The Gilded Cage. Three figures stood beneath the neon sign announcing their location. They looked at it, then at each other, then back at the sign. Without a word, they crossed the threshold.
"Are you sure she's here?" Jay asked, pulling their hood closer over their hair. "This doesn't seem like her kind of place." In all honesty, the nightclub didn't seem like anyone's kind of place—more like somewhere to go to forget you were anyone at all. The heavy fug of stale cigarettes settled into their lungs with every breath, almost drowning out the stench of sweat and cheap booze.
"She's here," Jackdaw said, no room for argument in her voice. "You know she is. We all heard."
Jay and Magpie exchanged a glance. They'd all heard - they'd all been hearing their missing sister for weeks. And yet, every time they got close, the trail went cold.
"The question is," Mags offered, more delicately than Jay would have, "does she want us to be here? This is a bad place. No shine at all." Magpie loved shiny things, kept his fiddle polished until it gleamed. Even here, his bright eyes roved the room, searching for any scrap of beauty.
Jackdaw ruffled her brother’s hair, not gentle but without intent to wound. “Whether she wants us or not, we’re here. Her song has changed. She needs us.” She strode further into the gloom, not waiting to see if her siblings would follow. They always did, whether Jackdaw set a rhythm with her battered guitar or set off on a rescue mission. She carved a path through the club now, daring anyone to get in her way. No one dared.
Someone did stumble into Jay, though, with a poor excuse for a fake apology. “Didn’ see you there, sweetheart.”
“I’m surprised you can see anything, it smells like you’ve been drinking nail polish remover.” Jay’s nails were done in midnight blue and silver, pinprick constellations sparkling on their many-ringed fingers. More metal studded their face, reflecting bits of neon light from the signs behind the bar. “Good thing you didn’t spill any on my banjo case. You know what happens when you get a witch wet, right?”
“Uh.” The guy’s brow furrowed, like no one had ever asked him to think in his life. “They…melt?”
“Oh, no,” Jay said, leaning close. “Everyone thinks that, but it’s wrong. We melt you.”
“Jay, come on,” Jackdaw called. “I found her.”
The nightclub’s back room was as impressive as the rest of it. Nothing worth looking at except its sole occupant, who was so focused on doing her makeup in a cloudy mirror that she didn’t bother to look up when Jackdaw opened the door. “Oh, good,” she said, “you came.”
“Redwing, where the hell have you been?”
Redwing shrugged. She’d lost weight since the last time they saw her, sharper lines to her cheekbones and elbows. “Here and there. Mostly here, the past few weeks. Met some trouble, and not the good kind.” That much was obvious; brighter than her sequined crimson dress, the lines of power binding her lit up the room.
“Where is he?” Jackdaw folded her arms. “I’ll kill him.”
“Will you let me play with him first?” Jay asked, drifting in to lean against the wall.
“Only if you do it tastefully,” Mags said, poking through the odds and ends on the vanity. “As tasteful as this place gets, anyway.”
“He’s not here yet,” Redwing said, “but he will be soon. I’m supposed to go on stage in five minutes.” She smiled, tossed a used-up lipstick tube on the table, and stood.
One by one, all three of her siblings smiled back.
“Perfect,” Jackdaw said, unslinging the guitar case from her shoulder, “that gives us time to warm up.”
The Gilded Cage nightclub never particularly lived up to its name. Even when it was new, all attempts at polish simply faded into dinge and drudgery. It was not an escape; it did not pretend to be anything more than another kind of prison. But tonight, for just a little while, the whole place lit up.
First came the guitar, a scatter of notes building into a steady beat. Its player never took her eyes from the audience, daring them to look away. No one dared.
Next came the banjo, ringed fingers weaving a spell over metal strings. The motion kept the crowd tongue-tied, unable to so much as whisper a word of objection as the player plucked out their hearts.
Then the bright notes of the fiddle, dancing around the others, picking up pieces of melody before setting them aside for something new. The fiddler danced too, moving between his siblings like a moth to well-loved flames.
When the singer added her voice, the room went still. If the stillness spread from a single point, a lone figure at the back of the room, that meant nothing. The song was not about him. She sang, instead, of a bird flown far from her flock, searching for a tune and finding only a cage. Of a cage, squeezed too tight. Of a song that would not be contained any longer.
Some songs can be sung alone. This song, though—it was always meant for harmony. So with four voices joined together, they brought down the house.
A while later, the siblings escaped the smoke into fresh, rain-scented air. Redwing shivered, but waved away the offer of Jay’s hoodie. “It feels good to be out,” she said. “I’m finally free.”
“You could have been all along, if you hadn’t wandered off in the first place,” Jackdaw pointed out. “It took us forever to track you down.”
“And we barely got to play around at all,” Jay lamented. “I still think we should experiment more. This crowd barely lasted one song.”
“We played so well, though!” Magpie said, skipping along the sidewalk. “Better than that nasty spell deserved.”
“We did play well together,” Redwing said. She wrapped an arm around Jay’s shoulders, caught Magpie in a side hug, and exchanged a knowing look with Jackdaw. “We always do.”
The conversation continued, even as the night swallowed them up. Behind them, the smell of smoke lingered.
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Date: 2023-02-16 05:55 am (UTC)"Are you sure she's here?" Jay asked, pulling their hood closer over their hair. "This doesn't seem like her kind of place." In all honesty, the nightclub didn't seem like anyone's kind of place—more like somewhere to go to forget you were anyone at all. The heavy fug of stale cigarettes settled into their lungs with every breath, almost drowning out the stench of sweat and cheap booze.
"She's here," Jackdaw said, no room for argument in her voice. "You know she is. We all heard."
Jay and Magpie exchanged a glance. They'd all heard - they'd all been hearing their missing sister for weeks. And yet, every time they got close, the trail went cold.
"The question is," Mags offered, more delicately than Jay would have, "does she want us to be here? This is a bad place. No shine at all." Magpie loved shiny things, kept his fiddle polished until it gleamed. Even here, his bright eyes roved the room, searching for any scrap of beauty.
Jackdaw ruffled her brother’s hair, not gentle but without intent to wound. “Whether she wants us or not, we’re here. Her song has changed. She needs us.” She strode further into the gloom, not waiting to see if her siblings would follow. They always did, whether Jackdaw set a rhythm with her battered guitar or set off on a rescue mission. She carved a path through the club now, daring anyone to get in her way. No one dared.
Someone did stumble into Jay, though, with a poor excuse for a fake apology. “Didn’ see you there, sweetheart.”
“I’m surprised you can see anything, it smells like you’ve been drinking nail polish remover.” Jay’s nails were done in midnight blue and silver, pinprick constellations sparkling on their many-ringed fingers. More metal studded their face, reflecting bits of neon light from the signs behind the bar. “Good thing you didn’t spill any on my banjo case. You know what happens when you get a witch wet, right?”
“Uh.” The guy’s brow furrowed, like no one had ever asked him to think in his life. “They…melt?”
“Oh, no,” Jay said, leaning close. “Everyone thinks that, but it’s wrong. We melt you.”
“Jay, come on,” Jackdaw called. “I found her.”
The nightclub’s back room was as impressive as the rest of it. Nothing worth looking at except its sole occupant, who was so focused on doing her makeup in a cloudy mirror that she didn’t bother to look up when Jackdaw opened the door. “Oh, good,” she said, “you came.”
“Redwing, where the hell have you been?”
Redwing shrugged. She’d lost weight since the last time they saw her, sharper lines to her cheekbones and elbows. “Here and there. Mostly here, the past few weeks. Met some trouble, and not the good kind.” That much was obvious; brighter than her sequined crimson dress, the lines of power binding her lit up the room.
“Where is he?” Jackdaw folded her arms. “I’ll kill him.”
“Will you let me play with him first?” Jay asked, drifting in to lean against the wall.
“Only if you do it tastefully,” Mags said, poking through the odds and ends on the vanity. “As tasteful as this place gets, anyway.”
“He’s not here yet,” Redwing said, “but he will be soon. I’m supposed to go on stage in five minutes.” She smiled, tossed a used-up lipstick tube on the table, and stood.
One by one, all three of her siblings smiled back.
“Perfect,” Jackdaw said, unslinging the guitar case from her shoulder, “that gives us time to warm up.”
The Gilded Cage nightclub never particularly lived up to its name. Even when it was new, all attempts at polish simply faded into dinge and drudgery. It was not an escape; it did not pretend to be anything more than another kind of prison. But tonight, for just a little while, the whole place lit up.
First came the guitar, a scatter of notes building into a steady beat. Its player never took her eyes from the audience, daring them to look away. No one dared.
Next came the banjo, ringed fingers weaving a spell over metal strings. The motion kept the crowd tongue-tied, unable to so much as whisper a word of objection as the player plucked out their hearts.
Then the bright notes of the fiddle, dancing around the others, picking up pieces of melody before setting them aside for something new. The fiddler danced too, moving between his siblings like a moth to well-loved flames.
When the singer added her voice, the room went still. If the stillness spread from a single point, a lone figure at the back of the room, that meant nothing. The song was not about him. She sang, instead, of a bird flown far from her flock, searching for a tune and finding only a cage. Of a cage, squeezed too tight. Of a song that would not be contained any longer.
Some songs can be sung alone. This song, though—it was always meant for harmony. So with four voices joined together, they brought down the house.
A while later, the siblings escaped the smoke into fresh, rain-scented air. Redwing shivered, but waved away the offer of Jay’s hoodie. “It feels good to be out,” she said. “I’m finally free.”
“You could have been all along, if you hadn’t wandered off in the first place,” Jackdaw pointed out. “It took us forever to track you down.”
“And we barely got to play around at all,” Jay lamented. “I still think we should experiment more. This crowd barely lasted one song.”
“We played so well, though!” Magpie said, skipping along the sidewalk. “Better than that nasty spell deserved.”
“We did play well together,” Redwing said. She wrapped an arm around Jay’s shoulders, caught Magpie in a side hug, and exchanged a knowing look with Jackdaw. “We always do.”
The conversation continued, even as the night swallowed them up. Behind them, the smell of smoke lingered.