The flight to Chicago—or, more specifically, the ordeal of traveling with Cruella Queen—was kind of a mess and a half, through no fault of their own. As soon as their feet touched down curbside at the airport, cameras flashed in their direction. Moxie saw the headlines destined to follow in the wake of their travel plans and debated quietly if she cared. If Cruella cared, she made no indication of it, quickly yanking them through the airport at impressive speeds. They arrived at their gate in record time and only had to take a handful of pictures with fans while waiting for their flight to start boarding.

"What are you reading?" Moxie asked as pre-boarding commenced.

"Oh." Cruella turned her phone off, but not before flicking on airplane mode early. "Nothing. Just checking to see how my sister is doing."

"How's she doing?"

"Alright. She's stressing about her album release. It's coming out in two months and they still need to schedule photo shoots, interviews, podcast appearances. All the good stuff."

"Would be nice to be able to drop an album and it just magically appears for everyone who likes your kind of music." Moxie laughed.

Cruella smiled. "Right?"

It wasn't until they were in their seats that Moxie figured out what was on Cruella's mind. Or, at least, what she assumed caught her attention before. Another article that, to no one's surprise, deep-dived into Cruella and Ritchie's relationship, complete with a well-documented and photographed timeline. However this time, they also included Cruella's time in rehab. "Insider" tips about the famed figure attempted to bolster the article's credibility and validate its existence. The number of photos included that showed Cruella stumbling out of bars or nightclubs made Moxie's stomach sick.

She glanced to her side—Cruella asleep with her hands tucked under her chin and a pink blanket draped across her shoulders. Without a smudge of makeup on her face, she looked five years younger. Peaceful. Unworried. Stunning beyond comprehension.

***

Cruella bit her lip as her fingers brushed against Moxie's. "How do I say this nicely..."

Bless her heart, Cruella was much nicer than her. While Moxie loved and adored Maverick with all her heart, he simply did not pull off the disheveled and emotional ball of depression as well as he likely thought he did. It looked like he hadn't showered in days, let alone seen sunlight. And while Moxie didn't blame him for it, she certainly felt bad but couldn't really not say anything.

"Maverick looks like shit."

"So nice to see you, Moxie," Maverick said. "Even if you're late."

She debated letting him have that one thing, but since they had arrived at the venue almost three hours ago, only to be told to come back later since Maverick and Eddie weren't arriving on time—gasp, who could have seen that coming—she elected not to.

"We were here three hours ago, but they had to push your call time back because you were so late."

Eddie had clearly been roped into Maverick's time-aversion shenanigans because she immediately looked ready to book it out of the building. "Our flight got delayed," she explained. Shared a suspicious look with her travel partner. "Didn't hear a reason why."

It took all of two seconds for Cruella to launch herself at Eddie, squeezing her in the tightest hug on account of them having shared an unfortunate recent experience.

"All good, babe," Cruella muttered in her hair. "You're fine."

"I support women's wrongs," Moxie said. "Like choosing the wrong flight partner."

Nobody could blame Cruella for having second thoughts when it came to hugging Maverick. A complete one-eighty with how she hesitated as soon as she took one good look at him.

"Are you... Is it okay if I..."

Cruella imitated hugging.

"We stopped at the hotel to shower first," Eddie clarified, and Cruella instantly sighed in relief. "He just looks like that—"

"Hey."

"You were late for a red eye. I get this one."

Maverick rolled his eyes. "At least you slept on the flight."

"I hope you bought her first class," Moxie said.

He looked deflated. "I actually did. Thank you very much."

Moxie looked to Eddie for visual confirmation because she didn't trust men as much as she trusted women. The boxer nodded.

"Okay, well." For better or worse, Cruella finally hugged Maverick. He looked like he needed it, sinking into her embrace. "Glad someone was able to drag you out of the house."

Though they hadn't spent as much time together as other members of their friend group, if there was one thing Moxie understood about Maverick, it was that he was a difficult person to drag out of the comfort of wallowing in his pain. Few succeeded in dragging him out, and it often required yanking him by the ear to do so. Most of the time, nobody was courageous enough to even attempt it. (That was probably why he had as many amazing songs as he did.) (Maverick wrote his best work when he was head over heels in love or ready to launch himself into the middle of the nearest highway.)

"There are literally only two people I would've gotten out of bed for," Maverick clarified. "Stevie is one of them. Don't tell her that."

As if Stevie didn't already know that. As if Stevie hadn't utilized that privilege many times before.

Speak of the devil. (Read: angel.)

"Don't tell her wh—" Stevie waltzed into the room with a blueberry muffin in one hand. A necessary snack while she waited for her best friend to make his call time. She stopped in place once she spotted said best friend. "What the fuck is that monstrosity on your fucking face?"

"Mav says he loves you," Moxie said. The effort was futile. Nothing and no one could stop the tiny Leo now.

"I don't care about that. Who's this imposter with a dead rodent on their face and where is the real Mav?"

He rose from his seat, ready to find that busy highway. "Let me just leave and go get him, he's probably going to be late."

Maverick didn't make it far in his attempt to escape what he likely knew was about to happen. Anyone could have warned him that showing up with that mustache was a bad idea with Stevie of all people hosting this event with him. He would have fared better walking into the heart of Fox News carrying a pride flag.

"Oh, no you don't."

Stevie impressed the whole crowd with the precise aim of her muffin. Straight to the chest, dropped onto the ground right in front of him so that if he took one more step, he might have slipped in a comical cartoonish fashion.

"Stev, don't touch me—"

"I didn't touch you. The muffin did."

"I had writer's block and I need this." A pathetic excuse that would do nothing to deter the cogs from turning in Stevie's head, working overtime to figure out how to get the facial hair off as quickly as possible. "Do not."

"Who has a razor?" Stevie glanced around. "Find me the nearest drag queen, please. Somebody. Anybody."

"You really don't have to—"

Slaynia Twain, the drag queen who had welcomed them inside the first time they arrived, chose the perfect moment to bless them with another appearance. One razor to the rescue.

"Oh, Stevie, honey, we were wondering when you'd get here. Thank you for your service."

"Thank Oz for Slaynia." Stevie sighed. "You're a lifesaver, queen." Pointed at Cruella behind her. "Have you met our other Queen before?"

"Been dying to, babe." Slaynia winked at Cruella. "Are you gonna be an Elphaba or a Glinda?"

There could only be one answer. On the flight over, before she fell asleep, Cruella showed Moxie pictures of when she was younger and she played dress up with her sister, Ursula. The former always chose Glinda while the latter opted for Elphaba.

"I think I'm more... Glinda."

Stevie was too preoccupied to care, respectfully. Narrowed her eyes at Maverick. (More specifically Maverick's upper lip.) "You either let me shave that thing off right this moment or I'm sneaking into your hotel room and slapping a wax strip on it. Your choice."

Moxie shuddered as she recalled the Grammys after party at House MARS where Maverick lost a bet and had to let Stevie wax his legs. To that day, she didn't think his legs had fully recovered.

"I'm almost done my album can you wait—-"

Moxie pulled out her phone. "Stev, do you want me to Instacart the wax strips to you—"

She was nothing if not a woman who supported other women.

"I'm going to call my lawyer so we can sue you for emotional damages for making me look at that thing—"

"But Stevie—" Maverick whined.

"I can't believe you would do this to Everleigh. She deserves better than this. How dare you."

"You realize she's not even in the country right now—The continent if you want to get picky about it—-"

Probably because she didn't want to be around that thing.

"Stevie, sweetie." Gaylinda, another drag queen, walked out with the coveted weapon. Nobody was on the man's side. Choosing the bear over the mustache any day of the week. "Here."

"See that?" Stevie looked entirely too smug. Hot. "The Drag Gods are on my side. Submit."

Maverick swallowed. "I don't want to—Stevie."

He didn't have time to react before Stevie smacked the strip onto his face, only narrowly missing his eye. Cruella jumped at the loud slap.

"Anyone want to do the honors—just kidding. This one's for me. And Everleigh."

This time, Maverick didn't get the countdown warning him when the immeasurable pain was going to strike. Stevie ripped the wax off in one quick go, and Maverick screamed before placing a hand over the bare, almost smooth skin. Everyone kept their mouth shut instead of pointing out the tears rolling down his face.

"Can I please go home—"

"I'm sorry I'm late I got stop—Hey, Mav, you shaved." Axel knew how to read a room just about as well as straight men knew how to find the G-spot. "It looks good. Looks more... you."

Maverick looked green. And not in a good, theatrical way. "I'm disinviting you to be here."

"I so agree, Axel," Stevie said.

"Wait..." Cruella looked between Stevie and Axel. "Weren't you both in Boston? Why are you so late and she wasn't?"

"He told me the only clean shirt he had was his call me New England 'cause I've got massivehugetits one and I refused to ride the train with him."

Moxie looked down at his shirt. Regretted it. Looked at his face to stop looking at his shirt. Regretted that too. Looked at Eddie who seemed to want to look anywhere but at Axel or his stupid fucking shirt.

"Consider yourself lucky it wasn't one of the ones about—"

"Why are you late?" Maverick demanded.

"Um. Don't worry about it. It's fine."

Spoken like someone who was not fine.

"You were about to say you got stopped for something," Moxie said.

"I don't think so, Mox."

The fucking nickname. Moxie wanted to throw up. "What's that in your hand?"

His acting could have challenged a certain Razzie Award winner. "Oh, that got stopped. Um. I think the cop was judging me based on... um."

"Your maleness?" Maverick asked.

"Your straightness?" Stevie asked.

"Your whiteness?" Cruella asked.

"Your terrible sense of style?" Moxie asked.

Now it was Axel's turn to look like he regretted getting out of bed that morning. "I'm not finishing that sentence. Never mind."

"What's the paper for, buddy?" Maverick looked down at his hand.

"Um. I think the cop was flirting with me?"

No one moved.

"Why—"

"'Cause this paper has fine written all over it."

"I never want to hear another man speak again. Give me that thing." Moxie stole the paper from him. Debated smacking him over the head with it for the awful joke. Instead, she held it like it was venomous. "This... this first one says you were speeding." She took a closer look at the finer print. "Axel, it says you were going over 215 in a 105—"

"What the fuck—" Stevie's eyes widened.

"About 135 in a 65," Moxie clarified.

"Oh. That's... better, I guess."

"I might've been a little heavy on the gas, it's okay—"

Moxied skipped to the next paper. "You also got another ticket for... causing a public disturbance?"

"That makes it sound worse than it was—"

"The police officer specifically cited Shania Twain music."

"I think that sounds reasonable."

Moxie was torn. She hated cops. But did she hate Axel and his absurdity more? Yet to be determined.

"It's also for $100 so this is your second offense doing this?"

Cruella titled her pretty little head. "Second overall or second Shania Twain offense—"

"Is it better or worse if it was the same thing?" Axel asked. "Because doesn't that go against double jeopardy—"

Maverick just about had steam rushing out of his ears. "Double jeopardy's for crimes like murder you dumb f—"

"How am I supposed to know that—"

Moxie rolled her eyes. "You should probably be aware that if you commit the same crime twice—like murder, for example—you get charged twice. So maybe don't kill Shania's song twice."

"Respectfully, that song loves me and I love that song."

"Loves you so much she's making you waste your money on a ticket instead of buying your own dining table."

"Actually," Axel said, ready to hold up a finger, "I have a dining table now, so—well. Thank you. For that."

Cruella smiled.

"Oh, well, that's a perfect place for you to put your third ticket for disorderly conduct."

Moxie didn't know it was even possible for one person to receive that many tickets during one traffic stop. Canterbury was lucky he was white.

"Well, that one was my fault—"

"All of those were your fault—" Maverick said.

"—He didn't think my comment about how nobody's disturbed by Shania Twain was funny."

Stevie crossed her arms. "Luckily for you, cops aren't allowed at Pride. Or drag shows."

A light went off in Axel's eyes. "Is that what this is—"

"Remember when I said you could go home—" Maverick started.

Cruella stepped in to play mediator like the good little witch she was. "Who are you dressing up as, Axe?"

His expression was puzzling. "Pardon?" (Pah-don?)

"You'd make such a good Fiyero!" Cruella clapped her hands with an excited hop.

Moxie scoffed. "More like Boq."

"Does this have to do with Chappell Roan because I still don't know who—"

Axel Canterbury might as well have called everyone else in that room a homophobic slur. It would have hurt less.

Stevie, unsurprisingly, opened her mouth first. "Excuse you—"

"Never mind," Moxie said, "you should be a flying monkey."

Axel grimaced. "That was a terrible movie, why would I dress up for that—"

Maverick shared the same disgust as his soulmate. "You think Wizard of Oz is a terrible movie? Why did I sign you—"

This was unfortunately one of those moments in which she wished she wasn't her mother's daughter and had no idea what he was talking about. But Moxie and her brother had a minimum goal of new films to watch each year, and that movie helped them reach that goal a few years ago.

"No. Flying Monkeys," Axel clarified. "It's from like 2012—"

"He's talking about the Robert Grasmere film," Moxie added.

Maverick stared. "Oh my fucking god—"

"Oh, you know it too?" asked Axel, looking at her.

"I've seen more movies than you, yes," she replied. "Also, Maika Monroe is hot."

"She's..." Axel started. Looked like he had just seen a ghost. "Fine."

Moxie narrowed her eyes. "Did you just say she's fine—"

"She looks like one of my exes—"

That was wrong on so many levels. Him calling Maika Monroe fine and not fine. (Big difference.) And also the fact that he had somehow bagged someone who looked like Maika Monroe. One of the first women Moxie had convinced herself she could marry one day.

Maverick looked equally as ill. "I really don't want to hear his dating history again, can we move on—"

She didn't know why she bothered trying to be discreet, but Moxie leaned over to whisper in Cruella's ear about how much she hated this man, and the blonde woman just bit her lip to avoid laughing. Poked a finger into Moxie's side and let it linger for a second longer than it needed to.

Slaynia peeked her head back into the room. "If y'all wanna hang here for a few more minutes, we'll come back and grab you so we can start getting ready. Okay?"

"Sure, no problem," Stevie replied.

Axel used the opportunity to take a seat, probably exhausted from being attacked the moment he walked in.

"Axel, you can't show up late with three fuckin' tickets to your name and then manspread right in front of a lesbian. Have some class."

"I'm not—" Axel checked his posture. "—this is not that bad—"

Moxie instinctively began rolling up the tickets in her hands at the same time that Eddie made a beeline for an empty seat on the opposite side from Axel, which didn't go unnoticed by any of them. Terrific boxer, absolutely, Ballet dancer, not necessarily.

"That's..." Cruella paused. "Interesting."

Maverick once again turned twenty nine shades of green while Stevie laughed and squeezed his shoulder playfully.

"Very interesting."

"Don't want to fall victim to the manspreading," Eddie explained poorly. The laugh that followed sounded inhuman.

This time, Moxie had to be more discreet and pulled out her phone to text Cruella. Too late for that. Cruella waited a cautionary few seconds to read it.

"Yeah," Moxie said, "wouldn't want that to happen."

"Nooope."

"Um. Okay." Maverick nodded. "Sure."

Stevie laughed again. "Are you okay, Mav?"

No, he wasn't. He hadn't been the entire morning.

"I feel sick, actually. Probably need to go home—"

"I'll drive him back to the hotel—" Eddie volunteered a little too quickly.

Slaynia returned in full costume. Magnifique. "Okay, we're ready for you. Maverick, are you sure you want to keep the... blonde?"

"I guess so. Sure."

"That's... interesting."

Stevie snorted.

"Do you have a bucket?" Maverick inquired. "I think I'm going to be sick—"

"I can check but please do it before the wig goes on, okay? Those things ain't cheap."

"You got it."