her hand out.
Sean looked at it.
Then at her.
Then at the dance floor.
“No.”
She waited.
“No.”
Still she waited.
Sean sighed.
“Oh, piss off.”
He took her hand.
—
Sean discovered three things very quickly.
First: Eljara could dance.
Second: Eljara knew perfectly well that he could not.
Third: she was enjoying this far too much.
“You’re counting,” she said.
“I am not.”
“One, two, three, four.”
“I’m keeping time.”
“With your lips.”
Sean glared at her.
“You look like you’re defusing a bomb.”
“I’d prefer the bomb.”
Around them, people moved beneath the lights.
Some knew exactly what they were doing.
Others very clearly did not.
A middle-aged woman danced with enough enthusiasm to endanger nearby drinks.
Two young men appeared to be inventing an entirely new form of movement based primarily on elbows.
A group of workers had formed a circle around one of their friends and were cheering every increasingly ridiculous thing he attempted.
Nobody laughed at Sean.
That was almost irritating.
He had expected judgement.
Instead, nobody seemed to care.
Eljara leaned closer.
“Stop trying to do it correctly.”
“There must be a correct way.”
“There are several.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“You’re thinking.”
“I generally consider that a virtue.”
“Not here.”
Sean looked around.
“People are watching.”
“No, they’re not.”
“They might be.”
“They’re far too busy worrying that everyone is watching them.”
Sean stopped moving.
Eljara nearly walked into him.
He stared at her.
“That’s bloody stupid.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone is afraid of looking ridiculous?”
“More or less.”
“So nobody has time to notice everyone else looking ridiculous?”
“Now you understand civilisation.”
Sean laughed.
And for perhaps ten seconds, he forgot to count.
—
Someone collided with him.
A young man, barely twenty and probably several drinks beyond sensible, stumbled backwards.
Sean caught him by the shoulder.
The young man looked up.
For one second Sean expected trouble.
Instead the stranger grinned.
“Good night!”
“Aye?”
The young man slapped Sean affectionately on the arm.
“Good night!”
Then he vanished back into the dancers.
Sean watched him go.
“Do I know him?”
“No.”
“He seemed pleased to see me.”
“He’s pleased to see everyone.”
“Dangerous condition.”
“Usually temporary.”
They kept moving.
Sean was still bad.
But he was becoming less concerned about it.
That, he discovered, made him slightly less bad.
Which annoyed him.
Eljara noticed.
“Better.”
“Don’t encourage me.”
“You might enjoy yourself.”
“I was enjoying myself before.”
“You were standing beside a table.”
“There was food.”
“A compelling defence.”
The music accelerated.
The crowd answered.
People shouted the chorus back towards the stage.
Sean didn’t know the words, so he shouted something approximately similar.
Eljara heard him.
“That isn’t the lyric.”
“No one can hear me.”
“I can.”
“Then stop listening.”
She laughed.
And Sean realised he was laughing too.
—
Later they escaped to the edge of the square.
Sean retrieved another drink.
Eljara selected her own.
“Coward,” he said.
“I watched you choose dinner.”
“You ate it.”
“I conduct field research.”
They found a standing table where they could watch the crowd.
From here, the celebration looked different.
Less like chaos.
More like dozens of small worlds temporarily sharing the same space.
Friends around tables.
Couples disappearing into quieter corners.
Workers finally out of uniform.
Young people wearing exactly the clothes older people complained about.
Someone celebrating a birthday.
Someone celebrating a win.
Someone who had probably come because staying home felt worse.
Sean rested his arms on the table.
“That’s what a good night is.”
Eljara followed his gaze.
“Bad dancing?”
“Especially bad dancing.”
“I knew there was a reason you approved.”
Sean ignored her.
“Most of them have work tomorrow.”
“Probably.”
“Bills.”
“Certainly.”
“Someone hates their boss. Someone owes money. Someone’s marriage is falling apart. Somebody lost someone last month. Somebody is terrified about something they haven’t told anyone.”
Eljara looked at him.
“That became cheerful remarkably quickly.”
“I’m making a point.”
“I was hoping.”
Sean gestured towards the crowd.
“And for a few hours, they put it down.”
“What?”
“All of it.”
The music continued behind them.
“You carry things,” Sean said. “Everyone does.”
“Work. Family. Money. Mistakes. People you miss. Things you should’ve said. Things you wish you hadn’t.”
He took a drink.
“And sometimes you need somewhere to put the bloody lot down.”
Eljara was quiet for a moment.
“Escape.”
“Aye.”
“You think that’s what celebration is?”
“Sometimes.”
“That sounds bleak.”
Sean shook his head.
“No. Being able to put something down isn’t the same as pretending it doesn’t exist.”
He nodded towards the dancers.
“Tomorrow it’ll all still be there.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Didn’t say it was fair.”
“So what does tonight accomplish?”
Sean thought.
“Maybe nothing.”
Eljara raised an eyebrow.
“Excellent argument for nightlife.”
“Maybe it doesn’t have to accomplish anything.”
That made her pause.
Sean looked back towards the crowd.
“We spend our whole lives doing things because they’re useful. Work because we need money. Eat because we need food. Sleep because otherwise we fall over. Fix things. Pay things. Plan things.”
“And then?”
“Then sometimes you dance badly because a song is good.”
Eljara smiled.
“Revolutionary.”
“Aye. Keep it quiet. Ministry might hear.”
—
A couple passed their table.
The woman was laughing.
The man leaned closer.
She kissed him.
Sean watched them disappear into the crowd.
“Another reason.”
Eljara followed his gaze.
“Ah.”
“Courtship.”
“That word makes you sound eighty.”
“I am cultivating dignity.”
“You abandoned dignity on the dance floor.”
“Temporary lapse.”
Eljara took a drink.
“Celebration loosens rules.”
Sean nodded.
“That’s part of the point.”
“Yes.”
Her tone changed just enough that he noticed.
“But not every rule deserves loosening.”
Sean looked at her.
She glanced towards another part of the square.
A man had put his hand around a woman’s waist.
She removed it.
He tried again.
The second time, her expression made the answer considerably clearer.
He stopped.
Sean watched for another moment.
Then looked back at Eljara.
“Aye.”
A celebration could make strangers talk.
It could make someone brave enough to dance.
Brave enough to sing.
Brave enough to flirt.
Brave enough to kiss somebody they had spent three months trying to kiss.
But freedom only meant something when everyone involved had some.
Sean looked at the dancers again.
“So there are rules.”
“Of course.”
“You just told me not to worry about the rules.”
“I told you not to worry about dancing correctly.”
“Important distinction.”
“Extremely.”
Sean smiled.
“Drink?”
“Fine.”
“Dance?”
“Fine.”
“Sing badly?”
“Apparently compulsory.”
“Flirt?”
“If the other person wants to.”
“Kiss?”
“Same answer.”
“Climb on tables?”
Eljara looked towards the workers.
One of them was now standing on a table.
“Depends on the table.”
Sean laughed.
“And tomorrow?”
Eljara raised her glass.
“Tomorrow can have us back.”
Sean touched his glass to hers.
“But not yet.”
“No.”
The band started another song.
Sean recognised it immediately.
He straightened.
Eljara noticed.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“You know this one.”
“Aye.”
“You’re going back.”
“Aye.”
“To the dance floor.”
“Aye.”
“You don’t dance.”
Sean put down his glass.
“Apparently I do now.”
Eljara stared at him.
Sean held out his hand.
“Come on.”
She looked at it.
Then at him.
And deliberately made him wait.
Sean sighed.
“Oh, piss off.”
Eljara smiled.
Then took his hand.
They went back into the crowd.
Sean still wasn’t good.
It no longer mattered.
Tomorrow, Doskvol would still be Doskvol.
Work would begin too early.
Money would still be owed.
Advertisements would still promise freedom by the bottle.
The Ministry would still watch what ministries watched.
The dead would still power things the living preferred not to think about.
Nothing had been fixed.
But perhaps a good night had never promised to fix the world.
Sometimes the world had taken enough from you already.
So you took a few hours back.
A drink.
A song.
A dance.
A kiss, if both people wanted one.
A table surrounded by friends.
A ridiculous story told for the hundredth time.
A stranger catching you before you fell.
A moment when tomorrow could wait.
Eljara leaned closer.
“You’re smiling.”
Sean kept dancing.
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Must be the drink.”
“You still don’t know what you’re drinking.”
“Then it must be the company.”
Eljara looked at him.
Sean winced.
“That sounded better in my head.”
“No. Keep going. I want to see how bad this gets.”
“Forget it.”
She laughed.
The chorus hit.
Sean shouted it with everyone else.
Bluetime was gone.
Tomorrow could wait.
Tonight was theirs.
What do you need from a good celebration: music, friends, freedom, a chance to forget tomorrow for a while — or something completely different?
Tell us about a night you still remember, and what made it worth remembering.
Explore Blades ’68 with Mythveil Chronicles.