Work Text:
There's a new girl in your class.
You recognize her, you think — rumors about her party flutter around the school. Words you're not quite sure you believe, of defeating a monster made of creamed corn, or killing a tiefling on a motercycle. Still, they're infamous freshmen nonetheless.
And now one is standing in your class, leaning against your desk.
She's the half-tiefling, her horns barely reaching the top of her head and red splotches coloring her tan skin. She doesn't seem to notice she's blocking your desk, laughing at a joke another student tells. It's fine, ultimately. Dance Battles 101 isn't a class that requires much sitting. You just need to set your bag down, but you don't want to interrupt.
You settle for hovering awkwardly, hoping she'll just move, eventually, and then she glances over to you. She beckons you over and you exhale, then walk over.
"Clay—" she gestures to the earth genasi— "said that this was your desk. I didn't mean to block it, sorry!" She finally shifts to the side, and you set your bag down, but she still stands near you. "I'm Fig."
"[Name]," you reply. "I don't think I've seen you here before."
"Well, I thought this was a fighter class. But hey, I'll take it."
"Oh, you're a fighter?"
"No, actually, I'm a bard. But I like to keep my options open, you know."
You snort, and Fig grins. The teacher calls for the class to settle and you slide into your seat. Fig sits on the floor beside you and you frown in confusion. She gestures to the rest of the desks, full, and you shrug. The teacher spares one glance and apparently decides that it isn't her problem. She reviews the moves from last class and then lets you begin to spar.
The music is upbeat and bouncy, and you rock on your heels, scanning for an opponent. Fig climbs to her feet and grins at you.
"C'mon," she says, gesturing to the open floor. You walk over, the class spreading out, and you face her, feet sliding into position, breathing steady. Fig is looser, not used to this style, but that's an advantage. You're prepared to fight against other dance fighters, not beginners like her. Still, you have the practice. "You know, my party once—"
The music swells, and you swing and kick, twirl and leap, the music filling your bones. Fig keeps up, for the most part, though she doesn't know how to counter the more complex moves. She catches you off guard with a few tactics that you aren't prepared for. While the battle leans towards you having the upper hand, she's doing well for someone who has quite literally never taken this class before.
You can't help but smile. Dance fighting is one of your favorite styles, and while it's just as fun to spar against your other classmates, there's something different with Fig. She has a natural flow to it. The music is as much a part of her as it is a part of you.
The music ends with a triumphant note and you pin Fig to the ground.
She laughs brightly. "Wow, you're good."
You step back, helping her up. "So are you," you say.
The teacher calls, "Switch!" and you turn to your next opponent. It's only five more rounds before you're up against Fig again, her expression now confident despite you having seen her get knocked on her ass twice already. You pull on your headphones. While the teacher plays music, she does allow you to bring your own as well, and using your own music only aids your magic. You hit play, and strike.
By the end of class, Fig is improving. She even knocks you off your feet, once, beaming as she helps you up. The teacher offers a few tips, but seems approving.
After the final spar, you head back to your desk to grab your bag. She leans on your desk. "Good fighting," she says. "I might bring a few of my party next—anyway," she says, interrupting herself, "I wanted to ask if uh, you wanted to get ice cream or something? You seem cool, and whatever."
You blink and frown slightly. "Like, on a date..?"
"Oh!" Fig flushes. "No. Just like. As a friend, yeah."
"Oh," you say. You shoulder your bag. "Sure," you say. "Yeah. After school?"
"Yeah!" she grins. "See you at Basrar's."