One of Gold's most loved and favorite pastimes is to dance...
Gold saunters into the area of performance in his bright costume: low rising, loose red silk pants, a sash of gold coins tied about his waist that jingled with each step. He wore no shirt and no shoes. He had black swirling tribal tattoos spanning across his chest and a black cobra on his arm. He was richly adorned in gold jewelry and trinkets. He stopped and looked around, smirking.
He holds up a sleek and elaborate scimitar in his hand, the curved blade glinting in the light. He does a flourishing bow as the drum beat slowly picks up to the right rhythm. He holds the sleek, curved blade up in his left hand, his right folded over his chest. His many bangles on his arms jingle at the movement.
Gold at once, begins to dance. He moves around in circles, dropping to a crouch every so often, kicking one of his legs up as he does so, maintaining a steady rhythm and straight posture. His sword arm flourishes about, the scimitar dancing and flashing about his body, barely seeming to miss his skin.
He rises up and hops back on his back foot before hopping forward on his front foot, his body swaying to the music, the blade still whirling and dancing about him, slicing the air. He lifts the blade above his head, gripping it near the tip of the curve with his other hand, the scimitar parallel to the ground. He jumps up slightly before swirling and spinning elegantly across the ground, a wide grin on his face. His silk and coin sash jingle furiously at the movements. He continues to dance and glide around the area, smirking and winking at the occasional audience member who looks his way, the blade dancing and twirling around him still.
Gold comes to a halt and begins to spin the blade even faster around him. He slowly arches his body back. The man was EXTREMELY flexible. He continued to arch back as he lowered to his knees in a slow, fluid motion till his head nearly touched the ground. The blade still whirling around him.
His muscles tensed and flexed suddenly as he sprung up and launched up onto his feet again. He holds the scimitar in front of him, perpendicular to the ground, gripping the blade near the tip once more. He smirks and dances around once more, his hips rising and falling to the beat.
Gold spun around and glided across the floor, his hips still moving to the beat. As the song drew to an end, he spun around once and dropped to his knees, head lowed and sword hand pressed to his heart. He knelt there, panting, sweat glistening on his skin from exertion of the dance.
After a few moments, he lifted his head, that crooked smirk resuming it's position on his lips once again as he rises to his feet...
