(1941-07-09) Dancing Near the Fire
Details for Dancing Near the Fire
Summary: Samira invites Morrow over for tea and dancing lessons.
Date: Saturday, July 11, 1941
Location: Prince-Azam Residence

A few days after Samira was released from St. Mungo's, she sent an owl to Morrow. It landed on her windowsill, tapping the glass until the young lady had accepted the brief note.

Dear Morrow,

I hope this letter finds you well. It would please me to return the kindness that you showed at St. Mungo's. Tomorrow afternoon, you are invited to come to my home at the Prince-Azam Residence for tea and dancing lessons, should you wish them.

Sincerely yours,
Samira Prince

In preparation for Morrow's visit, Samira has set a samovar of tea on an end table in the parlor. The exotic scent of spiced tea fills the room. A small arrangement of baklava sits on a china plate upon the coffee table. Settling down on the velvet sofa, Samira tucks her bare feet beneath herself. A fire roars on the hearth, open to the floo network for her friend's arrival.

Though there was never an 'official' RSVP, Morrow certainly received the invitation. And, as the hour settles precisely upon one, a swift, rushing roar of flame announces the arrival of Samira's guest. The brunette steps daintily out of the hearth in her heeled pumps, habitually checking her tresses with a sweep of one palm and settling her eyes upon Prince after only a slightly disoriented glance about the parlor. She's attired elegantly - which perhaps bodes more for tea than dancing, this time - in a pencil dress of charcoal grey that fits slim to mid-calf, and with a silk scarf of subtly autumnal, fiery hues adorning her throat, knotted to one side in a jaunty manner.

"Afternoon." she greets her friend, with that standard, disarming smile, before glancing to the prettily laid-out tea. "Oh, this looks lovely.. what a gem you are." What a world-weary tone for one so young! One wouldn't usually expect Selwyn to sound so delighted at the notion of a cuppa. But there you have it.

Samira glances up at the whoosh of fire. All of her reserve and composure fully restored, she greets Morrow with a soft smile. “Marhaban. Welcome, ya Morrow,” she says in a soft, quiet tone, rising with feline grace. Quite appropriate, given the set of enormous kitten ears emerging from her wild curls.

The kitten ears are quite large, covered in golden-sand fur with great tufts of white sticking out of them. Also, her normally dark gaze now gleams a pale-green as she studies Morrow’s lovely features. Her eyes are outlined with dark markings, much like what may have adorned an ancient Egyptian Queen. The simple, yet elegant little dress she wears also leaves her slender arms bare, revealing the pair of dark lines encircling her forearms.

The diminutive girl comes to stand quite close before Morrow. Ears lifted, quite alert, she fixes her intent stare up at Morrow with a reserved smile, studying her. Her pale green gaze drops to the silk scarf around her neck, and one ear flickers. Returning her attention to Morrow’s vivid blue eyes, she murmurs, “Would you care to sit?”

"Well, well." Taking in Samira properly for the first time, having been immediately distracted by the presentation of tea and yummy things, Morrow quirks a slender brow at the girl as she stands before her, that stormy gaze drifting over the ears, the shadowy green eyes and - of course - the dress. "So you didn't escape unscathed after all. I'm sorry. On the bright side, though, you look positively adorable." Returning to level her eyes on those of the smaller girl, Morrow grins ever so slightly, a fleeting glimpse of white teeth. But she looks tired, despite the effort to affect her usual poise.

"Thank you." she replies, to the offer of a seat; politely looking about herself before electing to move toward the same couch Samira herself had been curled upon, easing down to perch on the edge of the velvet cushions and clasping her hands primly about her knee. "Your home is beautiful.. as I would expect. Thank you for inviting me. Are you feeling better since your ordeal?" The brunette's lips twist a little in sympathy, her own feline ears resting rather idle in comparison to the attentive prick of Prince's large, tufty ones.

Told she looks adorable, Samira can’t quite suppress the little quirk of her smile. And though she maintains her calm reserve, bowing her head to accept the complement, her kitten-ears lower slightly, betraying a hint of shyness. The little one shadows Morrow to the velvet couch, perhaps sensing her exhaustion. Then, gaze lowered, she begins to prepare a cup of tea for her friend.

“Yes. Quite better, thank you. I’d apologize, but you were so kind at the Hospital. You didn’t give the impression that you minded. I appreciate very much your kindness. It was far more than what I could have ever asked.” Although she speaks with serene composure, her ears betray a deepening shyness.

Returning to Morrow, the little one places a delicate glass of tea upon a matching saucer in her hands. Once she holds it securely, she takes a small bowl of sugar cubes and plucks one with a silver instrument. “Sugar?” she offers, tending to Morrow with great care, though her gaze remains lowered.

"Of course I didn't mind." Morrow waves off any such concerns quite literally; trailing the fingertips of one hand through the air in a gentle, dismissive gesture. "We're friends, aren't we? Though.. I'm not certain I made the best first impression with your brother. Sorry about that." Watching Samira with distant curiosity as she goes so 'properly' about everything, she doesn't say anything to further deepen the girl's shy manner. Maybe she's just not in the mood to tease, today. Or, just maybe, Prince isn't one she'd toy with, anyway.

Accepting the glass cup and matching saucer, she pauses to admire the craftsmanship, as any young woman with an eye for finery would, then raises her eyes to the other girl once more, nodding in assent. "Three, please." Three?? Sweet tooth.

"Listen, I.." She starts to say something, then seems to hesitate and choose her words carefully, lest the walls have ears. No doubt she picked up on the tension surrounding certain topics around the charming and delightful Amir. "I know that you were helping our mutual friend. I'm sorry that this befell you, as a result." There. That's innocuous enough, most likely. Adjusting her weight a fraction, Morrow shuffles back onto the sofa just a little further, getting comfortable but far from reclining. Manners, you know. Even if the temptation is there to just curl up and enjoy a nap. Maybe that's a lingering cat thing.

Samira drops three sugar cubes into the red amber tea in Morrow’s glass. A tiny silver spoon rests on the glass saucer should Morrow care to stir it. Turning away, Samira business herself, preparing a cup of her own. But one of her enormous ears lifts in Morrow’s direction, indicating where her attention remains fixed.

Settling beside Morrow, the girl curls up and tucks her bare feet beneath herself. While Morrow resists her feline tendencies, Samira does not in this case. At last, she fixes her pale-green stare on Morrow’s features and breaks her silence. “Perhaps it was your embrace when at St. Mungo’s. I bore neither scratch nor bite, remember? But thank you. It’s alright. This condition allows me to work towards a cure in a way that few other interns could risk.” She pauses, and peeking over with a soft smile, she adds, “I think we are friends, yes. And don’t worry about my brother. I am sure he will approve of you.”

With a slight tilt of her head, studies Morrow with her unblinking stare. “He found you. Oberon. Yes? Were I were living alone this summer as I’d hoped, I might have found him here. But no. I think he’d seek your flat.” It would seem that the walls have no ears as Samira speaks in her usual albeit quiet tone.

She does indeed stir, though only out of habit as the sugar visibly dissolves all by itself. Chiming the teaspoon lightly to the rim of the cup, Morrow then sets it back on the saucer and gives her drink a little time to cool, half balancing it on her knee. "I suppose it might have been.. though I hear tell that folks are no longer 'contagious' when they return to normal. Well, almost normal, at any rate." She indicates her ears with an upward flit of eyes and a twitch of them to a more alert stance. "Abbott looks rather extraordinary, I must admit. Which I am certain he will take full advantage of." A soft sigh implies that's likely enough on that subject. She's not even sure why she brought it up. "If it was my fault, then I sincerely apologise. But still, I'm sorry that he err.. hunted you. And that you ended up being stunned, three times, wasn't it? You poor thing." Though a brow arches curiously at the vague mention of finding a cure, the Ravenclaw doesn't press. Not yet, anyway.

And on the subject of the absent Black Knight? "Oh. Yes. He found me." She manages to suppress the smirk that tugs at one corner of her lips. Mostly. But there's nothing she can do about the creeping rosy warmth rising along her fine cheekbones. Ahem. "He's perfectly fine. All things considered. Though ah.. I'd prefer it if nobody else discovered I had seen him, if you don't mind. At least until all the fuss settles down a bit." It bodes well, doesn't it, that she trusts Samira to protect both she and Oberon.

Samira’s keen stare lingers on the blush in Morrow’s cheeks. Lowering her attention to the cup of tea in her hands, she takes a delicate sip. “Of course. The Daily Prophet has not even been able to report the wolf’s identity because they can’t confirm the rumors and speculation.” She peeks over at Morrow. “I keep secrets well, Morrow. And I am a friend to you both. You can rely on me.” Returning her gaze to the tea in her hands, she curls up a bit tighter, half-tucking her folded legs against her chest.

“Mm,” adds Samira before another idle sip of tea. “Anson came to visit me at St. Mungo’s. Tried to question me about Oberon. And tried to warn me. Asked if we were friends too. But, I don’t expect I can be /his/ friend.”

"Thank you." Morrow's gaze has wandered to the fireplace, where it stays until the warmth has cooled from her porcelain complexion. "I didn't expect otherwise, of course. You were his friend before you were mine, anyway. I shouldn't even have felt it necessary to ask, forgive me." Raising her cup, Selwyn flashes a half-smile in Samira's direction, before taking a tentative sip. Finding it to her liking, apparently, she takes another. "This is delicious." she remarks, and this time it's not merely for the sake of etiquette.

The mention of Anson, alas, sharpens the young woman's attention once more; back to her usual keen awareness. "..about Oberon? What did he want to know about him?" She doesn't even bother questioning why the curly-haired girl wouldn't see the Gryffindor as a friend - it's pretty self-explanatory.

“Much like what everyone else wanted to know. And I told him no more than anyone else. He leapt to his conclusions and I offered nothing.” Samira pauses, tilting her head in thought. “He also asked if he was the only one who saw Oberon for the monster he is. I suppose that was a question unique to him.”

Samira takes a dainty sip of tea before returning her stare to Morrow. “Oberon can be… an intense person. I’d intended to ask… If you ever need any healing spells, you should not hesitate to ask for them. You can trust I will ask you no questions.”

"Yes.. that does seem to be at the forefront of his opinion. For which I suspect I'm largely to blame, for being with Oberon." Sighing, Morrow sweeps aside a stray lock of her dark hair, tucking it back from her cheek. "He's not a monster. He's just…" Pausing, she levelly holds Samira's gaze, then nods slowly. "Exactly. Intense. Passionate. Above all, brutally honest. I imagine some people might find those qualities upsetting." They're her qualities, too, of course. It's just in her case they're less vicious. Letting her attention wander, now that they've agreed on that, the brunette muses aloud, idly. "I'm not really sure what to do about Anson… though Oberon has agreed not to ah.." Careful. "..not to 'bait' him any further, provided Abbott doesn't do anything foolish." Anson? Foolish? Surely not.

The offer of healing, for some reason, rouses a more genuine curve to play across Morrow's lips as she regards Samira, curled up in the far end of the sofa. "Thank you, Samira. I appreciate the offer and shall keep it in mind." There's only the faintest flicker of something in the young lady's striking eyes, but it doesn't linger long enough to be discernible, really. And she doesn't elaborate. Presumably, then, she has no need of the offered services, for now.

Samira offers a small nod, and with a quiet respect, says nothing further about her offer of healing. Instead, taking a sip of tea, she says, “I don’t imagine Anson will keep his distance. Nor is he likely to refrain from foolishness. He is quite taken with you, Morrow.” She pauses, watching Morrow with a slight tilt of her head. “You captivate.” Her stare lingers for but a moment before she lowers her gaze and leans to set her empty glass on the coffee table.

“I promised dancing lessons. But, perhaps, if you are feeling a bit tired, you would prefer a demonstration? I can explain what I can teach you. And you can tell me what you wish to learn.” Samira helps herself to a diamond of baklava. Nibbling its edge, she looks to Morrow once more.

"Flatterer." Apparently electing to lighten the mood, Morrow narrows her eyes in a vaguely playful manner toward the girl, with the teasing accusation. She's encumbered by another sip of tea by the time Samira makes the suggestion of demonstration, meaning her initial response can only be an enthused 'mm!' and a firm nod. Once she has swallowed, however, she voices her agreement properly. "..yes, please. I'd be delighted. I'm not feeling quite up to it today, but I expect that watching you will certainly rouse my enthusiasm."

She eyes the baklava, following this, but refrains from partaking, preferring another teeny sip of her fragrant tea.

Samira’s soft smile quirks a bit wider as she takes in the playful narrowing of Morrow’s eyes. Devouring the baklava in her fingertips in two swift bites, she takes a moment before saying, “Well, I have taken to practicing in my bedroom upstairs. And that is where the enchanted gramophone is. But, if you would prefer, I can bring it down here.” Staring across the sofa at Morrow, the little one licks the syrup from her fingertips.

"No, no.. don't rearrange on my behalf." Draining the last of her tea, Morrow sets it down, on it's saucer, next to Samira's. "If that's the environment you're used to, that's where we ought to go." She might not be so fine a dancer, but she knows how important it is to be relaxed and secure, when one is practicing. The other girl's stare is met with a smile; soft and unperturbed. "If your brother won't object, of course. He doesn't seem the sort of man I would care to displease… at least, not in his own home." Pausing, she belatedly returns to an earlier topic, tilting her head curiously. "If I may… you mentioned you'd hoped to be living alone, this summer? Why did your plans change? Do tell me if I'm overstepping.." she adds, raising the fingertips of one hand from her lap. "..I'm merely curious." Well, she would be. This is plainly a very different family than her own.

Samira rises with smooth, sensual grace. Though it is often present in her every movement, until now it has been quite muted. Smiling down at Morrow, she holds out a hand, offering assistance should her friend need it to rise. “Not overstepping. Your questions, I don’t mind. I trust quite well that you will keep my secrets as well as I keep yours. And you don’t need to fear my brother. It is /boys/ he disapproves of. In Egypt, it is quite different. Friendships are often quite close. There are few who linger between acquaintance and confidant. And it is quite inappropriate for a girl to have a friendship with anyone but another girl.”

Turning, the girl begins to lead Morrow out of the parlor and to the stairs. She takes each step with languid ease, in no rush to reach the top story. This allows Morrow to take as much time as she wishes. “Non-pureblood girls cannot even have a boy as an acquaintance. It is not so extreme in pureblood culture.”

Upon reaching the first floor, she glances over her shoulder at Morrow. “It was a great surprise to me when my brother came to meet me at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. You see, he is much older than me, and left home long ago. I was only slightly aware I even had a brother. And. I was alarmed. I know my family in Egypt has long schemed to orchestrate my return to Egypt. My engagement was to prevent that. And when I ended it, I put myself again at that risk.”

It's an unfortunate contrast, today, as Morrow rises somewhat stiffly in comparison to her own usual elegance. But that can perhaps be overlooked, put down to the stress and weariness of the last week. Anyway, she accepts the offered hand with a grateful smile and comes to a stand, tall and confident as ever. She doesn't tower over her friend.. they're simply built very differently! "Ohh.." The realisation dawns, clearing her expression. "And these are all reasons you must stay? So he can keep a closer eye on you? That seems awfully.. restrictive. Not to impugne your culture, of course it's just. Well. It's so old-fashioned. And what about when you're at school? That can't be helped."

Following Samira out of the parlor, folding her bare arms across her slender midsection, Morrow distractedly takes in the opulent decor as they move through the house; eyeing certain details with all the consideration of an artist.. or a predator, depending how one thinks of her. "You had no warning of his arrival, then. That's also a little unkind. How can a full grown man who has been gone for much of your life suddenly arrive in your life and rearrange it all?" The brunette has grown a touch indignant on her friend's behalf, though she does her best not to be insulting, meeting that glance as she alights on the landing.

Samira smiles up at Morrow with hint of genuine appreciation. “It’s alright. This is perhaps the best outcome I could have hoped for. He doesn’t intend to take me back to Egypt. But yes, he… mm… has many expectations of me. Our culture in Egypt is far more restrictive of its young girls. But he does not intend to restrict my studies to be a healer. Nor will he interfere in the friendships I most cherish. Yours. And so I am content. It is not worth the fight. And perhaps, it could work to my advantage. He has many expectations… and ambitions that could align with mine.”

Glancing off down the hall, she says, “My brother occupies this floor. My bedroom is upstairs. Next to the guest room. This way.” She slinks down the hall and doubles around to climb the stairs with that same, languid grace to the top floor.

"Might he have done? Restrict your studies, I mean?" Morrow looks mildly horrified by this notion. Of course, they're such polar opposites in so many ways… she grew up with no structure or discipline whatsoever. So now, the idea of someone having any leash upon her is unthinkable. Abhorrent, even. But she tries not to sound too judgmental. It's not Samira's fault, after all. She follows the other's glance, then nods her understanding, wandering along behind. She's still rather taken with the stylish interior, and so remains unhurried for a moment. But she picks up the pace as she reaches the next flight of stairs, idly adjusting the knot of the scarf at her throat.

“He certainly might have tried,” replies Samira with a nod. “But my interest in healing aligns with our family’s heritage. And so he approves.” The girl seems perfectly unconcerned as to whatever Morrow might be thinking. Her reserve has never been due to any sense of insecurity regarding what others might think. Reaching the final step, Samira steps lightly across to push open her bedroom door.

The décor of Samira’s bedroom seems a bit more suited to a younger girl than her. But perhaps it suits the petite creature. So easily she could pass for a fifth year. Or even a fourth. And her taste in clothes suggests she has embraced her youthful appearance. “You may sit on the bed, if you wish. Or the armchair.” She indicates the wing-backed chair near the window. A formidable stack of Arabic texts sits on the small table next to the chair.

At the foot of her bed, a wide space has remained clear of furniture and carpet. And a large mirror is mounted upon the wall, facing the open wood floor. This is where she dances. Padding in her stockinged feet to the gramophone in the corner, Samira pauses, glancing back over at Morrow. “I’ve received a new costume for my dancing. For practice, I usually just wear my undershirt and a light-weight skirt. But would you care for me to wear what is more traditional?”

Inexplicably, Morrow's smile as she follows the girl into the bedroom is both warm and amused. "..you know, this is exactly the sort of room I expected you to have, strangely enough." Still with her slender arms folded, the girl pauses in the doorway, then drifts across the floor toward the armchair. Typical that she'd choose something that looks like a throne to sit in. Those vivid eyes roam unabashedly around the bedchamber, her expression contemplative as she eases down to a seat. The mirror is given a longer look, as is the gramophone. "Oh.. whichever you're most comfortable in. Really. I'm sure I'll be enthralled either way." Settling back comfortably in the high-backed chair, the brunette clasps her hands primly over her abdomen and gets settled, making herself quite at home.

Told how fitting her bedroom is, Samira's enormous kitten ears lowered slightly, yet again betraying her shyness. And should Morrow's eyes be keen, she might even detect a hint of warmth in her cheeks.

"Either way?" repeats Samira softly. "Mm. Then I think I will wear my new costume. Actually, I've harbored a hope that you might design another one for me with your keen artist's eye." The little one hurries to her armoire. With a tinkling sound of bells, she pulls out a garment of many layers of sheer silks and hugs it to her chest. "Um. I'll change in the hall." Gaze lowered, she heads out into the hall and closes the door.

The tiny golden bells sewn into the costume chime as Samira pulls it on. She will never sneak up on anyone wearing that. The tinkling bells even sound as she makes minor adjustments, ensuring that the costume fits her as it should.

At last, wearing her costume of deep, turquoise silk, Samira slips back into her bedroom and looks at once to Morrow for her reaction.

Glittering bells dangle from the fabric wrapping securely across her budding breasts. It covers them fully, but leaves her collarbones bare. The sleeves also hang off her shoulders, flowing sheer and transparent down her arms until they tighten around her forearms, just between her sand-cat markings.

A thick band of fabric with intricate embroidery hangs low on her hips. The golden bells hanging from the band intermingle with tiny golden coins. Multiple layers of sheer silk fall to the floor. But when she walks, her bare legs peek through slits that reach from the floor all the way to the band wrapping securely around her hips.

Morrow nods, not seeming to mind being left to wait while the girl hurries back out through the door to the hall. For the next few minutes, she takes the time to cast her gaze around the decor and furnishings, crossing her legs elegantly at the knee, rearranging her scarf.. all sorts of little distractions to keep her from boredom. When Samira reappears, however, her attention flits sharply in that direction. And there, perhaps, is a trace of what Oberon finds so appealing. That gaze shifts, barely even perceptible to most, to one of predatory assessment; roaming over the gorgeous, exotic attire in unabashed admiration. "Yes.. I'd say that the correct choice." she offers, pleasantly, when her eyes flit back up to the girl's with a slow smile. "You look exquisite, Samira."

She grins, wolfishly, at the tinkle of bells, then settles herself; propping an elbow on the arm of the chair and her jaw lightly atop the knuckles of her hand, arching a brow expectantly. "That colour is beautiful on you.. though I can't help but picture you in golds and bronze, myself." Ahh, the artist's eye is back, the plans and designs already being turned this way and that in her mind. It's not the lecherous, hungry stare that a man might give, but genuine appreciation for the girl and her presentation.

Samira bows her head as Morrow’s predatory assessment roams over her young form. Though she too has taken the form of a predator, she is little more than a kitten in the presence of a magnificent tigress. Now, the lowering of her ears betray nothing that the hint of warmth in her cheeks had not already shown.

Peeking back up at Morrow, the little one can’t help but bite her lower lip as she smiles. “Thank you, ya Morrow. I would be so honored if you were to design a costume of your own for me. If… if I were to ever perform in public, /that/ is the costume I would wear.” She makes her way to the gramophone. With each step, her hips shift with a sensual sway. She sets the device in motion and quickly moves to the center of the polished wood floor. But she doesn’t face the mirror as in her practice sessions. She faces Morrow. The dance is for her. But as the music begins, a violin with a deep, rich tone playing softly, Samira turns her back to her.

The violin trills, lifting now, gaining strength and life, and Samira lifts her hands in a slow arc until her forearms settle just over her wild, dark curls. A drum begins to thud out a beat. This music flows through Samira, taking hold of her, and her hips begin to sway. The long skirt of sheer silks emphasizes even the slightest movement. But there is nothing slight about how her hips begin to undulate from side to side. She moves with a grace that no human girl could possibly possess. Perhaps there is something to her technique that weaves a subtle magic to captivate the viewer, transforming the girl into a graceful little nymph before their eyes.

As the music strikes up, Morrow maintains her pose of relaxed observation; only the widening curve of her lips in response to Samira's words stirring her in the slightest. It is, after all, worryingly easy to captivate her with things of beauty. Particularly rare things. Rare things that aren't seen by just anyone, when they're revealed at all. And so the girl has her full attention for all the right reasons.

The movement that accompanies, when Samira begins to dance, warrants an altogether different focus than her attire. Only a fellow dancer would appreciate the subtle technicalities within the seemingly 'easy' undulations. Anyone can learn basic steps, But the flow of one's form is an absolute necessity to truly master the art. Whether by some dark enchantment or genuine pleasure, the brunette seems transfixed.

As Samira’s hips undulate from side to side, tracing a design of infinity, her hands drift lower yet again. With the trills of the violin, her arms begin to curve and undulate like liquid serpents. Her hands drift, poised in rather elegant precision. The girl sinks lower, but then rises. As she lifts, she tilts her head back, arching. The beat vanishes, but the violin continues, building anticipation.

With a passionate thud of the drums, Samira twirls to face Morrow. Her feline stare fixes upon the other girl. But she has yet to be released from the tension of anticipation. Slowly, her nubile form begins to undulate, the waves traveling from her hips, up her body, to her shoulders. The drums thud, sending her forward with a dramatic twist of her hip. Again, another step, to the side, but this time with a sharp arch of her back that lifts her chest forward and up. At either side, her hands remain poised in mid-air, and the serpentine motions of her arms continue in between each dramatic twist of her hips.

If there's a frown subtly shadowing Morrow's brow, it's only one of concentration as she follows the increasingly sinuous motions; likely trying to commit at least the most obvious transitions to memory, as any prospective student would. The precise placement and form of Samira's hands are noted, as is the way she creates emphatic curves with her entire body. It's a dance, but it also seems to imply a story, beneath the superficial 'pretty' of the effect. A smile twitches at Selwyn's lips as she watches - an avid audience for the Slytherin to show off her talent.

A second, far sharper drum joins the thud of the first, tapping out a fast accent that draws out a shiver in Samira’s hips that shakes the bells and glittering coins, and travels all the way up her body. Now the dance truly begins. She demonstrates each technique of her hips. Though she wishes to captivate the other girl, she has also promised to demonstrate her techniques. And she does with perfect execution, showing her extensive training.

Always maintaining proper posture, Samira bends her knees, demonstrating the dramatic hip lifts and drops. The girl can isolate her upper abs. She travels, walking with a sensual shimmy of her hips. Throughout her improvised dance, she shows each and every technique. But then also, she shows off how the costume aids her dance. The shivering of her hips sends ripples down the silk of her skirt, making it appear to be liquid. And then, for a rather dramatic effect, when she spins, it spreads out around her. Some of the skirt always clings to her ankles, never fully revealing the girl’s legs, but she is able to take hold of portions of the silk and lift it high over her head, creating a whirlwind of color and movement.

At last, the music winds down. Samira slows and stands before Morrow, trembling and gasping for breath. It would seem, in her attempt to impress the other girl, that she has overexerted herself. She sinks to her knees and settles fully on the smooth wood floor. Knowing this will surely alarm her friend, she lifts a hand at once. Though it could be mistaken as a reach for help, she opens her palm in the hopes of indicating that Morrow should remain seated. She presses her other hand over her chest and closes her eyes, settling down.

How clever that attire is. The brunette follow the way Samira interacts with the beautiful fabric, making it an integral part of the dance, not a mere costume. It's modest but captivating, sensual without being revealing. Morrow finds herself becoming too focused upon the outfit and shifts her attention back to the dancer herself, as the music begins to wind down. Straightening her posture slowly, legs still elegantly crossed, she brings her hands up to applaud; a gentle golf-clap rather than emphatic palm-slapping but it's genuine all the same, as is the grin that reveals her white teeth in open appreciation.

"That was.. spectacular." She's almost breathless herself, despite the entire lack of exertion on her part. Maybe she's been holding it, given the building tension and anticipation. She seems about to heap further compliments upon Samira, but then the smaller girl is sinking to the floor. Morrow's not the type to leap up and fuss, but there is a frown of concern. "Catch your breath.. that looked positively exhausting." There's no rush - she can lie on the floor all she wants after that, in her friend's opinion.

Samira nods, panting softly. Lowering her hand, she rests it on the carpet to prop herself up. It closes into a fist. “Yes,” she gasps, still a bit breathless. “Forgive me.” Her cheeks are quite warm, flushing deeply as she peeks up at Morrow. “I’m glad you enjoyed the dance. Forgive me. I… mm… over-exerted myself a bit.” She brings the back of her hand to her cheek, then presses it to the other, trying to cool them.

“It takes years of training to master so much. But. I could teach you individual movements that you could use as you wish. You can integrate them into your other dancing. And, in time, with enough practice, you could come to master this ancient style of dancing. I would be pleased to teach you, ya Morrow.” Samira shifts a bit more to the side, content to remain seated on the floor before Morrow – like a vassal before her queen. She folds her legs to the side.

"I would imagine. It looks far from easy. Or rather, it's obviously demanding, even if you make it look easy." Morrow corrects herself, a smile evident in her voice without the other girl needing to look up and see. Clasping her hands on her uppermost knee, Selwyn waits in companionable, patient silence as Samira regains her composure, tilting her head a little askance as she considers her flushed features. "It's rather gratifying, I must admit, to see you as anything other than 'poised'…" she remarks, expression turning vaguely mischievous for a splitsecond as her vivid eyes wander over the dancer's rosy-cheeked face.

"If you really think I could be taught, I'd be more than happy to give it a whirl. It'll be fun, if nothing else. And it's so.." She pauses, with a thoughtful drawing of breath, grasping for the right word. "..seductive. I can see why young men might find themselves overcome, in the presence of such a skill."

The noticeable flush in Samira’s cheeks deepens. Pressing the back of her hand against the heat does little to calm it. Her kitten-ears have lowered, yet again showing her shyness as she peeks up at Morrow. The poised reserve she wore before has indeed fallen away quite completely. And she can’t quite manage to reclaim it. Not yet.

Lowering her gaze, Samira gives a small nod. “It is like any style of dance. The intent can be different. Before, I was merely trying to demonstrate the techniques. But, I could dance with the intent to make your heart ache with melancholy. Or to fill you with a sense of vigor and righteous fervor. Or. I could try to seduce. I have been taught. But here, few are accustomed to such a style. And its inherent sensuality makes each dance seductive.”

With a slight shift of her hips, Samira lifts her pale-green stare to meet Morrow’s eyes once more. Still she cannot quite hide the rare meekness in her manner. Her kitten ears are far too expressive, but her eyes also now shine with her shyness. “I’ve never performed before. Like this. Since I’ve come to these Isles.”

Maybe Morrow has grown more accustomed to her new ears. Or maybe she's just that good at concealing what she's thinking. Neither would be surprising. Regardless, those tigress ears merely remain pricked attentively as she watches the play of expression across Samira's pretty features. "Hmm.. I suppose every dance conveys a story, when done right. But yes, this style is certainly more evocative, by its sheer nature. There's no such thing as a sensual Morris dancer, in my experience." The girl cannot help but chuckle softly at the mental image. "..thank goodness." Pushing her glossy mane back with one hand, she then rests her elbow to the other arm of the chair now, leaning comfortably at an angle. "Though I hope to compare the different intents, at some point. Just to see the subtle differences, you know."

Meeting that pale emerald gaze with her own sapphire, the brunette nods her understanding gently; a vague attempt at reassurance in the wake of Prince's admission. "Really..?" Is that a rare glimpse of actual surprise as she arches her brows? "Well. In that case, thank you. I'm honored. I stand by what I said, though. It's such a shame you can't share such a gift, without fear."

Samira can’t help but grin, wincing at the unbidden images of a Morris dancer attempting sensuality. Oh dear. Closing her eyes, she shakes her head, trying to clear her mind. As Morrow shifts to her other elbow, Samira mirrors the transition, easing to lean on her other hand. She tucks her folded legs against her other side now.

Still smiling up at Morrow, she murmurs, “Perhaps one day. It was a joy to perform for my friends, classmates, and teachers. But also. It is quite nice to perform in this small setting. I’ve enjoyed sharing this with /you/. Not to a great audience. I’d very much like to perform in different ways for you. It would help me hone my craft – trying to affect you.”

She'd be a tough crowd, in her own way. And she knows it. So maybe she appreciates the sentiment even more. "There's nothing better than performing.." she agrees, somewhat wistfully. "I wonder if I'll still be able to take part in the theater program, given.. everything." Unconsciously, she's lowered her hand to idly toy with the knot of her scarf, just above her right collarbone, her stormcloud eyes drifting from Samira to the middle-distance across the room. "It's all rather a mess, isn't it. I hope the healers can bring things under control sooner rather than later, before things really get out of hand…"

The thought sobers her, visibly. Is she really that concerned about having kitty ears? Or is it something else.

In typical Morrow fashion, she shakes off the train of thought, purely because she's not in the habit of revealing anything other than blase lack of concern. Over anything. Settling her attention on the seated Slytherin again, she offers the girl a slow smile. "Well, if we're going to be stuck inside all summer, at least we'll have dancing lessons to entertain us, hm?"

Samira glances off to her window. The sheer white curtains allow light to enter, but shield them from the sight. “I suppose we ought to avoid going out too much. There’s so much suspicion. Might… not be safe.” She looks back up to Morrow. Studying the other girl, she bites her lower lip. “Are you safe, Morrow? With him. You are safe, yes?”

Observing the wary manner in which the question is put to her, Morrow lets the curve of her lips soften somewhat, dropping both hands to fold in her lap. "..you're not the first person to ask." The murmured words don't hold even a trace of annoyance. "I thought it mere masculine ego and jealousy, on Abbott's part, though. What has you concerned, Samira..?" Her curious expression doesn't apppear to have any ulterior motive behind it. "You've no reason to mince words with me, you know. You can tell me." Shaking back her hair absently, readjusting her perch in the armchair, the brunette does at least deign to answer the question.. partially. Or maybe she just deflects it rather than overthink the matter. "I can handle Oberon. Never fear."

“On Anson’s part, it might be. He only suspects or assumes. But. I’ve seen. I’ve known many dangerous wizards and he is one of them. I can’t handle him. But I can handle myself. And I…” Samira’s voice trails off. She drops her gaze. “I expect you might match him.” Head bowed, she peeks back up at Morrow. “I don’t know what I could do if this doesn’t prove true. But. I will protect your trust. And your secrets. Even from him. So if you ever need anything, you will tell me, yes?”

Drawing a slow breath and briefly lowering her gaze to the floor, Morrow leans forward, folding her arms atop her knees. After a moment, though, she glances up and watches the other girl contemplatively. "What is it that you've seen..? I don't mean to pry it's just.. well, I can't put any stock in Anson's accusations. They're just born of envy." How matter-of-factly she says it. A glimpse of the Ice Queen she's more than capable of being. "But you know both of us. If you think I'm his match, why is there such concern behind your eyes? I'm not going into this blind, contrary to the opinions of some. But.. thus far he has been, as you put it before.. 'kind'. Passionate, yes. Possessive.. perhaps. But aren't all men, when they set their sights on a prize?"

There it is. She believes she's in complete control, but she's yet to see Oberon's true colours, perhaps. Or maybe those she sees now are the extent of the spectrum he'll allow her to see. "I think I match him." she adds, very softly. "..and admittedly, I do like playing with fire."

“I do too,” admits Samira in a rather soft tone. “And I thought to dance with his. There was something he wanted to know. And as I danced, holding what I knew just out of reach, he ensnared me by the wrist. Twisted it. I thought surely it would break. And his voice could be soft and measured, but then flare into a roar of fury.” As she speaks, Samira keeps her head bowed, as if trying to hide her features from Morrow’s keen eye. But she continues to peek up at the other girl, watching her without blinking.

“However, you are much different than me. I think… our transformations show it well, yes? You are a tigress. Magnificent. I’m a mere qat arramal. Sand cat. A perpetual kitten.” Samira lowers her gaze at last. “You could be his match. His equal. You don’t seem a dangerous witch. But you are magnificent. Ka Malika. As a queen.”

"All felines are regal, regardless of their size.. and aren't those the ones with the fiercest bite?" If anything, the Ravenclaw seems vaguely amused by the comparisons. But she accepts the compliments, as she takes them to be, graciously. If a little distractedly. Because her glacial eyes are still considering the smaller girl. "..did you wish to dance with him merely for curiosity's sake? Or something more?" She's neither tentative nor angry.. it's a simple question. "Everyone is drawn to power. Even at its most fearsome, it's the ultimate temptation. If you desired him, I can hardly blame you. I'm sorry he hurt you, however." There's the hint of a grimace to accompany the words. She doesn't ask what knowledge it was that he sought so desperately - that's none of her business.

"You give yourself too little credit, Samira." Leaning back, perhaps aware of the intensity her proximity might be lending to the discussion, Morrow half-smiles, sweeping errant tresses back with a gentle motion of her hand. "You have a beauty and charm all your own. And.. well, you've been honest with me. I ought to offer the same. No, I'm not entirely unscathed. But I'm also entirely unconcerned about that fact, before you worry yourself." Reaching to her scarf, she tugs it down just a fraction at one side, revealing the top of the healing bruises of what, even at a glance, is quite obviously a bite. One made with sharp teeth, too. "We got a little carried away." She smooths the fabric back in place. "I'd likely have done the same, had the whim struck."

Samira peeks over only when Morrow reveals the mark hidden behind the scarf. The little one blinks, but does not seem too surprised. Her stare flits from the mark to Morrow’s eyes. Her lips quirk in a soft smile. “And that is why I think you are his match. If you savor it, then I will not worry. I understand.”

Glancing off towards the curtain, she tries to tuck the veil of her wild curls behind her ear. “It draws me. His power. His fire. I can’t help it. But-“ she quickly looks up at Morrow. “I do not wish he were mine as he is yours. You also… captivate me. But I do not wish to possess you as he does. I can’t help my fascination. And I am content as things are. After all, I’m certain my brother will have his own plans for me, so there’s little point in any such thoughts.”

Morrow raises one shoulder in a light shrug, fiddling momentarily, fussing to make sure the scarf lays just so. "I expect I would feel quite differently, if it were made in anger. In fact, I most certainly would. I wouldn't tolerate such disrespect, no matter how much I adore him. But we'll cross that particular bridge when we come to it, hm? And for that reason, I will gladly keep your offers in mind. It never hurts to have friends you can trust."

Apparently satisfied with her appearance, Morrow returns her gaze to Samira; lashes lowered to half-mast. She does look… 'content', is likely the best word. And she listens without interruption as the other girl explains where she fits in to all this. "..I captivate you? Well, that's a weighty compliment that I'm not sure I deserve." Her laughter is a pleasant sound, low in her throat and velvety, not jarring or overloud. "Thank you, Samira. It's perhaps a good thing that Oberon is unaware of such an alluring competitor for my affections." Is she teasing, or..? Maddeningly, it's impossible to guess. Comfortably settling her ribs against the arm of the chair again, the brunette continues on without missing a beat. "What sort of arrangement do yoou expect your brother might seek? It's hardly as though your family is lacking in wealth.. so I wonder what qualities they do consider worthwhile..?"

Though a hint of warmth lingers in Samira’s cheeks, she does not seem particularly bashful about her admission. Her laughter is indeed a pleasant sound, and the girl merely listens, enjoying it. Though she studies the other girl, it is impossible to truly tell what Morrow thinks of /her/. But the little one doesn’t seem to need her feelings to be returned in order to be content with them. Though she has shown how shy she can be at times, she struggles with no trace of insecurity.

Samira nods. “True. Wealth would never be the intent. I’ve always imagined it would be power. Greater influence. They were at least satisfied with my match to the Carrow heir, though they would have preferred to arrange something for me with a family in Egypt. But now? I cannot quite guess what my brother will do. He is here at the wishes of both my father and my mother’s family. But I suspect he has his own aims. I cannot yet guess what they are though.”

“As for Oberon. I don’t think there is any need for me to hide my fascination for you. He knows well that I pose no threat.” Samira’s soft smile quirks a bit wider as she gazes up at Morrow. “And you deserve the complement well. You are quite magnificent, ya Morrow.”

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