Overkill

05 | two slow dancers

"Welcome, Austin, to the MONARCH tour's official coronation. How are we all doing this evening?"

The crowd roared to life and Moxie counted her lucky stars that she was blessed enough to end up on that stage. It never got old. It would never get old. No matter how many times they stepped onto one, no matter the size of the crowd in front of them, performing would always and forever be the greatest sensation on Earth. (Hell, she dared say it was even better than sex sometimes.) (Sometimes.)

When Moxie and Mick were up on that stage together, they moved like two slow dancers, completely in sync with the other, speaking a language nobody else but the two of them knew. The world was watching them, that very small part of the world squeezed tightly into the venue, but they were simply attempting to interpret something they could never understand, something they could only dream of understanding. Stevie and Jun were given insights into their process, and therefore could propose a more educated guess as to what some of their lyrics meant, how much of themselves had been weaved carefully into each and every word, but even they were outsiders into the siblings' relationship.

Everyone was more than thrilled when Stevie and Jun emerged through the fog on stage for their surprise performance of Ghosts. It was the first time they ever played it live all together, with Moxie and Stevie leading with the majority of the vocals. They were contrasting sounds, with Stevie's sweet tones that held a powerful bite, and Moxie's more sultry raspiness. Their voices blended seamlessly as the two men carried most of the background vocals, with Jun additionally playing the acoustic guitar, though that was to be expected when singing alongside the voice of a generation like the MARS lead singer.

This being the first show of their very first headlining tour was better than anything they could have asked for. And not even Mick splitting his pants after jumping off one of the speakers could ruin it. (It made it all that much better, bright red boxer briefs and all.)

The only time during the show in which Moxie felt herself falter for the tiniest moment was when somehow, through the sea of people, she spotted a blonde head in the crowd, standing in the section reserved for guests of the show. It was where Stevie and Jun would have listened if they weren't performing, or where the rest of MARS would be if they weren't off enjoying their well-deserved break after a long world tour. A place for Maverick and Leigh if they weren't off changing the world in their own ways. Her parents would have been cheering them on from that section if they weren't busy as well. (She was okay with them not being there tonight.) (There would be plenty of shows for them to see their kids making their dreams come true.)

She never stopped long enough to make sense of what she was seeing, who she was seeing. Quite frankly, it should not have mattered. It didn't while she was on that stage. She was there to perform, not worry about whether some infamous pop star was at her show.

Moxie liked problems. She liked the challenge they posed, had fun untangling the knots. And, well, she was her father's daughter after all, which meant she spent most of her life believing she could fix anything. Anyone. Even herself, sometimes.

It didn't take long for her to move on, compartmentalizing the restless part of her that couldn't stop thinking about Cruella Queen since they talked at the party a few nights ago. She was good at that since she bounced around a lot growing up, jumping from a movie set to a secret recording studio to a vacation that wasn't entirely vacation but sometimes work. Those trips weren't always fun—on the worst of them, they were downright terrible, but she wasn't about to unpack any of that any time soon—but they helped forge her into the woman she was today, for better or for worse.

Witnessing the life of a rockstar up close and personal also contributed heavily to her desire to pursue this career. She vividly remembered strutting across an empty stage at eleven years old, swaying her hips from side to side, a sassy pout perched perfectly on her lips. Mick was always right behind her, equally as thrilled to dance along to the same daydream. Their father would be offstage somewhere in the seats, smiling up at them from the dark, past the glare of the spotlights. They were unstoppable even back then.