Beauty. Grace. More than a hint of danger.
The two men watched her trip the light fantastic as the flames gambolled around her lithe frame.
The air around her shimmered like a furnace and even the stones beneath her feet began to crack and blacken from the heat, but the dancer seemed untouched by the hungry flames.
The older of the two observers shifted uncomfortably. Little beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and hung on the tip of his nose.
Still the dancer twirled, mingling with the flames, becoming harder and harder to distinguish from the swirling inferno.
“It’s somewhat unnerving, isn’t it?” whispered the younger with a sly smirk on his face. The older fought the urge to hit the patronising little git as hard as he could.
Still she danced, ignoring their whispers, listening only to the swish and flicker of the flames. She knew they would begin to die soon, but for now she was in her element.
“She’s quite dangerous at close range, they tell me.”
The old man frowned. “But I still don’t understand. Why her? I thought we were investigating a cult. I need subtlety, not flashy-flashy fiery stuff.”
“Because shut up. The people upstairs have spoken, and they sign our paycheck at the end of the month, and when push comes to shove that’s the only thing that really matters.”
The old man sighed. “Whatever keeps your boat afloat, boy.”
“Speaking of rhymes, you should probably know that our fiery little friend here only speaks in… Well, rhymes.”
“… Why?”
“Shoot me. Should fit in nicely with the kind of loonies that join the cult, though.” He eyed the old compadre up an down. “You will too, no doubt.”
The old man fought back another surge of bloodlust, specifically a lust for this slimy bastard’s blood, and turned back to watch the dancer finish her fandango.
The flames were dying now. She sensed them fade away, and with them her energy abandoned her as well. She went down first on one knee, then on both. A few moments later she was lying on the floor, the last embers flying around her outstreched hands… And then it was over.
“Well, f*ck. I guess I’m out of luck.”
“See? Rhymes only.”
“That’s f*cking stupid.”
dwr
