Over the next few days, I got settled into my new life. Aph—the woman who took me in—really spoiled me, buying me all sorts of little things. A cute notebook and cuter pens, some accessories to go with my amazing clothes, a pocket watch with an alarm, flowers engraved into the lid—there was more stuff, but those were more daily things.
Anyway, of course I helped out as much as I could to thank her. But it was also just nice to work. Studying all the time felt like the most pointless thing ever, especially when my parents expected me to get married to my mother’s friend’s son right after college. Well, the reason they sent me off to college was so that, when I got married, they would look better. “Look at the talented daughter we’re giving away” or something.
Slumping onto the counter, I slapped my cheeks to get those thoughts away.
“If you’ve got time to think about the past, remember your poetry,” I said to myself, trying to instil that habit.
Notebook and pen out, I flicked through to the next empty page. Slowly, I searched for the memory of a moment, like holding onto a dream after you wake up—there, but not. It didn’t help that I was trying to write in this world’s language either.
So focused, I didn’t notice a woman arrive, yanked out my head when she said, “My, what a beautiful poem it is so far.”
On instinct, I shut my notebook, overwhelmed by an intense shame, taking a step back. “S-sorry,” I mumbled.
She said nothing, didn’t move. Eventually, I dared to look up, almost forgetting to be a mess because of how beautiful she was. Tall, cold features, a sort of blazer and corset look—ticking all my boxes. And gosh, I loved the contrast of a pale neck and a black choker, but her dark skin with a pastel pink choker was just as incredible, staring at it until she spoke again.
“I should be the one apologising for looking without your permission,” she said, her voice fairly deep, rich.
Pulling myself together, which was easier after constantly melting from being around Aph, I shook my head. “No, it’s…. I had a bad experience before, but, like, you just surprised me. I, I’m actually—thank you for your praise.”
“Oh you are adorable—I can see why Aph picked you up,” she said, ending with a chuckle.
I took that as a compliment. Then, after a second, I had a thought. “She’s done this before?” I asked.
“Let’s just say we have something in common,” she said, smiling.
My brain immediately jumped to gay, then I realised she probably meant staying with Aph. Can’t blame me for dreaming. Pushing all that away, I awkwardly smiled back and said, “So… what can I get you?”
The next day, she came again.
“By the way, I was, um, wondering what your name is?” I not-so-subtly asked her while waiting for the water to heat up.
“Lydia,” she said.
“Oh wow, what a gorgeous name—it’s so perfect for you,” I said, then froze up for a second. “Not that I’m calling you gorgeous. I mean, you are, but I, um, that’s not something you want to hear from a stranger, so sorry for being… creepy.”
She softly laughed, each note long and rich, calming my heart like it was music. “Well, how about you tell me your name so we aren’t strangers?”
I hesitated, then gave her the name I’d chosen from this language: “Charlie.”
“Charlie,” she said, and it sounded like such a soft name when she said it. “A cute name, perfectly suited for someone as cute as you.”
The emotionally mature disaster I was, I realised that, since it sounded like she was flirting, she was obviously a straight woman and had no interest in me. That calmed me down. “Thanks, I chose it myself.”
“Really? Another thing we have in common,” she said, smiling.
Her smile still turned me into a mess, though.
From then on, she basically came every day, around the same time. And we talked about nothing things while I made her tea and she drank it. Mostly, like, talking shops to visit, and complimenting each other’s outfits, and sometimes I showed her my notebook. It was nice that she, definitely a straight woman, liked my gay poetry.
After a couple of weeks of that, Aph talked to me after work one day. “Does my child wish to go out this evening? As beautiful as your poems are, a songbird sings sweetest among the trees.”
“Well, there were some places, but I don’t want to go by myself.”
She smiled and, the next day, introduced me to one of the customers, a woman with, well, the best place to start was her introduction. “Liza the lez, at your service,” she said, grinning. Clockwork pieces hung from her ears, hair a breath of baby blue, outfit the usual mix of browns and dark reds, but contrasted with neon green thread used to sew a dozen extra pockets across her top and skirt, her shoelaces the same, vivid colour.
“Charlie the, um, chesty?” I said, looking down with a frown. One thing I’d noticed, I wasn’t quite so impressive here.
That was reinforced by her a-bit-too-enthusiastic laugh. “Right,” she said.
Anyway, after she made sure I knew I was too young for her, we plotted out our plans for the evening. I trusted Aph’s recommendation, so I wasn’t worried about going out with a stranger.
The whole afternoon, I was practically buzzing, even Lydia laughing at me. “What has you so pleased?” she asked.
“I’m going out tonight,” I said, grinning.
She raised an eyebrow, but only said, “Congratulations,” before moving onto another topic.
After closing up, I ran upstairs to choose an outfit. All my clothes and a few new ones were hanging up in the wardrobe, using my trunk as shoe storage, underwear in the chest of drawers, grouped by occasion.
Tonight, of course, lingerie—not because I expected anything to happen, but for the confidence I had knowing I was wearing something so sexy. And in case anything happened.
Dancing and corsets didn’t sound ideal, so I looked at my fitted shirts, thinking sleeves would be good if it got cold. Skirts—I thought what would look best when dancing, and I had to choose this one skirt I had that was short at the front, long at the back. It went perfect with tights too. Skipped the hat—didn’t want to lose it.
Outfit coming together, I ended up in mostly black with bronze details and some of my white shirt showing. I mean, the blazer sort of just naturally buttoned quite low, so my chest was kind of sticking out, maybe my black, lacy bra showing through the white shirt if someone took a close look or I got too sweaty.
Okay, I was looking to be a slut. The number of gay and lesbian bars Liza knew about made me very optimistic about my chances and, from the sounds of it, people were open to making out in bathrooms here.
Anyway, dressed up, I waited downstairs for Liza to pick me up. There was a moment when I saw Aph that I suddenly thought she might tell me to change, but she smiled when she saw me and gave me a hug. “Do stay safe while you have your fun tonight.”
“I will,” I mumbled, trying not to think about how happy I was she cared—didn’t want to ruin my mascara.
Liza turned up around the time the lamp posts outside lit up. I wasn’t entirely sure how they worked, not like they used coel stones, or maybe someone changed them in the morning.
“Hiya,” I said.
“Hey, Charlie,” Liza said.
She was dressed up cute. A loose off-white shirt, leather corset over the top, then a leather miniskirt over brown trousers—not super tight, but not baggy. Those muddy tones were then cut apart by neon blue seams, the leather pieces maybe stitched together by her, and bright bronze bits, clockwork maybe a hobby of hers.
“Need a drink before we go or are you gonna keep thirsting over me instead?” Liza said, grinning.
“Oh, like you’re not loving it,” I said, easy to banter when I knew we were both gay and both not interested in each other like that.
After a little more, I left giggling, waving to Aph. Then we were out at night, the city like a whole other place. Whatever the lamps were, they burned orange-red, making the sandstone glow, warm, but also kind of dark, plenty of shadows everywhere. Luckily, the streets Liza took me were also lit by light leaking out of frosted windows, hiding whatever was going on inside, but making me oh so curious.
Then she told me they were clubs for straight people and my interest plummeted. Nothing ruined my night out like guys grinding on me. That was why I had been so happy to find an actual lesbian bar back in my old world—even if it was full of very femme women who were, well, a bit selfish in bed.
Stopping, Liza asked, “You like vampires?”
My heart squeezed in joy. “Fuck yes,” I said.
“Then this is the place for you,” she said, sticking her thumb up.
We were outside a club, muffled thumps of bass rumbling, a narrow building painted black with no windows. Above the door, a sign simply read “HER”, but the bottom half of the H was drawn like a vampire’s teeth, canines very pointed and the tips coloured red.
And I mean, if Liza knew I was new in town and brought me here, I thought it was safe.
So we went inside, the doorwoman knowing Liza and making a joke about robbing the cradle. The door led to stairs, thick stone steps, and it felt chilly even as hot air rose from deeper in. Once we were well underground, there was another door, coppery, the edge covered in rivets, polished, but with a few scratches and small dents.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Can I say fuck yes again or does that sound like I’m trying too hard?”
She chuckled and opened the door.
A cellar hall, the first thing I thought about was how much of a death trap it would be if a fire started, but I quickly noticed the green boards pointing out a few different fire exits. Reassured, I took in the dark aesthetic, loving the arched ceiling, the stone floor and walls, sure that it really had been full of casked wine at some point—maybe a few casks still behind the bar for a special drink.
The coel lights were high up, the dance floor dim, music coming from a band at the far end, volume powered by some mechanical instruments. Between there and us was a loose crowd of people, not a moshpit yet, just some people dancing together, some alone. The night young.
As I looked at the people more, I loved them. A lot of femmes, some just sort of feminine, some were butches, some were androgynous or not so clear cut—a steampunk spectrum of different kinds of women, probably even some that didn’t identify as women. Like I’d walked into the Internet and met all my friends. And we were all cosplaying.
She leaned in close and asked, “You okay?”
“Yeah, just, wow,” I said, unsure what else I could say.
She laughed and patted my back. “Welcome to the city,” she said.
I guessed mine was a pretty common reaction.
The gracious hostess she was, she led me to the bar and talked me through the booze to make sure I didn’t end up drunker than I wanted to be. Even bought me a cocktail. “One Bloody Mary, hold the garlic.”
Perfect drink for a vampire-themed bar. “Thanks.”
While I sipped at that and took in the atmosphere, more people came in, the dance floor getting a little crowded. Closer to the music, I saw the contraptions too. There was a huge metal harp with pneumatic arms that struck it, kinda like under the hood of a piano, the musician using a bow to make the bass-y strings wobble. Also, a sort of steam organ, something like twenty pipes with whistles on the end for the higher pitches. Percussion was a hammering machine set to a slow beat, the musician moving different cymbals and blocks under the hammer part. But there were four of them, set up so they struck at different times, making up for the slow tempo.
The band also had a couple of guitarists, but I could barely hear the notes, sort of haunting, like humans being drowned out amongst machines. However, that wasn’t true for the vocalist—she was screaming the place down and massively impressing me with her pitch control and lung capacity.
“That’s Rage Of The Machine, best band in the city if you ask me,” Liza said.
“Well fuck, you should’ve saved them for last,” I said lightly, elbowing her.
She laughed and slapped my back, just hard enough to hurt. How I liked it.
The alcohol setting in, I downed the last of my drink and asked her to dance. Chuckling, she stood up. “As long as you keep your hands off my arse.”
“I’ll try.”
I pulled her towards the music, close enough that I felt it vibrate in my bones, then I started dancing like everyone was watching. Didn’t take long for my mind to empty, drunk on the mood. Sang along to songs I didn’t know, blew kisses to whoever I caught looking, worked up a sweat, made new friends—friends who didn’t mind if my hands slid down low.
Lost, but found.
And in the haze of it all, I saw Lydia.
