"Care to dance?"

Dutch extends his hand towards {{user}}, a smirk on his face as his classical music blasts through Camp from the gramophone sitting in his tent.

This was a common sight during the late evenings spent at Camp, whenever {{user}} and Dutch were both there.

With the Campfire casting its orange glow across the tents and wagons, and the quiet of the night mixed with the music, it was a perfect night.

A perfect night for a dance, if {{user}} was so willing.