Chapter Text
Gideon Nav climbed the ancient, creaking stairs to the fifth floor of the English/Cinema/Music building. She summited the steps and released an enormous sigh of relief at the sight of the empty room before her.
She pushed through the too-big door, then through the tangible wall of lingering lemon Pine-Sol which filled her lungs and made her mouth water unbidden. She discarded her backpack, jacket and scarf by the door. It was early evening, but the sun was already making its lumbering descent, casting Rhodes Recital Hall in a warm, orange glow. She grinned at the thought of spending the next half hour in blissful, solitary silence.
She rolled up her sleeves and got to work.
She crossed to one of the many stacks that were pushed against the back wall of the recital room. She began fitting the chairs into three even semi-circle-shaped rows, stretching from wall to wall with a person-sized gap in the center of each. Next, she set a clean, black music stand in front of them, one for each pair of chairs. Finally, she rolled the gleaming baby grand piano into place. The final touch involved setting the conductor’s music stand beside what Gideon liked to think of as the butt of the piano. She wasn’t hip to all the fancy music terms the students in the university orchestra all used like so much military code, so she’d had to make up her own.
She had started her work study position in the music department during the fall of her freshman year. It was an easy gig, and they liked her because she could do things that wimpy, noodle-armed musicians and vocalists couldn’t, like carry two double-bass’ up a flight of stairs at the same time, or load a wheel-less upright piano onto a pair of hand trucks, or maneuver a stack of 50 chairs into an elevator. Plus, she got in free to all their performances -- which sounds lame, but, after a full week of 5am conditioning sessions, hours of soccer practice and a trilogy of brutal games, it was nice to lay down in the very back row of the darkened mezzanine and just kind of zone out.
Gideon had finished setting up the rehearsal space and was slipping her arms into her jacket when she heard shuffling outside the room.
The too-big door opened to reveal a too-tiny twenty-one-year-old carrying a stack of sheet music that towered from her navel to just beneath her chin. Her black eyes practically rolled into the back of her head with annoyance before Gideon even had the chance to summon up the appropriate banishing spell or colorful curse word.
“Don’t loiter, Nav. You’ve done your job, now leave,” Harrowhark Nonagesimus said in a voice like a slap to the face.
“Well, if it isn’t her Dark Holiness. How was the traffic coming back from hell? You look a little worse for wear,” Gideon replied.
Harrow did look a little worse for wear. Her short black hair was squashed beneath a black beanie with the ends sticking directly into her eyes, which were bloodshot and wild. Her pale skin had gone purple beneath them, and her cheeks were flushed a vibrant red. The whole ensemble had the effect of a bloodied bruise.
“Save the simpering for your rat pack, asshole. I can’t afford to have my ears bleed before rehearsal.”
Harrow made her way to the piano. She dumped the tower of sheet music onto the bench. She began separating them into piles, not even bothering to remove her coat, her scarf or her battered messenger bag.
“Careful there, O Penumbral Lady,” said Gideon, still lingering by the doorway. “My ilk are your ilk; We have mutual friends now.”
They did. Gideon had recently befriended one Palamedes Sextus, infamous master of the musical occult (or rather, Musical Occult, MA, come spring). The friendship came about by way of Camilla Hect, who had a work study position in the athletic center where Gideon’s team held their workouts. After months of fruitless flirting and begging Camilla to let Gideon try out her fencing weapons, Camilla had begrudgingly invited Gideon to one of her practice sessions. There, Gideon had given what she’d like to think of as a swashbuckling performance -- and had most certainly given an unsuspecting Palamedes a black eye.
“I saw Sextus’ shiner,” Harrow said. “I wouldn’t call that an act of friendship.”
“I apologized. The friendship came after.”
“A heartening tale. Now leave.”
Although Gideon hated to give Harrow the pleasure of actually kicking her out of the room, she was so hungry that she had space enough to swallow her pride. If she hustled, she could make it to the dining hall before the rest of the athletes cleared out the stir fry counter. She shouldered her backpack and opened the door.
“Until next time, my Crepuscular Queen,” Gideon said and gave Harrow a two-finger salute - then gave her just the one finger for good measure. Harrow grunted in a way that suggested she was resisting the urge to throw one of Gideon’s perfectly aligned chairs at her head. Gideon ducked out and made her way back down five flights of ancient, creaking stairs and into the frigid evening air.