It may very well be a new dancing holiday. But if it is, September has no idea. He whirls an unexpecting woman about in several precise turns, apologising as he goes, before releasing her and continuing down the sidewalk. She stumbles dazedly away, a what just happened? sort of look on her face.

Once he's in range and hears the question, he attempts to side-step out of Diarmuid's way. "I do not know," he answers, as expressionless as usual. "Though I suspect that it is one of the localised effects that often occur in this town. I have not yet found the so--" Whups, his sidestepping ended in a pivot that fetched him up against a very large, muscular man who blinks cluelessly as he is now swept up in the dance. September and Big McLargehuge (who shrugs in a surprisingly amiable fashion) fall into a strangely well-executed merengue for several beats.

"Hyu danz pritty goot for leetle guy," the large man rumbles in an unplaceable accent. "Thank you," September answers, ever polite. A couple bars later, the large man releases him, chortling. "Dot vos fon," he rumbles, ambling away.

September nearly stumbles, but manages to keep his feet and whups, got too close. Time to learn the foxtrot, Diarmuid....