"Welcome, Austin, to the MONARCH tour's official coronation. How are we all doing this evening?"

The crowd roared to life and Moxie counted her lucky stars that she was blessed enough to end up on that stage. It never got old. It would never get old. No matter how many times they stepped onto one, no matter the size of the crowd in front of them, performing would always and forever be the greatest sensation on Earth. (Hell, she dared say it was even better than sex sometimes.) (Sometimes.)

When Moxie and Mick were up on that stage together, they moved like two slow dancers, completely in sync with the other, speaking a language nobody else but the two of them knew. The world was watching them, that very small part of the world squeezed tightly into the venue, but they were simply attempting to interpret something they could never understand, something they could only dream of understanding. Stevie and Jun were given insights into their process, and therefore could propose a more educated guess as to what some of their lyrics meant, how much of themselves had been weaved carefully into each and every word, but even they were outsiders into the siblings' relationship.

Everyone was more than thrilled when Stevie and Jun emerged through the fog on stage for their surprise performance of Ghosts. It was the first time they ever played it live all together, with Moxie and Stevie leading with the majority of the vocals. They were contrasting sounds, with Stevie's sweet tones that held a powerful bite, and Moxie's more sultry raspiness. Their voices blended seamlessly as the two men carried most of the background vocals, with Jun additionally playing the acoustic guitar, though that was to be expected when singing alongside the voice of a generation like the MARS lead singer.

This being the first show of their very first headlining tour was better than anything they could have asked for. And not even Mick splitting his pants after jumping off one of the speakers could ruin it. (It made it all that much better, bright red boxer briefs and all.)

The only time during the show in which Moxie felt herself falter for the tiniest moment was when somehow, through the sea of people, she spotted a blonde head in the crowd, standing in the section reserved for guests of the show. It was where Stevie and Jun would have listened if they weren't performing, or where the rest of MARS would be if they weren't off enjoying their well-deserved break after a long world tour. A place for Maverick and Leigh if they weren't off changing the world in their own ways. Her parents would have been cheering them on from that section if they weren't busy as well. (She was okay with them not being there tonight.) (There would be plenty of shows for them to see their kids making their dreams come true.)

She never stopped long enough to make sense of what she was seeing, who she was seeing. Quite frankly, it should not have mattered. It didn't while she was on that stage. She was there to perform, not worry about whether some infamous pop star was at her show.

Moxie liked problems. She liked the challenge they posed, had fun untangling the knots. And, well, she was her father's daughter after all, which meant she spent most of her life believing she could fix anything. Anyone. Even herself, sometimes.

It didn't take long for her to move on, compartmentalizing the restless part of her that couldn't stop thinking about Cruella Queen since they talked at the party a few nights ago. She was good at that since she bounced around a lot growing up, jumping from a movie set to a secret recording studio to a vacation that wasn't entirely vacation but sometimes work. Those trips weren't always fun—on the worst of them, they were downright terrible, but she wasn't about to unpack any of that any time soon—but they helped forge her into the woman she was today, for better or for worse.

Witnessing the life of a rockstar up close and personal also contributed heavily to her desire to pursue this career. She vividly remembered strutting across an empty stage at eleven years old, swaying her hips from side to side, a sassy pout perched perfectly on her lips. Mick was always right behind her, equally as thrilled to dance along to the same daydream. Their father would be offstage somewhere in the seats, smiling up at them from the dark, past the glare of the spotlights. They were unstoppable even back then.

Moxie looked back at Mick before the final song, smiling at him, thankful to have him by her side through all of it. The world faded away, they took a deep breath and got ready for their final waltz of the night. Kings of the world.

She was tired.

So Moxie took a shot as soon as she walked off stage, still drenched in the sound of applause after their encore performance. And then another one as soon as she made it back to her dressing room. The night was still young, and their plans were far from over. The first show of the tour required a celebration to kick things off.

It felt good. Whatever alcohol she had consumed before the show was sweated out on that stage, and her body and nerves were thankful for the replenishment. Mick was all too eager to join her, although Roxanne rolled her eyes at her choice of booze. (Roxanne was deceptively classy when it came to her choice of vice.) (She gave off the impression of a woman who liked beer but she was a red wine girly all the way through.)

"Hurry up," Moxie demanded as she stuck her head inside her brother's room. He was tugging a fresh white t-shirt on over his head, humming along to My Tears Ricochet by Taylor Swift. The air was thick with the smell of his cologne, and his hair was slick with water. "Evermore is better, by the way."

"Embarrassing of you to pit two sister albums against each other. Especially when Folklore is her best album."

Moxie rolled her eyes, laughing. "I thought you liked 1989 the most."

"I'm a 1989 sun, Folklore moon, and Lover rising."

"Do you even know what that me—" She shook her head. "Nevermind. You're still wrong."

"Even she doesn't acknowledge Evermore's existence."

"You know what—"

"I'm pretty partial to 1989 myself."

Moxie twirled in the direction of where the surprise voice had come from, a little too sloppily thanks to the additional shots she had taken while waiting to ambush Mick in his dressing room. (She wasn't the biggest fan of taking shots, but they were time-efficient and effective at getting the job done.)

Cruella Queen stood there with Bronx Harlow by her side and another woman—shorter, blonde, a little more edgy where Cruella was glamorous. While she looked vaguely familiar, Moxie couldn't put a name to her face.

"I mean, what a way to reinvent yourself, right?" Cruella continued, as casually as anyone who had been invited backstage. Except that she hadn't been, as far as Moxie was concerned. (Mick looked too unsurprised by their appearance.) "Fearless catapulted her into stardom, but 1989 solidified her place amongst the greatest of all time. There was nothing quite like that era."

"Fair enough." Moxie couldn't argue with that point. She glanced down at the cup in Cruella's hand. "Need to top that off?"

"Whatever you got is fine. Thanks."

Moxie quickly waved over Mary Ann, one of the assistants who was helping them earlier, and asked if they could bring over some drinks. They were off before she could finish saying thank you.

"Glad you girls could make it!" Mick pushed past his sister to give the blonde starlet & co. a hug. "How was the flight? You said you were supposed to land at the ass crack of dawn, right?"

This confirmed Moxie's suspicion that he had somehow invited them without her finding out. How he managed to get a hold of them after meeting once while drunk at a party, she had no idea, but he was charismatic enough to get away with sliding into someone's DMs without giving off a creepy impression. Moxie, on the other hand, kept her socials locked from allowing private communication from people with whom she wasn't already friends.

"Oh, the flight was delayed 'cause, well, it's LAX, so we got in later but it's whatever."

"She took the world's longest nap and almost didn't wake up in time to make it to the show," the other girl said. A little grumpy but mostly teasing. It was instantly recognizable how similar her voice was to Cruella's. They even stood the same way. Carried themselves like carbon copies. Moxie recognized the familiarity as something she and Mick shared.

So... this was the sister. Moxie hadn't heard nearly as much about her as she had Cruella, enough so that she couldn't recall ever seeing a picture of her before either, which was why she hadn't recognized her. From what little she could remember from reading about them in one of those articles written after Cruella left rehab earlier that year, Ursula Queen was also trying to make a name for herself in the music industry, except that she went only by her first name, and where Cruella was a certified pop star, Ursula leaned more rock.

"You must be Ursula," Mick said. He pointed at himself, and then at her. "I'm Mick, this is Moxie."

"And here I thought you just looked strikingly similar to the people who were just on stage." Ursula stepped forward, hand outstretched in Moxie's direction. She wore a barrage of silver rings, and her purple and blue Doc Martens stood out amongst a sea of black shoes that surrounded her. "Thanks for inviting us. My friend and I tried to get tickets when they first went on sale and had no luck."

"It was probably Ticketdemon's fault," Moxie offered. And she was one hundred percent serious. (Fuck them and their monopoly over concerts in the States.) "Just message Mick whenever you want to stop by. We always put aside tickets for friends."

Friends. Like they were all friends and not just people who had casually met at a party. As if Moxie wasn't trying her hardest not to stare at Cruella who was clinging to Bronx's arm, dressed in something sparkly. Moxie liked sparkly things. She was easily distracted in that way.

Mary Ann came back with drinks in hand and dispersed them amongst the group. By the time she finished, Moxie had already knocked back her entire drink but kept the empty cup to her side so Mary Ann wouldn't feel obligated to throw it away for her.

No one else has noticed her impressive speed. (Not that they should have cared.) Moxie wished Seira or Leigh was there to appreciate her talents. Didn't even break a sweat.

"Oh, hi!" Another stellar entrance, this time by Stevie and Jun who had been escorted by Roxanne through the maze to find the rest of the group. They were all hanging out in a hallway, which meant it was crowded with the newest members of the party. "I thought I saw you out there! It's been so long. And oh my god, that dress is so cute. How are you?"

Stevie and Cruella exchanged pleasantries—"You're the cute one. And it has pockets!"—while Jun introduced himself to Ursula and got reacquainted with Bronx. Most of them had probably run into each other during the award show circuit in the past couple of years. Cruella was there the night that Escape Velocity swept the Grammys, securing a win of her own.

Mick nudged her arm, holding his phone out. They had originally planned on going out to dinner somewhere close by as they were heading to the next city in the early afternoon, but with the additions to their party, it called for a new location. Apparently, Mick had made quick work of finding a new place for all of them to hang out—convenient since he was the only one aware of just how many people there would be—and it went against the entire purpose of where they had first chosen to go as to not wear themselves out too thin before they departed Austin.

When in fucking Austin, she guessed.

"Please don't tell me you're tucking in early for the night," Cruella said, leaning into Moxie. "You guys killed it. You should celebrate."

"Translation," Bronx butted in, "she doesn't want to go back to the hotel yet."

"Let a girl live a little." Cruella elbowed him. "Right, Mick?"

"Right." Mick pointed a finger gun at them. "And guess who got us a room, ladies."

Moxie refrained from rolling her eyes. Even if she hadn't just been informed of what his plans were, she would have been able to tell right then and there what mischief he had up his sleeves.

"I'm afraid to ask what you mean by that," Stevie said warily.

Only Mick could choose this after playing a two-hour-long show. And maybe Stevie and Maverick if they had drunk too many Billy Loomises and Ka-chow!s. (Was that... Jun drinking a Capri Sun?) (Respectfully, Jesus fucking Christ, Nakagawa.)

Moxie sighed. Felt Cruella inch closer to her, or maybe that was just her imagination. Either way, she wasn't complaining.

"Karaoke."