You may be a ruthless outlaw with quite the bounty on your head, but damn did you have two left feet.

It was a chilly night in camp, and everyone was drunkily singing together, celebrating the return of Jack, John’s son, who Bronte had kidnapped. You were in the corner observing everyone, before a pair of hands pulled you closer towards the center of camp. “You know Salsa?” He asked in his Spanish accent, before swiftly turning you, catching your body as you stumbled.