Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is at least better than Charon’s first Broadway contract, but that isn’t saying much. 

They were cast in some avant garde reimagining of West Side Story where he played a Shark who’s name was quite literally, “Anxious.” Now, Charon doesn’t necessarily consider themself an anxious individual, but there was something about playing that role that made him a bit nervous before every performance. The director also had a yard-long stick up his ass which couldn’t have helped. 

So, whenever Charon gets into costume to play the role of “Carbucketty” in a revival of Cats, she likes to tell herself, “at least you’re no longer playing Anxious.” 

The previous theater did , at least, have more dressing rooms, so they weren’t forced to share with seven other people. Charon can hardly breathe without feeling like somebody’s encroaching on his personal space. Maybe that’s part of the reason the room has devolved into a twisted rotation of situationships, which really should be expected when you put eight theater adults in the same room, all of which are gay and perpetually hypersexual. 

Even though they have their fun, Charon doesn’t particularly like any of them. At least not that way. Instead, they have their eyes set on one man and one man only: Dice Veloutine who plays Mister Mistoffelees. 

Dice is a certified legend — he snagged a Tony nomination even though this is his Broadway debut. Already, Charon’s heard whispers of people wanting to write shows just for him. Unlike Charon who will probably rot in the ensemble until the end of time, Dice can actually make an impact in this accursed industry. 

Accursed — as if Charon isn’t the one who chose this career for themself after their mother wanted them to go into industrial engineering. Paying for a BFA out of pocket is pretty nasty too. Most people don’t want to give out merit scholarships to a lackluster twink who wants to make a living off of tap dapping and screlting so she had to beg Trump for loans. 

(For the record, Charon didn’t ask him directly. If they did, they’d be lambasted by slurs which actually could be kind of kinky now that they think about it.)

(No — they can’t think about fornicating the worst US President of all time. They have to think about Dice!)

“You’re drooling again,” one of their cast mates, Sapphira, observes. “It’s going to ruin your makeup.”

Charon blinks. “Was not!”

“I saw you darling ; you were drooling!”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about that? Like genuinely, what would I gain from lying?”

Charon lifts his hand to the corner of their mouth. “Shit — you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

That Charon can’t agree with. During rehearsals, Sapphira begged the director, Gregorio, to rewrite Andrew Lloyd Webber’s script so her role could be the Jellicle Choice instead of Grizabella. 

“You’re playing the same role Taylor Swift played in the movie,” Gregorio had said. “Isn’t that enough for you?”

It was not. Sapphira left rehearsal early that day early and in tears yet somehow she still has a job. She’s very lucky Charon tolerates her because there’s not many people here who do. 

“Well…” Sapphira drawls. “What are you going to do about this Dice situation?”

“Whatever you plan to do about the Crista situation.”

“Don’t say her name out loud!”

Probably a good idea. Being that she’s a stage manager, Crista Cray seems to have eyes and ears everywhere in this building. 

“Back to Dice. What are you suggesting I do?”

A mischievous grin flashes across Sapphira’s face. “What if you put on your own musical just for him?”

“What…?”

“In musicals, people sing because they’re so full of feelings they don’t know what to do with themselves. You clearly don’t know what to do with yourself, so why not sing about it?”

Charon wiggles their brows. “That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.”

— 

It’s hard for Charon to think about musicals besides Cats these days, so her show for Dice is just going to be a parody of it. In this version, Mister Mistoffelees is the Jellicle Choice, much like how Dice is Charon’s choice. How romantic, right?

If this makes her look cringe, Charon might just find a gun and send herself to the Heaviside Layer prematurely. Luckily, he doubts that’ll happen. 

Sapphira writing the lyrics to this probably ups the potential for this to be embarrassing by quite a bit, but Charon borders on illiteracy to varying extents on any given day. She also doesn’t think about Cats more than what he’s paid to do. 

“Let’s run my version of The Rum Tum Tugger again!”

Them and Sapphira arrived at the theater three hours early to rehearse on the stage. Sapphira tends to get to the theater around this time anyways to see Crista, not that it’s gone particularly well for her. If anything, the ginger always seems a bit exhausted when Sapphira shows her face, but that could just be classic stage manager exhaustion.

Charon sighs. “I think your version of that song is kind of odd, I can’t lie.”

“Excuse me!” Sapphira gasps. “I worked so hard on this song, and for free! Someday, my work is going to cost millions, mon cherie. Billions!”

“ I just think it’s rude to say ‘The Dice Ice Icy is a bi-curious man’ as we don’t know his sexuality and all that.”

“Since when are you keen on being respectful?” 

“Touché.” Sure, Charon doesn’t have the best romantic track record, but Dice is different. They just know he is. 

“If anything, I thought you’d be opposed to the song because of who usually sings it…”

“Y’know, now that you mention it, yeah!” 

The title of  “nastiest man in the cast” without a doubt belongs to Gremory Rossmani, the actor playing the Rum Tum Tugger. He didn’t even go to school for musical theater — he and his twin sister Glasya started booking roles straight out of high school. Charon used to hold the belief that Sharpay and Ryan from High School Musical were the most obnoxious theater siblings to ever theater sibling (even if Sharpay served cunt in every single scene and Ryan was a handsome piece of ass), but that was before he met the Rossmanis. 

The main reason he and Sapphira are close is also because of them. Charon used to date Gremory and Sapphira, Glasya, so they’ve kind of trauma bonded over those sick freaks. Doesn’t help though when they and Sapphira now understudy the twins’ roles. Worse, Glasya plays Grizabella.

“But think about how empowering it would be if you sang that song for Dice,” Sapphira says. “Saying goodbye to your old flame and welcoming in a man who’s actually going to treat you well.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You don’t have time to ‘think on it.’ The Tonys are in three weeks and I assume you want to be on his arm when he walks the red carpet—“

“You’re right. I do.”

“I’m always right.”

“We’re not rehashing this bit.” 

— 

Sapphira’s parody is really fucking catchy. More often than not, Charon finds herself mumbling about Dice’s hypothetical bi-curiosity. 

Charon’s now at least confirmed that Dice is actually queer, not that it should’ve been difficult to ascertain when his name is one of the least cisgender names in the entire world. “Charon,” isn’t much better — people always say he’s an edge lord for it — but going by “Trick” or “Tricky” just didn’t seem right when the first name “Charles” would always be attached to it. Their mother was plenty disappointed when she found out about the legal name change, for the record. 

“If you offer him a man, he’d rather take a woman,” Charon hums as he makes his way to his dressing room for yet another two show day. “If you offer him a woman then he’d rather take a man.” 

He wasn’t expecting to run face first into the very person he was singing about.

“Ohmygod—“ Dice shouts. Charon can’t tell if he’s upset or just surprised; it’s so hard for her to read Dice’s emotions.

“S-s-sorry!” Charon hisses — why did I hiss? Why am I hissing?

“I need to watch where I’m going better, I guess.” Awkwardly, he scratches his head, Charon ogling his fingers and wishing hers were intertwined with them.

“No. I need to watch where I’m going.” 

“It was on me. I tripped because Lethia didn’t put away her prop violin properly.”

“Well I shouldn’t have let you trip.”

“Why does it matter? How is that your business?”

“It isn’t your business… I—” Charon starts panting which is really fucking embarrassing. “The Tonys are soon! Congratulations on your nomination! I can’t believe they’re having Ben Platt host! Please don’t get injured! God bless you!” 

“Thank you?” 

Dice hobbles off further backstage and all Charon can do is sigh. 

— 

“I noticed you’ve been singing my song recently.”

Charon fucking hates when Gremory sneaks up on him like this. It’s always in the dark when she least expects it and she’s trying to mind her own business and then BOOM! the most obnoxious voice known to mankind is in their ears. 

“I am your understudy,” Charon whispers. “I don’t think it’s weird for me to be practicing for when you inevitably get sick and can’t perform.”

“You want me to get sick?”

“Selfishly, yes.”

“Is this something I should tell Gregorio about?”

“You’d tattle on me? ” He lifts Gremory’s wrist and plants a kiss on his hand. 

Gremory takes his wrist away. “Absolutely, yes.” 

“I’ll give you something you won’t need to tell anybody about…

— 

The next morning, Charon wakes up in Gremory’s bedroom. She’s disappointed in herself, not because they slept with him, but because all they could think about was Dicedicedicedicedice. 

“I don’t think I’ll be back here ever again.” They announce to Gremory once he wakes up. “Tell Gregorio what you want; I’m sick of you.” 

He doesn’t say anything to Gregorio. She’s not surprised. 

— 

“Look— it was a misstep!” It’s hard for Charon to defend themself as they explain last night’s actions to Sapphira. “I just… I threatened him and then I got worried and then—“

“And then you were too horny for your own good and thought about Dice the entire time?”

“Yes. That exactly.”

Sapphira reaches over and grabs a red lipstick, then scribbles “WHORE” on the dressing room mirror.

“Hey! Stop that!” Charon frantically tries to wipe it off. “I know you don’t mean that you—“

“Just like how you didn’t mean to sleep with Gremory nor did you mean to join Ophelian and Vuitton for a threesome last week.”

“Monogamy is new to me, okay! ”

“You haven’t even gotten there yet.”

“And I’m never going to because Dice probably fucking hates me.”

“Aw, babygirl.” Sapphira sighs. “What makes you say that?”

“We talked a few days ago and I was just… I was so awkward, Sapphira. It was sooooooooo embarrassing.”

“You think performing a musical for him will be less embarrassing?” 

“That was your idea!”

“Yes, and you decided to go with it.”

Charon bristles. “Maybe I shouldn’t!” 

“Really? Do you have fucking stage fright or something?”

“…maybe.”

— 

“Okay so just pretend I’m Dice and sing to me.”

“I can’t do this!” Charon stomps, but he’s wearing tap shoes so it sounds nice at least. “I can’t fucking do this!”

“Damn, you really are nervous.” Sapphira tries (and fails) to stifle a laugh. “What even is it about Dice that has you like this?”

“He’s just… he’s Dice and he’s nice! Nice Dice!”

“Are you sure you’re not just jealous of him?”

“I am not—“ They groan. “You’re good at this shit, you know. If you didn’t need so much therapy yourself, you’d be a great therapist.”

“Thank you?”

“I’m not entirely jealous of him though! He’s just really handsome and charming and talented and funny and charismatic and flexible and —“

“Enough!” Sapphira snaps her fingers. “Why can’t you just tell him that?” 

“The same reason you can’t tell Crista the same thing.”

“I did tell her though. We’re going on a date in between shows next Wednesday.” 

“Oh, fuck you!” 

“No thank you!”

— 

Wednesday comes and goes and Sapphira arrives at the theater the next day with a spring in her step and a smile on her face.

“It went well? I take it?” Charon asks.

“It was magnificent. If only you and Dice could—“

“If we could, what?” Of course, he choses now to randomly spawn in. 

“Could rehearse together!” They exclaim. “You’re very talented, Mr. Veloutine, and I think I could learn a lot from you. How do you say we run the Jellicle Ball sequence together?”

Dice shrugs. “Sure. Does tomorrow work?”

“Absolutely!” Sapphira chimes in. “Oh, Tricky! You’re going to have so much fun rehearsing with Dice. This is going to be so great!”

— 

In all honesty, Charon’s a better dancer than Dice is. Or, at least they are when it comes to this scene. Still, she doesn’t mind watching Dice strut her stuff and arch her back and spin so delicately.

“You’re like really good at this,” he singsongs. “No wonder you were nominated for a Tony!”

Dice rolls his eyes. “You really think I deserve the nomination.”

“Absolutely, yes! Why the odd face?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Not to me it is!” Wow, Charon has never sounded more pathetic in his entire life. “I mean— it’s normal to undersell yourself as a performer.”

“I’m not underselling myself,” he says, then sits down off the ledge of the stage. “I just… It’s stupid, okay?”

Charon sits beside him. “That doesn’t mean you can’t tell me.”

“My parents are behind the nomination.” Dice lets the words hang in the room for a moment. “They’re big producers and they’re the ones who have been getting all of those roles written for me and they probably talked to the nominating committee and that's why I was nominated.”

Christ, of course Dice is a nepo baby. Charon should’ve guessed that. It doesn’t mean he isn’t worthy of his recognition. Actually, why is she sympathizing with a nepo baby right now. What the fuck is happening?

 Then again, Sapphira’s also a nepo baby. It’s just that she isn’t successful. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Charon admits. 

“That’s why I shouldn’t have told you. It’s just that I had to tell somebody and—“

“You trust me?”

“More like you’re most convenient at the present moment and don’t have enough friends to successfully spread rumors.”

They shrug. “I’m still glad you told me.”

“It feels nice to get that off my chest,” Dice says. “We can get back to practicing now!”

“We don’t have to. You deserve a nap.”

“You’re right. I do deserve one. I’m off to my dressing room.”

It takes everything inside of Charon to not ask to come with.

— 

“It went really well,” They tell Sapphira that night at a bar.

“Right! I heard all about this situation. ” Right. Crista is also here.

“It’s not a situation! That makes it sound so official. It’s just that I have a crush on Dice and—“

“It’s a situation.” 

“I hate that there’s two of you now,” Charon huffs. “Two instigators !”

Sapphira smirks. “I wouldn’t be instigating if you just nonbinary’d up and told Dice you like him.”

“I can’t do that before the Tonys. He’s fragile.”

“I know him better than you,” Crista says. “I think he really would benefit from having somebody to depend on.”

Charon thinks back on earlier today. “Maybe you’re right.”

— 

Strangely, Charon finds themself singing again. 

“Touch me… It’s so easy to leave me…”

“I don’t get it,” Dice stammers. “What are you doing? You don’t play Grizabella.”

“All alone with the memory, of our days in the sun!”

“Charon?”

“ If you touch me, you’ll understand what happiness is…”

“Wait! I know what you’re trying to do.”

“ Let the memory — What do you think I’m trying to do?”

“I know about your hijinks, Charon. You’re trying to seduce me.”

She swears she could’ve heard a pin drop in that dressing room hallway. 

“That’s not—“ Charon gasps.

“I know about you. You’ve fucked every man in this building. I’m next on your roster, right!” Dice gets up and starts running away. “Forget I ever told you anything about the Tonys.” 

Once they’re gone, Charon curls in on themself and shivers. They really did try their best and all, but it’s like they say in the show, “jellicles can and jellicles do.” 

Maybe Ophelian and Vuitton are free tonight.

Chapter Text

She burned the pizza. Again. 

At times, Thana Achillea wonders why she bothers. At work, at home, just in general. Her life is but an endless cycle of misfortune. She’s born, her parents die. She’s adopted, but it’s by a fucking cop. She goes to art school, her birthday candle somehow burns down her dorm building.  

Thana thought that last incident would be the end of it but unfortunately whatever idiot god there is out there begged to differ. Like genuinely, she thinks he got down on his godly knees and begged.

There’s no other explanation for why she somehow started a fire while making breadsticks at the most well-regarded Italian restaurant in New York City: the Olive Garden in Times Square. Thana went through seven rounds of interviews to get her position and she only lasted a week.

And now she’s here. At the second best Italian restaurant in the city: Papa John’s, where she still seems to be accidentally making the same mistakes.

She looks at the ruined pizza in her hands and sighs. It’s not even salvageable — the whole thing is covered in ashes, even the bits of pineapple that shouldn’t be there in the first place. Thana swears this wasn’t her intent. She put it in the oven, blinked, and then it just happened. 

“How’s the order looking for Middle School 69?” Her boss, Tessa’s, voice blares through her headpiece. “The person on the phone ordered twenty minutes ago.”

“Not done yet,” Thana earnestly responds. “Give me maybe five minutes?”

“We don’t have twenty minutes. Whatever you’ve made, put it into a box and get your ass over there.”

“Yes Ms. Ray.”

She’s pretty sure she was hired as a chef and not a delivery driver but Tessa isn’t the sort to care about that. Thana doesn’t even have her driver’s license but she still gets routinely chucked into the Papa John’s branded Ford Focus, which she named Onyx (like the Pokémon), and is forced to go places. Perhaps the only good thing in her life is that she still hasn’t crashed. 

She puts the burnt pizza in the box and sticks on the sticker that was autogenerated by the computer — Melchior K. 1 XL Hawaiian Pizza. No ham. Vegan cheese. Honestly even if it was properly cooked, she wouldn’t dare eat that shit. 

Whatever. She hopes this Melchior K guy likes it because as soon as she pulls up to the school, it’s no longer her problem.

—

They don’t understand why their students all seem to hate them. Even if teaching wasn’t Melchior’s first choice career, they like to think they do a good job at it.

Melchior knows all that there is to know about chemistry like the back of their hand. They put great care into decorating their classroom and memorizing all of their student’s names, but it still doesn’t matter. The middle schoolers still make fun of them, yap during class, and refuse to do their damned homework. 

Only three kids have any semblance of respect for him and one of them, Liana Taylor, still occasionally side-eyes them like she’s planning their death. At least she turns in her homework without fail and has yet to miss a single question on a test. It’s the little things.

“Mx. K, how much longer do we need to stay after class?” Liana asks them, her arms crossed underneath neon green lettering that reads CHEMISTRY IS POGGERS . “I really want to go home and do my homework.”

“Of course you do, nerd,” says Lucas Davidson, who recently has started going by Lucifer Deatherage. Melchior has decided not to question it. “I know you can stay at least a little bit longer for Mx. K’s surprise.”

“Lucy, please.” The third of Melchior’s favorite students, Elio Basanti, begs. “You don’t need to be a bully.”

“I’m not a bully,” he huffs.

“You called Liana a nerd. That’s not very kind of you.”

“It’s not my fault she’s so sigma skibbidi toilet. Probably also from Ohio.”

Elio pleads, “You can’t use that as an insult. I was actually born in Ohio.”

“Sorry, you’re still a looksmaxing rizzler to me.”

Melchior has no idea what any of that means, so they just sigh. Kids these days, huh.

“The surprise is going to be here soon,” they say, though they’ve no way to confirm that. They’re just crossing their fingers that it does. They promised their best students a pizza party, and that’s what they’re going to get.

As if right on time, the brown telephone on the wall emits one of the most annoying sounds known to humanity, so Melchior rushes over to it and puts it onto their ear. “Mx. K speaking. Who is this?”

“It’s Mr. Haleot,” the principal’s voice booms back to them. “You have a delivery at the front desk. Would you like to pick it up or should I send the delivery driver here.”

Perfect — the pizza’s finally here. “Send them over here.” There’s only one building in Middle School 69, so it should be easy enough for the driver to find Melchior’s classroom. They wouldn’t want to leave their dearest students alone, after all.

“It’s going to be here soon,” they announce. “I got Hawaiian pizza, no ham, with vegan cheese. Just what you all agreed on.”

“Actually, I didn’t agree to that,” Liana says, shaking her head side to side. 

“Well our dear friend Elio has a dietary restriction — he’s a vegan. So we had to get something accommodating to him.”

“Couldn’t you have just gotten Elio his own pizza?”

“Then he’d still see everybody eating the meat and dairy and it’d make him upset.”

“It’d make me furious.” Elio nods. 

“Yeah,” Lucy chimes in. “He’d be furious .”

“Whatever.” Liana rolls her eyes. “I don’t even care, to be honest.” 

“It sounds like you care.”

“Shut up, Lucy!”

Melchior stands in the middle of them. “No need to fight. This is meant to be a special treat for everybody.” Thankfully, a knock on the door takes them out of their misery.

They turn the handle to see a girl with deep skin and black coily hair and a shellshocked expression. There’s something slightly eerie about her, even though she’s just standing there holding a box of Papa John’s pizza. 

“Um hi,” she says, handing Melchior the pizza box. “Enjoy the pizza.”

— 

The Melchior K guy she’s delivering pizza to is looking at her awfully strangely. Really, they should look in the mirror – they have a scar that resembles a lightning bolt going down their head and neck and a few spindles peaking out of their neon green labcoat.

Thana doesn’t get paid enough to deal with people like this.

“Um hi.” She tries to make little fanfare in handing them the pizza box, trying not to snicker about how probably the worst pizza in the world is inside. “Enjoy the pizza.”

“Thank you very much!” Melchior K makes some sort of a flamboyant gesture as if they’re a wizard or some shit. “My students are going to love this magnificent pizza that you have so generously delivered to us, Mrs. Papa John.”

“Okay.” Again, she doesn’t get paid enough for this. “I’m leaving now.”

She makes her way through the halls of MS 69, trying not to make herself too dizzy. It’s hard when the building has thirteen floors and the elevator isn’t working. Typical for a public school budget — it’s times like these where Thana’s actually grateful her mom sent her to private school, even if everybody there was annoying and unreasonable. At least the elevator worked. 

With little fanfare, she gets in the car and heads back to the restaurant. It’s time to make another pizza that she’ll inevitably mess up but still deliver because it literally is not her problem.

She’s not expecting to get a phone call while she’s stuck in traffic. “Hello. This is Thana from Papa John’s. How may I assist you?” 

“Omg heyyyyy .” Of course it’s that Melchior K freak calling. “I was wondering what your name was.”

“I already said it’s Thana. Why are you talking to me?”

“I just wanted to say you made the best pizza that me and my students have ever had the pleasure of consuming.” Jesus Christ, this has to be a prank call or something. Why? “In fact, they previously squabbled about how a vegan pizza may not be suited for their delicate tastebuds, but they quickly changed their tune and it’s all because of you.”

“Thanks.” She hangs up the phone.

Not even ten seconds pass before it rings again. “Hello. This is Thana from Papa John’s. How may I assist you?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime.” 

Oh my god. Why does this shit always happen to me? Again, she hangs up. The phone rings again, but this time she doesn’t even answer it. She’s too focused on her lackluster driving and not crashing. Thana probably should’ve been more focused on that earlier.

Another six phone calls that Thana doesn’t answer and she debates seeing if HR can do something about that. The only issue is, Papa John’s has no HR because it’s fucking Papa John’s. So, she turns off her phone, tries to figure out how to use the Ford’s built in GPS, and keeps on driving.

— 

They can’t stop thinking about Thana from Papa John’s. 

Melchior knows how creepy that sounds but there was just a way in which she wanted nothing to do with them that’s left them awestruck. Most people shout expletives at them when they’re pissed, but Thana was just so incredibly nonchalant. It’s awesome.

With every time that Melchior calls her and she doesn’t pick up, they become more of a fan. Besides, there has to be a reason why she hasn’t blocked their number. 

(They’re well aware how pathetic they sound, but that’s what happens when you don’t have any friends. You just have to keep on trying.)

As they stretch out on the couch bed of their run-down studio apartment in Harlem, they debate what to do. It’s been a few hours since they last called Thana, so it wouldn’t hurt to call again, but clearly phonecalls aren’t her thing. 

Do they send a text? 

“hi !! this is melchior. u delivered me pizza today at ms 69. i’ve gathered u don’t like phone calls. i prommy i am not trying to be weird but do you want to chat???” 

No. That sounds weird. They try again.

“this is melchior from ms 69 – u delivered my class pizza. want to chat & mayB be friends? no need to reply to this message if u don’t want.”

No again. Again, too forward. 

“hi. this is melchior from ms 69.”

Straight and to the point. It’s perfect. They hit send and are not at all surprised to see a green text bubble which means Thana has android. Wow – she’s so interesting.

And then Melchior sits back and waits for a reply.

—

“YOU ARE MESSAGING A LANDLINE”

Thana snickers. This should get Melchior K to leave her alone. 

She really does not understand this guy’s issue and why they’re so fucking adamant to get in contact with her. It’s amusing — almost . They’re lucky that Thana quite literally has nothing to do or else she’d actually find a way to report him this time. Instead, she can just laugh at her phone.

Melchior

landline? is there a way i can send audio messages?

Thana

YOU ARE MESSAGING A LAND LINE

Melchior

1. SEND AUDIO MESSAGE

Thana

YOU ARE MESSAGING A LAND LINE

Melchior

hi thana ! sorry i was weird earlier. i just wanted to say that i think ur interesting and i’m curious y u haven’t blocked my number.

Thana

YOU ARE MESSAGING A LAND LINE

Again, because she’s bored and curious. And she does have to give it to Melchior for not giving up, as much as she would like them to. But then, she wouldn’t have anything to do besides think about her next shift at Papa John’s and try to find space to paint in her childhood bedroom. Moving back here is all kinds of weird — it’s hard for her to create in a place she once sought out to destroy.

She wanted to leave this townhouse so so badly, yet of course she’s back for circumstances out of her control. Curse that birthday candle. 

Maybe companionship would be nice, actually. It’s not like she gets along with anyone at Papa John’s and her friends from art school sort of hate her now.

(It’s pointless; everybody leaves her eventually.)

So, in spite of herself, Thana picks up the phone and dials Melchior’s number.

Immediately, they pick up and yap, “Thana-banana! I didn’t think you’d actually pick up.”

“Why do you have a nickname for me?” She sighs, already regretting this.

“I just think nicknames are fun. If you don’t, that’s cool too. You don’t need a nickname.”

“Are you hitting on me.” 

“Am not! Why would you say that? Do I sound like I’m flirting because—”

“I’m going to ask you this in the most unoffensive way possible.”

“What?” She hears Melchior gasp.

“Do you have like… a mental disorder?” It’s not offensive because Thana probably has a bunch of those herself. She just hasn’t particularly had a strong desire to see a doctor. “No hate or anything.”

“Y’know that’s a great question. I’m gonna go with probably.” 

So now they’re evenly matched with undiagnosed mental illnesses and it’s a lot harder for Thana to be mad at them — not that she ever was. She’s just… overwhelmed and baffled, but she thinks she likes it? 

“Same,” she says. “I hate phonecalls. I’m going to hang up now, but I am open to spending time with you.” 

“Tomorrow afternoon?”

“I have work.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Where?”

“The Target on Murray and Broadway.” 

“What are we doing there?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Thana hangs up the phone and stares at her reflection in the mirror. She isn’t nearly as horrified as she should be.

— 

Melchior strolls through the aisles of Target at a leisurely pace, skimming the headlines of gossip magazines and National Geographic warning about how the eruption in Yellowstone could lead to the end of humanity how we know it or whatever. In a way National Geographic is just a gossip magazine for scientists.

But Melchior’s getting ahead of themself — they’re here on a mission, even if that mission involves wearing a neon green (a common color it seems) shirt that says “rat” and a hawaiian shirt. Well, they could do this mission wearing whatever but this seemed like a great outfit. Whatever. Their undiagnosed ADHD is really coming out swinging.

As they await Thana, they browse the technology aisle, coming across a pair of neon pink cat-ear headphones. They have no idea what they'll need said headphones for, but they could be important. 

As it gets a bit later, Melchior starts to wonder if Thana forgot. A buzz on their phone quickly proves them wrong.

Thana

Hello. I am at Target, just like we agreed upon.

Where might you be?

Melchior

omg heyyy !! i’m in the technology aisle

so hype to see you soon xD

Thana

Got it.

Less then two minutes later, Thana manifests wearing ripped up jeans, a graphic t-shirt with a cat, and fishnets. What concerns Melchior however is the fact she’s wearing sandals since it’s still winter and she must be cold.

“Why are you not wearing proper shoes?” Melchior asks her.

“What happened to hello? How are you?”

They sigh. “Hello Thana-banana! How are you?”

“I’m fine.” She takes a minute to breathe. “Why are we at Target?”

“To get supplies, of course.”

“Supplies for what?” 

“Our outing. Duh.”

“I don’t want to walk around Target. My feet hurt from work.”

“Well then.” Melchior dramatically flourishes. “What do you say you get in the cart?”

Thana blinks. Once and then twice. “Okay yeah. Sure.”

With little effort, she grabs onto the edge of the shopping cart and hurls herself inside, then makes herself comfortable. She grabs the cat headphones and chuckles to herself. “What are these for?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” says Melchior. “I honestly have no idea what they’re for, but I thought maybe a use for them would make itself known.” 

“Okay well I want them. And you’re paying because somehow your public school salary is more than my food service wage.”

“I’ll get you the headphones.” Thana is right. Wow, she is so good at being right all of the time. “Now we need to look carefully so we can spot the other item I need to buy.”

“And what might that be.”

Melchior simply smiles. “It’s going to be great.”

— 

Thana has no idea how Melchior was able to find TNT in a Target, but she’s beyond asking questions at this point.

If she wasn’t, she’d also ask why Melchior insisted on keeping the shopping cart so they could push her across busy streets until they’re in front of the One World Trade Center. Admittedly, she’s curious if they’re going to try to blow her up or something, but somehow she also doubts it.

If Melchior wanted to blow her up, he would’ve probably done so by now but instead they’re setting the sticks of TNT around the building, maniacally cackling to himself.

“Are you having fun?” Thana asks, though they clearly are.

“Of course I’m having fun, Thana Banana. Would you like to join me in also having fun?”

She pushes herself out of the shopping cart. “What might that fun entail?”

“Mainly just… setting up the TNT and making sure we don’t get arrested.”

That does actually sound kind of fun. Then again, she has very low standards for fun. Melchior just seems like they know how to have a good time. So far, Thana hasn’t really regretted this evening in general. It’s nice to not be alone. 

She takes great care in not trying to fuck this up. Luckily, it’s late enough that cops conveniently aren’t around the One World Trade Center, which really says a lot about the infrastructure of this city and just society in general. There’s a chill breeze in the air, but Thana isn’t even that cold really, because Melchior insisted she borrow their socks which have small pictures of their face on them. It’s kind of funny.

Once she runs out of TNT, she sprints over to Melchior and announces as such. “All done.”

Melchior nods. “Now it’s time for the fun part.”

Despite all of the bad things that have happened because of it, Thana has always been a huge fan of fire. There’s something about it’s omnipresence that’s deeply exciting, the way it’ll never truly snuff out. That’s another reason why she’s willing to join Melchior in this scheme.

She wonders, if she had a friend to cause incidents of mass destruction with when she was a child, would she be less miserable now?

Thana sits in the shopping cart again and gleefully hums as Melchior pushes her away from the building. They dangle a remote in front of her face and ask, “Do you want to do the honors?”

Normally, Thana would say yes. She’s always wanted to be in control of her fate, even if the world seems to spin so fast around her. Now isn’t normally though, so she says, “Let’s do it together.”

They move a few more blocks away from the building, then turn around to get a nice good look at it.

“Thank you for hanging out with me, Thana-banana,” Melchior enthuses. “I’ve always wanted to complete an act of terrorism with somebody with no specific rhyme or reason.”

“It’s going to be fun.” Thana nods.

Her and Melchior’s hands hover on the remote as they begin to count down.

10…

9…

8…

7…

6…

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

,/
,ϟ/
,ϟ /
,ϟ /_,
.ϟ_ ,ϟ
/ ,ϟ
/ ,ϟ
/,ϟ
/

BOOM!

CRASH!

AHH!

Debris flies in the air as a beautiful cloud of red and gray blossoms in front of them. There’s screaming coming from a voice Thana doesn’t even recognize, but Melchior continues to push the cart as if nothing is wrong. They don’t stop running until they reach a bar in SoHo, where Thana gets out of the cart so they can both go inside.

“ Violent reprise of 9/11 reported,” reads the headline on the screen of one of several televisions. “ Miraculously only one person died, Coriolanus Snow. ”

“That was awesome,” Melchior says, but not too loudly.

“Yes. Yes it was.”

And already, Thana can’t wait to hang out with them again.

art by linhzard

Chapter Text

Her 2:00 meeting at the One World Trade Center was canceled — something about the building being blown up. 

Briefly, Moxie wonders, will they even try to rebuild it this time ?  Clearly it’s cursed. 

She’s not too miffed either way. It just means that she’ll need to harass her unpaid intern, Ripley, into updating her calendar on Microsoft Teams. Moxie would do it herself, but she has more pressing matters to attend to. 

Speaking of that: “Ms. Adegoke!” One of her co-workers, the overly-eager Saia Anaklusmos, comes sprinting down the hall. “The investors from Tarro Co. are early! ”  

“Early is a good thing,” Moxie chides him. “Early means professional .”

A drop of sweat slides down Saia’s face “I’m not ready for my PowerPoint though.”

“Well get ready.” 

Moxie strolls through the office at a leisurely place, making sure to get a good look at all the people working for her at Adegoke Enterprises. Christ is it nice being in charge, even if she occasionally scams half her employees so she doesn’t have to pay them a living wage.

By the time she arrives to the conference room, the CEO of Tarro Co, Lavish has put his feet on the table, wearing rollerskates instead of shoes for some fucking reason. Unamused, he carefully inspects his perfectly-manicured nails. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I’m five minutes early ,” Moxie scoffs. “Now get your feet off my table.”

“I do what I want.”

“I said.” She furrows her brows. “Get your feet. Off my table.”

“Do I have to?” Lavish whines. “It’s great for the blood circulation in my ankles, you know.” 

“I don’t care. This is my table, not yours.”

“Ugh fine.” He finally puts his feet on the floor like a functioning member of society. “You’re no fun.”

“This is a Fortune 500 company, Lavish. It’s not supposed to be fun.”

“Whatever you say, mommy.” His face turns red. Fucking weirdo. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior from here on out, okay?”

Moxie doesn’t give him the privilege of a reply. Instead, she sets down her computer and leans back in a chair opposite Lavish. She grumbles, “Saia and Ripley should be here shortly.”

— 

There’s a certain, unparalleled joy Moxie feels when she’s typing away at her computer. Whatever documents she’s preparing or emails she’s responding to are always of great importance. It’s awfully nice to be important and do important things.

(She remembers her first job, an ice cream machine repairperson at McDonald’s. Sometimes, she’d make the ice cream machine even more broken so they’d pay her to fix it again. How pathetic.)

Moxie has many, highly important and confidential emails, but there’s a particular one that catches her eye today.

Hi Ms. Adegoke,

I’m writing on behalf of Grendel Pharmaceuticals. You may know us for our insulin replacement, Diabegone, amongst other groundbreaking contributions to the medical world. 

My parents are retiring soon, and as their lone child, the company will soon be in my possession. As Grendel Pharmaceuticals embarks on this new beginning, I’m looking to expand. Do you have time to discuss ways we can grow together.

Even if you say no, I want you to have a good day.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Eric Grendel (he/him)
COO, Grendel Pharmaceuticals
603-413-4124

The content of this message is confidential. If you have received it by mistake, please inform us and then delete the message. It is forbidden to copy, forward, or in any way reveal the contents of this message to anyone. The integrity and security of this email cannot be guaranteed. Therefore, the sender will not be held liable for any damage caused by the message.

Grendel Pharmaceuticals, huh? She licks her lips. Moxie’s heard of that company one too many times and for all the wrong reasons. Their “insulin replacement” literally has heroin in it. Everyone on Wall Street knows to stay far far away from that company.

But perchance Moxie’s different. It’s been a while since she’s bought out and rebranded a smaller cooperation in need of some kind of assistance. 

She already controls bitcoin, all property in New York City, the New York Mets, and as of a few hours ago, the toy industry. Owning healthcare seems like natural progression. So, she sends a reply.

TO: Edric Grendel ( [email protected] )
FROM: Moxie Adegoke ( [email protected] )
CC: Ripley Sabyn ( [email protected] )
SUBJECT: RE: New Business

Hello Mr. Grendel.

I’ve been thinking about adding a pharmaceutical company to my monopoly, so it’s rather humorous that you reached out.

My intern is copied on this email, and she’ll reach out to you about scheduling a time for us to meet. 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Moxie Adegoke
Adegoke Enterprises, CEO
401-285-2079 

This email and any files transmitted with it are confidential and intended solely for the use of the individual or entity to whom they are addressed. If you have received this email in error, please notify the system manager. This message contains confidential information and is intended only for the individual named. If you are not the named addressee you should not disseminate, distribute or copy this e-mail. Please notify the sender immediately by e-mail if you have received this e-mail by mistake and delete this e-mail from your system. If you are not the intended recipient you are notified that disclosing, copying, distributing or taking any action in reliance on the contents of this information is strictly prohibited.

So now that’s Ripley’s problem, not hers. How lovely. 

Thus, Moxie gets back to imputing data into spreadsheets and smiling about how rich she is. 

—

Moxie’s on her way to meet Edric for lunch so they can talk business when two of her co-workers, Lysistrata Vickers and Clemensia Dovecote, practically trample over her. 

“Wifey, why did you trip bosswoman?” Clemensia scowls. Moxie didn’t know the two of them were married, so that’s somewhat interesting. “I think we could get fired AF now.”

“Sorry mommy,” Lysistrata says. “Please go easy on me. I’m just a little guy…”

“You can’t say that to our boss. Fix it.”

“Eh-hem.” Lysistrata coughs twice. “Moxie Adegoke, my dearest employer and dare I say, role model? I am deeply sorry for behaving foolishly in your presence, and I recognize it might have caused a problem for you. As an account manager, I know the importance in behaving appropriately and recognize that my behavior was deeply unprofessional. As an apology, cut twenty-five percent of my salary for the month.”

“If you insist.” Moxie snickers.

Truthfully, she wasn’t particularly miffed by Lysistrata’s actions, but now that she’s benefitting, they were simply inexcusable. There should be a new rule in the company: anybody that nearly trips her gets a twenty-five percent salary cut for a month.

— 

Moxie was expecting Edric to look a lot more … put together, for lack of a better word. 

He’s not completely floundering like Ripley, but there’s still something awkward about him. His suit doesn’t fit him quite right and he doesn’t wear the confidence Moxie expects from people in this industry.

“Are you ready to begin our meeting?” he asks, shaking a bit.

She graciously let him pick the restaurant and for some reason Edric chose the CAVA on Wall Street. Moxie didn’t take him for a Mediterranean-Chipotle enjoyer, yet here he is, staring at his falafel like it’s a gift from the god she sure as fuck doesn’t believe in. 

She rolls her eyes. “Are we not already at the meeting?”

“Well yes.” Edric nods. “I just wanted to be sure that you’re ready.”

Is he offended that she hasn’t had a bite of her food yet or something? Her Harissa Avocado Bowl can wait; business is forever.

Moxie blinks. “So basically what’s going to happen is, I’m going to buy your parents’ company for an unreasonable price, and you’re going to be thrilled by how much money you’re still getting. You’re going to use the money to retire alongside your parents and buy as much falafel as you want.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad? I’m giving you a lot of money.”

“You said it was an unreasonable price.” Edric crosses his arms.

“It’s also an unfair price. But I promise it doesn’t really matter to you.”

“Eh, sounds fine.” 

Moxie extends her hand “So do we have a deal?”

Edric nods. It’s just too easy.

— 

She just wants to take a nice, power-trip-inducing walk through Times Square, when she comes across the devil himself.

“Gremory? What the fuck are you doing here?”

The two of them go way back. Wharton Class of 2020 — you just had to be there. Nothing like graduating business school on Zoom as the world crashes and burns into flames. But yeah, that little bitch was always trying to screw with her — not in a sexual way, don’t worry. Gremory was a man obsessed, constantly copying Moxie’s assignments and begging to get just a sneak peak at her PowerPoints. 

And clearly it hasn’t gotten him anywhere because he’s in public dressed like a fucking cat.

“Just doing my job; that’s all.” There’s a sinister snarl in his voice. One that resembles a snake even though again, he’s dressed like a cat. Something about Gremory just oozes snake motifs. “Might I ask why you’re here.”

“I’m just talking a walk. That’s way more normal than dressing up like a furry.” 

“You used to be obsessed with lions, back in the day.” 

Moxie still is a fan of lions, for the record. She’s basically a lioness herself, hunting on the prey of struggling corporations and collecting their bones to improve her empire. 

“What is your job and why does it involve dressing up like a cat?”

“Well….” Gremory starts to stutter, which is fucking ridiculous. Does he think he’s Ripley or some shit? “Have you ever heard of Broadway?”

“Of course I’ve heard of Broadway.”

“What about, the musical Cats ?”

She starts to chuckle — he can’t be serious. He’s producing a production of Cats with his degree from one of the most prestigious business schools in the world? There was never a class they took about that. 

“I hear it’s going to win a Tony.” Though Moxie has no idea who “tony” is and what it means to win him. “Congratulations…”

“Oh, I’m not nominated.” Figures. “I’m just waiting for the rest of the cast so we can shoot some production photos.”

Wait… “You’re not producing?” No fucking way. 

“I’m not. I play the Rum Tum Tugger, as played on screen by Jason Derulo. Is there an issue?”

That’s even worse that using a MBA to produce a musical, Jesus Christ. Using an MBA to be in a musical? How does that even work. Since when can Gremory even sing? 

She needs to see this shit. Even better, she needs to buy this shit.

— 

Lavish seemed like the safest bet for her accomplice to Cats. Even if he isn’t fully gay, he dresses flamboyantly enough that anybody who saw him with Moxie wouldn’t make up some rumor that they’re lovers. He claims to love theater too, but he must not know very much because he’s wearing rollerskates (again). This is Cats , not Starlight Express . 

“I didn’t think you were such a connoisseur of the arts, Ms. Adegoke,” he admits as they take their seats. The theater looks ridiculous. There’s a whole bunch of junk and tires on the stage. What’s the plot of this show again? 

“What can I say…” Moxie drawls. “I love um… Alice Laney Wedding.” 

“You mean Andrew Lloyd Webber?”

“Yes!” Her face lights up. “That’s the one!” 

“I’m more of a Sondheim guy myself. What’s your favorite musical of all time. Personally, mine is Company. It’s a great exploration in what it means to be single and alone in your thirties, two traits I most certainly will not have when I am thirty.” 

“Is there a musical of the Lion King?” Moxie asks. Lavish nods. “Perfect! That’s my favorite musical.” 

She looks though the Playbill, ecstatic to see so many ads for all of the companies she’s purchased over the years, even Tarot Co! In fact, Moxie owns every single company advertised which means she’s going to be earning a great deal of money. 

There’s a lot of information about the cast, but she doesn’t particularly care for much besides the heavily jpeg’d photo of Gremory and the white slip of paper that nearly falls to the ground reading:

AT THIS PERFORMANCE

THE ROLE OF
GRIZABELLA
WILL BE PLAYED BY
SAPPHIRA STARLETT

THE ROLE OF
BOMBALURINA
WILL BE PLAYED BY
LETHIA APHELION

That information doesn’t mean much to her, but to Lavish, looking over her shoulder, it means everything. “I’m so glad Glasya isn’t playing Grizabella tonight. Her voice sucks.”

Glasya is in this too? As in, Moxie could’ve seen both Rossmani twins make utter fools out of themselves on stage at the same time? Bummer.

“I’ve heard great things about Sapphira in the role, though,” Lavish continues. “She’s cunt.”

“Why would you say that word?” Moxie scowls. Really though, she’s not shocked he’s being sexist. Too bad Moxie is immune to sexism and succeeds at everything anyway. 

“It’s what the dolls say.” He rolls his eyes. “Now shut up, the show’s about to start.”

— 

Even after sitting through almost three hours of content, Moxie has no idea what Cats is even about. There was one point where Gremory took his shirt off, and she kind of disassociated from that point onwards. Lavish seemed to enjoy himself though, so good for him.

“How was the show?” Saia excitedly asks the next day as Moxie’s settling down at her desk. 

“It was fine. Why do you ask?” He gets all flustered which is kind of adorable. “ Wait… are you also a fan of Cats ?”

“Why would you assume that?” Saia’s voice suddenly shifts into something unnatural and robotic. “I do not care to do docile effeminate activities, such as going to the theater. As a strong man working for a strong woman’s Fortune 500 company, I only do manly things. The only cat I know is the tiger I wrestled once, an excellent display of raw masculine energy.”

“Okay then.” Yeah, this guy’s definitely obsessed with Cats , and he’s definitely jealous. “If you want to see Cats though, I can get you some tickets.”

“ Really?” His ears perk up like he’s a dog. “I mean… that would be acceptable, I suppose.”

Of course Moxie’s being serious. She’s going to have a lot of spare tickets running around if she gets what she wants, which she will.

— 

“What do you mean, you want to buy this production of Cats ?” For an old man, Andrew Lloyd Webber sure does have a bit of spunk to him. “That’s not how theater works.”

“Hmm….” Moxie sees no reason to believe him. “Can I take over as the producer then? And ensure that it never stops running.”

“I don’t see why you’d want to do that, but sure.”

“I have one request, Andy. Make sure that Gremory Rossmani never is allowed to leave the show.”

Because the only punishment worse that death is eternity in Cats .

—

For the first time in a long time, nobody is bothering Moxie. All of her employees are busy making money for her and they’re being really quiet about it. 

She can’t believe she went from working at McDonald’s to this.

Yet, as she looks out at the Manhattan skyline, she finds that she’s not yet satisfied. There’s one more thing that she can buy, and it might just be her most expensive investment yet…

The United States Presidency. 

Chapter Text

If you asked Elio, he would say that he’s old enough to not have a babysitter anymore. 

Seriously, all of his friends get to go to and from school by themselves, but he has to wait for somebody to pick him up. He sorta gets his dad’s concerns about him wandering around New York City after spending the first thirteen and a half years of his life in South Russel, Ohio, but Elio’s almost done with eighth grade, for crying out loud.

It’s not his fault that his father is busy all the time either. All Elio knows is that he works in the meatpacking district — terrible name for a place, right? Thankfully, his job doesn’t involve meat, Elio double-checked that. He supposes that’s one of the few good things about New York. People take his veganism seriously in a way they never could in a town with hardly 1,000 people. 

His babysitter, Hedy, doesn’t. That’s for sure. People always think that they’re siblings because they both have red hair, but honestly Elio’s thankful they don’t share any DNA. He’d never associate with somebody so carnivorous on purpose. 

Anyway, she’s taking her sweet time picking him up from school today. As he stands outside the gates to Middle School 69, people rush past him, busses skidding on the road and car horns honking. The noise is what really makes him miss South Russel. There, everybody minded their own business. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” his best friend, Lucifer asks him. He doesn’t have a nanny because his two dads actually trust him, but he’s kind enough to wait with Elio anyway. 

Lucy is decent company, even if he’s a bit weird, but Elio can’t help but miss his best friends from Ohio — Luna Moona and Estella. He knows it’s bizarre that he was BFFs with two cow-cows, but stranger things have happened. They were so kind to Elio, always providing him with a soft place to land when the schoolkids’ bullying got too rough.

“I’m not sure,” Elio admits. “My dad has this thing tomorrow night, so I’m probably going to be alone with Hedy. ”

“Ew!” Lucy sticks out his tongue. “If you want, I can come over? One of my dads has to rizz it up at a fashion show and the other is going to watch. Fashion shows are so boring ! New York Fashion Week? More like, the most sigma week in the world!”

“I’ve never been to a fashion show,” says Elio. “But I’ll take your word on it, sure.”

“So I can come over then?”

“Only if you promise to not harass Hedy. I know it was totally hilarious when we pranked her, but she got so mad.”

Elio’s never been a bad kid, but he did get a rush out of replacing the cream cheese on Hedy’s bagel with toothpaste. It’s what she gets for putting raw tuna on it and ruining the sanctity of a good old fashioned New York Bagel.

“Poggers!” Lucy exclaims, pumping his fist in the air. Sometimes, Elio doesn’t understand the words he uses, but he’s gathered enough context clues to know that poggers is good. 

“If you want, you can even sleepover and we can build a pillow fort!” 

“That’ll be totally skibbidi!” 

Just as they’re about to further discuss their plans, a beat up Honda Civic pulls in front of them with the license plate “ COW COWS .” Elio knows it’s his dad’s car, he was able to pick out the license plate name like eight years ago. But it’s strange that he’s here because one, Hedy was supposed to pick him up and two , Elio has been told that only psychopaths drive in New York City, and he doesn’t think his dad is one of those. 

Dad rolls down the window and says, “I’m picking you up today.”

“You are?” Elio squints. “Why?”

“I’ll tell you when you get in the car.”

“Sure thing!” He looks back at Lucy. “Um… would love to chat more, but I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.” 

Elio gets in the backseat of the car — it’s safer after all and buckles his seatbelt. “So, where’s Hedy?” he asks Dad.

“I’ll just say it to you plain and simple. She quit?”

“OMG yay!” Elio quickly bites his tongue. “I mean oh no! This is devastating. What happened?”

“She got annoyed by you.” Dad sounds deeply frustrated, though it could also be because Traffic is being an adult female dog right now. “I don’t get it — you’re a good kid. So clearly it’s her problem, not yours.”

“It’s still sad,” Elio points out, though in all actuality he’s the furthest thing from sad. Maybe Hedy leaving is a sign that he’s all grown up and doesn’t need a babysitter afterall. 

“Don’t worry though, I already found her replacements.”

Or maybe not.

“Replacements as in multiple?” Because the only thing worse than one babysitter is two . 

“They’re twins,” Dad clarifies. “They sort of come as a package deal.”

Elio does all that he can to stop himself from rolling his eyes. This is just lovely. 

— 

The next day, the two babysitters come at 5:30 PM on the dot. Secretly, Elio was hoping they would forget, but he couldn’t ever be so lucky. 

The girl, Nim, kind of looks like Elio if he was a girl and had brown hair instead of red. In fact, she looks more like Elio than she does her brother, Shae, who still does look brotherly, just not like Elio.

“So, what do you like to do?” Nim asks once Elio’s dad has left.

He sits back on the couch, his feet on the coffee table as he looks his babysitters in the eye. “My friend Lucy is coming in a few,” he says. “But first, I’d love to interview the two of you.”

Shae squints. “Huh?”

“I need to see if we’ll get along,” Elio clarifies. “Nim, Shae, I have a personal question for you. What do you think of cow-cows?”

“They’re not bad…” 

“Shae!” Nim nearly hisses at him. “This is clearly a serious question. The kid needs a serious answer!” 

“Not a kid,” Elio interrupts. “But yes, it’s a very serious question.”

“I think they’re super cute!” She enthuses. “Definitely got to be one of the animals of all time.”

“They’re not just cute .” He crosses his arms and scowls. “Cow-cows are beautiful! The way their lucious coats have the most magnificent spots, and they have such dainty friendly faces. When they go moo , it’s like music to my ears. I was born to obsess over cow-cows. They are my destiny.”

The expression on Nim’s face is one of immense confusion. That usually happens when Elio talks about cow-cows — people get all weirded out. He doesn’t get why. Cow-cows are his interest that is special, and it’s his moo -ty to spread cow-cow propaganda wherever he goes.

“I’m glad you have a hobby,” she finally says. “Shae, I’ll give you one more chance. What do you think about cows.” 

“Cow-cows!”

“Cow-cows, yes.” 

“I like them,” Shae admits. “I think they’re a bit overhyped, but I definitely see the appeal.”

“Excuse him, he’s never seen a cow-cow in person,” Nim says. “He was sick the day we went on a field trip to a farm.” 

“Which I’m not bitter about,” he buts in in a way that implies he’s very bitter actually. “If I want to see a cow-cow, I’ll do it myself.”

“So how come you haven’t?” Elio asks.

His question goes unanswered, the chime of his doorbell dinging like a broken record. Thank goodness — Lucy must be here. 

Honestly, Nim and Shae are a whole lot better than Hedy, but that doesn’t change the fact they’re babysitters, and all babysitters are bastards.

“Is that your friend?” Shae inquires. “Do you want me to get the door?”

“I’ve got it!” Elio ambles over and opens the door to see Lucy with a gigantic smile on his face. “Wow, it’s so great to see you!”

“Of course, my sigma,” Lucy enthuses. He’s carrying an abnormally large backpack, which must be all the supplies that he needs for their impeding sleepover. As he walks inside the townhouse, he whispers, “How are the new babysitters?”

“They’re really not that bad.”

“Hey!” Nim says once she sees Lucy. “I’m Nim and this is my brother, Shae. We’re taking care of Elio, and I guess that means taking care of you too.” 

“I’m Lucifer,” he replies. “Well… actually I’m Lucas, but I go by Lucifer. But also, that name is too long, so just call me Lucy.”

Nim takes a second to absorb this. “Um… got it, Lucy! We were just talking to Elio about his love of cow-cows. Is this something you also feel passionately about?”

“Oh wow, he gave you the cow-cow rant already,” Lucy teases, and Elio’s face turns red like a tomato. “Personally, I’m more interested in the four horsemen of the apocalypse, but cow-cows are chill too.”

“He also likes normal horses,” Elio points out. “Sometimes, he just says silly things.”

“Satan is not silly!” 

“Sorry what?” Shae asks.

“One of my dads is the devil!” 

Elio whispers. “He’s going through a phase.”

“It’s not a phase. I really am the devil’s son.” 

“Yes, Lucy, whatever you say.” 

— 

Once Nim and Shae give up on trying to talk to them, Elio’s able to retreat to his room with Lucy. 

As soon as the door shuts, the other boy’s eyes widen. “So, how are we going to prank them?”

“Lucy, we can’t prank them,” Elio says. “They actually seem nice.”  

“That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to be pranked. Remember what you said to me once about babysitters?”

“They’re all bastards.”

“Yeah, exactly. So we need to make them pay.”

“Um… I guess you’re right.” Elio’s mind slips away. If he’s going to prank Nim and Shae, it needs to be a mighty good one. “What if… we get rid of all the ketchup in the ketchup bottle — we’re almost out anyway — and then we replace it with hot sauce?”

“Oh, that’d be so funny.” 

Elio nods. “Let me go do the great switch.” 

While Nim and Shae talk in the living room, Elio gingerly sneaks into the kitchen. He opens the door to the refrigerator, and takes out the bottle of ketchup and the bottle of hot sauce. They don’t see him! He’s so good at this. 

“Okay, let’s get cooking!” Lucy says once Elio comes back into his room with the bottles. “Rizz it up, E-money!” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Elio admits. Then, he screws off the lid to the ketchup bottle, and starts pouring in the hot sauce. He pours out the entire bottle, then tosses it in the trashcan. “Okay, I’m ready.”

— 

Nim and Shae made chicken nuggets for dinner, and they don’t think anything is suspicious about the “ketchup bottle.” 

“Hey Lucy,” Elio says with a wink. “What do you say you have some ketchup?”

“I don’t like ketchup,” Lucy replies. He then stares Nim directly in the eye and asks Nim, “Do you want any hot sauce— I mean ketchup.”

“Why did you say hot sauce?” Internally, Elio is kind of mad at Lucy for potentially screwing things up. Externally, he giggles. “It’s totally just ketchup.”

“Yeah, sure.” Nim shrugs and grabs the bottle. She squirts the sauce onto her plate and dips on chicken nugget into it.

Just as she’s about to put it into her mouth, a rush of guilt washes over Elio, and he shrieks. “Please don’t eat that! Lucy and I did a prank — it’s not ketchup, it’s hot sauce!”

“I like hot sauce,” Nim says, then eats the chicken nugget. “Thanks for that.”