Chapter Text
“Somebody please, please take me home.
There’s children igniting like sweet cherry bolt.
Blacktop lagoons lie safe in cocoons.
And to sweet serenade I cross my roots…”
The low croon sweetens the air around you as you sit, notebook in hand, scribbling away at your notes as though you were paying any attention to them. In all honesty you’re paying more attention to the woman on stage, and have been doing so for the last half hour. Her hips sway with the velveteen notes that she sings, and though they’re really more like nonsense verse there’s something hypnotising about the way she makes them come alive.
“Somebody please, please hear this song.
Squeeze time and night by a plastic bombshell bloom-
Let it be soon, this impending doom.
Raise a blanket, betty parade, scheduled for noon…”
Her eyes are hooded and barely seem to be looking at the crowd; rather the most you can see is a shimmer of jade green eyeliner and a mouth kissed to a microphone that she cradles like a child to her breast. A saxophonist behind her takes the lead away as she fades out and allows the instrumental to take over for a few moments. You pick up your coffee by its porcelain handle but never take your eyes off the stage as you sip. It’s bittersweet, like the melody. As you set it down the woman steps forward and parts those mesmerising lips to reveal ivory teeth once again.
“Ooh, this song is drifting away.
Burns ups your eyes; melts your face like sea-spray.
Our plagiaristic tendency is paving the way…”
She holds her last note to a diminuendo and turns away, allowing the band to finish. As she sweeps the curtains aside and allows her fellow singers backstage you try to draw your eyes away from her- but you can’t until she’s gone. There’s applause, but you’re too dazed to join in.
Kanaya Maryam sings like a goddess. You return night after night to hear her, veiled behind an inconspicuous pair of darkened glasses and a black felt beret. Idle banter wafts over you as you try to engrave the last resounding note of the song into your soul.
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“That woman was here again. The one in the black dress and beret.”
You pause with a pair of hairpins between your teeth, hair halfway up your neck, and turn to listen to your band mate. You blink a few times, gently pinning your curls up in an elegant mess that flows down your neck in waves, a well-practiced routine.
“Really? Is she here every night?”
“Every night, Kanaya. I really think you might have a fan.”
You snort. Pure nonsense. People just come here to drink, smoke and ogle at showgirls. She’s probably just here for the atmosphere.
“Feferi, would you hand me that comb?”
She takes a few seconds to unstick it from her own thick curls, and hands it to you with a pout. “Kanaya, when are you going to start believing that someone might actually want to be with you?”
You brush this enquiry aside and comb your bangs away from your face. Nepeta, however, has sniffed out the subject, and now you won’t hear the end of it. “Kanaaayaaaa” she mewls, lounging over a stage chair and you sigh, dropping your arms.
“Enough about my tragic love-life, if you please. Don’t you have some kind of movie night with Jane, or whoever?”
Nepeta immediately jumps onto the new subject, to your relief. “It’s Jaaade, and we’re having an anime night at her house. We’re going to watch Ouran Highschool Host Club.” You nod your head at her like you recognise it. You honestly never watched much anime beyond Hellsing and Vampire Knight, and even then that was after a lot of bothering from your soprano. Aradia pulls the small girl from the chair before she tears up the seat with her nails.
“And I suppose you’re just going to go home?” she inquires, gently lowering Nepeta to the ground. You nod again.
“As usual.”
Feferi follows this up with another pout, “Well, I’m going out with Sollux tonight. I don’t suppose you’d want to tag along? You might meet someone special! What about you, Aradia, do you want to come?”
Aradia spares her a grimace. “I’d rather not ‘tag along’ just to watch you make out with my best friend. There are limits, you know.” She continues after a moment, shrugging on a thick, baggy woollen jersey that makes you flinch- she had such a nice figure, too. “Besides, I’m actually meeting someone.” There’s a brief pause in which Feferi and Nepeta catch hold of this information, and then proceed to leap to her and demand every possible detail. You smile quietly, and slip out the back. There’s something uniquely painful about knowing everyone is in love except you.