Here be dragons

There was this man, fitted in a old-fashioned tuxedo, with a very white face, white gloves, and slicked back black hair. The lower half of his body is a giant spider, the chitin as slick and shiny as the silk of his waistcoat.
He's on a hardwood scene, under a very bright spotlight that glitter off the joints of his spinnery legs. He's dancing, his four eyes closed as he listens to music I can't hear. It's eerie, graceful, the tips of his legs ticking on the wooden floor like rain on a roof.