Cruella Queen was the kind of woman whose beauty nations would go to war over.

Not that she should be reduced to her looks. Moxie King knew nothing about her except that she won a Grammy Award for Best New Artist the year before—she was there to watch her accept it, as well as the stunning performance she gave to open the ceremony—but she heard enough of her music to know she was equally talented as she was beautiful. Cruella established in every aspect of her life how she was a difficult person to tear your eyes away from.

Unfortunately, that also applied to the eye-catching headlines written about her.

After spending most of her life under ‌public scrutiny, albeit much less than the amount thrust upon them present day, Moxie knew better than to take anything at face value in the music and entertainment industry, and there had been many of them featuring Cruella Queen's name. Even if Moxie tried her best to ignore all of the incessant chatter surrounding Hollywood's most coveted commodities, the Queen herself was impossible to ignore, for better or for worse. Considering she recently checked herself out of rehab, Moxie believed it was likely more the latter.

Even being perceived as perfection wielded a double-edged sword when in the public eye, and Cruella Queen was seen as anything but.

The bright glow emanating from Moxie's phone was nearly blinding. Cruella's inhuman magnificence was captured brilliantly within the tiny frame of the photo sitting neatly underneath the headline. As carefully crafted as it was to pull everyone in to their tangled web of truths and fables, Moxie ignored it for the sake of the woman pictured below. Who even cared what the tweet said when she was looking at that picture?

Unfortunately, it wasn't as simple as that.

While Moxie knew better than to get sucked into the tabloids, most average social media users didn't. They flocked to the outrageous headline with their eyes wide open and uninformed opinions sharpened. There was no way Cruella Queen could make it out of that one misleading tweet without her reputation burning at the stake, but that was the nature of these types of institutions. They thrived off the pain of others if it meant they could make a profit off the highest bidder. And where public scrutiny was concerned, there was no shortage of payment.

Moxie had no idea who this woman was. She couldn't even be sure she knew her name. (Cruella Queen sounded fake as fuck.) (It sounded even more fake when she learned her sister's name was Ursula.) Despite that, she felt bad for her. If it wasn't rehab, it was her on-again, off-again boyfriend. If it wasn't her boyfriend, it was her sleazy manager. If it wasn't a man with whom she was associated, it was the unbelievable audacity to be a woman in the music industry. They always found a way to paint Cruella Queen as a villain. Opposite what innocent hero? It didn't matter. That archetype didn't need to exist. Someone else was always going to be more deserving of a more respectful headline.

"This vampire bat. This inhuman beast. She ought to be locked up and never released. The world was such a wholesome place until—" The song overlay was changed to a clip of Cruella Queen onstage announcing herself before one of her shows. "Cruella. Cruella Queen."

A light flickered in the room. Her clock. Three am.

Moxie exhaled a slow, tired sigh before rubbing her eyes and clicking off her phone. She didn't know why she gave so much thought to someone whose path she would likely never cross unless they appeared at the same award show again. Just two faces sitting on opposite sides of the crowd. A terrible thought crossed her mind that she was a bystander to the train wreck that would very likely become Cruella's career, not by any fault of her own. That was just the nature of being a woman in an industry still run by men, the all-too-frequent inability to completely control the narrative of her own life. She would fight to prove herself and the world would never let her succeed. Only once she was down and out of the spotlight would they falsify their pity and say she deserved better.

Wherever Cruella Queen ended up, Moxie hoped she was wrong.

...

Moxie liked to fix things.

To be honest, saying she liked to fix things was putting it lightly. Moxie believed she had enough self-restraint to keep herself from sticking her nose where she wasn't wanted, but she often found herself at the center of things she was ill-equipped to handle on her own, even while knowing her limitations. Most of the time, anyway. It wasn't always the case. She was human. The people around her were human. The problems they often faced were caused by humans. Therefore, her irrational need to insert herself into impossible equations was one of the most human things about her.

That was how she found herself sitting on the floor of her parents' kitchen staring up at the pipes of their sink as if she had a shred of plumbing knowledge while her brother Mick looked on, eating a bag of li hing mui gummy bears their Hawai'i friends had sent them a couple of weeks ago. The bag was nearly empty, mostly by Mick's hand (or, rather, mouth) and Moxie debated flinging a bottle of Windex at his head.

Seriously. She debated it. Hard. But the angle was terrible and she had just gotten her nails done the day before, so she didn't want to risk one of them getting chipped.

"Why is this the most annoying thing I've ever attempted in my life?"

Pop! Went another gummy bear. "Probably because you don't know shit about plumbing."

Deflating with a heavy sigh, she hauled herself out from under the sink and dusted her hands off as if she had managed to fix any problems with them. The only thing this exercise had given her was a bruised ego and back pain at her ripe old age of twenty-eight. Her career had only barely hit the ground running and she only half-jokingly considered what retirement might look like.

Maybe retirement would result in her becoming a live-in plumber for her parents.

"Anything a man can do with his ass crack showing, I can do better."

"Evidently not," Mick countered. "And all of the women and non-binary plumbers detest your implication that only men become plumbers."

"Oh, fuck off." She threw up a middle finger in his direction, which he kindly returned with a red fingertip coated with li hing mui powder.

The only reason she was at her parents' house in Toronto in the first place was that they wanted to clock in some family time before the sibling act went on their first headlining tour for four months. It wasn't the longest they would be away from their parents, especially since they relocated to LA while Mischa and Milena King alternated between Toronto and New York when they were jetting off across the world. Still. Their parents were big on spending quality family time together the older they all got. There were worse things to grumble about as far as parents went.

Her father walked in from the backyard with a tray full of food he had pulled straight off the grill, immediately filling the room with a smoky aroma. After spending decades traveling back and forth between different cities, often from coast to coast, few things reminded her of home more than that sight.

"Give it a rest, will you?" Milena King swept into the room like a monarch entering her throne room, leaving behind a scent trail of warm water and roses. Her hair hung in a slick sheet that left the back of her grey t-shirt with a darkened wet spot. Even scrubbed bare and clean of the day, she wielded more beauty than what seemed humanly possible. "Dinner's ready and you'll probably just make it worse. No offense."

"Or she'll find herself in another world." Mick twirled his fingers around an imaginary mustache.

"Offense taken." Moxie turned to her mother. Flipped him off behind her back. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"At least I'm being honest."

Moxie caught herself toying with the ends of her hair that had recently been chopped into a pixie cut. She wasn't sure why she bothered when she wore wigs most of the time while they were performing, but she enjoyed feeling the breeze on the back of her neck. Her short style emphasized those envious cheekbones her mother had gifted her.

The Kings rarely sat down at the dining table to eat dinner before Moxie and Mick moved out alone. They preferred to eat alone in their rooms or sit on the sofas in the living room. Informality was more their comfort zone. But it was going to be their last time together at home for a while, so it seemed appropriate to utilize the dining table.

"How's... what's it called going?" Moxie asked. She probably should have dug a little deeper to pretend she was somewhat interested in the film her mother was producing at the moment. Maybe she would have been if a particular French-American actor wasn't cast in an undisclosed role. (Her mother had tried to convince the other producers and casting director to pick someone else, but even Milena King could only wield so much power on set.)

"What's it called is going well," Milena played along as she slipped some green beans onto her plate. "You-know-who is almost done with his scenes."

"Thank God." If only he could be done with his entire career, he would be doing the entire world a favor.

"Want me to slash his tires?" Mick asked as he snuck an extra corn on the cob onto his plate. It went nicely as a topping to all the butter he drowned it in. "Might get him out of there quicker."

Their mother looked tempted, but she was a professional. The King siblings could be more accurately labeled as wannabe professionals.

"Thanks, but I think I'll have to pass," she replied with ease. "I might be better off asking Moxie to fix the sink."

"Unfortunately, my services are no longer available. Try asking Ma—"

"Don't say his name."

Moxie listened to her mother. Sometimes. This was one of those times.

Milena King dove into the sordid details of working as a producer on a major motion picture, which, after so many years, lost its mysterious allure. It wasn't that unfamiliar to Molly's experience working within the music industry, though she should have also seen that coming considering her father's work. She felt mildly pathetic complaining about any of those things when there were much worse problems in the world to deal with, but she found a way to still feel down every once in a while. It was much easier giving someone else advice than taking it herself.

Her father was uncharacteristically quiet for someone who loved leading the charge with conversations at the dinner table, but that likely had something to do with a particular pop star in the news. Moxie had debated asking him about her when they ran into each other in the kitchen that morning since he worked with the label she was signed to, but she didn't want him to read too much into her questioning, and it felt like an unfair invasion of privacy to utilize her familial connections to gain insight on someone she considered her peer. Pestering him just fed into the narrative that Cruella's privacy was up for discussion.

Still. She had thought about her even after waking up from a dream-free night's sleep.

(It wasn't much of a sleep, to begin with.) (It would have been worse if she dreamt of the blonde starlet for no other reason than a silly headline.)

"You alright?" Moxie nudged her dad with her elbow.

He tore his vacant eyes away from Mick and Milena who were in a heated debate over whether they should rewatch Jurassic Park or finally see what the hell was up with Top Gun: Maverick. They were completely split down the middle. Moxie had voted for Jurassic Park out of solidarity with Stevie and one of her favorite movies, and Mick had joined her.

"Isn't your friend named after this movie?"

"The original Top Gun came out almost forty years ago, Mom. And being friends with Maverick doesn't mean we need to watch that tonight."

"But it has a bunch of hot guys! I thought you'd like that!"

"If you like it so much, you should just produce your own Top Gun movie and cast yourself as the lead."

"Maybe I will."

Moxie cleared her throat, turning back toward her father.

"As we were saying..."

"Yeah," Mischa King answered her, running a hand back over his head. Most days, he looked like someone who had lived a long, full life and was settled into leisurely enjoying himself. At that moment, he looked tired, but not enough to cause major concern. At least, that was what Moxie told herself. The industry had bled far less privileged people dry just for the sake of it. She always tried her best to keep an eye out for signs that her parents were wearing a little too thin in case she needed to figure out how to help. "A lot of work calls today. Damn thing wouldn't shut up, I almost threw it at the wall."

"You should really get off your phone and go outside. Get some fresh air. Your generation is so obsessed with staring at that ugly rectangular screen," Moxie teased. Her father shoved her away with a laugh. "Hope whatever it is blows over eventually." Sooner rather than later was probably the preferred outcome for all parties involved.

He nodded. "Always does."

That wasn't always the truth, but they often operated under the understanding they couldn't discuss many aspects of their jobs, which was the truth. Whether it was an NDA or their pride standing in the way, they couldn't share everything, and when it came to her father in particular, there were more often than not a lot of other people involved. He preferred not to break any of his clients' trust.

"Has Roxanne lost her mind yet?" Mischa asked.

"God, Glen Powell is a gift to mankind."

"He is, isn't he?"

Moxie ignored the peanut gallery and accepted the diversion. "Debatable if she even had it in the first place."

That certainly wasn't the truth. Roxanne Lim was one of the biggest reasons why this tour was even happening. The King siblings owed her a lot over the years of being their best friend, aside from the most recent hurdle of being their tour manager.

"Must have if she can wrangle you two together," he chided.

Mick seized that moment as an opportunity to jump back into the conversation, Top Gun crisis averted for the time being. (They were going to return to it after dinner no matter what anyone else in that room wanted.) "I don't appreciate the implication in your words. We're always great to Roxanne."

"Uh-huh."

"That's a verifiable fact."

Moxie took a strategic sip of water.

Both Mischa and Milena King stared down their son. "You act like we didn't raise you."

"I'm just saying. We are phenomenal coworkers. Colleagues. Employers." He looked toward Moxie for help, but she knew better than to go up against their parents. They would always lose. "Apparently, I'm speaking for myself here."

She shrugged. "Sounds about right."

"So much for sibling solidarity. We're never supposed to let the boomers win."

"You're the one digging yourself into a mess you didn't need to participate in. Could've pretended you never heard him and continued ogling over Glen Powell instead."

Mick glared at her and dropped his fork down onto the plate, only vaguing hiding the smile ready to take over his face. It wasn't until they had to schedule these moments that Moxie realized how much she missed having them. Always easier to appreciate something when it was gone.

"If I'm such a mess, where's your supposed savior complex hiding out?"

Much to her mother's chagrin, Moxie flicked a green bean in his direction. "She's taking a break. Check back again in three to five business days."

...

"You told me not to think."

For someone who was deadset against watching this particular movie for reasons unknown, Mick looked exponentially pissed when Moxie's phone started ringing after what she assumed would be considered a pivotal scene in Top Gun: Maverick. (The movie could have used more Phoenix scenes.) (Moxie also preferred Kingston Maverick over Pete Mitchell the Scientologist.)

"Will you turn that shit off—"

"Will you turn that shit off—" She mocked. A quick glance down at the caller ID and she felt even less guilty over interrupting the sausage fest happening on screen. Moxie didn't understand how a movie could be so painfully straight and gay at the same time, but alas, here she was wondering when Glen Powell and Miles Teller were going to admit they were in love while also trying to calculate how many lifts Tom Cruise wore throughout the shoot. "It's Stevie."

"I don't care. Turn it off."

She flipped him off instead and hopped over the back of the sofa to make her departure. The cool Toronto fresh air was a welcome reprieve. And though she was simply a voice on the other end of the line, Stevie was good company to keep.

"Howdy."

Stevie hesitated. "Are you cosplaying for your Austin show?"

"Whataburger."

"Damn, you're gonna blend right in."

Moxie played with the ends of her hair again. "You just saved me from the end of Top Gun: Mavierck. I hope whatever you need takes a long time for us to be on the phone."

The silence from Stevie's end dragged on a little too long for comfort. "Is this a safe space to say that I—"

"This is not a safe space for that. What's up?"

"Fine." If Moxie knew her friend at all, she probably had that beach scene committed to memory. Whatever. Everyone had their flaws. "I just wanted to let you know that Jun and I can make it to Austin after all."

Moxie was relieved, though she didn't say anything about it out loud. As close as they were, she didn't want to admit how nervous she was about going on their first headlining tour to someone who was practically a seasoned veteran at this point thanks to MARS' wildly successful Escape Velocity Tour. Knowing Stevie, she would instantly go into supportive overdrive and frantically ask until she was blue in the face how she could possibly help. And as appreciative as Moxie would be for that, she didn't want her friend to worry about her. Stevie had been invited to have a good time.

"Boy Wonder got a race that weekend?"

"Vroom vroom weekend, indeed."

"Expect nothing less than perfection from the reigning Piston Cup Champ, of course."

Stevie giggled. "He's never living that down."

"Maverick sure is timeless."

"Is it okay if I have Jenny email Roxanne for the details?"

"Sure." Moxie nodded to herself. For reasons unbeknownst to her, her thoughts trailed off into zero gravity as Stevie briefly made small talk about what she had been up to for the past few weeks. The last time they talked was through Instagram comments on one of their photos. It was only when she asked Moxie about how she was feeling that her mind snapped back into the stratosphere. "Sorry, come again?"

"I think you're distracted by all those pilots."

"Yeah. All two fucking women."

Stevie laughed again, this time with the sound of someone else peeking in from the background. It was muted enough that Moxie couldn't tell who it was, but she assumed it was either Jun, hence the phone call to alert her of their upcoming presence at the show, or Bash, because this was, in fact, Stevie they were talking about, which meant he usually wasn't far away if it could be helped.

"Don't tell me you're ditching me already. It's been like ten seconds."

"Probably should have just texted. If I had known I was interrupting—"

"You suck." She didn't. Stevie was the best, always. "See you next week."

"Bye!"

Moxie was plunged into a sudden silence and she couldn't quite decide how much she liked it. Despite what she wanted to believe, sometimes she flew a little too close to the sun and had a hard time knowing when to slow down. She took a deep breath, counted to ten, and then slid back inside the house.