Dance Dance Incubus!

The bass beat summoned him up, reaching far down into the sewers where he hid from the day, bringing him back up. He hesitated, and then the fog of artificial smoke reached down its tantalizing tentacles and he felt it wrap around him into leather armor and clubbing boots and some really rad tattoos that--he tilted his head sideways and studied them curiously--said RAD DUDE 4NIC8! So rad was back in, and leetspeak had yet to die. He sighed, mock-sad, but the bass was vibrating his blood and his feet ached to be dancing and the sewers were quiet and calm because rats didn't throw parties and nobody got jazzed about sewer waste, but he wanted to be up and dancing, despite his choosing a lair as far away from the siren call as possible. Someone either opened a dance hall nearby, in which case he'd have to move, or they were hosting a rave or whatever they called it these days, in which case the police would find some unexplained deaths. He sighed, and felt it resonate in the air. He flexed, and felt space give way for him.


Inspiration: Random google of "gatecrasher" ended up with lyrics of "Gatecrasher" by Razor.
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: Could be fun urban fantasy. And no, he's not a vampire, not precisely. Or an incubus, precisely. Maybe he's whatever a male siren would be.