MEIBI walks in quietly, yet the temperature shifts. A low murmured pad blooming from a distance, vocal fragments curling, hinting the night will stretch at unexpected angles. Their sets breathe through the liquid filled tubing set to balance temperature around the core. House current rises, breaks into steely techno, then slips towards shimmering electro, all done whilst carrying ballroom sass and warehouse grit. At EXOTIKA this mechanism is tuned for queer communion, though it functions anywhere and for anyone, from Gare’s concrete belly to Corsica’s low ceiling. Nothing is fixed from the off. MEIBI inhales, exhales, edits, drops an unheard demo, lifts it seconds later if the feeling drifts. By close the crowd holds quieter hearts, sweat is drying and the map of new possibilities remains pressed across our memories. Faint hearts welcome, but dance at your own peril.