With the crooning vocals of Pink Mutiny in her ear–an older release from their ballad album, Moonlight Mutiny, Kestrel crossed the gap from light rail to platform and made her way through the Bellevue station and out into the chilled streets. It was much later than she’d hoped for the bar’s opening day, the sun already dipping low in the horizon between greying clouds.
New boots–black with grey soles–made every step feel awkward and new and her blackened jeans wore tighter around her hips than her old, worn-in pair had. Still, it was comfortable. Legit, too. Aside from a swiped silver-toned necklace with its angular pendant hanging down, everything was bought and paid for.
She straightened her black, sleeveless blouse and tugged at the purple cuffs of her blazer, and started down the streets to the beat of “With Murderous Intent.”
The bassist sang this one alone, unusual for the punk duo. Her voice was like midnight silk, the low throngs of the strings accompanying her melody. The music did well to drown out lingering thoughts from the memories the doctor had asked her to recall.
Fuck. She just wanted to sleep, but promises were promises.
Head up and sunglasses down, Kestrel strutted towards the bar with forced confidence, pulling open the door. There was a bouncer there in the entry room. She looked up. And up.