Musicians were a fickle bunch, and Mischa King was a certified master at wrangling them in when duty called.

Moxie considered herself wildly lucky for many reasons, but especially because she had arguably the best view in town to witness the impressive nature of her father in action. There were few professions she thought cooler to have been taken along with as a kid, watching in awe as her father helped craft musical history. It was a work of art, the way he moved. Everybody listened, everybody loved him, everybody respected him. And he clearly reciprocated that to each and every person whom he worked with, not one to treat others differently than how he wanted to be treated.

"And where's your brother?"

She let her head roll slowly to the side. A lumpy figure rested in the middle of the bed. One singular red sock-covered foot shot out far enough for the monsters under the bed to grab it. When she first walked in, Moxie had turned off the Shrek DVD menu that was playing on a loop from his laptop, but not before she took a picture and sent it to Stevie.

"Still asleep."

"What time is it there?"

"Late enough."

"Karaoke?"

She scoffed. "What else?"

Her father's voice briefly faded away, and a muffled confirmation was delivered to someone else who was in New York with him. Moxie missed New York almost as much as she missed her parents any time they were apart. At any given time, she missed dancing with them in the kitchen under moonlight, wearing matching pajamas on Christmas morning. She missed sharing a greasy slice of pizza and drinking hot chocolate while they people-watched. Moxie was forced to grow up at a much younger age than a lot of kids she knew, which meant holding onto memories instead of living them as frequently as she wished she could. At least she spent most of her time with her brother who kept her grounded amidst a fanciful world of mischief.

"Sorry about that."

"All good."

"Please remind your brother to drink something other than juice and soda while you're on the road. I'm concerned about his kidney." That was her mother's influence coming through. She was always worried about them and their health.

"I'm not his babysitter," she replied, knowing she picked up all his clothes off the floor last night. She never let Mick take advantage of her, but she also didn't mind helping him out every once in a while. That was what siblings did for each other. He did the same for her when she wasn't in the mood. "And Stevie and Jun were at the show last night so best of luck getting any of us to drink something other than apple juice and Capri Sun."

Her father laughed. "'Cause I'm supposed to believe that's all you drank last night?"

"What happens at karaoke night stays at karaoke night."

"I saw some clips online," he continued. Even if Mischa was too busy to make it to opening night, he always found a way to keep his eye on things. She imagined him slumped over in the studio, trying to hide how he was watching a shitty clip of them performing filmed on a fan's phone. "Your mom owes me fifty bucks."

Their parents made a bet over whether Mick would rip his pants during the first show. Moxie and Mischa always bet alongside each other. It was almost as surefire of a guarantee as betting against Maverick.

"And?" she prompted. "What else did you think?"

The downside to having a father who worked in the music industry was also the fact that she had that coveted up-close view of him in action. She saw how talented he was, how he had a perfect eye for talent and ambition, and all of the ways he was great at his job. That meant she spent far too long wondering about his opinion of her and whether she lived up to his expectations (or the expectations she created for herself under his name). Whether he thought she was as good as the artists he worked with, or if he thought she was good at all. She asked him for his opinion a lot and didn't believe them half the time because she always found a way to convince herself that he was just being nice. He was the only person in her life who could destroy what little ego she had without even trying, and it wasn't even his fault. She knew it was all in her head.

"Your technique is getting better. Working on your breathing," he commented. Who knew knowing when to take a breath could be so difficult? Moxie had to get used to it, strangely enough. "But you're more comfortable on the stage. That's the most important right now. Everything else will follow."

Short, sweet, and to the point. That was how Mischa King operated with her, even when she wanted more.

"Thanks."

Moxie desperately wanted to push him further on his opinion, probe his thoughts until she knew exactly how he felt about every aspect of her performance—the one on stage and the life she led. But if there was one thing she didn't want, it was to let everyone else see just how desperate she was for their approval. How he more than anyone else—more than her loving mother who taught her how to be a woman, or her brother who she often joked was more like a twin than just a brother—was who she wanted to impress. To make him proud, and to prove she didn't take her advantages in life, the ones for whom she had him to think, for granted.

But she didn't say all that. She accepted his brief compliment and tucked it away for a rainy day.

"How's Mom doing?"

The silence on the other end might as well have been him saying don't ask. "Relatively fine."

"Is... that man still shooting scenes? I thought he was supposed to be done by now?"

"He had a bad day and needed to extend it to a few more."

Moxie winced. She could only imagine the pain inflicted on Milena King for putting up with that. Thankfully, she didn't spend all day, every day on set, but she helped with a lot of the logistics around production which meant rearranging schedules when mishaps occurred.

"How did Mom take it?"

"She played Run the Red on a loop."

"Nice." Mick's alarm went off, and she snoozed it before it could wake him. He could take another ten minutes to himself. After that, the bucket of water would come out if he didn't wake for the next alarm. "You never said what was bothering you the other night, by the way."

"Who said anything was bothering me?" An actor her father was not.

Moxie rubbed her chin. "Woman's intuition and my twenty-eight years of experience knowing you."

Her father hesitated long enough that she had to check the screen to make sure their call hadn't been disconnected. One of his biggest struggles—or, as her mother would say, his fatal flaw—was not allowing himself to decompress from work. Sure, he got to do a lot of really cool shit, and he enjoyed it, but the wiring in his brain never completely unraveled itself once he metaphorically clocked out for the day. There was no start time or end time. There was only go, go, go, especially when someone else's problems as gaining on him. No matter the issue, he always made it to the finish line, but it meant nursing some wicked pains and hiding them from the rest of his family. (Terribly so.) (Again, not an actor.)

There was no mistaking Moxie as someone else's daughter, that was for sure.

"I actually have to go," he quickly said. "But I'll talk to you later, okay? Call me after your next show."

"Dad—"

"It's alright, Mox." She felt the proverbial kiss that he would have placed on her forehead if he was there. "Work is work. Go have some fun before your next show."

"Fine. Love you."

"Love you too."

As soon as the call ended, Moxie pulled up her various social media and made the rounds. Her mentions were inundated with shots from last night's show. Her favorites were when Stevie and Jun had joined them on stage, followed shortly by the oh-so-flattering photos of Mick's bright red underwear. (Loving him was red.)

One mention stuck out to her far more prominently than the others. Moxie wanted to be embarrassed, but, hell, she was who she was and she had never claimed to be a shy woman before today.

Cruella Queen had posted a picture with her, Ursula, and Stevie. It was simply captioned women. Short and sweet. And yet they were gloriously beautiful in their sweaty, messy, karaoke-induced chaos, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders like they had all known each other for years. As if the laughter they shared that night spanned decades, their pockets overflowing with memories.

The replies were flooded with comments about all of them, including a few too many about how Stevie was probably cheating on Bash with one (or all) of them. God, Moxie wanted to throw her phone against the fucking wall whenever she read shit like that. It was fucking nauseating. She didn't know how Stevie put up with all of it. All of the MARS women seemed like unfortunate magnets to shitty commentary, through no fault of their own. Cruella as well, though her naysayers tended to speculate on her partying habits more than her love life. Women were simply never allowed to exist peacefully in the spotlight. It had to blind, burn, and scorch its way across their entire careers.

She threw her phone on the bed and trudged back out of the bedroom.

Roxanne sat at the table with a takeaway cup of coffee in hand and two more waiting on the table.

Steam rose through the opening, clouding Roxanne's reading glasses for a brief moment.

"Still asleep?"

Moxie slid onto the chair opposite her and swiped one of the drinks. "Do you have drugs?"

"You're so annoying, you know that." Roxanne laughed and dug through her purse, pulling out a bottle of Ibuprofen. "Here, painkiller junkie."

She didn't like how that sounded. Junkie. Too crass. "Sue me for having a migraine. I don't even take them that often."

"Could've fooled me. You treat me like your own personal pharmacy." Roxanne took another sip while scrolling through her phone. Multitasking was an acquired skill. It wouldn't be a surprise to find out she was signing contracts, going through emails, and organizing tour interviews all while playing the Kings' on-the-road therapist. "But that's what happens when you spend your first night on tour out partying."

"Okay, mom. Didn't realize we had a curfew."

Roxanne looked pointedly toward the bedroom. "If you did have one, I think it's safe to say you were not back home in time."

Moxie remembered the first time she saw the inside of a tour bus. She couldn't remember who the artist was, but it was one of Mischa's clients. The bus was filthy without old takeout containers piling up in every corner and clothes strewn about like it was the bus' wallpaper. And she could distinctly remember the... smell. She had never smelled something quite like that before. But it was glamorous in the way it only could be to an outsider.

Then she finally got her own tour bus and realized how much work it was to live inside a moving vehicle for weeks on end. There were worse things to complain about, sure, but tour bus life was not for the faint-hearted.

Moxie was lucky she loved her brother dearly.

"So, what's up with the Cruella person?"

"Hmm?"

Roxanne laughed, shaking her head. "Subtle."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Contrary to what you might believe, you're kind of an open book when it comes to girls you like."

Moxie bit her lip. "Name one instance—"

"Crushing on Stevie when she was obviously in love with Brendon Ellis."

"That was one time and we're still friends so I think it worked out pretty well."

Roxanne took another sip. How many damn sips of coffee did she need to take while they were talking?

"Please elaborate on the situation," she continued. "I'm enamored by blondie."

"Well, I mean, hard not to be after winning album of the year for the fourth time. And we're all still waiting for The Tortured Poets Department to drop so—"

"First of all, SOS deserved it and I'm going to lose my mind if I have to see another Stevie and Maverick tweet defending an album that hasn't even released yet, but that's not who I was talking about and you know it." She rested her arm on the table. "Fine, you don't have to tell me anything about her." Not like Cruella's entire life wasn't plastered in the headlines anyway. "But just a fair warning, you don't want to get distracted while on tour, okay? It's a busy time for both of you and things are really taking off. Just... take things easy. Okay?"

"This feels like a lot for someone who showed up to one show."

Roxanne raised a brow. "Don't pretend like I don't know you."

"It's been well established."

...

a/n: 

sincerely apologize for the incredibly long wait. some fun chapters are coming up soon.