Chapter Text
Icy slams her eyeshadow onto the dresser, cracking the plastic lid. “I have had it with these losers!” She fidgets with her choker and practically yanks it off.
Darcy and Stormy flinch when it too slaps onto the dresser.
“Nobody has any taste! It’s always those prissy little pop fairies who get the awards and attention. Nobody knows good music anymore!”
“They never did…” Stormy starts.
“They wouldn’t know real music if it bit them in the ass and…” She slams her fist onto the dresser, the eyeshadow palette leaps and full bottles of absinthe rattle. “I swear, the minute you add an electric guitar and take out the autotune you forfeit your chances to win anything! Apparently to get any awards you need to sacrifice real talent and make recycled, rehashed garbage. The same easily digestible bullshit!”
“Well that’s why it’s called pop music, it’s popular.” Darcy points out.
“It’s fucking genaric, that’s what it is.” Icy swipes one of the bottles and flops onto the couch, something between a pout and a scowl etched onto her face.
“What do you want an award for anyways?” Stormy asks. “It’s not like we need mainstream approval.”
Icy shrugs. “I want the award money , Stormy. I’d like to be able to buy a new guitar or some new boots.” She glances down at her pair of platforms. The worn, tattered look might work for some outfits, but she’d like a pair that works with everything.
“Well maybe we can take out the guitars, add some autotune…”
“And sellout, Darcy?” Icy finishes.
“I’m not saying that we have to make some silly pop single. There are other genres. We could try Witch House. Darkwave. EBM.”
“That cybergoth shit? Do I look like a cybergoth to you?”
“Well no. But…”
Icy gives her a dismissive wave. “Forget it.” She snaps. “Just sit down and help me finish this.” She lifts the bottle. It helps keep her mind from wandering back to days when awards came in abundance. Keeps her from wondering when it had all gone wrong. Sometimes she thinks that she is teetering right on the edge of having a problem. Another problem rather, on top of the ones that she already has.
Stormy holds out a glass and Icy fills it until a soft green steam rolls off the top. She takes a sip from her own glass, the absinthe burns cold as it works its way down her throat, leaving a strong tang of licorice on her pierced tongue.
“We'll figure something out.” Darcy murmurs.
“Yeah. Sure.” Icy taps a sleekly and darkly blue manicured fingernail on the bottle’s face and watches the bubbles fizzle to the top. “We also need to figure out how to get that loser Lucy to stop stalking around backstage.”
“Well isn’t it a good thing…that we have a dedicated fanbase?” Stormy quirks a brow.
Icy shrugs. “It’s agitating, that’s what it is.” Sometimes she thinks that she is simply getting tired of the music scene and the spotlight, however dim it has grown. Maybe it is well past time to quit and let the tasteless idiots of the world have their silly fairy pop group. Maybe she should have quit after that first scandal. She grips the bottle tighter. But she can’t let those fairies beat she and her fellow witches at this too.
.oOo.
Everything is glitter and glitz; first there is the golden shimmer of eyeshadow, second there is the sparkling of sequined fabric catching in the spotlight, third there is the glint of the confetti on the ground in shades of yellow and rose gold. Fourth there are the smiles, sparklingly white behind lips painted with pastel pink lip gloss smelling of strawberry and cherry. Fifth there are the personalities—shiny, bright, and bubbly. Lastly and most glimmeringly are the voices. Voices like summer and springtime, rays of sunlight and gossamer butterfly wings. There are six of them Topaz, Diamond, Ruby, Goldstone, Chalcedony, and Kyanite.
Chalcedony sings like waves crashing against a pink sand shore and a shower of petals.
Diamond has the voice of December, of a soft and quiet snowfall.
Goldstone has the voice of midsummer sunshine, of a smoldering July.
Ruby’s singing is more of a feeling, the thrill of being so close to the finish line with a competitor only centimeters behind.
Topaz’s voice is lemon cakes, soft, pillowy, but with a very bold zing.
Kyanite sings the way that fireflies dance over a pond just before they leave for the rest of the summer.
Chalcedony is the fan favorite. Soft and innocent.
Diamond is the face of the group with her cutting, cold beauty.
Goldstone is her warmer counterpart and the group’s rapper.
Ruby can dance and she does it exceptionally.
Topaz provides excellent background moves and harmonizes well.
Kyanite is the lead singer but it is easy to forget.
Kyanite doesn’t mind.
And it doesn’t bother her that her stage name is screamed less often and less loudly than the rest. Mostly they scream for Chalcedony or Diamond anyways. It is almost deafening.
And it puts a tickle in her tummy—she wasn’t supposed to have come this far and that is why she hadn’t prepared herself for it properly and likely why she is a background character in her own girl group. Or maybe she just hadn’t expected it to be so overwhelming. Years of small crowds have taken her guard down. She has been doing this for ages, since she was a little girl.
And every year she somehow seems to lose more and more of her nerve. She finds it quite peculiar that she was so much bolder as a child. But then, mistakes are more forgivable with youth. A missed note or a trip and fall is endearing when a child does it. When a teen fumbles it is something to gossip about for days.
The magazines love gossip.
Popstars do not.
She does not.
Chalcedony is particularly sensitive to gossip.
Kyanite takes a deep breath and looks down the stage. Ruby who always stands to her right gives her a thumbs up. Topaz, who always stands to her left, flashes a smile. If this goes poorly she will have at least one thing going for her; five things really. She will have them.
She picks up her microphone and holds it to her lips. She closes her eyes, it helps her connect with the music. She likes to think that the rest comes naturally. But her feet don’t move as intuitively when she is thinking about it. Her speech is always softer too. When she is nervous she tends to sound more like Chalcedony than herself and that throws off the harmony that they had been practicing. Her voice is the deepest of all of them, they can’t afford to lose it…especially not to nerves.
Kyanite is running out of time, Diamond finishes her verse and Ruby begins hers. She has only until Topaz finishes repeating Ruby’s last lyric to prepare herself for her own verse. So approximately fourteen seconds.
She inhales and the spotlight falls upon her.
Tonight her voice comes like a rippling pond, vacant of fireflies but full of stars and moonlight.
Tonight she sings better than she ever has. An amazing start to a new era of MeTor music and a sublime start to an end that she doesn’t see coming.
Tomorrow she will meet Valtor.