Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

   Gideon Nav was broke. She wasn’t yet at the ‘call Pyrrha to see if she could pick up a construction gig with her mom level of unemployed’, but she was close. Sprawled out on her too-small loveseat with her arm hanging over the edge and her knuckles brushing the laminate floor, Gideon stared up at the ceiling.

“Fuck.”

The apartment was too quiet, and she hadn’t managed the bravery to pick up her bass and practice after her most recent self embarrassment.
Her phone jingled from across the coffee table and she stretched to reach it. Sadly, this was an operation that required actually sitting up.

“Gideon Nav’s cat rescue, we love pussy...” she intoned.

“Nav, are you still rotting on your couch? It’s been like a week and a half, it’s time to move on.”

“Camillaaa, you and SexPal should understand how hard it is to find a consistent gig. I’m mourning.”

Gideon wasn’t rotting, certainly not. The fact that she hadn’t done anything other than eat, sleep, stare at her ceiling, or make Geralt fuck every woman he could in Witcher was irrelevant.

“Well time’s up. You still play bass, right? I’m sure a week of depression hasn’t stolen that from you.”

Gideon’s ears perked up. Her last job playing with a wedding band had been pretty lucrative, keeping her booked most weekends and with ample opportunities to pick up hot bridesmaids. So many that at the last wedding she had a blonde maid of honor, with a dress that left nothing to the imagination, pull her into a back room. With their first set done and a twenty minute break before they went on again, she had gotten lost in the sauce. She missed the second set and their tryst was interrupted by a caterer. She hadn’t touched her bass since then, worried it was holding it against her. Her first love was music. It was what kept her sane through the horrors of catholic school and the pinched-faced terror of her childhood and teen years.

“Yop, still got all my fingers.”

“I’m texting you our address now. Sextus requests that you be here for 3, no excuses. I know you don’t have anything better to do.” Camilla instructed and abruptly ended the call.

Two hours later, Gideon had managed to make herself look somewhat presentable. She pulled up in front of a Victorian house with some fairly eclectic lawn decor. The door pushed open when she knocked so she let herself in. EDM music wubbed from down the hall, and she made her way between the walls that were covered in old show posters and art prints. Every so often these were interspersed with a shadow boxes containing rodent skeletons or an embroidery hoop with a hat wearing possum proclaiming

Cowboy Rules:
Be Rootin,
Be Tootin,
and by God be Shootin,
but most importantly

Be Kind

And others of its ilk.

The dining room and living room of the house looked to have been combined into a practice space containing the usual suspect instruments but also some esoteric machines. Next to a keyboard, stood a rectangular slab with knobs, a curved tube out the side, and two silver rods sticking out of the top. Gideon curiously moved her hand to touch it, and it squealed and warbled sharply.

Camilla and Palamedes stepped in from the kitchen at the noise.

“I told you the theremin was a good form of home security, Cam.” Sextus laughed.

“Did y’all know your house is haunted, SexPal? I probably could have guessed from the number of dead animals I saw on the way in, but what the hell is that thing?”

“We use it for that band we’re in. When played correctly it sounds absolutely ethereal.”

Gideon snorted, “I’m not sure there’s a right way to use that but I'll take your word for it. I bet it’s great for all the ghost orgies going on in here.”

Picking up their guitars, Cam and Pal motioned for Gideon to pull out her bass.

“Let’s shake off the rust, We’ve got a gig next weekend and I for one haven’t been diligently rehearsing."

“He means to say that he’s been entombed in working on his dissertation.” Camilla clarified.

“I’m almost finished with it, you know? Living with a research librarian definitely makes it a lot easier. I don’t know what I would do without her.” Palamedes tuned his guitar.

“What do you want to get started with? I don’t really know how your EDM thing works so I don’t think I’ll be much help there.”

Camilla and Palamedes had been releasing EDM music for a couple years now as Sixth Sense. Gideon had actually met Camilla while MMA training, when she loudly complained about the shitty dubstep playing in the gym. Camilla had quickly retorted.

“If you have a recommendation for how to fix the song, say it, otherwise get in the ring and we’ll resolve this now”.

They had been gym buddies ever since; and when asked in earnest, Gideon had been a guest performer on their last album. Sextus had been in the trenches of his biomedical engineering thesis, but she managed to drag him out as often as possible for local rock shows and to make sure their mutual friends knew he was alive.

Camilla waved off Gideon,

“No, this is for The Daughters of the Ninth. But let’s just start with a classic to warm up”. She strummed a couple chords and counted them off. Picking up and following the lead of her friends, Nav thrummed the strings of her bass along to Take Me Out. As they played, Gideon let herself swim in the music . After playing ABBA song after ABBA song with some other white people dance songs interspersed between, she felt relieved to play something for the joy of it alone. The music flowed almost seamlessly as friends took turns pitching songs and changing keys and chords to move into them. Palamedes sang the lead vocals with panache, and Camilla easily changed instruments between songs, even accompanying them with a coronet or a vibraslap at times.

After a few more songs, They sat on stools and sipped some water. Sextus sat down his guitar and looked at her ominously from behind his round frames for a long second.

“Nav, I’m sorry to reveal this now but we’ve invited you here under false pretenses.”

“Well, it’s not how I expected it to end, but this house does look like it could belong to a low budget supervillain.”

“Very funny.” said Camilla flatly.

“Our keyboardist and bass player have had a major falling out and Ianthe decided she was over the band she helped to start, and quit” Pal pinched his nose irritably.

“So now we have a gig she booked for next Saturday and no bassist.”

“And?”

“And if I don’t get someone to fill her spot, I’m worried her former creative partner will let the whole project fall into an unplanned hiatus.”

“And you’re obviously more than competent, and if you can keep it in your pants for at least one show I think we could really use your help.” explained Camilla.

Gideon wasn’t as familiar with their other project. Every summer her friends toured with The Daughters of The Ninth, but she had only seen photos and videos of dark venues with goth vibes. Palamedes was front and center next to a limp looking blonde. Not Gideon’s aesthetic, but a little more eyeshadow than usual wasn’t going to keep her from hearing out an opportunity to work with her friends.

Gideon hummed contemplatively.

“If it works out, we'll keep you on for more shows. We’re supposed to have a tour starting next month, but we may have to cancel it all things considered.”

Gideon knew she really didn’t have a choice other than to accept,

“When do we start rehearsals?”

Sound check was going smoothly, but in the time between accepting the job and the present Gideon Nav had noticed a problem with Palamedes’s other bandmates: she wasn’t sure they were real. The rehearsals they had to get her up to speed were bare bones, using a recording of the missing players to fill in. The Sixth made excuses for them claiming they would “definitely be back for the show”. And yet, the missing members had the audacity to change the setlist on her THREE TIMES before the show.

Nav itched at her grease paint. She had also been informed when she arrived that, from the moment they entered the venue, they were all supposed to refer to each other by code names. It was another win for the fake band theory: Cam and Pal had only referred to the keyboard player as The Reverend Daughter and their drummer as The Body. It was either a fake band or Camilla was starting her own cult. Palamedes was The Master Warden, and Cam the Warden’s Hand (Goths really were just theatre kids with a personality), and they dubbed her the Cavalier Primary.

After he had applied some intense bisexual guitar player guyliner and Camilla had given herself some viking warrior makeup, Palamedes had handed her his makeup kit and told her “Anything you want to wear is fine, we just want to obscure our identities.” And she begrudgingly had applied the facepaint of the laziest juggalo. Damn, this shit was going to have her skin breaking out for sure.

Sextus turned to her, “Now when we hit the electro-acoustic ballad, we really like to play it up, just follow our lead. The Reverend Daughter will —-”

“Ok, I’m here!! We got caught in traffic on the way from the airport, She’ll be here in time for the show you know how it is...”

A teenage girl in a dress adorned with chains waltzed into the room and she was unsettlingly familiar to Gideon. She dropped the box she was carrying unceremoniously and began adjusting the drum kit.

Once she had finished, she turned to Gideon. “I’ve heard a lot about you, I’m excited to work with someone who isn't an evil bitch. Sorry my cousin isn't here yet, this is the last sad girl day she gets after the whole Ianthe thing.”

“Good to see that the ‘Master Warden’ here didn’t just bring me to play dress up.”

“The only one the whole stage name thing really matters to is my cousin, so really don’t worry about it. I’m A.L. but everyone just calls me Nona. “ They tapped wrists, roller derby style.

Nona busied herself setting up the keyboard and theremin on front stage right, meticulously decorating the electronics with amulets, runes, sigil marked banners, and a chalice engraved with skulls and bones.

“Less chatter on the stage, save it for after the show” chided Camilla as Pal cued the first bars of the opening number.

Gideon was livid; this Reverend Daughter bitch really wasn’t going to show up. She leaned against a wall staring at the time, it was 6:59 and the venue was full of people getting drinks and waiting for the show to start. The lights dimmed, and she saw Camilla and Palamedes share a look that as silently they came to a decision.

A hooded figure, in a dark gown billowing like smoke off of her frame, swept into the room. Gideon watched as the whole band’s body language shifted from anxious to tense with energy. The shadowy femme nodded to them, any possible embarrassment or apology masked by skeletal paint intricately applied. And wordlesslessly the band walked on stage lit only by a dim blue wash.

In the short moments spent grabbing her bass, Gideon examined the previously absent keyboardist. What she had momentarily perceived as height was an illusion given to the woman by extremely high platform boots, buckled, zipped, and that looked like they might be actually necessary for her to play her keyboard which was set high for someone of her factual height. The robe and tabard were beaded and embroidered with bones that Gideon couldn’t tell if they were real or imitation. Combined with a headdress that looked like an intentional perversion of a catholic halo, Gideon was sure whoever this was she sure had some religious trauma she was working out. Not that Gideon could talk.

Camilla nudged Gideon’s arm as the drummer tapped off the beat to open the show and she was plunged into sound. Performing was intoxicating to Gideon, something she yearned for but never really understood how important it was to her until she was in the thick of it. As she accompanied Sextus’s band she felt her shoulders untense finally. The music was fuller than in the rehearsals she had been in; luxe and moody.

She watched Camilla, driving the groove of the song. Like Pippin without the existential crises, she wore a chain maille tank top and the tightest leather pants in existence. Camilla moved with precision, every chord at the right moment. Every step looked perfectly timed to the movements of the music. Gideon was even more amazed when Camilla changed instruments mid-song to play a brass solo and her lipstick didn’t even budge. Gideon was no expert, but she’d ruined a lot of womens lipstick in her twenty some years, and whatever Camilla had going was occult magic through and through. She must use the almost dozen knives strapped to her arms, thighs, and back to perform blood sacrifices for that purpose.

Finishing the purely instrumental opener, Palamedes held the microphone,

“We’re The Daughters of the Ninth and this song is called You’re On Fire.”

“Is that guy a Daughter too?” some shithead in the audience called back. Without missing a beat Camilla made pinpoint eye contact with the offender.

“Yes.”

The Reverend Daughter followed with a quick punch to the keys and an oddly familiar voice spoke softly yet sharply.

“This song’s called We Hate You, Please Die.”

At the introduction, the musicians moved into a song Gideon had never rehearsed with them. She improvised quickly and Camilla's eyes looked over rewardingly.
Palamedes grasped the mic in his hands and pulled it close. He sang dark and commandingly with his eyes on the crowd. Gideon would have sworn he was scanning over each audience member, instructing them via minor chords, lyrics, and eye contact in a secret lost tenent of music. But, she knew, he was almost completely blind to the world without his owlish glasses . He enthralled, imbued meaning into lyrics and notes. His half-moon duelist’s cape swung stylishly off of his shoulder, a practical monochromatic black being the band's defacto uniform. It tied plainly around a vest that walked the line of style between a rakish space smuggler and a rugged prince.

Finishing up from the gag, Nona cued up the song that was actually on the setlist. It was immediately obvious why she was called The Body. She played percussion with such physicality and intensity that her frame belied upon first impression. And the enthusiasm! Suddenly, Animal didn't seem like such a far off depiction of drummer’s attitudes. The white slip she wore, covered in chains and safety pins, accentuated her movements with barrages of glinting light. Contacts whited out her eyes and black lipstick lined her mouth, creating a hollow expression on a woman clearly full of life.

As the songs continued to flow into each other, Gideon noticed the keyboardist kept staring at her. The moment she would look back or connect the piercing eye contact, the other woman would look away or give an odd look.

Okay, if she was going to be weird, two could play at that game. Gideon stalked across the stage and jammed close to the keyboardist. Leaning into her space playfully, she whispered “See something you like?” into the skeleton priestess’s ear. Which earned her a shocked look she immediately capitalized upon. This portion of the song had a theremin solo that she used as an excuse to set her currently free hands on the ribcage adorning the femme’s waist. She felt waifish under Gideon’s hands, her body disguised by the costume adorning her.

Pal had told her to have fun with it, that the whole band really made the show a performance of many kinds so she shouldn’t have been surprised when moments later they shifted into the slowest song of the set and things got even weirder.

That high, almost nasal familiar voice began singing a solo and lifted a chalice. The verse was beautiful and longing, undertone by dissonant minor chords. She made a turn, cheated out to look at Gideon with dark, almost black irises. Lifting the chalice for Gideon to drink, Gideon played along and brought her lips to the rim. The keyboardist tilted the chalice and purposely spilled fake blood all down her chin. It dripped down her neck and clavicle, ending pooled at the dip between her breasts. Gideon fell to a knee. The Reverend Daughter stared down at her imperiously; Gideon returned it with pure lesbian reverence. Weird hot vampire shit? Sign her up. Whoever this small titty goth girl was, Gideon was ready to make her her small titty goth girlfriend.

“Damn Sextus, your band actually rocks. Even with all the weird goth shit, y’all really go hard”

Palamedes lifted a singular eyebrow lazily.

“I knew that I rocked personally, but I never suspected we rocked as a unit”

Having changed out of their stage clothes, the band sat at the end of the bar chatting as Gideon finished her second vodka redbull. The hot keyboardist had scuttled away the moment they got backstage. Palamedes had assured her that they would be back as soon as they changed. Thirty minutes of waiting at the bar later, the venue had cleared out a bit and the music changed to dark dance beats.

Nona sipped a Shirley Temple and drummed on the bartop while they sat. Gideon was surprised to find out that Nona was 20. She looked 16 at most, but apparently she was in college to be a grade school art teacher.

“I still can’t believe you guys won’t order me a drink and we’ve been playing together for how long? I suffered sober through the years of Tridentaurius torture and still you deny me!”

Cam looked at Nona flatly.

"We want our hometown bars to have us back. If you want to drink on tour this summer that’s fine by me. Just don’t shit where you eat.”

“Wait, these guys never let you drink after shows? That’s crazy.” Gideon’s eyes went soft with remembrance, “After my first paid gig, my band Launchpad McQuack and I had so many jäger shots that I woke up the next day on the roof of my college dorm, completely nude, next to the hot RA I’d had my eye on for the last year. Sadly, neither she nor I remembered what had happened and she gave me a housing violation for public nudity.”

“A cautionary tale, to be sure” Camilla sipped her drink.

“Or a treasured collegiate memory” Gideon half grinned.

Pal raised his bottle, “Here, here!”

As the conversation moved on to who would win in a fight, Bob Ross or Mr. Rogers, Gideon watched a chillingly familiar woman weave through the crowded bar. Five foot nothing, dark hair, dark eyes, and the pinched expression she saw in her nightmares approached.

Gideon stood up stiffly and faced away. She grit her teeth together and as subtly as she could said,

“Hey, guys, don’t look, but the human equivalent of ‘Rod Serling Presents: My Catholic School Trauma’ is approaching us and I need to go.”

Camilla and Palamedes turned, Cam’s expression sharpening a thousandfold as her eyes searched the crowd. The next thing Gideon knew was that this man she had considered her friend previously, raised his arm and began to beckon over her mortal enemy. Friendship ended with SexPal, now getting the fuck out of here is my best friend.

Gideon risked a look over her shoulder to see her ex-classmate and tormentor, Harrowhark Nonagesimus, staring directly into her golden eyes.