A little challenge I am doing. I'm not telling you who charged me with it, but it gave me a break from more pressing matters. I just thought you might like it.

Write a piece concerning:

- An Irish jig dance

- An OC

- An elf

- A talent show

Special notes: Write it within an hour. The OC must be someone you come up with at the top of your head. No background, no information beforehand, no nothing. And he/she can't be a Mary Sue. Make a character, slap on a name, and make him/her awesome all the same.

It cannot be a parody.

It cannot start with dialogue.

The OC must be a human.

The Dork, the Elf Child and the Jig

Jack squirmed uncomfortably, trying to think of the best way to say no to this request. He also kept his gaze down and avoided the gleaming pair of grey eyes that stared down at him, looking eager.

"Come on," the familiar voice urged, and he could feel a soft hand on his shoulder. "Just this once. I will never, ever force you to dance again. I just want to see your culture's dance."

The image of him dancing flashed through Jack's mind. Then came the speaker's face. Jack blushed a brilliant red. He'd make a fool out of himself too many times already. No need to add even more to his humiliation. And of all the people who he could embarrass himself in front of, Jack didn't want thousand-years-old folks to laugh at him.

"Please?" the voice needled.

Jack glanced up at last, looked directly at her, and sighed. "Do I have to?" he asked even though he already knew the answer.

The elf-child nodded vigorously, her golden hair bouncing. She grinned at him, pulling him to his feet. "Come!" she said, pulling him to his feet and then to the middle of the clearing. The other dancers paid them no heed, but Jack was aware that several Eldar sitting on the side turned their heads to watch them both. He blushed again, hoping it was not too evident in the moonlight that filled the clearing.

Once they were at the center, the elf smiled at him. "Well?" she asked, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. "Is the music good for you, or should I ask my father to change it?" Her father was one of the minstrels.

"No, no, it's perfect," Jack said hastily. He wasn't lying. It was a cheery, bouncy tune, for once lacking the ever-present haunting quality that elven songs always seem to have. It actually sound quite close to Irish, and Jack wondered if Middle-Earth was in fact a real continent, forgotten in time, and somehow re-shaped to Ireland in the future.

Nah, that can't be. Else would've killed himself. He was introducing their traditional dance to his forefathers.

The elf-child smiled patiently, her arms still crossed. Jack glanced around. Others were definitely watching them now. Jack wondered if any of these had seen a jig before. Even though they did live several millennia, Jack observed that the elves kept to themselves for most of the time with little to no contact with humans or other races.

He sighed. There was no way out of this, then.

Jack stood silent for a few moments, listening to the music and trying to get in with the tune. The tune paused slightly before starting up again, and Jack took that as his cue. He kicked off and started the dance, not caring very much about the sequence or technique. He just wanted to get it over with.

The earth and his soft boots did not give him the satisfying click-click he so liked to hear when he danced, but Jack ignored it. All he did listen to was the music and the sound of his blood pounding in his ears. His face must be the color of a ripe tomato by now, Jack thought distantly, moving faster so as to keep up with the beat. Oh, God, he would give anything to be out of here…

As the music ceased, Jack stopped. He didn't look at anyone, simply making a blind bow and stuttering, "I have to go get a drink" and hurried out of there. He wanted to be far from the crowd before they started to laugh at him.

Half an hour later, when Jack was calmer and sitting underneath a large oak tree, a mug in his hand holding fine wine, he was approached again by the elf-child who had made him do the Irish jig. He glanced up at her, dreading her smile and the sure-to-come request of making him dance again – or something worse.

But all she did was smile and flopped down next to him. "That is very nice," she said at length, dusting her dark dress. Jack said nothing in response. The elf-child did not give up. "I would love it if you teach me how to do it."

An image of elves doing Irish jig dance entered Jack's mind, and he giggled before he could help it. The thought of those ancient, immortal and outright alien beings, doing jig, was a thought indeed!

"Why are you laughing?" The question was not spoken offensively, merely curious and amused.

"Nothing," Jack said quickly, glancing at the girl behind him. She looked just about his age, but he knew she was much more than a meager fourteen years of age. "Fine. See you tomorrow."

She beamed. "You speak truly?"

Jack looked at her. Then he nodded. "Aye."

After that, they were silent, watching the stars beyond the sheltering foliages of the trees.