Mynah

Mynah stands in the hotel corridor, back to the wall, head down to keep the brim of her hat low over her face, arms folded across her plain navy-blue tshirt. It has taken too much to get her here, to this hallway opposite this elevator, this night at this time. Getting the time off to travel to Guicheng on her own, without minders. Getting access to the hotel, learning which room she needs to stake out, being here without being seen.

She cannot afford for anyone to question her presence.

She tenses, seeing the number strip light up above the elevator doors. The car is in motion, down to the ground floor. Her blood tingles momentarily, then turns to stone. It seems to take hours for the car to start rising again. When it stops at the forty-third floor, she feels the shape of a curse inside her. It's the third time the lift hasn't been for her.

The car starts rising again. The hotel has fifty-six floors, and there are still five above her. She can't suppress a loud, stiff inhale. Or the thought what if she's not alone? There are only two suites accessed by this elevator on this floor, but Phoebe has a new PR manager, she could have any number of personnel with her.

With a ding that sounds loud enough to wake the building, the elevator stops in front of her. Training that has carried her through years of terrifying high-stakes public appearances flees and she stops breathing. The sound of the doors sliding open barely registers over the race of her pulse in her own ears. For a stretching second she thinks maybe the elevator is empty.

Phoebe Tenryuu flinches as she sees the landing isn't deserted, then her jaw drops in recognition. She steps out onto the carpet, eyes flicking left and right with a hint of her old hunted aura. Then she lunges forward, grabs Mynah's wrist, and drags her over to the door of her suite, fumbling in her pocket with her other hand.

Inside, Phoebe slings her backpack on the floor in the spacious atrium, then throws open the door to the next room – it's a wide lounge, with a cream leather sofa big enough to swim in and a rug thicker than most lawns in front of a huge TV. Phoebe looks back at Mynah for a second, takes a few steps forward and faceplants onto the sofa.

Mynah takes this as something resembling an invitation and follows her into the room, hesitating just inside the door. Despite the best efforts of a clearly enthusiastic interior designer, it's unequivocally a hotel room. Between the two internal doors in the back wall, there are inset alcoves laden with all sorts of knickknacks and a bunch of discreet light fittings. Complex shadows and reflections give the ceiling the tricksy impression of arches and crenels, but it's flat apart from some minimalist molding.

Voice muffled by the couch cushions, Phoebe says, "So, how've you been?"

Mynah can't help but sigh. She's breathing again, but can still feel her pulse is too high. "Not great. I'm sorry about what happened."

"It's alright, I know it wasn't your fault, Mynah, I think I know what happened."

She can't tell whether that's an invitation to ask and decides not to risk it.

Phoebe half-rolls, half-slides off the couch and somehow ends up sitting upright with her back against its foot, on the floor. "Come on, come in, grab a seat. Grab a drink if you want it." She waves at the corner of the room, where there's a minibar.

Mynah is about to decline, but it's a big minibar and she hasn't drunk anything at all in a couple of long, stressful hours. She heads over and opens it. "You want anything?"

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"Nah." And a moment later. "Yeah. The Shiraz is OK."

Mynah pulls out two of the little bottles of red wine and the appropriate glasses. She hands the glasses to Phoebe before sitting down, to free a hand, then passes her one of the bottles once she's down. They don't speak as they open up and pour. The glasses give a muted crystal ting for their hefty toast.

Phoebe's right, the wine is OK. The miniature bottle is more wine than Mynah would be allowed to drink at an official appearance, but getting scolded for a little extra booze is the least of her worries once she gets back to her handlers and trainers and health consultants. She looks sidelong at the dragon racer, who despite Mynah's presence is glowing with a mix of triumph and fatigue that she thinks she remembers.

Finally, she says, "I don't know what I want to do anymore."

"Yeah." Phoebe doesn't look at her. "You don't."

The words should sting. Somewhere, distantly, she feels them rip through her guts like a dragon's claw. Her hand is steady as she raises her glass, though. The wine is fruity and a little acidic, prickly and tense in a way that ought really to be paired with at least a snack.

A sudden urge hits her to drain the glass and get another bottle and get really fucking drunk. She knows her height, weight and body fat percentage to two decimal places. It's been years since she drank as much as two large wine glasses in one evening. Some combination of detachment and wisdom keeps her in place, puts the glass back on the floor between her and Phoebe still more than half full.

Eventually, Phoebe says, "I get scared, looking at you."

Blood as silent as her voice, Mynah doesn't move.

"Is this what Cy would have done to me, if he'd stuck around? Is this what we're supposed to become, for them?"

Cy had been the manager Mynah's management company had assigned to Phoebe. Mynah doesn't know where exactly in the company the idea had come from to start a rumour that she and Phoebe were dating, but Cy had been the one to inflict it on Phoebe. Is that what scares the racer now? Mynah doesn't think so.

"Why'd you sign up for them, Mynah? Why'd you do it?"

"I've always loved singing, I dreamed of singing from when I was little." Her answer is automatic and practiced, given a thousand times over. Again a wave of self-destructive violence washes over her. Her arm tightens, and she imagines throwing her glass against the wall.

Can't do that, though. If a cleaner has to clean wine stains off the paint, the press will have a field day, even if they never find out Mynah was here.

Phoebe waits. Mynah says, "Mom and dad sent me to dance school when I wouldn't shut up about it. The talent scouts came every year. I was one of the best in my class. They wanted me at fourteen, mom let me go the next year. I released an album instead of graduating."

She takes another drink of the wine. Maybe it's too acidic. Phoebe's finishing her glass. The dragon rider's voice hitches slightly as she says, "Do your family support you?"

"Oh yeah," Mynah says, knowing why Phoebe stumbled but not wanting to flinch from answering the question honestly. "They love it. They don't come on my tours anymore, but they never miss a show near them."

"You stay with them when you're not touring?"

"Nah, they moved back to Anjou, I live in Calabria now."

"So where's home to you, Mynah?" The rasp in Phoebe's voice seems sharper suddenly. "'Cuz I know it's not that flat you live in."

"I-" Mynah cuts off. The question hangs in the air like a word on the tip of her tongue, heavy as a stone. She doesn't know how to think about answering. She knows what the answer is, but it will mean nothing to Phoebe. She doesn't want to explain, to admit.

She settles for draining her glass, grimacing a bit at the flavour.

"Can you get out of here without being seen?"

Mynah blots tears from her eyes, almost stopping herself before she remembers she's not wearing any makeup. "Without being recognised, sure."

Phoebe takes the empty glasses, pushes herself to her feet. When she leans down to offer her hand, Mynah takes it. Phoebe's strong; it's easy to get up. She can feel the haze of alcohol in her balance, just a moment where gravity isn't quite pointing the right direction.

She looks at Phoebe, takes in the purple hair, fluffy from a recent and fairly careless shower, the curl of her crownfeathers, the habitual laughter that shapes her cheeks and lips, even though now she is serious. "Can I- can we hang out again sometime?"

That face, made for joy and mirth, is solemn. "I can't fly you home, Mynah. But if you can find your way there on your own, I'd like us to be friends. Is that enough?"

Mynah nods.