Movin' to the groove

As Jack was walking out of the room, the girl in the Fluttershy shirt found the baggie of pills that Jack had tossed aside so haphazardly the night before. She held it up and turned for her sister to see. Each looked into the others eyes as the corner of their mouths curled upward in the slightest of grins.

The girls requested Meghan Trainor, but we're happy with whatever dancy stuff he might have. They smiled as the recording started to play and danced to the rhythm as they washed. For a moment, Meg shook her head, frowning, then picked the beat again, her sensitive ears picking up the white noise, then running it out again almost as fast. By the time Jack came back to the kitchen the girls had finished their chore, but they were still dancing, face to face, less than an inch separating their lips. The first thing he might notice was that they were very good. Not "we go to the club all the time" good - formal training good, and as always perfectly synched with each other, moving in tandem like mirror images turned on by each other. The next thing he might notice was the slightly glazed look in their eyes, distant and slightly high. He hadn't been gone that long, didn't smell anything, so either they took something fast acting from the bag or they were very, very susceptible to what he'd done through the music.

Only if he watched very, very closely could he see their lips twitching, barely moving, but it out find the song. Mouthing the repetitive words beneath the edge of hearing.