[His movements are a little exaggerated, just to give that extra guidance. Step, step, side, together, step, step, and so on. Jeremiah waits until they run out of room to throw in a corner step. Slow like everything else, though his hands push just so in the briefest advance of his feet as a way of warning, dipping forward and back, arcing them around.
Not once does Abel step with the wrong foot, which is already better than Jeremiah's first attempts. Nothing to scoff at here.]
Nor I. [For a moment he glances at the bonfire in between easy steps, any pairs or groups moving with far less rigidity. Less fluidity though, too, with their feet sunk in the sand.]
I'm afraid I'm actually the one with limiting experience. I don't really dance other than formally.
[Which isn't to say he's physically incapable, but he really wouldn't have known what to do had Abel sidled up with the intent of, you know, just grinding on him. He wouldn't have complained, certainly, but could you imagine?]
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Not once does Abel step with the wrong foot, which is already better than Jeremiah's first attempts. Nothing to scoff at here.]
Nor I. [For a moment he glances at the bonfire in between easy steps, any pairs or groups moving with far less rigidity. Less fluidity though, too, with their feet sunk in the sand.]
I'm afraid I'm actually the one with limiting experience. I don't really dance other than formally.
[Which isn't to say he's physically incapable, but he really wouldn't have known what to do had Abel sidled up with the intent of, you know, just grinding on him. He wouldn't have complained, certainly, but could you imagine?]