Dream did not smile. He chuckled, for a split second, and put his glass down, eyes moving back to hers. The scarf slid across the back of his neck as she moved it. She had died. And one dance? That hardly seemed like a tall order.
Except that Morpheus didn't feel much like dancing. Not after Morrigan's dream. Not after his uncle setting the goddamn table on fire and goading Mak. Not after Mak's nightmare.
You can pick the music?
Dream nodded. "Okay," he said. He stood up, slid past her, taking the scarf off his neck and putting it in her hand, and went over to the jukebox. He rubbed absently at his right eye, rolling his head slightly to the side. Nothing was playing right now, actually. The last song had run out... and he knew Dys must have picked this place because it had a Wurlitzer that created the ambient music. There was no band, there was no speaker system. There was just the jukebox, and the chatter of the people inside. He bit at his lower lip, flipping through the music, pushing the button for 'next' on the front of the thing until he saw something that was all at once too perfect not to play.
Too perfect. Entirely.
Morpheus dropped coins into it, and the light came back into his eyes. The look that hadn't been there all day, like he was about to get away with something, returned to where it belonged. It was not in any way going to stop the way this conversation went, but damn if he wasn't gonna have a good time while he was at it.
He turned back around with a slight smirk, raising his head to make eye contact with Dysnomia. Dream shoved his hands into his pockets for a minute, as the song started, and once it did, he smirked at her very slowly. An eyebrow rose and went back down, punctuation for the segue into this, and almost suggestive.
Come here, baby. You know you drive me up a wall the way you make good on all the nasty tricks you pull...
The smirk was one that Dys would recognize, now. And Morpheus took his hands back out of his pockets, raising one of them to almost eye level to beckon her toward him with one finger.
Girl, you got to change your crazy ways, you hear me?
A pair of old Irishmen seated next to the jukebox whistled.