Power Trio

After five damp, soft minutes in a corner of the abandoned Triton Park boathouse, three quarters of Legendary tuck themselves back into their outfits and get most of Kell’s lipstick off Evan’s face and Thekla’s neck. They make their way through the darkened park toward the city lights.

“Conna says we’re meeting at Zakara’s.” Thekla taps the phone against the top of Kell’s head.

“Put that in my pocket for me, Evan?” Kell, who’s giving Thekla a piggyback ride, lacks a free hand.

Thekla passes him the phone, which he glances at. “Zakara’s. Name’s familiar, but I’ve never been there.”

“Me neither,” Kell says.

“I have.” Thekla rubs Kell’s shoulders, secure in the orc’s grip. “We’re like five blocks away. It’s not exactly a boy bar, if you get me. But the chicken wrap is great.”

“Hey, we’re all pussy eaters here,” Kell says. “Let’s boogie.”

Zakara’s is a study in scarlet neon and queer kitsch, with a blaring riot grrrl soundtrack. Conna’s wrangled a sizable crowd from the show, including most of the Labyrinth contingent. Sion’s already here, holding court in a corner with a plum wine cocktail and several of his vampy coven.

“Bitch!” Conna cries, as Kell ducks her head below the garland of tampons hanging above the door. She’s across the room in a feathery flurry to embrace all of them. “You sounded soooo good!”

“So glad you showed, Con.” Thekla accepts a beaky kiss on the cheek. “This one really felt like our coming out party.”

“Well, it helps that you’ve got a name this time.” Conna titters. “I tell you what, I was hearing some very positive things coming from the crowd tonight. Ohmigod, Trapped like Rats? Was. Just. Incredible. I’ve been bugging Sion about it all night. Y’all better repost all the reels I took of you. You looked hot as hell. As HELL.” She gasps. “You should perform in those glasses! Kell, doesn’t she look like a sexy librarian in those?”

“They, uh, tend to fly off. You guys want something from the bar?” Thekla attempts a graceful exit. “I’m getting a Joan Jett.”

“No way, girl.” Conna grabs Thekla, plants her. “I am buying. And we are all having Joan Jetts.” She bustles off toward the bar.

“A Joan Jett is basically just a cherry bomb, but they put out a flaming cinnamon stick in it,” Thekla explains, as they recover from their feathery host. “You’ll love it.”

They do love it, and they love the next round too. Thekla finds herself in conversation with the Labyrinth guys, who are talking about doing a jam at the next barbecue.

“We could bring some amps from Jason’s, invite Kell and Sion.” Hockham says. “I could bring my sax.”

Thekla laughs. “I didn’t know you played sax, man!”

“I didn’t know you fucking rocked like that,” Asher the goblin says is getting a little close to her. “That Vampire song was so amazing.”

Muriel positions herself between them, sipping a ginger beer. “No dipping of the tattoo gun into the company ink, Ash.”

Thekla is about to laugh it off and say it’s cool, and then she sees, over Asher’s shoulder, that Masonry has arrived at the function. All of Masonry.

Asher turns white at her expression. “Jeez, Thekla. I’m sorry.”

“What? Oh. No, Ash. It’s fine. It’s not you.” She scoots past him, eyes peeled for Kell so that she can stay in her drummer’s corner.

Kell’s in a loose circle with Sion and Dalma. She lets loose a laugh at something the ash elf just said, but Thekla hears the brittleness in it. Evan clearly had the same idea Thekla did, because suddenly he’s stepping into the conversation with a half-eaten chicken wrap in a basket of curly fries.

“You good?” murmurs Thekla.

“I’m good,” Kell says.

“We can go whenever we want.”

“Fuck that.” Kell mauls a curly fry. “This is our fucking afterparty.”

“Hello.” Beaula, the Masonry synth player, has floated over. “You were excellent.”

“Thanks, girl!” Kell says, with outsized cheer. “You guys rocked too. I gotta find that drummer of yours, whatshisname, uh…”

“Wiley,” Beaula says. “He’s gone home. Only certain sorts of noise agree with his constitution.”

“You’ll give him our love, won’t you?” Sion says. “You had quite the rhythm section.”

Beaula surveys Sion over her wineglass and under her bangs. “You had quite the lead guitar.”

Sion retrieves his plum wine from the hand of one of his giggling adherents. “Well, we were quite the billing, weren’t we?”

“Quite.”

The golden high elf and the ivory ash elf sip in unison, never breaking eye contact.

“That last song was amazing this time.” Teo’s made his appearance. “It’s come such a long way since Glorie’s. I love the new lyrics.”

“Thanks.” But Thekla is looking past him, where the newest member of Masonry is circling like a shark.

“I remember the weird blackout last time kind of took the wind out of its sails for a second,” Teo says. “But that duet Kell hit with Evan was really something.”

“Duet with the human, huh?” Ragan descends. Kell keeps her face front and center. “Drum and bass. That’s conceptual.”

“It was improvisational, right?” Teo says.

Evan stands still and straight, and Thekla almost feels the chill coming off him. “That’s right.”

“Like a free jazz thing?” Ragan mimics bongo drums. “Kind of high minded for Glorie’s.”

“No, man.” Evan shakes his head and eats another curly fry. “Not like a free jazz thing.”

“Yo, Kell,” Ragan says. “Do you remember that set we were doing at Tiempo, and Sion never showed up? That was some improv.”

“You can thank Thekla for the lyrics.” Kell smiles right past Ragan. “She writes ‘em all.”

And that’s the blueprint for the next few minutes. Again and again Ragan gets his licks in, tries to bait Kell into conversation, and hits a schlocky “get a load of this gal” expression when she refuses to engage. This is one of his favorite games; he likes to make you feel you’re being very unreasonable.

“At this point, if you’re never using synthesizers at all, I just assume it’s some kind of purity test.” His declaration interrupts Teo’s explanation of their songwriting. “Not that nostalgia doesn’t hit sometimes. Right, Kell?”

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” Kell announces, and turns on her heels.

Ragan smells blood in the water, moves between her and the hallway. “Are you good?” His grin is wider. “You’re being kinda weird. Like I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you, Ragan,” Thekla says.

“I think people should speak for themselves.” Ragan doesn’t even look at Thekla. “Kell. Are you seriously still on this silent treatment thing? Are we in kindergarten?”

Kell makes eye contact with him for the first time. “Get out of my way, Ragan.”

He laughs. “All right, girl. All right. But if you’re gonna move up in this city and this is how you network, I’m not—”

“How about you stop talking,” Evan says, in a loud, even voice that makes Thekla jump, “and get out of her way?”

Ragan’s grin falters. In an eyeblink, he is inches away from Evan. They’d be chest-to-chest if Ragan wasn’t nearly a foot taller. He stares down at the human. Thekla freezes.

“You’re the new bassist,” Ragan says. “The human.”

“Good eye.” Evan hasn’t moved a centimeter. “Thank you for moving. Now I think you should apologize to Kell, and we’re squared.”

Ragan laughs and then grunts several syllables in orcish. Kell takes a step toward them.

“I don’t speak orc.” Evan eats another curly fry. He stares dispassionately up at Ragan, with ice age eyes. “But that didn’t sound like an apology.”

Ragan looks to Kell. “Is this pinkskin serious? Do you have a white knight?” He chuckles. “A pink knight?”

“You say people should speak for themselves,” Evan says. “Why are you asking her?”

Ragan pushes his forehead against Evan’s, hunched down, staring. “Are you trying to start something, human?”

Evan doesn’t even blink. “Are you?”

A second that seems like an eternity. Then Ragan chuckles and stands up.

“No, man. Course not. Everyone knows you don’t fuck around with humans. So fragile and litigious.” He slaps Evan on the back; if he hoped that would finally get the bassist to move, it doesn’t work. “I’ll catch you kids at the next one. Hey, good shit out there tonight. Y’know, Evan, the way you were playing, and how you’re acting, I have a feeling I was maybe in your shoes once. Little word of advice—”

“I’m good,” Evan interrupts. “Bye, Ragan.”

“Ragan, man.” Teo is tugging at his shirt. “Let’s go, okay?”

A cold laugh from Ragan. “All right.” He sticks up two fingers. “Deuces.”

Teo and Ragan head out into the crowded night.

“That,” Dalma says, breaking a silence she’d held all night, “was an enthralling performance of masculine power dynamics.”

“That was fucking crazy, Ev.” Thekla gazes up at him, and then twists round to look at Beaula, who has not left with her band.

She shrugs her golden shoulders. “I came out tonight to play music and drink wine.”

“What a refreshing attitude, Beaula.” Sion places his empty glass on the bar. “I’d love to pick your brain about electronic arrangement, if I may. A drink for your time?”

“Of course,” Beaula says. “Let’s have another house red.”

Sion tuts as he waves to the bartender. “Oh, I think we can reach for a higher shelf than that, can’t we?” His clique are already gathering around Beaula like vultures.

“Seriously.” Thekla clings to Evan’s leg. “You’re fucking nuts. Brave but nuts.”

“I love you, dude, but you didn’t have to do that,” Kell says. “He could have literally torn you in half if he wanted.”

“No, he couldn’t have.” Evan doesn’t take his eyes off the two other members of Masonry until they’re out of Zakara’s. “I’ve met that kind of person. I’ve gotten my ass kicked by that kind of person. And Ragan isn’t him.” He smiles at them. “You were so insanely right about the chicken wraps here.”