Moxie didn't blush often.

More often than not, Moxie made other women blush. She considered it a gift. There wasn't a lot she would call herself an expert on, but flirting with women was one of them. She had a lot of practice over the years. Scored points in a game she played with herself. Secretly wished she had been approached in the same way she often pursued other women. Moxie was used to caring more about others than what she received in return, unfortunately.

She forgot about all of that pent-up frustration as she watched Cruella Queen walk into the hotel lobby. It simply had to be impossible for someone to look even more beautiful every single time they appeared in Moxie's life, and yet there she was again sucking every ounce of magic out of the room until all of it rested in her glitter-encrusted fingertips, another seemingly impossible feat considering the city that rested just beyond the horizon. New Orleans was stunning and rich with a vibrant history, and it was Moxie's first time visiting, yet she couldn't take her eyes off Cruella the moment she flew into her personal orbit.

That meant not realizing Bronx Harlow was standing right next to her until they were close enough to smell her perfume.

"Mick expressly forbid me from mentioning that he had to jump in the shower last minute because he took a nap this afternoon while watching Criminal Minds and accidentally rolled over onto the jelly-filled beignets he had next to him on the bed."

If it was any consolation concerning his sister's betrayal, Bronx did not appear at all deterred from his not-date with Mick. Although Mick had quite easily agreed to alone time with Bronx, courtesy of Cruella's help, he insisted there was nothing more to it. Moxie would have ordinarily liked to give him the benefit of the doubt—that was an outright lie; it was her duty as his sister to heckle him over any and every guy he dared look at—but Mick made it a little too difficult.

"Poor bastard," Bronx said. After leaning down to whisper something into Cruella's ear, he started his walk toward the elevator. Moxie deftly slid him the spare hotel room key as he passed. "Have a good night, ladies."

"I will make sure to knock very loudly when I come back," Moxie announced.

Bronx laughed and waved two fingers above his head.

Moxie finally turned all of her attention back to Cruella. It didn't take an FBI profiler to deduce that she had no grounds to judge Mick for failing to hide his enthusiasm for his totally platonic and not at all attraction-filled hang out with Bronx tonight when she was, well, under eerily similar circumstances with Cruella. Who fucking knew Moxie could be such a hypocrite?

(Mick knew.) (He knew all too well.)

"Pink really is your color," Moxie commented.

Cruella dragged her finger gently down the side of Moxie's cheek. "Looks like it's yours, too."

"So, what's on the agenda for tonight?" Moxie asked after clearing her throat. "All you said was dress like an extra in Love Lies Bleeding."

She laughed and latched her fingers around Moxie's wrist, tugging until the two of them began their departure. Whatever plans Cruella had in store for the two of them, they had a long expiration date. Moxie warned her brother that she likely wouldn't return until sometime early tomorrow morning, and that she would suffer whatever consequences would arise on account of her night out, namely the incoming soundcheck before tomorrow night's show.

"Did you watch that yet?"

"I would've had my lesbian card revoked if I wasn't there opening night."

"Should've asked your mom to pull some strings to get you an invite for the premiere."

Moxie glanced at her from the corner of her eye. Not quite on guard but curious. "You know who my mom is?"

"I think everyone knows who your mom is." Cruella laughed. Upon realizing the look on Moxie's face, she hesitated. "I didn't mean that in like a—"

"You're fine," Moxie interrupted. "I'm used to people knowing things about me."

"Then why the look?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just... figured you were too—" Moxie wasn't sure what word to use without it coming out the wrong way. "—too larger-than-life and all that to know about me."

They were outside the lobby by that point, waiting for their rideshare to arrive and take them to an undisclosed location. Being raised out in the cold, Moxie loved whenever the temperature dipped. She thrived in chillier weather, but it also gave her a good excuse for her bad attitude.

"Stop trying to subtly insult yourself," Cruella demanded. "Your family is ridiculously talented, including and especially you, and anyone who's anyone knows that."

Moxie listened.

The conversation went silent during the rest of their wait. Cruella wasn't wearing as much, which meant she stepped closer to Moxie every time the breeze picked up. She didn't mind. Not at all. And when the car finally arrived and their driver popped their head out calling Cruella's name—a fake name used in public, like Stevie and Clementine—Moxie kind of wished they didn't have anywhere to go.

The driver confirmed an address that Moxie didn't recognize. There wasn't any reason she needed to be worried. It wasn't like she was being lured to her death by a secret serial killer. And, hell, if Cruella turned out to be a real-life villain after all, Moxie would probably be a willing participant in her own demise.

She took in the view as they raced through the streets of New Orleans and arrived at a venue for what looked like some kind of sporting event, but Moxie had no idea what or whom they were scheduled to watch.

"Have you ever been to a boxing match?"

Moxie shook her head. "F1 is the only sport I follow."

"Vroom vroom meet punch punch."

"Zroom."

"Huh?"

"I have weird friends."

"Right." Cruella smiled. "I've been obsessed with this girl named Eddie Yamaguchi. Finally scored tickets to one of her matches tonight. Thought you might like her."

"You know her?"

"No," Cruella shook her head. "Do you?"

"Know of. Stevie's mentioned her a few times. Showed me some videos the other night at karaoke. I didn't realize she had a match."

"It's gonna be a good time, I promise. You'll become addicted."

"Getting to watch hot girls fight? Not sure how you came to that conclusion."

Moxie hadn't quite been exposed to the level of fame that required extensive planning just to leave the house. Despite her parents' fame, befriending MARS was the closest, though that group tended to not pay much attention to the hysteria that surrounded them. And they were good at it. But that didn't mean there were a lot of people in the background working to make sure they were able to enjoy their lives as much as possible without having to worry about some stranger rushing up to them and invading their personal bubble. Fame had many privileges that came with it, but there were also many pervasive disadvantages to go along as well. Not being seen as human deserving of privacy was just the tip of the iceberg.

Cruella gave a stronger impression of awareness about the attention she garnered. Their entrance, as understated as it was, didn't go unnoticed. Most of it went straight toward Cruella, of course. But the blonde starlet was on a mission to get inside, and she barely had to lift her chin up for the security to let her through, Moxie trailing close enough behind for their fingertips to graze against one another.

The air was electrified with excitement. Cruella instantly lit up as they walked inside the building, her eyes glowing almost as much as they did when she was on stage performing. Moxie didn't know whether to keep staring at her, the people staring at her, or everyone else. It was too loud to hear her own thoughts, and by the time they made it to where their seats were, she felt like she had lived eight lives.

"Oh, shit..." Moxie squinted. No way in hell. "Is that Leigh?"

Cruella followed her gaze to the tall woman currently making her way to where there were four empty seats, all next to each other.

"Who's that?"

"The one Stevie always gushes about." Moxie forgot how fucking gorgeous she was. No wonder Stevie didn't shut up about her.

"Oh, right."

"And Maverick's girlfriend... I think."

"Think?"

Moxie had only hung out with Everleigh Meadowlark a handful of times, but Maverick had also always been present when she had. And though the short man standing next to her resembled the same sort of chaotic mess that was Kingston Maverick most days, that person couldn't be him. And since the only other reason Leigh would voluntarily go to the United States if not for Maverick or her real partner, Stevie, that meant—

"I shouldn't jump to that conclusion but—" Moxie was absolutely jumping to that conclusion, "—either they broke up or she's cheating on him. Maybe."

Why did hot women have such terrible taste in men? Leigh apparently went from a Grammy winner to whoever the fuck had that rodent on their face. Stevie's beau sang Should've Said Naur at the last karaoke outing. Lauren once dated the fucking werewolf in the catacomb. The women in Moxie's life needed to be saved.

"On second thought," Moxie said as they stepped closer to their seats and got a better look at Leigh's companion, "that appears to be him. Disregard what I said. I didn't recognize him with that thing on his face."

Had it really been that long since Moxie saw Maverick? Since when did he have time to grow that kind of facial hair? Since when was he even capable of growing that much facial hair? Since when did Stevie let him grow that facial hair?

Cruella pulled Moxie down to whisper in her ear. "That looks like spaghetti."

Indeed, it did appear that Maverick was saving some of his dinner for later, courtesy of his new accessory.

"I meant that squirrel on his upper lip."

"I was being polite and ignoring it."

They were close enough that Leigh noticed them over Maverick's shoulder as he leaned over to place a drink on the ground. When an opportunity like that presented itself, who was Moxie not to take it?

"Does Stevie know what you've been up to?"

Maverick nearly jumped five feet into the air. "Huh—Moxie. Hi. Hello. No. Hi. Hi. Up to? What up to? What are you up to? Hi."

So Stevie indeed how no idea about that thing growing on his face. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

"Cruella surprised me with tickets. We have a show at Smoothie King Centre tomorrow night."

"King." Maverick giggled. "Nice. Well done."

Leigh leaned around him and stuck her hand out. "Hi Cruella, nice to meet you."

"Hi!" Cruella shook her head. "Leigh, right?:"

"Right! This is Maverick."

Something told Moxie that Leigh was all too aware of her questionable taste in men.

As the four of them took their seats, Moxie and Leigh shared a glance. Pixie cut girls stuck together. (Very cute tattoo of a cochlear implant around her ear and all.) (Tatted declarations of love and all that.) Moxie stealthily held up ten fingers and Leigh nodded. Just because she wasn't performing tonight, didn't mean that Moxie couldn't make some money.

"Best New Artist 2023," Maverick said. "Nice to meet you. In person."

"Huh, Maverick. Thought it was Best Duo/Group Performance 2023 this entire time."

"At least he made it on time tonight," Moxie said.

He winced. Moxie loved having that effect on men.

"Definitely didn't have to taxi across fuckin' Lousiana—" Leigh added.

Maverick looked mortified. "That's hyperbolic—"

Knowing him, it wasn't.

"Saved yourself some for the ride over too," Cruella let slip. Oops.

"Pardon?" He swiped at his mustache, eyes wide when he noticed the floppy noodle, and flicked it away silently. As if they hadn't already placed a bet on him not knowing it was there in the first place.

Leigh snorted before reaching into her purse to take out a ten-dollar bill and handing it to Moxie who tucked it in her back pocket.

"Please doing business with you," she said.

Maverick had definitely seen that film before. "You two are so mean—"

"You trekked us halfway across the city—"

"You're lucky Stevie isn't here because she would've already hunted down a wax strip," Moxie commented.

"Is this the infamous... kachow! incident from last year?" Cruella asked.

Maverick looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. "... My leg hair has never recovered." He paused before shifting his eyes between the two of them. "Dare I ask which traitor told you about that?"

"We had drunk karaoke the other night," Cruella offered, "so take your pick."

As if it could be anyone other than the other half of Maverick's brain cell. Stevie might as well have run a Maverick fan account with how informed she kept her circle of friends with Maverick updates.

"I'm choosing Mick," he guessed.

"No, he told me about the Trumpie's pool, though." That particular Maverick moment would live in infamy.

"Technically, he didn't say your name," Moxie said, "but Cruella assumed it wasn't a MARS member so—"

"Maybe it was Rami," Maverick said. Confidently.

Leigh gawked at him. "Out of all the people to choose?"

"We know I'm not good at lying, right—"

"Plus, we all know bisexuals are prone to falling. It's just scientific fact."

Look, Maverick had to take any out he could get when he was losing. He took every swing, even when he knew he was one hundred percent going to miss. That was what made him Maverick.

"What I'm hearing is that it's not my fault," he said defiantly.

"Stevie didn't fall in the pool," Leigh noted.

Moxie added, "And neither did Lauren nor Jun."

He didn't dignify either of those remarks with a response. "So, how's the tour going?"

"Mick's only ripped his pants once so far so it's going alright."

"Please tell him I'm proud of him."

"Of course." Moxie looked around the arena. Things were happening, but she wasn't sure what. "So, are yall here for Eddie? Stevie's mentioned her a few times."

"In the building for Eddie," Maverick answered. "In New Orleans for—"

They were interrupted by a guy with a camera running over to them, hair disheveled to levels never before seen. Moxie wasn't sure whether to laugh or grimace at the shirt he wore which said Denny's is just Waffle House for people who don't know how to fight.

"Hey, I'm the photographer for the night," he said as he walked up to the group. "Was wondering if there was any chance you guys would be willing to pose for a picture for me?"

"That idiot," Maverick said. So they knew each other. Of course, they did.

Moxie wasn't sure if they were meant to be staying on the down low considering how quickly Cruella had dragged them into the building, but she smiled up at him so Moxie took that as a friendly sign that it was alright.

"Yeah, sure! Do you want just..." Moxie looked over at the other two before saying anything else.

Without giving Leigh the chance to dodge the picture, Maverick held her in place and the guy snapped a picture of them.

"I'm Cruella, by the way." Cruella clearly had more manners than Moxie did. It didn't even cross her mind to ask for his name after the way Maverick welcomed him to the party. However, now that she thought about it, there was something about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Moxie." She squinted at him. "You look familiar. Have we met before?"

"Oh, I had floor seats to your San Francisco concert. It was wicked."

She should have known from the moment he walked over. Moxie recalled Mick being smitten with a greasy-haired boy in the front row of that show. Said he couldn't take his eyes off him the entire time, which should have been a recipe for disaster since Mick being distracted meant something going terribly wrong.

"Oh, cool!" Moxie was a great actress when it came to pretending to be excited by seeing a man who wasn't Glen Powell. "I hope you had fun! And I can't remember but I hope Mick didn't rip his pants during that tour..." She eyed his entire outfit again. "Unless you're into that sort of thing."

"Depends on the day. Usually not."

"He," Maverick pointed at him, "also has a co-writer you know."

The guy glanced back and forth between them. "... She knows Petey?"

Maverick secretly went by the songwriting pseudonym Pete Mitchell on occasion.

"Stevie?" He asked in disbelief.

"Oh. Yeah. I know Stevie. She's cool."

Then it all clicked. Again. How fucking connected was she to this guy?

"Wait... you're the Bawstin boy?"

Stevie had a lot going on in the creative department, and not enough real estate in MARS' lineup to take care of it all, so she had started to lend her expertise to fellow up-and-coming acts. One of them was a band her manager Marty had begun to work with. Roslyn or something like that. The other was a guy from Bawstin. (Stevie said it exactly like that whenever she talked about him.)

"Axe-man," Maverick began, "say park the car in—"

"I'm not saying park the cah—"

Moxie laughed.

"He's the Boston boy," Leigh said.

"Axel." said (apparently) Axel.

"You're not... You look like..." Moxie had never seen such a lesbian-coded man in her life. "It's nice to meet you. Hope the writing is going well."

"Stevie and Pete would never let me down." He pulled out his phone and checked the time. "I gotta run, but it was nice to meet you. We should do something after the win. Yeah. Cool?"

"Only if you bring the girl," Moxie said. She was completely serious and hoped he recognized that. Respectfully.

"She's joking," Cruella said. (Liar.) "But if we can cash in on some friend of a friend credit, we'd love to meet Eddie."

"Oh—yeah. I can... probably influence that. See what I can do."

His pants were not nearly loose enough that he should be able to pull out a few lanyards with backstage passes on them, and yet he did, tossing them over to Maverick, who promptly dropped his, before handing one to each of the girls.

"See you then," he said before darting away as quickly as he had arrived.

"So, Eddie and Axel are... entangled, huh." Axel was as subtle as Maverick, which meant not at all.

Cruella nodded. "They've definitely fucked."

"Even though he dresses like a lesbian checking out a VHS tape of Rocky Horror from Blockbuster."

Leigh almost choked. Maverick cleared his throat.

"I'm his boss," he said. "I can't really talk about—"

"Worst part is they think they're being stealthy about it," Leigh said.

"It's very rude of Stevie to show me videos of Eddie and then let me find out this way that he's the one yall are are writing for."

"To be fair," Maverick said, "I don't think she cares too much about... what she's seeing at any given time—I still shouldn't be talking about this."

"Makes it worse that she chose him," Leigh said.

"He's objectively attractive. It's not that bad."

Moxie gave a diplomatic meh.

"As long as he doesn't grow a—"

Cruella had begun with a laugh before stopping herself. Not before, however, sneaking a glance at Maverick's pet.

"Big ego," she finished.

Maverick seemed to figure out the elephant in the room. (Squirrel in the room? Raccoon in the room? Rodent?)

"I might need you guys to sign NDAs to not tell Stevie about this. It goes when I stop writing good songs."

The last thing Moxie wanted to do was get between Stevie the exterminator and that thing. She would be more than thrilled to witness the event, but would not be the one to break the news to Stevie about her best friend and possibly soon-to-be-former soulmate.

"I personally don't want to be held responsible for the carnage that will become Stevie's attempts to get that thing off your face, but you literally won a Grammy last year for a song you wrote so I'm questioning the necessity of it."

Leigh looked like she wanted to kiss her. (Please do.) "Thank you!"

"I needed MARS' help for that Grammy—I literally lost more recently."

Everyone rolled their eyes at that one.

"Shut the hell up," Leigh voiced what they were all thinking.

"It's true—It has to stay."

Cruella raised her hand. "Are we allowed to vote on this or—"

"I say get rid of it—" Leigh immediately said.

Maverick looked ready to toss himself into the ring instead of letting all those women try to kill his imposter syndrome. "My body, my choice."

"Stevie says women's votes count as double," Moxie countered. Checkmate, bitch. Even he couldn't deny Stevie's word was law.

"That's why you're signing NDAs."

"Shucks," Moxie pat her empty pockets, "I don't have a pen on me. Sorry."

His eyes widened. "Mox—"

The lights began to dim signaling the start of the fights. Even though this was her first boxing match, Moxie recognized the familiarity as if she were sitting front row at her favorite artist's concert. All of the spectators' focus zeroed in on the boxing ring in the center of the room while the endless stream of conversations continued to buzz until they created a dull roar.

"Shush, Mav, they're starting!" Cruella briefly held a finger to her lips before turning back to the front.

The comment wasn't directed at her but Moxie listened, letting her eyes linger on Cruella just a second longer than they needed to.

...

n/a: nola turned out to be a big boy. oops. to be continued.

new orleans, the playlist: