Work Text:
Max awoke to the sound of a sink running in another room. The light coming in from the closed curtains was golden, a sign of the rising morning. Turning her head to glance beyond the blankets, Max saw the distant buildings of the city outside of her apartment, and the whizzing of wyverns and rail cars. With a soft, drawn-out groan, Max pulled herself to her feet, her dingy pajamas hanging loosely on her muscular form as she drifted towards the source of the sound.
In the bathroom, the sink was running, and Max saw her companion washing her face, running the faucet as she splashed the cool liquid onto her face. Molly, her ginger hair tucked neatly into a silk bonnet, her plump body covered by a fluffy sleeping gown, stood up straight and turned off the faucet, her movements undulating as she dried her face.
“You’re awake,” Max rasped, her voice hoarse from the previous day’s events. Molly jolted at the sound, her head whipping around to face the source before she relaxed and smiled. “And I see you are too.” She replied, her southern accent thick with sleep. She wasn’t fully awake yet, even with her graceful movements. Max nodded. “Right.”
A long silence followed. Max felt slightly awkward, her feathers twitching with agitation at the quiet. Before she could say anything pejorative about the space, however, Molly spoke.
“I’ve got anotha’ show today,” She hummed, carefully pulling off her bonnet and letting the orange and yellow curls fall down her face. Her ram horns seemed to unfurl as well from the bonnet, revealing themselves as the curls tucked behind them. Her wings untucked from her back as well, bearing the similar blue and cyan colors as her horns as they floated outward. “3 songs. Perhaps 4 if the patrons are generous with their cash.”
“Oh, okay,” Max mumbled, leaning against the doorframe. “Do you have any plans afterward?” She asked, and Molly shrugged, waving her hand and conjuring a brush into her hands with a burst of blue fire. As she combed through her hair, she hummed, “That will be determined later, my dear, assumin’ the patrons aren’t… Pushy.” Molly frowned.
Max’s expression soured slightly. Both of them knew how unctuous the patrons could be, especially with a performer like Molly. Max coughed under her breath. “Those men are always so turgid when drunk.” She commented, and Molly nodded in agreement. “Indeed, love— They always seem to speak first before thinkin’.”
Max laughed dryly. “Yeah…”
Another silence. Max stepped out of the way to let Molly exit the bathroom, watching her as she rifled through her clothes bag for her dress. Max always felt breathless when she wore it; Just seeing her in such soft, velvet clothing made her heart loathe the thought of anybody else getting to see her.
Molly turned to face her again, her southern vernacular pushing through her words once more. “Darlin’, do me a favor and make some eggs, won’t you? I’m starved, and you seem to know how to handle that stove better than me.” Molly laughed softly, and Max jolted. “O-Of course, madame! I’ll get started.” Max then turned and rushed off, a few feathers falling to the floor in her wake. Molly lifted one of the good feathers and tucked it away for later.
As the smell of cooked eggs and pepper began to fill the dingy apartment, Molly finished putting on her dress, dusting off the black, velvet fabric as she approached Max from behind and watched her cook. The whites of the eggs in the pan were viscous and thick, dappled with small black specks of pepper. Molly smiled. “You’re a good cook, dear.” She hummed, and Max flinched, turning her head to look at her. Her cheeks turned a dusty red, and Molly giggled, pointing it out with a pinch to her cheek. Before Max could prevaricate a reason for the blush, the landline suddenly rang. Max jumped, quickly plating Molly’s food before running over to answer it.
“This is Maxine Rochwell, can I help you?” She answered with the highest voice she could muster. Molly watched her from the kitchen as she spoke to the stranger on the phone, her wings fluttering anxiously. When she hung up, she sighed. “Well, that plan is moribund.”
“Who was it?” Molly asked, scooping a piece of egg into her mouth. Max waved her hand. “Manager. There was a… Incident at the workplace, so I have to go.”
“Oh, how aghast.” Molly whined, lifting her fork. “At least eat, won’t you?”
Max gave her a look, her wings twitching. Molly realized what she said and lowered the fork back onto her plate with a clink.
“Right. Fallen Angel. Demon chicken eggs will contraindicate your body.”
“There you go.”
Max approached Molly and lifted her hand, giving her a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles before standing up straight and walking into the bathroom to change. When she emerged, dressed in her usual jersey jacket and denim jeans, she gave Molly a wave goodbye. “I’ll try to come to your show tonight,” She hummed, and Molly smiled, black lipstick stretching and curling. “But if I don’t, save me a drink.”
“I will, dearie. Go on now!” Molly waved her hand for her to go, and Max laughed sheepishly as she exited the apartment, leaving Molly by herself, eating the food lovingly made for her.