Luna arrived at
work in the naked light, alone with the rising sun as it struggled
against fog, heavy settled over the city. Night was transitioning
into day, yet clung as if hangover, holding the daylight fuzzy and
unfocused. Luna embraced this dynamic space and after stubbing out
her cigarette, entered her four digit pin and pushed the door open as
the light buzzed green from red.
She walked
through blindingly white hallways to create a lonely echo to reach
the staff lounge, where she dumped her bag and heavy coat into her
locker. She took her lighter jacket as she walked back outside,
slipping through several service alley's to reach a hidden lane way
café.
***
Galla hated early
morning, the sliver of sky from her window stippled sand paper
orange, a delirium after effect from the darkness. She lived in a
loft, the only delineation from the single room the bathroom she
stumbled into. She owned this little place in a thirty story complex,
where the elevators often more broken than not, and the stairs smelt
of sweat, urine, mould and fungi. The mess of streets making her
suburb, Zyvah District, are old, dark and broke. The people and
buildings refracted pieces of each other, much like everything else.
Yet this place is her own and she coveted it.
Galla showered
and dressed, stomped the three levels to ground and out to the
filtered daylight. It is winter and the fresh overnight snow already
grey and slushy. The monorail station was three blocks over and three
blocks beyond that Luna and Kai’s place. The station is cramped,
full of dead eyes and monotone faces looking at pulsing screens,
manicured hands caressing bleak information.
Galla fumbled for
her phone and texted Luna, misremembering where they are meeting as
more often they were together than not. The monorail carriage
squealed to a stop against cold, abrasive metal. Luna texted she
would bring breakfast and Ash’s sludge thick coffee in to work.
***
"How are you
baby girl?" a voice called as Luna walked through the open space
left by the raised roller doors rusted into blood flecked immobility,
from the counter stretched wide across the back wall.
Jamere, knowing
Luna's order, passed it to the kitchen before bringing pot brewed
herb coffee and a glass of ice over to the long mahogany counter bar
throwing warmth across the back length of the garage. Luna threw her
jacket behind the end chair she climbed into and leaned back into the
chilled brick wall.
"Tired,"
smiling weakly before sipping a mouthful of thick hot coffee poured
over ice and as steam spiralled out into her eyes, she scanned the
few bereft customers. The old building containing Ash’s once had
been on a main street and hosted many diverse businesses before it
became mazed within back city alleyways, to evolved into an insiders
secret. The early morning atmosphere is placid; after the night
drunks, yet before the rushed business people lacking the skills to
manage life or its time. This is Luna's favourite time, referred her
solitude before the chaos of the day. She turned to Jamere and
commented, "unusually quiet."
"Yes, you’ve
always had great timing," Jamere smiled and shrugged,
understanding Luna as she had been a regular for most of the five
years she had spent in this city. They both relished the red brick,
dirtied by its own history and the ebb and flow suited them both,
where the monsters of the darkness played against the raptured sins
of a coffee soaked daylight.
"I guess,"
Luna said, mimicking Jamere’s action, aching for a life she could
not describe. She felt lost, the fractured seat of her soul missing
as long as she could remember. This sense of longing for an unknown
missing element corrupted everything from her childhood to now, fault
lines scorching her body.
"Luna,”
Jamere’s concern filtered through her intonation, floating across
the bar to enclosing around Luna’s isolation, a hug wrapped within
her voice.
"Really,
Jamere,” Luna raises her eyes to meet Jamere’s, “I’m good."
"Okay,”
Jamere, knowing not too push to hard. She observed a lot of human
behaviour since inheriting the building from her mother, Ash, a
cantankerous old mechanic who inherited it from her own father,
“How's Kai?"
"The usual.
Nights at Marlene’s, as always. He’ll probably be in after his
shift," Luna shrugged.
"Most
likely," Jamere smiled, masking the concern at Luna’s seeming
indifference to her twin.
Jamere knew them
as young teenagers, two halves of the same old soul, each mirroring
the movements of the other, perfect mimics in intense and uncanny
ways, only ever together in those early years. In spite of the odd
location Ash's attracted a grifter element with customers and the
twenty-four hour operations catered to cross-cultural elements rarely
seen in many other places.
The kitchen bell
rang out and Jamere pulled away to retrieve a plate laden with Luna’s
breakfast and laid it in front of her, “You’ve been at Bravo
house this week?”
“Thanks,”
Luna pulled herself off of the wall to shift closer to the plate,
“yes, doing some of the supply runs, book transfer's and stuff. I
think Ivie has me at the apartments this week. When are the plans for
Smash?”
“Four weeks
from this Saturday is the meet and greet for new volunteers, at about
nine-thirty,” Jamere said, “this year you’ll be assisting in
planning the charity gala, part of our executive committee and
unfortunately this may cut into your hours at emergency shelters.”
“Okay. What am
I to be doing?” a small smile crept onto Luna’s face, “its on
Ivie’s calendar?”
“Of course it
is,” Jamere smiled as she turned towards the slow trickle of
customers sleepily stumbling up to the counter for orders strong
enough to help them assimilate into the day, relieved Luna had
questioned what she would be doing rather than the significant change
of volunteer status. She had been doing it for so long, her
experience is invaluable to SPW, “and I’ll tell you in four
weeks.”
Luna began her
breakfast, methodically working her way anti-clockwise on a square
plate. As a take-away breakfast slid next to Luna, she nodded her
thanks. When finished, Luna pulled her jacket back on her small
frame, waved at Jamere and escaped back to the alleyways, the coded
door and echoing hallways.
***
Galla walked into
the basement meeting room in the Pacer Complex, the seven story, 24
hour entertainment megastore stretching above her, where the other
forty-three people commencing their shift gathered. She reached over
as Luna walked into the staff room, grasping at the takeaway bag,
mumbling thanks as she inhaled the coffee.
“You could at
least meet me one morning,” Luna smiled, sitting next to Galla.
“You know the
rules. Not unless we’ve left from night shift. You may not sleep,
but I love mine.”
“Slacker,”
snorted Luna, “and I love sleep. We just don’t get along
especially well.”
“Shut up,”
got lost as Galla started eating.
The rest of the
assembled staff were busy adjusting the base feedback on their
headsets, which allowed all of them to maintain permanent contact
with Ivie, as the manager strolled in, adjusting the earpiece of her
headset while reading the live digital array fed directly from Ivie
to her tablet.
“Morning Team.
Luna and Galla, I need you both in Classical. Claudia and Xaiden are
unable to attend until the midday shift. Tanikaa, our guest band for
the second floor have cancelled, and the house band is currently on
tour and yet to be permanently replaced. Any volunteers?"
Staff usually
worked on a specific level, knowledge and passion a major selling
point of Pacer. Luna and Galla preferred to work on the second level,
alternative music, as opposed to popular music on the ground floor.
They are often stranded on three as both trained in classical music.
On exceptionally rare occasions, they were on level four, but country
and international music not of particular interest to them. Both
refused to work in children’s entertainment on five or with DVDs on
six, neither catering for their musical talents.
"We will,"
Calais and Fletcher spoke, both instantly attentive. Staff are
performers, musicians, dancers and are required to perform
independently in any of these capacities or to support guest
performers.
“Band name?”
Calais and
Fletcher are like most of the staff, taking this job to meet other
musicians and fill missing band positions. Many bands formed and
dissolved within the walls of Pacer, which had a history of creating
successful bands, coveting that Pacer has the resources to create
their careers.
Even if they
failed, missed the success juggernaut, Pacer would keep them for
itself, the convenience of an endless talent pool and would use their
talent to mentor younger, developing musicians. Those who are good,
or around long enough, to become house bands get automatic access to
the recording opportunities Pacer provides. The complex evolved into
this collective of artists and bands, producing and stocking all
staff member albums.
Calais responded,
“Spenal.”
"Okay. Can
anyone help with drums?" moments pass before Ivie breaks over
the speakers. Pacer is technologically advanced and all operational
systems are controlled via Ivie, a fully integrated artificial
intelligent program, "Bree Khiam."
Bree, on her
first shift and a recent percussionist graduate from the county's
elite music program at The Raptor City Academy of Performance Arts
(RCAPA), looked up from her black and red fingernails at the
disembodied voices announcement and said, "Okay?"
Ivie’s voice
broke the silence in the rooms speakers with her calculated, balanced
voice, "The classical act for the hummingbird just cancelled."
The Manager
looked over to Galla and Luna, "Can you two play the
Hummingbird. Sanihda and Eviva can you do the dance set at nine on
one?"
"Claudia and
Xaiden are on at midday,” Galla asked, “Why don't Xaidia play?"
"Claudia has
tendinitis. Xaiden will wait until it’s healed. They’ve asked for
a performance break so Claudia can seek treatment. Lane, are you
sorted for seven?"
Level seven is
the complexes most controversial. The age restricted adult
entertainment have an exclusive team and specialised security
measures because of the live performances. Pacer frequently is
criticised for this level, however money is power and they
effectively were able to deflect any negative press aimed at them.
Lane, specialist manager for seven nodded, “All organised.”
All four nod
their acknowledgement. After a few more negligible announcements, the
team dispersed, Luna leaving with Galla for the third floor, "I
don’t want to play today," sticking out her tongue in mock
petulance.
“Luna?” Bree
called, as she exited the staff room behind them. Luna stopped,
turned and waited for Bree to catch up, “sorry, What’s the
Hummingbird?”
“The
hummingbird hour is the time between twelve and three.”
“Why is it
called that?”
“Mythology
surrounding the name refers to two types of socialite women who spend
the afternoon lunching and shopping. There’s the society kind,
lives via inherited or married wealth, and the corporate kind, whose
fought for their own independence their status is paramount to their
own power. They both shop at lunch to appear important and time poor
in a twenty four hour society. Its important to know the difference
when you are dealing with them.”
“Um. Okay,”
mumbled Bree, “and I heard you volunteer for Smash Punch?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I was thinking
of helping,” Bree looked at Luna, moving from foot to foot in her
nervousness.
“There’s a
meet and greet in four weeks from Saturday, at nine thirty. I’ll
introduce you to Jamere, if you would like to come. If you do
volunteer remember to tell Ivie, she can assist with your shift and
volunteering schedule.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Bree smiled, shuffled her feet before shrugging and continued up to
the floors above as Luna turned back to Galla.
“Do we know
her?” Galla looked after Bree as she walked off.
“I don’t
think so,” Luna frowned, remembered themselves when they first
started at Pacer, the two of them together and requested the same
shifts, “It’s her first day.”
“She seems to
know you...”
Ivie spoke over
their headsets, “Upon graduation she recorded her original
composition with Pacer Music Studios and attended an audition with
Raptor City Philharmonic Orchestra her parents organised.”
“Eh,” Luna
shrugged, not really caring that Pacer stocked and published all
RCAPA music student’s graduation compositions, but remembering that
only the top three percent of RCAPA undergraduate music students were
automatically offered an opportunity to record their compositions on
the Pacer label, in addition too all Honours and Masters students,
“how did she fail, Ivie? She would have been top three...”
“Nerves?”
Ivie offered, “but she uniquely filled the only requirement of all
musicians and producers utilised in the recording are themselves
students by being the only player, even though she could have used
the RCAPA student philharmonic.”
“Okay Ivie,”
Luna shrugged, loosing interest as they began their ascent, “what
if we play living composers?”
Galla pulled a
face, pleased that while on the third flood shifts together, they
could experiment against each other with defiant disregard for the
hummingbird fanatics, and said, "What if we played Gothic
chamber music?"
Luna laughed,
comforted by her years old friend, whose violin and fondness for dead
composers a connection before anything else, bonding deeply forged
scars twisted in iron onto their flesh. The classical floor is the
hardest to play, as the mornings are quiet and often sets were often
ignored, while the afternoon sets attracted fanatics critical of any
interpretation beyond their own favourites. Luna, classically trained
in piano, flute, violin and cello and Galla in piano, violin and
sitar, both knew that in spite of their preference for working in
alternative, their talent left both of them the most obvious
replacements on classical.
“We could ask
for permanent night shift?” Galla suggested, begrudging that staff
shifts spanned across six rotating times. Both preferred either of
the two night shifts, or the late afternoon shift extending into
night as it gave them more creative flexibility, interesting
customers and, rarely, the classical floor.
“We could both
play an Owling for once,” Luna said, referring to the infamous
early morning sessions that happened anywhere between midnight and
four whenever the will took the people present, where staff and
customers could play without restriction or restraint.
Owling Sessions
created a dedicated, cultish following and members of this group
tattooed a local masked owl upon the base of their skulls. Both Luna
and Galla had this tattoo inked upon themselves and in many ways
founded this symbol of the group. Luna revealed in the freedom of
this melding of talents, experimental delineation lost within the
gaps of time, allowing both of them to fold the gnarled spaces within
their soul, fading away the hollows and cracks. For Luna, the
leaderless melting of music energised by the bodies of unhampered
participants, flowed her away from the trauma of their past and
allowed them, even if momentarily, to forget the sharp edges of their
present.
This shift, this
day, these friends would be on until three, and they were already
exhausted at the unexpected and additional performances over the last
two hours of their shift. Walking onto the floor, waving at Kali and
Lethe restocking shelves, Luna smiled at Galla, adding, "Okay.
But the least we could do is mix fusion Jazz with Gothic Chamber."
“Absolutely,”
Galla snickered, walking up to the café, empty of customers, over to
Estella and Walter, “slacking off were we?”
“Its too
stressful to work when its this busy,” Estella said, indicating the
lack of customers with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“I guess,”
Galla said before ordering coffee and sitting down.
“Why are you
two here?”
“Claudia and
Xaiden changed to the midday shift,” Galla said.
“Whose
playing?”
“No idea this
morning. We’ve thirteen and fourteen.”
***
Chloe stood in
her ninth floor office suite in the neurological unit of Mathilde
Avenue Research Hospital (MARH), looking over Violet River. The outer
office contained her secretary, an efficient woman permanently
running interference, as her hours were wayward and non-standard. She
had her office at home, preferred it, but presence at the hospital
usually mandatory in her position. Still, she demanded her
appointments be clustered in the morning so that her afternoons were
ripe for escape. Today she could find the elusive Beethoven she is
seeking.
***
The shift warped
around them, the climate controlled environment encapsulating time so
effectively they barely noticed it was midday until Claudia and
Xaiden walked onto the floor.
“Hi. Glad
you’re finally here,” Galla said, noticing Claudia’s strapped
hand, “Ss Xaidia will be playing?”
“Thanks Galla,”
Xaiden laughed, “compassionate to the end.”
Luna feigned
innocence, “But Claudia, whatever is that bandage!”
“Its seriously
so annoying. We had to cancel Eloise.”
“You usually
play there?”
Claudia see-sawed
her non bandaged hand, “Kind of. We’ve played private events
there, and they’ve very slowly started giving us gigs,” she
raised her bandaged wrist, “this may lose it.”
“We’ve other
things going on” Xaiden shrugged “the Eloise is a nice gig,
though...”
“You love it
more than me. All of those well dressed ladies...”
All laughing,
Luna picked up her coffee from behind the counter, “We’re going
for lunch.”
***
Chloe walked onto
cavernous classical floor, assaulted by colour the walls covered in
band and music paraphernalia. A pianist played as she scanned the
floor, over the thirtyish people wondering and a few scattered
throughout the chairs in the café. Chloe saw a slight girl with
spiky hair fiddling with the headset attached to her ear. From her
crown, spirals of deep royal purple and glowing pink circled her
head, creating a halo of colour under the fluorescents. Chloe walked
over, desiring to quickly leave this bastion of overwhelming
consumerism.
***
Luna was pressing
buttons on her apparently malfunctioning headset, repeating, "Ivie,"
into the slimline mike jutting along her jaw, as Chloe walked up and
she turned at the gentle tap on her shoulder, meeting a set of
startling brown eyes, liquid chocolate over ice that she stumbled
across and slid into oblivion.
“I’m sorry to
startle you,” the customers voice, throaty and deep, seared across
Luna.
Luna recovered
enough to smile subtly as she attempted to pitch her voice as evenly
as she was not, "How can I assist you?"
"I’m
looking for a March nineteen twenty-three Berlin Philharmonic
Orchestra recording of Beethoven's Symphony number five, conducted by
Wilhelm Furtwangler on vinyl," a gentle pause as she swallowed,
her face on fire, then as if an explanation, "I heard it at a
party."
"Sure,"
Luna said, thankful for the distraction. The customer is beautiful,
standing powerfully before her. She holds herself perfectly,
charmingly, beautifully, brilliantly and all of this is focused
directly on her. Every single other sensation other than the one she
is presented with overwhelm her, as of she belonged in the vacuum.
"Ivie,"
into her crackling and distorted headset. Ivie, a vast digital
management system, controlled life inside the Pacer bubble.
“Luna,”
Ivie’s voice finally distorted back.
“Nineteen
twenty-three BPO Beethoven five,” Luna asked, concisely pitching
her voice over her rapid fire heartbeat.
“Proceed….”
kicked over her headset before it acquiesced to crackled distortion.
Luna looked
apologetically at her customer, said, “I’m sorry. Let me take you
to the Beethoven section.”
The classic
corporate hummingbird, with her tailored suit, manicured nails and
echoed, clipped footfalls, followed Luna’s lead. The crackling
dulled enough for Ivie’s hard edged voice to break through,
“I-thirteen, R-three, T-two, V-four.”
“Thanks,”
Luna responded, grateful for Ivie delivering immediate customer
service queries, even with her dodgy headset. Luna pulled out the
fourth Vinyl in the second tier of the third row, aisle thirteen and
handed it to the hummingbird and pitched her voice low, “Is this
what you are looking for?”
She perused it
with quick efficiently, “Yes,” as she looked up to Luna, “you
do not look like the others on this level.”
A statement,
definitive, not a question. Luna shrugged, edgy at the way she was
reacting to the customer in front of her, pushing some rogue pink
hair out of her eye, “I’m not always on this level. Is there
anything else I can help you with?”
“How does it
not bleed?” She indicated Luna’s hair, “and you’ve specific
knowledge for multiple floors?”
“The experience
of my hairdresser,” as she smiled for the first time that day,
repeating, “and yes, this floor, pop and alternative. Is that all
you need today?”
“That’s quite
an eclectic mix. Yes, thank you, this is what I wanted,” she
extended her hand, fine fingers resting together, “Chloe.”
“Luna,”
smiled again as she shook the dry, manicured hands, feeling a subtle
jolt transmitted through their hands as their eyes connected. Luna’s
headset crackled, creating a piercing whine in Luna’s ear. She
winced, breaking eye contact, pulling the ear piece out and said, “I
can walk you to the teller.”
“No need. Is
something wrong?” Chloe noticed details, weighing the odds of any
situation with precision yet felt unsettled by Luna’s deep dragon
green eye’s, blazing fire at the edges. She felt the loss of those
eyes whilst observing both the wince and extradition of earpiece.
“No,” Luna smiled, an unusual
habit but one she is unable to resist and starting towards the
service counter, she shrugged and admitted, “my headset is playing
up.”
“Your headset?”
Chloe asked, following the fascinating girl again.
“The
headset...is feeding back is all. I’ll need to change it.”
“Thank you for
your help,” Chloe’s voice deep and smoky, drifting down Luna’s
spine.
“You’re
welcome,” Luna replied, approaching the service counter, “this is
Galla.”
“Thank You,”
Chloe turned towards Galla.
Luna mouthed
“Hive” at Galla pointing between lifts and her dangling earpiece.
Galla nodded in return as she turned to smile at Chloe, extending her
hand towards the record. Luna backed away and returned to the
administration basement to visit Archer. She thought about Chloe on
the way down, the caress of her smile, the way the suit shifted with
her, the sway of her hips within her stride. Warmth spread through
Luna as she walked into the Hive.
“My Headset
isn’t working.”
“I know. Here’s
the replacement. I also need you on level one, dancing to Milhra,”
Archer looking up from the codes scrolling over her monitor at Luna.
“With who?”
Luna unstrung the earpiece through her shirt as she unclipped the
power pack attached to her belt, “and I’m meant to be playing on
three.”
“Galla can
handle three, and Decter Mesa, and can you two stay late?” Archer
asked, “we haven't found replacements for the four who called in
sick yet.”
“Archer, he
can’t dance,” Luna replied as all of the sweetness flowing
through her body twisted cold. She pushed the new earpiece into the
power pack.
“He’s all we
can spare. Kali is needed on four,” Archer looked apologetic.
“When...”
Luna asked, defeated, beginning to string the cord through under her
shirt and replaced the earpiece where it belonged, “and yeah, we
can stay.”
“Fifteen
minutes, and thanks.”
“Lucky you’re
awesome,” Luna sighed, walking back out to the lifts and returning
to classical to tell Galla of their extended hours.
Exiting the lifts
to walk out on to the floor, she is startled by a tranquil voice,
“Hello.”
Luna turned
towards the voice, hope sparking at the rusty intonation, “Chloe?”
“Galla said you
were dancing shortly.”
Luna smiled at
the unequivocal statement. Her jazz timbered voice left no other
interpretation as a glow flushed over Luna’s face. Chloe’s voice
is ferocious, sanguine, intelligent, sounding of hard edged black
coffee and measured, calculated, barbed wire dipped in chocolate as
she spoke again, “I decided to stay and see you dance.”
Luna nodded,
curious, “On level one, the lowest café tier, back corner table,
has the best view.”
A simple nod, and
Chloe turned upon her knife point stiletto and walked towards the
lifts. Luna walked over to the counters, where only Laeir was behind
the desk, asking, “Galla?”
He shook his
head, smiling wickedly, “Break.”
“Okay. I’ll
see you in an hour.”
Luna walked back,
tracing her steps to the lifts and down to level one. It didn’t
matter the band playing, as Luna’s mind drifted back to the curve
of Chloe’s voice. As she walked to the floor, she scanned the café
and found Chloe sitting where she had suggested. Luna began trembling
as her mind free fell as her desire spooling, an effect no one had on
her before.
Chloe watched the
enticement walk out onto the floor, intrigued by her delicate
paleness. She felt this spark, enticed by this tendril of intuition
radiating out towards this girl. She often felt this at work, during
the delicate surgery she performed but never felt it directed towards
an actual person. Chloe’s obsessive qualities focused relentlessly
and served her well in her career, but she is absolutely unprepared
for this incursion into her personal life.
Chloe sat in the
corner of the café, staying longer than necessary to watch the girl,
enthralled. Chloe felt this connection immediately, yet held no idea
what it meant. Pacer is, as usual, busy and the performance barely
noticed outside of the café. Chloe could not remove her eyes from
the movement, Luna preternaturally attuned to the music, her
attention stealing all that Chloe had. Nothing had broken through to
her like this in years. Luna felt Chloe before she saw her as her
dance set finished and as she walked toward the break room. Chloe
smiled at her, buttoning her jacket, but did not say a word, stealing
Luna’s breath as she went.
Luna returned to
level three after a fifteen minute break, and wandered over to Galla,
shifting stock onto shelves from a trolley beside her.
“Miss,” Luna
spoke harsh and guttural.
Galla jumped and
turned before she giggled, “Luna!”
“What’s with
telling the hummingbird?” Luna raised her eyebrows in mock anger,
her secret pleasure still tingling.
“Not really.
Archer paged you, I responded your headset was down and you were on
your way. She told me you’d be dancing.”
“Uh, so that
would still’ve been headset only?”
“Luna,” Galla
smiled, both breaking out laughing before continuing, “I told
Laeir, as it was told to me directly.”
Luna smiled as
she picked up a group of Chopin books before responding, “Sure,
Galla, sure...”
“You’d this
look your face,” Galla continued, baiting Luna, “exactly like
that one you’ve now...”
“Shut up G. Kai
and I are going to Harper’s. You coming?”
“Evasive little
Princess, aren’t we. Just giving you a hard time,” Galla, holding
up her hands in submission, “yeah. What’s playing? Who’s
playing?”
“Not sure.
We’re getting food before Kai has to work, but he’s shifted to
the late start, so Harper’s came up. And we’re now working late.”
“He won’t
care I’m coming.”
“I know. That’s
why I said,” Luna laughed, comfortable with the lightness of the
afternoon, and the prospect of finally being able to catch up with
her twin. In spite of living together, shift work had kept them apart
for over a week. For the few hours, they idly re-shelved merchandise,
joking about the dodgy dancing of Decter Mesa.
Luna and Galla
pulled off the last music performance and made their way to the
basement staff area, Luna grabbed her bag from her locker and took
out her mobile, looking at the messages from Kai, relaying it to
Galla, and from there they walked out of the staff entrance, walking
further into the alleyways to avoid the main streets.
“Kai said he’ll
meet us there.”
“Okay,” Galla
pulled her backpack on over her winter coat, “at least we’re out
earlier than expected.”
“Yes,” Luna
snorted, early for the night shift. Ready?”
“Yep,” as the
afternoon sun hit them, gloomy in an overcast sky, on their way to
the monorail.
Luna asked “Do
you...never mind...”
“What?”
Galla, whose trauma coiled around her core and mutated with her into
adulthood, heard the tone splinting into Luna’s voice.
“Nothing,”
Luna sighed, unable to articulate the vacancy settled within her, an
absence, longing for what she couldn’t seem to say.
“Existential
crisis?” Galla, abandoned well before she even lived, adopted yet
orphaned by five, understood how ill-fated and corrupt luck is,
branded by blindness in her left eye and three skull deep lacerations
from forehead to chin because of it. Deeply scarred and physically
able to show it, Luna was the first friend she connected with at all,
an ethereal wisp with an accent and an indifference to other people.
“Galla...”
Luna groaned.
Luna knew she was
gifted with an openness to humanity and to nature and it is painful,
an open wound refusing to scab over to give the peace she desired.
She needed to save herself from the constant influx of people static
while also being open enough to share her life with Galla, Archer and
Kai, their insular relationships indifferent to the world outside.
She filled her disconnected world with distractions efficiently along
with the anonymity cities always grant. Luna knew she has pulled
Galla in so close that they isolated their damage in the barren
wasteland outside of themselves.
“I know
something is wrong. Is it Kai, again?” Kai, Galla knew, flung
himself out into the world, connecting with everyone and anyone
physically to disconnect emotionally. All he managed to achieve is to
filter his stray world behind Luna’s protection, shelter his broken
self. Kai Luna’s shadow, borrowing her strength, a sycophant, one
alien soul in two bodies.
“No. Not Kai.
It’s me. Its just...I don’t know how to say,” Luna shrugged,
unable to describe her acute desolation, this undeniable sense of
longing, protecting a void breaking open at the centre of her soul,
the shifting illusion she presented to the world fractured, loosing
the core of herself to hide. She feels adrift and unsure of where the
stable earth is, only certain of the scars crackling between them,
maintaining their bonds of trauma and flesh, “I don’t know.”
“We’re....”
Galla spoke soft, “...as always us.”
“I feel...I’m
expecting something,” Luna shook her head, “no, more like this
intense sense of anticipation, but I don’t know what it is I’m
waiting for.”
“Okay. We’ve
to find what your missing?” Galla said before adding, “are you
sure it isn’t that Kai may try to have us poisoned with his
clothing choices?”
Luna giggled,
shouldering Galla, the mood between them lifting, “I think we can
safety assume he’ll be dressed appallingly.”
The city is old,
built and rebuilt over centuries and particularly the inner city was
full of back alleys, dark and useful places that can be delightful
shortcuts when you know the paved secrets. Luna and Galla rustled out
into the Ianthe laughing. Harper’s is an ancient place that at one
point been a laundry, a coffee house, an art gallery and It evolved
into a meeting place of revolutionaries, poets, artisans and
painters, writers of glory and dissent and from this became a
performance place with the dark corners creating life to songs of
swords and heroes.
It is a small
egress the width of a Volkswagen Beetle, barely lit and sunk most of
the way through to the other side of the block. Where the back of
darkness stopped, a minuscule kitchen slid, cooking some of the best
foods and delectable treats. There are no menus, no list of
micro-brewed beers, or ordering system. Harper’s only opened at
nightfall, closed as daylight hit and was always full between those
times, a cloud of people incessantly outside the doors. The battle to
find a table matched only by the fight to keep it. Once gained, food
and drink would appear on shoddy, graffitied tables.
Luna and Galla
turned the last corner, the cloud of drifters and itinerants
gradually using the last of the afternoon sun to gather and wait for
it to fade. Galla and Luna crowded through the intimate space until
they found Kai, defending a table.
“Took your
time.”
“How’d you
care?” Luna snickered at Galla answered.
“Double teaming
tonight?”
“Always
tri-teaming,” Luna replied, kicking him in the leg. They sat, the
noise of Harper’s flexing, while the winter sun drifted to its
inevitable solution.
“So do we get
food here?” Galla asked.
“I already ate.
You two are late.”
“Ohhh, Kai,”
Galla brightened, “Guess...”
“Galla, no,”
Luna pushed Galla mockingly, her face pulsating red in an instant as
her thoughts turned to Chloe. Even her own mind betraying her,
already flipping a hummingbird customer to thinking of her by name.
“What?” Kai’s
interest peaked from Luna’s obvious flush, “Tell.”
“Don’t
Galla,” warned Luna.
“Well, Kai,”
began Galla, “Luna met someone...”
“That’s it!”
Luna intercepted dramatically, “Kai, so no. Galla is simply being…”
Kai laughed,
purring, “Owww, Luna...”
“She’s a
corporate hummingbird, Kai, seriously,” Luna rolled her eyes.
“Ewwww. Social
death.”
Laughing, more
Harper’s specials appeared on the table. The three friends relaxed
and chatted and with the inevitable influx of people, rose to the
inspired pleasure of Harper’s entertainment. Even when Kai left for
work, Galla and Luna stayed, mixing their bodies to the sounds,
flowing and twisting until the last of the night relinquished to the
dawn and Harper’s closed itself from it, a precipice retreating
from dawn as it bleed life to the side walk.
The ladies,
exhausted, drifted to their homes and yielded to the slumber awaiting
them. There was a face in her dreams, a memory from the future, a
longing for this figure remained when she woke, desperately longing
for intimate connection with another. This intensity within the
drift, the space between sleep and awake, and her desire burnt her
soul into flames.
***
It took Chloe
three days after the weekend away to walk back to Pacer and up to
level two. It was late night, after finishing work, and she could not
see the girl who captivated her interest so severely. Chloe wanted
her, had dreamt about those dragon fire green eyes, the lilt of her
her voice. She woke determined to talk to her, as she was unsure if
she was simply focusing on someone, anyone, or if it was something
about her specifically that had caught her attention. She had,
instead of the spiral headed wonder, found the cashier with the
unique facial scars walking across the floor.
Chloe shut the
distance between them, “Excuse me.”
“How may I help
you?” Galla smiled as she turned, recognising the customer to
continue, “Beethoven?”
“Yes. Chloe,
actually. I’m looking for Luna.”
“Really?”
Galla’s smile deepened, “for?”
Chloe lowered her
eyes as she flicked her wrist to see the time before replying, “That
I’ll not say.”
“Then I’ll
not help. She’s special.”
“Intriguing,”
Chloe held Galla’s gaze, unspeakable micro-battles transmitting
between them, “Its for a personal reason.”
“Then I can
help,” Galla’s eyes glazed momentarily as she said,
“Ivie...thirty minutes” before her focus returned to Chloe as she
adjusted her headset, indicating the café in the corner. They sat in
a quiet corner, coffee aroma drifting out of their cups before Galla
asked, “What is it you want?”
“Luna,”
Chloe’s voice with an unexpected tremor of truth, naked and scared
of this exposure.
Galla’s
smirked, “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Lucky for you,
I think she wants you, too.”
A smile broke
across Chloe’s face, “Excellent.”
“Not so much.
We’re not in high school. I’m not going to pass notes.”
“Fair enough.
So I should just...ask, then?”
“You need to
make sure she will not say no.”
“How?”
“By being
spectacular and unique, unexpected. All I’ll do is confirm our
shift times. The details are up to you.”
Chloe wrote her
number down, and shifted it across to Galla, “Thank you.”
“That’s okay.
But I’ll be watching,” Galla laughed, “Sorry. That sounded
bad...clichéd, I mean...”
“I understand,”
Chloe replied as she joined in the laughter.
***
Luna sat with
Galla at the edge of the dark edge of a dirty bar, watching the
desperation shift by, “Why did we come here?”
“Because,”
Galla shrugged.
“How’s that
an answer?”
“If we’re
going to hate the world together, can we at least observe the disgust
with a little ingenuity.”
“We can do this
at Harper’s. Or Arantxa if you want somewhere new.”
“We always go
to Harper’s. It’s too easy. And we promised Kai we wouldn’t go
to Arantxa without him.”
“Too easy? To
do what?” Luna said.
“Judge.”
“I don’t hate
the world, G, and neither do you.”
“How do you not
hate the world?” Galla pushed.
“G,” Luna
finished her drink, disliking the challenge,“I’m leaving.”
“Luna...”
“No. This place
is skanky.”
“Fine. Violet
Pier?”
“Fine,” Luna
pushed her way out of the dark bar and onto the darker street,
“Galla, why are we here?”
“Because I’m
tired of pretending. You say no to everything.”
“What do you
mean.”
“You saw the
people back there? The aged despair, the lonely hopelessness. That is
us. You. Me. Kai.” Galla knew Luna and Kai’s history, felt their
pain and the constant presence of federal agents.
“How’ll we
end up like that when there are three of us?”
“Kai is a
stripper, worshipped for his slight frame and youth, will abandon
himself to become the leader of a group as lost as he is. I hide...”
Galla didn’t remember being loved, really, just a vague sense of
comfort and warmth lingering that left her longing.
She unconsciously
caressed her face, along the puckered skin sewn into three scars
running from her hairline to just under her chin. These should have
faded, but as her face grew, the scars stretched with it. Her eye had
sustained far too much damage and was removed, completing the
wreckage of her face. It is both what kept her apart and got her
attention.
We build our own
cages, Galla thought, I just keep bars around mine, “...you know
you do, always volunteering to cover the silences, not filled by
work. We’re denying what will let us grow. The three of us have
this sense of contagious, contaminated decay wrapping us into our own
world. We’ll be those people at that bar if we don’t change. I
don’t want to be them.”
They remained
silent until they reached the Violet Pier Bar, jutted precociously
onto the end of the pier, where the pylons and water met. The night
is damp and the pier wood gleamed wet underneath them walking out to
the bar, decamping at a spot left of centre.
“Why now? What
happened?”
“Luna. You’re
acting all strange, you can’t even voice what you is going on, but
I feel what you feel as much as you feel me. Something is drifting.”
“No. Yes. I
don’t know. I guess.”
“No, L, I
don’t know exactly what it is, but it is something And you’re
scared. But scarier than what was in that bar?”
“Galla. I’m
just not sure. We’re so different...”
“Truth? You
cannot avoid life forever, even if you’re scared.”
“I know.”
***
Chloe sat at her
desk, half a bottle of wine already gone, looking aimlessly out on
the glowing city, as alive as ever at midnight. From this height, the
cacophony of the streets dull. She had been at a corporate
fundraiser. It seemed there were always more and more to attend,
donate to, sit on the executive board with, fill all the time with.
She is unsure how much emptiness she had left to fill, already
lecturing at the universities medical unit, on the board for Avalon
Asylum, the Opera committee, and the Arts Academy Foundation.
One weekend a
month was already donated to the Kahtya Foundation, monitoring the
health of the cities Kahtya Slums, infested as they are with disease
and poverty. This all in addition to her actual work running the
neurological unit at Mathilde Avenue Research Hospital. Chloe felt
tired and desolate. All of these things, hollow objects and mirrored
places were meant to be fulfilling her, yet had left her exactly
where she currently was — alone.
Chloe’s life
predetermined rather than predestined, she felt mostly her choices
had been made for her, under the guise of “proper” reasons rather
than for herself. Honestly, she could not say it was wrong, these
decisions having made her wealthy, secure, successful and well
respected. Still, external expectations dictated her current choices,
how her reality is presented over how she actually felt. She always
feels the isolation acutely. Unattached, her fear had distilled into
a spectacular career, but an empty life. Her mind drifted,
inexplicably, to the delightful Luna and she felt that it was time to
implement her plan. She found her phone and texted Galla.
Chloe’s car
service dropped her off at three am to Pacer. She stood, momentarily,
outside before walking through the door. Galla texted her to tell her
the level they would be on. She slipped up to the second floor,
looking around the surprisingly busy floor. Instruments were being
played across the café. She saw Luna standing on the counter, bass
strung heavily between her hands.
Chloe
mesmerised, hearing the melancholic heaviness of music, allowing
thirty people to cohesively bind together, these remnants of the
night scattered across the floor, sitting as enraptured as she. Chloe
walked around the edge of the crowd to sit at an empty space,
watching Luna’s nimble fingers across the four steel strings. A
figure dropped down next to her as a clatter of bags landing at her
feet, “Hi.”
“Galla,”
Chloe smiled.
“I feel this
may not be your type of music.”
“It does not
mean I cannot enjoy this,” Chloe laughed.
“Or enjoying
her...”
“Why are you
not playing?” Chloe asked, ignoring Galla’s cheekiness.
“Went to get
out bags,” Galla shrugged, “I was done.”
Coffee’s
appeared within the hands of one of the cafe’s barristers. Galla
took hers and Luna’s and indicated the third is for Chloe.
“Thanks,”
Chloe admired, “Won’t Luna’s get cold?”
“Your welcome.
Luna doesn’t really like hot coffee.”
They sat in
silence, watching Luna finish that song and the next three, before
jumping down and passing the instrument off. She came over and lent
down to pick up her coffee before hesitantly looking at Chloe, softly
saying “Hey...” before flicking her eyes to Galla, “Thanks, G.”
“Ready?”
“Yup,” Galla
and Chloe stood as Luna picked up her bag and walked together down to
the ground level, into the silence. Chloe leaned in and whispered,
“thank-you,” and as her lips pulled away, grazed them across
Luna’s cheek, “see you tomorrow.”
They all walked
out together and then separated, Galla and Luna heading towards the
monorail.
“Why was she
here, G?”
“I guess she
likes you...” Galla said, smiling mischievously.
“What did you
do?”
“Nothing, I
swear!” Galla held her hands up, feigning innocence.
“Yes, of
course you didn’t. Instead I’ve a stalker. Now I understand why
you took me to drink in that filthy bar.”
Galla snorted,
“Who’d stalk you?”
“Shut up,”
Luna shouldered Galla.
When Luna got
home as she pulled out her mobile, a brown paper wrapped object
floated inside of her bag. She unwrapped it to find a notebook and
matching pen. It was covered in muted watercolour owls. Opening the
book to the inside cover, swift, confident handwriting had inscribed
her name across the page. Luna smiled.
***
Branches the
thickness of her wrist slapped her across her face, gouging out her
skin, ripping at her hands as she tried to shield herself, bloodying
her. She felt her breath scream in her throat, stabbing cold ice into
her lungs, her feet slipping against uneven brook side damp.
She can’t see,
feels the sharp drop in creature as white mist descended on her,
falling disastrously against the a pool of water in the middle of the
ocean and she thrashed swallowing brackish water, violently throwing
herself awake, Luna sat up. She hadn’t had a night like this for a
long time. She did not have the luxury of falling apart. Kai depends
on her stability. Even when out of control, he knows to return to her
safety.
When she dreams
were like this, it was as if her history, her memories were coming to
eat her alive from the inside. Her desire for this infuriatingly
persistent woman triggered the nightmares again, allowed them to
creep back into her life.
***
The entire week
of night shifts, Chloe appeared at three am, effortlessly sexy, with
a gift and shared a coffee. The week was intense and intimate until
Galla texted her that they would not be at work for the weekend. She
gave no other explanation, yet said that they were returning to night
shifts. Chloe drove alone to her country cottage, Westwood Manor, to
spend the weekend with friends she had known longer then herself. The
radio she left off, with the windows closed against the chill.
This drive,
while only three hours, is the only silence she seems to get, the
only time she could truly be alone, allowing her to turn her beeper
and mobile off. Her mind swam with Luna, her dancing, her fluidity,
the small part of herself hoped against reality that Luna would be
thinking of her, twisted with the same plague of intuition. This is
the reason she is driving, to see the trilogy of lovers to centre her
again, give her the insight she could not have of herself.
The cottage is
her safe place, full of friends and memories binding them all
together. Quin, Caro and Arlo shared her life since their time at
boarding school. As the four of them moved through school and
university together, becoming a bubble of their own making, insulated
with everything they did. Study, travel and desire spun into years of
evolution into adulthood, loving each other beyond all else.
The highway to
the Lake’s district became smaller and thinner until twisting into
a two lane road to connect all of the villages surrounding the two
great lakes and the thirteen smaller ones hidden as they were within
marshlands screaming with inhabited life. Lake St. Clair was heavily
forested, villages and houses etched out of the ground with little
visual impact to the flow of the lakes.
Chloe swung
through the six largest villages along the first largest lake,
closest to the interconnected highways. Even at this hour, life was
drifting lazily, and the next few smaller villages were completely
quiet. Chloe rounded over a bridge and the road squeezed smaller,
rougher at the edges, as she continued a third of the way past the
second lake where the villages slowed to a speckle and the cottages
were isolated mansions prized for the century’s old stone work and
deep treated timbre.
It was on the
cusp of darkness, the daylight sifting through, shaking peppered
light gradually succumbing to night when she drove past the single
cobbled row of shops, Miller’s Inn, and hit a large gate fifteen
minutes later that opened achingly at the push of a button recessed
into her dashboard. The driveway was gravel and twisted through
natural old growth forest. The cusp of change entranced Chloe,
fascinated and enticed her, sheltered her, encased her within this
transition between the space in the middle.
She walked in
the wood front doors as dusk was settling further into darkness and
walked into the living room. After curling within the warmth of her
friends, she sat on the rug in front of the fire, the round glass
glinting within the orange-yellow glow.
Caro, lying
across the sofa staring at the dark ceiling, said, “Who is she?”
“I don’t
know...” a wash of emotions surged through Chloe as she attempted
to explain how someone she only just met threw her into turmoil.
“What do you
know, then,” Arlo asked, curled up next to Quin.
“Her name is
Luna. She works at Pacer. When we shook hands, it felt inexplicable,
of fire and forever. Her eyes are dragon flame green and sear right
through me. She has short, spiky purple and pink hair that is a halo
of colour every time she stands near light, her voice sounds like
honey in the rain. She has a watercolour owl tattoo on her neck,”
hope floated in Chloe’s voice that in an ordinary moment, one
simple and sweet and like any other, a squall can come and obliterate
all else without warning. How within this ordinary moments, life
transforms, mutates, changes.
“When did this
happen?”
“Ten days ago.
She’s been on night shift all week, I’ve been meeting her at
three in the morning the entire time,” Chloe’s eyes were lost,
hazy in the golden glow. The lull between the quartet was ancient and
coiled across their thirty odd year friendship.
“On a scale of
indifference to Disney princess, how lost are you?”
“Three
thousand kisses and I would still not be done, three thousand kisses
this second would not satisfy me. I lust for her beyond measure to
which I could not live without her,” Chloe said, her face was part
anguish, part euphoric desire to consume Luna, then she shrugged, “I
sound absurd, even to myself.”
“You love the
idea of her more than yourself. Finally, someone has broken through,”
Caro smiled.
“I love you
three more than me!” Chloe said, “and this whole situation is
ludicrous. How do I feel this way when I don’t even know her.”
***
Its not the
same. You know because that’s why you don’t live here with us.
You understand the love we have together,” Quin indicated Arlo and
Caro along with herself, “Is the love you want, and sometimes love
is like is, friends who become lovers, yet this does not invalidate
strangers having chemistry. Like you and Luna.”
Chloe shrugged,
“yes, I know. She has...enthralled me.”
“We can tell,”
chuckled Arlo, “Are we going to meet her?”
“I’m still
working on it.”
“Wait. You
haven’t been out with her yet?”
“Well...”Chloe
smiled as she giggled, “...I’m trying.”
“Have you
considered asking her, maybe?” Caro asked, “or do you need help
with some farcical plan you’ve concocted?”
“I was
thinking of a picnic in the greenhouse.”
“Perfect. I’ve
some new treats you can taste test,” Quin added.
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