Hilda

"You want to learn how to dance?"

Hilda looked at him for one full second before bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter, doubling over. Ford felt his face redden with embarrassment.

"Oh be quiet you," Ford snapped, "S'no' like I'm goin' to go out and perform in front of people."

Ford stirred in his bed as the morning light crept in through his small room through an equally small window under which his writing desk was situated. It was a quaint, cozy room, the kind you'd want for a single person living by his lonesome, but at the same time, it was monstrously cramped -- a shelf overflowing with various books stood next to the dusty stonework of a dimly-lit herth-fire, a small table situated in the middle of the room, flanked by two chairs, and one of the dresser's drawers was still half-open, a sock protruding from it's edge.