The Red Shoes

A relaxed drinking hole on most nights, tonight Allied was overrun with friends and supporters of the band, casual punk-rock fans, regular patrons, total newcomers, all mobbing the venue till it seemed close to exceeding capacity. The old floor groaned beneath the crowd’s weight. The opening act could barely play their instruments, plucking the same chords over and over with the amps cranked up; each tuneless thrash sounded the same as the one before. And somewhere in the midst, surrounded by rockabilly goths and art students in pleather, Julius stood with a drink in one hand, free arm folded across his body, looking crisp in dark trousers and a rolled-sleeve linen shirt, watching the stage thoroughly unimpressed. Less visibly, he was itching for a cigarette. The Galouises were in his back pocket— only the thought of fighting his way out of the crowd (and then back in) stopped him. So he drank his drink (Cuba Libre, little too heavy on the Cola) until the first glass was empty in his hand, then looked around for the easiest way back to the bar, knowing that there’d have to be more. If he couldn’t smoke, he would drink. Not too much— he still needed some recollection of this shit-show to put into words tomorrow, or else this would all be for nothing, just a waste of precious time. He couldn’t afford to suffer meaninglessly these days. The least he could expect, after a long, wearying night in this cramped space, listening to some art-punk band from Gowanus (which, if their demo was anything to go by, would be its own test of endurance)— was a paycheck for his trouble.

Julius shouldered his way to bar and ordered a refill (“A rum and coke?” the bartender clarified, raising both brows; at which Julius released a petulant sigh through his nose, probably unheard, and simply nodded). Tasting it to discover this one was almost straight rum, he turned around and edged out a small space where he could lean backwards and scan the room for Sonata. They’d arrived together, but gotten separated after entering the dark and the noise— was that their curls, barely visible above someone else’s head? Maybe; but the curtain of people closed again, and he lost sight. The lighting in here was the seedy red of an Amsterdam street. Faces were blurry, indistinct, like photo negatives hanging in a darkroom, not yet fully exposed. Julius placed his drink behind him on the bar and rested his elbow, trying to ignore some girl’s faux-fur vest (in here? in this sweaty hell?) encroaching on him, tickling at his forearm. He had never liked punk. Not the hoarse yelling, not the clumsy, repetitive two-riff melodies. Not the mantra of hard, fast, loud with no regard for anything else. And maybe the anti-everything mentality had been radical, once, in a different era, but it seemed childish now: a staged tantrum was hardly revolutionary. Someone shrieked with laughter too close to his ear. Julius pulled himself upright and scowled, freshly annoyed— then, by some miracle, saw Sonata materialize out of the densely-packed crowd, their face saturated in the same red light. “I was starting to think you left,” he called out, moving closer. He spared Fur Vest one last disgusted glance as he stepped around her. “Called an Uber and went to see that Agnès Varda screening in Bushwick. Not that I would’ve blamed you.” Close enough so that neither would have to shout, Julius leaned against the bar again, and frowned thoughtfully at the question. What was the band’s name? It was something unimaginative. Something that almost rhymed, but not really. “Fred’s Under the Bed.” He scoffed. “Not the worst name I’ve ever heard, but— certainly in competition.” As they ordered their drink, the request for wine made his eyebrows rise. “You sure you don’t want something stronger for this?” For the second time, his own glass was almost empty; Julius took another swallow of rum, felt ice cubes click against his teeth. “I’m not kidding, Sonata, their demo sounded like someone took the “Ambient Spooky Sounds” CD from a haunted house, then overlaid it with like, Mongolian throat singing, ASMR-style.” A slow shake of his head followed. “Honestly, it’s incredible what people get away with calling music these days.”

Allied was most definitely not Sonata’s usual scene. Their preferred night out was that of elegance, of the ballet or an opera house or any amphitheater filled seat to seat with the echoing of woodwinds. Allied was, at the least, a bedazzled college basement show with local bands they’d never heard of before and had no intention to research later. Though, they would, as they always did out of loyalty, read Julius’s article on the lineup tomorrow. If anything they could vibe, and found that maybe on a less crowded evening they might even enjoy the place, but the surplus of sweaty indie boys from Bushwick failing to start up a mosh pit on this fine evening was making it rather difficult to entertain the possibility. 

Sonata held themself well, but every once in a while through the night they looked like a panicked child searching indistinguishable faces for their father at a carnival. Luckily, they’d just managed to spot their father, making their way through. A soft push, a polite tap on a stranger’s shoulder to get by, and being body slammed into a sandwich between two broad women stood as little obstacles on their Odyssey style journey to Julius. “If I couldn’t find you in the next ten minutes, you know I might have.” they half joked, leaning against the bar and resisting the urge to do gimme hands as the bartender came over with a much needed drink. “I’m trying to fathom how some people find this so enjoyable, but I’m still waiting for...you know, the good part.” their lips finally curled into a smile, knowing they had enjoyed some parts of the night. “Any good notes for your review? Do you actually speak to the band, or only listening?” 

They scoffed when Julius revealed the name of the band that night, followed by a dramatic eye roll. “Quick, top five worst band names you’ve ever had to write about.” they joked, “Well, top four.” Sonata’s head tilted as they stared down into their drink, contemplating the suggestion to enhance it for their own benefit. “I don’t really drink often.” they admitted, shrugging, “I’m afraid to see what I’ll be like if I start slamming down the tequila right now.” they laughed, but they weren’t entirely joking. “Besides, the wine keeps me sumptuous, I need it to fight off all the perspiring men with pony tails drinking Bud Light.” Sonata threw their head back in a laugh at their friend’s humor, and they never put it past Julius to be brutally honest. “Gosh, I don’t know how you do it. I’d be terrible at writing reviews. I would either be too nice, or too mean.” 

Alexa had been performing at Allied since she arrived in New York. She fully took advantage of the owner’s soft spot for kids from a small town trying to make their big city dreams come true or whatever bullshit she could come up with. Truthfully, she just wanted somewhere to scream into the microphone. Then she brought along the rest of Eraserhead who undoubtedly gave the staff a headache, but they brought in a consistent crowd every time they played. Alexa’s stage presence perfectly reflects how she acts in her everyday life, wild and unpredictable and something you couldn’t look away from. The crowd cheers as she yells the lyrics to one their newest songs, the high energy feeding her never ending confidence. There’s a few audience members begging for an encore to which Alexa shrugs and flips them off before hopping off the small stage. 

After putting their instruments away, it appeared that her fellow bandmates were going to call it a night. Not even Theo could be tempted with the prospect of free drinks and a joint. Whatever, they were lame anyway. Alexa goes back into the building, strutting right over to the bar. “Whiskey. Neat.” It doesn’t take long for her to notice Sonata and it takes even quicker for her to slide over next to them. “Well I’ll be damned.” Her lips curl up into a classic Alexa Cox grin. “What’s a nice place like this doing in a person like you?”

As time passed Sonata assumed Alexa hadn’t noticed them in the crowd. They weren’t avoiding the girl, but knew that conversations between the two of them made Sonata feel off in a way they couldn’t explain. Considering they’d only met twice before, Alexa’s voice while ordering her drink wasn’t yet familiar to Sonata. Their attention shifted only at the sly tone and warm body sliding closer to them from the corner of their eye, causing Sonata to turn with knit eyebrows. “You again.” Sonata’s voice was both soft with a hint of sarcasm, their eyes thinned and the corners of their lips caught the beginnings of a smirk, though it fell suppressed. “If you weren’t playing tonight and already going to be here I’d say you’re stalking me.” they said dryly, finger tapping on their wine glass. “And considering a person like me isn’t often in a...nice place like this, I can say vice versa does not apply. Before you go ahead and insinuate the opposite.” Sonata’s eyes fell, trying to find a place to rest that wasn’t on Alexa, “Your set was...interesting. I see you have a lot of fans.” they said politely. 

Finn had hit another block, or, well, maybe it was just a lazy gene kicking in but he couldn’t keep staring at a computer screen. The clips just weren’t coming together and neither was the commentary. The only suitable solution was a beer. Obviously. He had wandered his way into a corner street bar, the sidewalks glowing red and pouring out from the opening. “Hmm…?” He had just received a beer from the tap and wasn’t paying much attention to the sounds underneath the thumping bass. “Oh, tonight? N-no not really. I just got here.” He stumbled over his words as his mind finally put together the question. “Is this a popular place?” 

Sonata sighed softly with relief, pleased to find someone just as unsure and irregular in their current setting. Allied was a place of locals and regulars, so it was nice not to feel like the odd man out in the room. “Oh thank god.” Sonata nearly whispered, mostly to themself, turning to face the man fully. “I’m under the impression it is. I was with a friend who does reviews on musicians in the city,” they said, spinning their finger in a motion meant to encompass all of New York, “he’s here a lot, so I can only assume. It’s not really my scene. I’m more of a...concert hall kind of person. Orchestras are my punk bands.” they smiled. 

Emmy tipped her head, heavy lids and dark eyes barely skimming over the top of her Long Island as she looked sideways. “Think it’s Eraserhead,” she answered without hesitation, despite having known entirely that it was in fact, her favourite New York band. She was in that easy place between warm and drunk and unhinged, a tentative balance that she toed when she craned her head down to take another sip from her straw. Her friends had ditched her and a date earlier had introduced her to a new place to get jackfruit tacos– but nothing more. (Emmy had said she would call. She had no intention to.) Her new companion’s order made her lips curve, “Wine? Careful, he might spit in it.”

Sonata, looking over at Emmy as the other girl answered her, gave a smile. “Never heard of them. Are they any good?” they shrugged, and considering that Eraserhead was a punk band and arguably one of Sonata’s least favorite genres, they didn’t plan to take the stranger’s word for it regardless. “Are you alone?” Sonata’s wonder fell right off their tongue, mostly curious if it was worth starting a conversation with someone who would be off soon enough with her own friends. Their eyes widened, “What?” they leaned in, “Spit in it? Do you really think that?” they seemed surprised, mostly because they couldn’t realize the pretentiousness of their order on top of the fact that someone would indeed do such a thing. When the bartender returned and placed a wine glass in front of them, Sonata looked at it momentarily in distrust, and gave the worker a weak, forced smile. With the tips of their fingers, they pushed the glass a little farther away from them. “I take it you’re a regular here?” Sonata clearly was not.

Sonata stared at the bartender blank faced, pursed lips in a bind, “God, I don’t know, whatever people take shots of.”  @deadfricnd​

@fidelitystarters​

After losing Theo to a group of guys back at Allied, Alexa thought about what she could do now that she was left to her own devices. She’d been day drinking since the morning and she was starting to sober up. Wanting to conserve her energy for later that night she entertains herself with the idea of working on her tattoo skills until eventually she figured why not. She found a spot on a stoop close enough to the parade for there to be a crowd but far away enough that there wouldn’t be any distractions. She takes out her supplies— gloves, sanitary wipes, ink, and her needles. It was all clean enough. “Hey! Hey. It’s me, your friendly neighborhood punk girl. You know that means you can trust me to give you some ink and besides if you say no I’m pretty sure that makes you homophobic.”

After getting their face painted with Lina earlier, Sonata split up to meet some of their coworkers from Bean Brew to walk around a little. The crowds and noise of Pride typically made Sonata uncomfortable, and a little irritated, but they tried to keep their spirits up as to not be that person. Walking behind two friends while checking their phone, they heard a friend yell ‘Oh shit, you doin’ tattoos? That’s sick!’ and without even picking their head up, Sonata’s matter-of-fact voice pointed, “That seems incredibly sketchy.” When the other’s voice made a joke about homophobia, Sonata laughed, “Being queer and hating the queers, sounds historically accurate.” They scoffed to themself, shrugging and looking up from their phone to see Alexa. Sonata’s face felt hot, giving the girl a short once over. They....had met before? Though the odds of Alexa recognizing them were quite slim. What with the population and all. “Uh-nice gloves.”

Eden enjoyed visiting Viewz often, she unironically liked the cauliflower popcorn and the pretentious indie movies that played there. While it may have been predictable for an actress, it was also a good way to sniff out up and coming directors she’d be interested in working with. She wanted to indulge herself after a long day of being covered in glitter and taking photos with fans. Her parents raised her on John Waters films so it wasn’t like she didn’t have an appreciation for queer cinema. Representation mattered and all of that— “Ugh. Blue is the Warmest Color? If I wanted to see a silicone vagina and mediocre French acting I’d go to one of the three sex shops down the street. Not cute.” 

Sonata had gone to Viewz as a way to participate in Pride week in a more quiet, comfortable sense, hoping people wouldn’t (and they would) talk during the film. It was a nice contrast from loud, crowded bars, but was not short of drunk people. Upon arriving, though, they’d suddenly found themself disinterested in the plan entirely. At the concession area, Sonata overheard someone and turned, letting out a breathy scoff. “Is that what’s playing?” they asked, a soft eye roll in agreement, “Though, what would you have picked?”

location: fidelity records

date: july 1st

Dorothy was not a painter. She wasn’t quite sure why Rob had trusted her to paint the faces of unsuspecting customers, but could they really be mad? It was for a good cause. Besides, the blonde was hard to hold a grudge against, and she was trying her absolute best. Dottie’s brows were set in a deep furrow, her lips pursed in focus, as if any amount of scrunching up her face would make the bright green sparkly mess more presentable. She paused halfway through applying the finishing touches to her crude first attempt, and tucked her brush behind her ear. “Wait, you did ask for a frog, right?” 

Sonata wanted to be involved in all of the different Pride events they’d heard about from Lina, but they weren’t exactly the most sociable person at big events. When their roommate insisted on getting their faces painted, Sonata sighed and agreed, sitting uncomfortably straight with their hands in their lap. They looked at the blonde, feeling the cool sensation of paint on their cheek, eyelashes fluttering as they tried to find somewhere less awkward to look. When Dottie spoke Sonata’s eyes flashed to her, “No.” they said plainly. They paused for a moment, barely cocking an eyebrow, “You’re not enjoying this.” they read from Dottie’s face.

Alexa leans against the shelf as she watches the other go on and on. Her eyes ice skate around the store for a brief moment before her attention snaps back to them. “I think it’s more like a connection that adds to it.” Her interest in true crime and not so much flowers aside, she nods slowly at the end of their lecture. “Do you use that at parties? Actually, now I know not to mess with red dahlias and bring them on a first date. Don’t want to send the wrong message. You learn something new everyday.” As if Alexa envisioned herself going on a proper date, nonetheless bringing someone something like flowers. It’s also worth mentioning giving someone a gift with an intentionally negative meaning was something she’d do. “So, you like complicated?”

“Whatever.” Alexa says, imitating their dismissive tone before letting out a laugh and carding her fingers through her hair. “So, flowers are more your thing than old Russian guys? I guess the first one works better for a fuck unless they’ve got some kind of thing.” She muses. “Exactly. I mean, there are losers who probably go their whole life without coming here but we happened to meet. You picking out your favorite flower and me dropping by to pimp out my super cool band. It’s just kind of freaky. You’re only proving my point.” Alexa says with all the hubris of a Roman emperor and quirks her brow to them before her face breaks out into another grin. “We can be whatever you want. I mean I can’t believe we’re friends already. You said it, not me.” Not necessarily true given her small social circle consisting exclusively of the band and her general apparent disinterest in said social circle growing. Plus, she was kind of a dick. 

“Do I...use..” Sonata squinted, before they understood, lips pursing and eyes rolling. Smirking as a soft attempt to ground themself, they tilted their head at Alexa, “Actually, my thing for old Russian guys overshadows my kink for anything else. Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff, ugh.” Sonata rolled their eyes in makeshift sarcastic pleasure, shoulders scrunching. They looked down at the paper in Alexa’s hand as they mentioned their band, and were taken aback at the thought that they were speaking to another musician. Was it a little freaky? Sonata pushed the thought back, again, a third whatever ringing in their head. “Band?” they cocked an eyebrow a little pretentiously, you know, the way a highly trained classical musician with a stick up their—whoa.

“Okay, Alexa,” Sonata started, straightening their back, “I don’t particularly want to be your friend.” they said softly and with a hint of tease, as if it would come off less rude. “But If you believe so much in the freakishness of our fateful meeting here, and if we’re really meant to be whatever I want, then let’s see if we happen to stumble upon each other again. Then we can talk.” they shrugged casually, giving Alexa a smile. They went to walk past Alexa before stopping closely in front of them. Reaching into their pocket and pulling out a few bills; they placed them next to the dahlia they had sat down on the table beside them just moments before. “For you.” they said hushed and slyly, the corner of their mouth in a smile, before leaving the flower van. Stopping at the door for a moment, hands pressed against the push bar, they contemplated apologizing for their incivility. Something about Alexa just rubbed them weird, and they didn’t know what to make of it. However, they decided it wasn’t worth it and went on their way. With nearly 2.6 million people in Brooklyn, what were the odds they’d see each other again? [closed]

“I don’t know what the Jersey Devil is, but now I feel like I need somebody to hold my hand. He’s not gonna get me in the night, right?”  Leo’s brows drew together, though he still bravely wore a smile, which turned only softer at their tooth fairy fondness. “Stop. I swear, if  you ever lose another tooth, let me know. I can bring you like, four, five dollars at least. Then the real tooth fairy can be the friends we made along the way.” Despite the fact they were in the middle of a record store – music playing softly in the background, a middle aged man sweeping past Leo with a little impatient grunt – Leo was starting to feel less like he’d reeled Sonata into an impromptu game of truth or dare, and more like he was doing one of those twenty questions to ask someone alone in a big white room to be bonded forever videos, or whatever. 

Which was why he frowned – genuinely frowned, smile slipping entirely off his face as it so infrequently did in company – when they responded to his compliment. “Why wouldn’t I? Just being across from you is making me like you. Getting to know you would be, like, fifty times as good.” Leo tilted his head to the side, letting his lips curve upward just a little as he turned the situation over in his head. “It’s not too late, you could switch your dare, tell me to be your biggest fan?” He suggested. “I’d be real good at it.” 

“He might.” Sonata smirked. When Leo mentioned replacing the Tooth Fairy for them, Sonata couldn’t hide their smile. Normally aloof, Leo was sickly sweet, and Sonata’s heart wasn’t as cold as they tried to pretend. “I’ll be sure to keep you in mind next time I smack my face against something and knock a tooth out. Five dollars is like a thousand dollars to five year old me.” Sonata’s brows knit when Leo made some comment about getting to know them. Who was this guy? “That’s anticipative.” they responded dryly. Sonata blushed but tried to hide it, eyes wandering to the side in thought, and didn’t know what to do with Leo’s outright tenderness and altruism, or if he was just a weirdo who was super nice to strangers. “Alright.” they said to fill the space, hands off the records and adjusting the bag on their shoulder. “And how do you know that?” they asked, tilting their head, their eyes softening for just a moment. They frowned, “I’ve got to go.” they said, “But I suppose, if I dare a stranger to be my biggest fan, then you’ll have to find me again eventually. Or else you’d be a crap biggest fan.” they gave a soft smile, eyes thinning, not really under any impression they’d see the person again and not bothered by it. They shrugged, as if shrugging away the entirety of their little game, and leaving the shop before Leo could say much more. [closed]

          “a hero is all i’ve ever wanted to be,” he teases back with a little chuckle, before he wraps up the flowers they were going to take with them. he ties the twine to a perfect mini-bow and cuts off the long edges to tidy the bunch up. “pay?” he looks up at them as he sweeps off the counter, a raised brow directed towards them. “listen,” he rubs his palms together to get the remnants of the flowers and twine off his hands, “if they were for you, maybe,” he jokes, “but they’re for your mother, right? i’m thinking she deserves a nice bouquet of flowers, free of charge today, don’t you think?” his palms press down into the counter, his cheekbones high as he flashes a smile towards them. “quality photos of bowie would be nice though.”

Sonata raised an eyebrow when Van implied they wouldn’t have to pay for the flowers. They were unable to keep a grin off their face, lighting up and trying to look away a little shyly, having a hard time processing the sweetness. “You’re an angel.” they replied, “But you know I’ll find a way to pay for this somehow. Next few coffees on me.” they smirked before placing the bouquet in their arms like cradling a baby. “And some photos of Bowie. Quality? May be debatable. I know my mom will appreciate it.” Sonata waved as they started toward the door of the shop, “Thank you, Van. I’m forever indebted to your kindness, you know. See you soon, coffee junkie.” they teased, waving with two fingers as they pressed the door of the shop open with their back before walking off. [closed]

Leo waited patiently, eyebrows raising encouragingly when they seemed to be mulling the question over. Really, Leo was just happy they were giving him the time of day at all; usually when he shot questions at semi-strangers, they weren’t as indulgent. Not that Leo minded. Everybody was so busy these days! Who was Leo to – oh, but now they were answering. Leo zoned back in. “Hold on. You’re telling me the easter bunny isn’t real?” He feigned hurt and confusion, one of his hands going to his chest – though still resting on the records, which shuffled with his movements. “Who’s been leaving me chocolate all these years?” Spoiler: himself. In droves. Usually the day after easter, though, when everything was on sale. Hmm’ing, Leo’s expression melted back into a smile. “Stop. No sad children in sight. You look like sunshine to me.” But, more to the point? “Oh, dare.” 

At first, Sonata’s lips parted to speak but said nothing. It wasn’t until Leo jokingly placed a hand on his chest to show his false betrayal that Sonata’s lips curled into a smile followed closely by a laugh. “Of all the ones to believe in, a bunny that hides painted multi-colored eggs with candy in them? The Jersey Devil is real before Easter Hare. I will say, the Tooth Fairy made me the saddest.” Sonata normally tried to remain wry when talking to strangers, but Leo was endearing. Though they fought it, a pink brushed their cheeks slightly. “That’s sweet of you to say. I wonder, if you come to know me better, if you’ll still feel that way.” they shrugged coolly, letting their fingers leave the stack of records and leaning forward. Sonata’s eyes wandered in thought, “Alright.” they said, “In light of our venue of choice,” they gestured to the record shop around them, “I dare you to give me your best impression of your favorite musician. I’ll try to guess.” they smiled. 

Sio’s heard this one before. “Best way I can describe it is, like, instinct.” He shrugged. “Not every little thing, but sometimes, I see it. I like it. I want it. I got it inked. As long as it feels right. You get me?” He fleetingly remembered hearing those lyrics a few years ago, before Zoe convinced him that listening to radio-ready pop tracks was the devil, but the song came in handy now. Sio reached for the potted flower he was just studying and cradled it to his chest, peering at the stranger above the blossoms. “Like this flower. I wanted it, so I'mma get it. Feels right.” He listened to their question, and he didn’t respond as readily as he had the first time — this one required a little bit of thought. “It’s split right down the middle. You got lunatics like me who run to the tattoo shop every chance they get, and you got others, more like you, who have to think about it for a minute.” His expression lit up as he figured that his pal Ezra could use the promotion. “If you wanna get one, I know the perfect place that’ll have you tattooed come Christmas.”

“Prokofiev,” he repeated. “Thanks, Prokofiev. Weirdly enough, I want it more.” Sio didn’t need to ask whether or not that was an overarching metaphor of his life or what. He’d just met this person, and they didn’t need to be his therapist. “Are you looking for the stone flower here or for a flower that will make you happy?”

“Mmm, sure, yeah.” Sonata replied, not really getting him. Rather, they understood what Sio was saying, but had a hard time relating since they themself had never gotten a tattoo before. They tried to think about it how they think about everything: through music. “So, when sometimes you hear a song and immediately, about a few notes in, you know it’s going to be your favorite? Even though, come a few weeks time, you may have forgotten you even loved it to begin with?” The beginning of their rationale was promising, but by the end it just made Sonata feel worse about getting a tattoo. Will whatever they put on their body become something no longer important to them in a short time? “I suppose, I envy you for being so sentient and sure of yourself.” they smirked. 

Sonata laughed when Sio mentioned getting the flower, "It’s that easy!” they joked, “I think it makes a little more sense now, with the whole flower situation. Some things do just feel right, but how can you be so sure? Who knows.” Sonata asked, not really looking for an answer. “Oh, I’m not looking to get one any time soon. Besides, I have a friend who works at a shop nearby who would have dibs on my body. He works at Full Moon Ink. I feel a bit obligated to give them a shout out, you would really like their work.” they said, pointing their thumb behind them as if it lead anywhere. Pursing their lips, Sonata just barely smirked, “Is anyone purposely looking for a stone flower that will make them miserable? Think we’re all looking for a happy flower and sometimes we pick the wrong one.” they shrugged, “But happy flower, definitely.”

          “whew,” he straightens his back and outstretches his arms with his fingers interlocked, as if he’s getting ready to run a mile. “a mission, which for you and your wonderful mother, i can take.” he holds up a finger to them, before he disappears from their view, crouching under the counter to get some proper wrapping paper and twine. “marigolds, a gladiolus and maybe some wallflowers thrown in here and there? eucalyptus to fill in the empty spots? that’s sound, yeah?” he looks up at them with a smile of affirmation, to see if they would do the same in confirmation. “oh, why, thank you,” he beams at their compliment, taking a step back from the counter to give them a gentleman’s bow. “i could say the same thing about the coffee you whip up for me on the daily. and yes, that bowie that, but we love him nonetheless here.”

Sonata couldn’t help but grin at Van’s theatrics. He brought a constant energy and brightness and they respected him for it, it must be exhausting, Sonata could never. “My hero.” they teased with a little dry humor in their voice, “Yes, that sounds perfect! I just want to get something bright and nice for her. I’m meeting up with her in a few hours.” Sonata bore a smile but inside they were always a bit nervous to see their mother, a ping of guilt for not having told their father yet about making contact with Twyla. Sonata saw Van beam at them, and they nodded pleased with an added, “It’s perfect, really.” to assure him. “Well, day job is definitely a lot easier than you running a whole business built on helping people express emotions through flowers. But I’ll take your praise. If anything, you should hear me play sometime. I’ll show you what I’m truly proud of.” they shrugged, laughing a little. “How should I pay?”