Author's Note/Intro: Today I felt very stressed and vented a lot of it into a silly and trivial Scarecrow/Patchwork Girl song fic story featuring Hammerstein's "I Won't Dance" (and in my late night opinion this story is rather stupid, but it can't be all that stupid if I'm publishing it). I used lines from the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers version for the first half of the story and the Ella Fitzgerald/Louis Armstrong version for the second part. I promise to write a quality Oz story later when I'm feeling up to it. Those books truly mean a lot to me, and I feel a little bad about this one because the Scarecrow's slightly out of character.
Oz characters (Scarecrow, Scraps, Ozma, Dorothy etc.) (c) L. Frank Baum though his books/characters are in the public domain.
I Won't Dance (c) Hammerstein, Harbach, Kern et al.
I write this out of pure enjoyment and for no profit
The straw man gazed across the sea of endlessly moving green silks from the side of the dance floor. His worn cotton body leaned against one of the palace's many green marble pillars. He often wondered why he cam to these events. He knew full well that he was too flimsy and uncoordinated to dance properly with anyone save Ozma, who was too gracious to say a thing about it, or Dorothy, who was too young to take note of it.
He tapped his leather boots on the polished emerald floor and heaved a sigh, which he realized, was rather unnecessary as he did not have any need to breath. Suddenly an abrupt sing song voice rang in his left ear:
"Oh, Mister Scarecrow, you,
Whatever is keeping you so blue?"
The Scarecrow literally jumped out of his train of thought. He caught his balance but when he turned to see who it was he collapsed right onto the ground.
"Scraps!" he exclaimed as the Patchwork Girl helped him up, "You startled me!"
"Sorry about that, I'll try to remember that you're easily startled."
"It's alright," said the Scarecrow removing his hat, "I don't mind being startled by you -er that is to say I'd prefer if you don't but honestly I don't mind." His hands fidgeted with the brim of his hat as he waited for a response from her. The two were already good friends and he was fairly certain that she had strong affections towards him, at least ones that matched his feelings towards her but the thought of being anything more than friends with the ever unpredictable Miss Scraps reduced the Scarecrow into a bale of nervous straw.
She only grinned at him, silver eyes sparkling under the fairy lanterns. When she didn't say anything, the Scarecrow grew anxious and began to wonder if he had said the right thing.
"Well?" asked the Patchwork Girl, "Answer my question, why are you so blue? I heard you giving a sigh, so what is up with you?"
"Oh, it's silly really- not terribly important." His pride was too large to tell her that he was concerned about his inability to shuffle across the dance floor, so when she shrugged, offered her brightly colored arm, and asked, " Alright. Would you like to dance?" he nearly fell over again.
"But -ah-" he spluttered conflicted. He would have given anything to be able to dance closely with the Patchwork Girl, at the same time he was fairly sure making a fool of himself on the dance floor would not benefit their relationship in anyway possible.
He looked from her arm to her. She still looked at him expectantly.
"Don't you think dancing's rather silly?" he politely pressed her arm down.
"Of course! That's exactly why I adore dancing!"
A proper Scraps answer, the Scarecrow thought.
"Then I'm sure you'll find a partner who feels the same about dancing. There are a good many people here."
He slowly backed away from the crowd, but Scraps insisted on following him, "Oh, come on! Just one quickstep!"
"A quickstep?! I'm not- I mean-"
She raised an eyebrow. "You don't like dancing?"
"Oh- I think dancing is swell! I just-" he swallowed his pride and came out with it, "I just don't feel confident in my abilities to dance. Especially quickstep- whatever that is!"
"You don't know how to dance." stated Scraps with a knowing smile.
"I do too! It's just-"
"Well if you do like to dance and you do know how to dance, then is there something wrong with the person asking you to dance?" She asked this question in the most confident tone possible, but the very thought of there anything being wrong with Scraps sent the Scarecrow's poor bran and pins brains reeling.
"No of course not! I'd just rather think that- well that is to say-"
Scraps just rolled her silver button eyes and pouted, "Think of what you're losing by constantly refusing to dance with me!"
The Scarecrow tried to object but she continued, "You'd be the idol of France with me!"
"Do you even know where France is?" he asked.
"I know that you're standing there and shaking your head dramatically, while I wait here ecstatically and you just look and say emphatically-" she offered her arm to dance again, but he backed away shaking a gloved finger.
"Not this season, there's a reason! I won't dance! Don't ask me! I won't dance! Don't ask me! I won't dance, madam with you."
"My heart won't let my feet do the things they should do!"
"But you don't have a heart!"
"All the better!" He raced across a hallway with her chasing after him. They found themselves on the rim of the circular dance floor again. Scraps put her hands on her hips and stood her ground.
"Well if you don't want to dance with me, so what? Who cares? I should have expected as much from a heartless man!"
The Scarecrow sighed and opened his arms out, hanging his head bashfully. "Alright." Scraps stepped right in and made sure he had his hand firmly placed on her waist before he put her own hand on his shoulder. The ever cautious Scarecrow began to dance slowly and feeling the Patchwork Girl's gaze on him he said, "You know what? You're lovely,"
"And so what? I'm still lovely."
"And oh, what you do to me I'm like an ocean that's bumped on the shore," he explained, "I feel so absolutely stumped on the floor!"
Scraps laughed and replied, "But when you dance you're so charming and gentle, Especially when you do the continental."
"This feeling isn't purely mental. For heaven rest us! I'm not asbestos!"
The two stopped their dance.
"You're not what?
"I'm not sure it just rhymed." The Scarecrow pulled away, "And that's why I won't dance, why should I? I won't dance, how could I? I won't dance, merci beaucoup. I know the music leads the way to romance, So if I hold you in my arms I won't dance."
"Fine then!" shouted Scraps, "Two can play at that game."
She stood with her back to the Scarecrow's and tapped her foot, "I won't dance. Don't ask me. I won't dance don't ask me. I won't dance, monsieur with you, my 'heart' won't let my feet do the things they should do. You know what?"
"So what I'm handsome."
"And oh!" Scraps practically jumped into the air, "What you do to me! I'm like an ocean wave that's bumped on the shore. I feel so absolutely stumped on the floor."
The Scarecrow sighed admiringly, "But when you dance you're charming and you're gentle. Especially when you do the continental."
"This feeling isn't purely mental. For heaven rest us! I'm not- whatever that last one was."
"That's why-" the Scarecrow turned and smiled as did Scraps, "That's why-"
They placed their selves into each others arms once more and started dancing back towards the dance floor with their playful dialogue,
"I won't dance don't ask me,
I won't dance merci beaucoup,
I know that dancing leads the way to romance,
So if I hold you in my arms, I won't dance."