SOME ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS.

In all fairness, the acts seem . . . actually pretty interesting. Even if he doesn’t allow himself to think much about it, the whole gendered clothing thing seems fun to play around with. Velvette had tried coercing him into a dress, but one hysterical glitch on Vox’s face had stopped her dead. Clearly she remembers the weeks of social media manipulation she’d gone through trying to clean up his last public meltdown.

So yeah, no, the three of them get inside and Vox immediately stands a little separate from them. Valentino’s eyes light up the moment the three of them enter, their wings twitching. They’re in a surprisingly good mood, clad in a gorgeous pale pink dress that sweeps over his legs. Velvette’s design, Vox thinks. The woman in question has customised her body a little bit more, a handy little party trick for such an event. She’s chosen to swap out some parts for the night, give herself a flat chest, shorter hair. Sporting a deep pink blazer and white shirt, she’s drawing some eyes. Vox gazes at them both for a moment, before forcing his eyes away. His heart twists awkwardly inside his chest, raw wound against sandpaper.

He remembers his arriving comment to Valentino. A nasty, Isn’t Pride Month over ? Something in - character, to show he’s making an effort to be his usual snarky self. On their good days, he’d get a snide smirk and a lewd comment in response.

Tonight, Valentino eyeballs him and flicks their antennae. We’re in public, Valentino murmurs, their voice low but nowhere near soothing. Grow the fuck up.

Vox simmers, thinking on it. Fuck Val for making him feel bad, fuck both of them for dragging him to this.

So Vox stands separate. Makes a beeline for the bar at the first opening. Tries not to feel too much like a loser. He’s supposed to be here building up his reputation again: he can’t sulk in a corner! So when he senses someone approaching him, he tosses back a drink and plasters a genial smile on his face.

“ Your PR, you mean. ” Velvette doesn’t even deign him with a glance. She stretches out in Valentino’s lap, careful not to disrupt their careful work on her nails. When she notices what he’s doing, however, she twitches her left hand away. “ Val, babe, blue isn’t my colour. ”

“ It can be, ” they say, tongue poking out between sharp teeth. Val, too, doesn’t look up at either of his partners. “ Let me work. I know what I’m doing. I’m a fashion - fucking - ista. ”

“ Uh - huh, ” Velvette says. It sounds skeptical, but she relaxes, and Valentino returns to work. “ Look, Vox, you know I love you. ”

Vox grumbles something derogatory and doubtful under his thin, glitching sneer.

“ And, ” she continues, ignoring him, “ I think this might be the perfect fucking chance for us. A way to prove we’ve moved on from last year’s freakshow. ”

Vox’s grumbling stops at the last word. Velvette does look up then, a flicker of an uncertain apology dancing on her lips. Beyond a lecture and physical restrictions on his body, coupled with his temporary company demotion, none of them know how to talk about Vox’s mental state. Valentino doesn’t mention it in public much and tries to act as if it hadn’t happened in private. Velvette approaches it with her usual sharp tongue. Vox slinks around the topic with thankless misery. The three of them have never been more distant from each other.

And so, Valentino thinks, maybe this drag night is exactly what they all need. He’s tired of the tension and the constant tightness in his chest.

What they say, contrary to their thoughts, is a plaintive, “ I miss going out. I deserve a break. ”

Gratefully, Vox jumps in with a reluctant, recalcitrant sigh. He slouches, not lounges, back in his chair, before getting to his feet. The morose, uncomfortable energy from his own ( are they still partners? ) is more than he can deal with, these days. “ Seems I’ve been outvoted. ”

“ He says, with the grace of a gentleman, ” Velvette retorts. She doesn’t like the tone. “ You might even have a good fucking time, Vee. ”

Vox doesn’t reply. With a glitch, he teleports to the end of the room, more to prove he can than for any real reason. Grabbing a pen, he fills out the following, saying it aloud as he writes:

VOX. RED. VALENTINO. BLUE. VELVETTE. PURPLE.

“ That’s not fucking true, ” Valentino squawks, discarding Velvette unceremoniously. She curses them out as she tumbles. They loom over Vox, wings flared in protest. “ Don’t be a cunt. Do it properly or don’t do it at all. ”

Begrudgingly, Vox amends two colours.