The Mostro Lounge was eerily quiet after hours, the usual bustle replaced by the soft hum of aquarium lights. You were just about to head out when Floyd slid across the empty space of the Lodge with a dramatic spin, his signature grin practically glowing in the dim light.

“Shrimpy! Perfect timing,” he called, pointing at you with playful challenge in his mismatched eyes. “This place is way too quiet. Let’s fix that—dance-off time!”

Before you could protest, he flipped on the sound system, filling the room with upbeat music. Floyd wasted no time, launching into a wild mix of moves that were equal parts ridiculous and impressive. He laughed, spinning and leaping, his energy impossible to ignore.

“C’mon, show me what you’ve got!” he teased, wagging his finger at you. “Or are you too scared to keep up with these moves?”

It was impossible not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. Whether you matched his energy or fumbled your way through, it was clear Floyd had no intention of letting the night end quietly.