more, more, moreau !

niko 'nik' moreau. 28. bassist / backing vocals for king hit.

[nikmoreau]

[  BIO.  INTRO. CNCT. PNTRST  ]

name: niko ‘nik’ moreau

occupation: bassist / backing vocals for king hit

date of birth/age: november 22 1992 | 28 years old

sexuality/gender/pronouns: bisexual | cis female | she/her

neighborhood: downtown

[nikmoreau]

━━━━━━━ 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐒 ✘ 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒

you look at me like i’m a revelation you wanna know if i can bring salvation you saw a sinner, saw a saint inside of me you wanna know if i’m a friend or an enemy

[nikmoreau]

LAURENCE MERCER​:

“Fair enough,” and the tease jogs a faint smile to his lips, the first honest laugh he’d managed stumbling through this conversation of ghosts.  He’d forgotten she was clever- had half forgotten her entirely- filed away as a moonish twin of her mother.  “I remember something along those lines.  You were never shy for an opinion back then, were you.  Guessing that hasn’t changed all too much.”

He shakes his head.  “It was darker and you all looked like Met Gala tribunes.  But that’s about all I remember.” A brow raised. “Lighting clothes on fire is very…..” unlike Ada. The thought continues watching her tongue her own arm so…thoroughly.  He feels a familiar chill creep up his spine and he looks away, offering her a toilette from his pocket instead.  “Disdain and cynicism are accepted- I know where we are.  But it has good things to offer too.” He clears his throat. “Mercy’s might surprise you.”

.

Niko Moreau was born hungry and raised to perform. Shyness would not have survived her childhood and in the end, Neeks hadn’t either; the girl that Laurie knew a skin she’s long since shed. But Nik echoes his smile; she shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Public opinion pays the bills now. I was always... curious.” 

The towelette is unexpected; she accepts it anyway, brows raised. “You just carry those around, huh? You’ve really got your shit figured out.” There’s no trace of mockery in her tone; she wipes her skin clean, her eyes sharp on his averted gaze, the tense line of his jaw. And Nik’s heard of Mercy’s—in passing, but a familiar name nonetheless. “Well, how could I say no to such fantastic word of mouth marketing? I’ll come by this Thursday. Promise to pull out all the VIP stops for an old friend?” 

[nikmoreau]

DOVE ALDRICH​:

“Tighter,” she says as Nik lifts a hand to her neck, the corners of her lips tugging into a grin. She shakes her head just after, tugging the other girl along. “The problem with the necklaces is they’re hola hoop sized,” her thumb points outward towards a blonde who bore one too heavy for her neck. “If the bracelets don’t snap off, I’m going to be pissed.”

.

“I thought you were going to compare them to my hands,” she lifts one up, inked and adorned with seven different gold rings. “Then I would’ve been obliged to say, it’s not the size that matters, it’s how you use it. But let’s not add ammo to the micro dick community. They’re already vocal enough. Speaking of,” they reach the bar and Nik peers out at the crowd. “I’ve seen Stas. What dark corner are the boys lurking in?”

[nikmoreau]

GABE HASTINGS​:

He’d been drinking, enough so that a smile peeled easily at his lips. He was riding the high of a performance gone right and as verdant and rubied lights sunk hollows into their cheeks, Gabe felt god-like, untouchable. Dark eyes follow Nik’s instructions, and he lets out a low noise of approval. Lithe, raven haired and bearing a tattoo that snaked out from under clothing held up by strings, she was a perfect prize. “Absolutely parched. Game on, but it’s cheating if you’ve been eyefucking her over my shoulder for the past hour.”

“I don’t need to resort to underhanded tactics to win.” Neon sweeps the room in a steady pulse and illuminates them; Gabe’s face, all diamond-edges and glittering beauty and then her smile, wide as the night and bright in the dark. “Flattered you think I could see over your shoulder.” She has been eyefucking her though, enough to notice that the girl seems just as intrigued in them. An easy mark, maybe, but a worthwhile one. “I’m feeling magnanimous. You wanna go first?” 

[nikmoreau]

LAURENCE MERCER:

“Thanks, it’s all that cardio.  You look,” like your mother. He nearly says it, only to gulp down the thought and plaster a painful smile.  “You’re all grown up, huh.” It feels strange to say, probably because he has to think so hard to say it.  Now that he’s looking at her - really looking - he sees the changes.  Laurie focuses on the differences - that her eyes are more almond, soft and easy despite a sharp shape. The girl is softer all together, but he has to stare to see it at all. 

He nods, placing the fruits aside and wiping his hands subtly on a pocket wipe. “I think I recognize the name. Think I saw an old video of yours show up in my YouTube recommendations.” Laurie had watched it all, torturing himself with glances of his past. It made sense now, knowing it was Neeks. “Would peg this as an ideal spot for the artistic must but, then again, I can’t carry a tune to save my life.” She may have known. Her mother had laughed at his broken voice. “This is my hometown. I’ve been here for the last….fuck, almost ten years? I run a couple bars downtown with a partner.” The explanation is strange, defensive and defiant, trying to play tension off as confidence.

.

“Easy there, Gramps. There’s only, five, six years between us?” But he’s right; she was a kid when they last spoke. They both were. "Pretty sure you used to tell me I was too grown up back then.” She’d liked that about him; that he made time for conversation, valued her wit over the tender blossom of her beauty. Because he didn’t see you. He was looking at her. And why wouldn’t he? That was her mother’s effect on men and women alike, flowers bent towards the sun. 

But even the sun fades with the hours and now—now Laurie’s attention belongs to Nik. “God, hopefully not the video for Ella. Our stylist killed my will to live that day. But the look on her face when I set fire to those fucking hot pants later... worth it.” The blood orange trickles sweet down her wrist; Nik lifts her arm and cleans each crimson line with a pink, darting tongue as he speaks. “You grew up here?” It’s strange to reconcile. He belongs in some gusty city, the man before her too polished for West Coast heat. “Well, Mr Monopoly, I’ll swing by sometime. You can tell me what to order and show me how Californian’s have fun. As a honorary New Yorker, I’ll do my best to conceal my cynicism and disdain, but I’m not making any promises.” 

[nikmoreau]

LEO HASTINGS:

Must be non-locals here, Leo thought to himself. He’d grown accustomed to the scale of parties in LA, but it was a surprise to see so much movement and faces in a crowd here in Costa. As he was wrapping up his performance for a much needed break, a few familiar words of dread sliced through his concentration. “Um, no, not usually but…” He smiled, now able to place voice to a recognizable person. “Let me guess, you want to hear a King Hit remix?”

.

She lays an inked, ringed hand across her heart. “I’m wounded. Musical masturbation’s not my jam.” Leave that to Gabe, goes said silently—a knowing smile shared for their favourite diva. “We’re up next. Thanks for warming up the crowd for us.” Leo’s set ended, they pick their way through the tangle of bodies towards the bar. “What’s it like?” She has to raise her voice to be heard. “Here versus home?”

[nikmoreau]

DOVE ALDRICH​:

“Eat the rich,” she quoted, grunting as she forced herself onto her feet. Her head was light, the buzz still fresh, and the high of a good scam putting her in an agreeable mood. She extended her arm out, pulling Nik up with her. “Let’s go get those glow sticks you put around your arm. I want to feel something choking me before our set.”

.

“We should make it a song. Start an uprising.” It’d be a good concept, but by morning the thought will be forgotten, along with half their memories of the night. For now they walk arm in arm, leaning on each other. “Since when did the arm become the new neck?” Playful, Nik curls her fingers around Dove’s throat. “I think I saw glow sticks that way.” 

[nikmoreau]

FT. LEN COVELLO:

@nikmoreau​

She remembered a time, years ago, when she’d entered a fortune teller’s shop alone. She stank of rain and human sadness and when she offered up the curve of her palm to the woman on the other side of the circular table she begged her to find the love in it. She didn’t care for the line that spoke of life or health or fate— she was only concerned with heart, and the way hers was always quietly breaking. What do you see? She asked, as the woman studied it creases and shapes, dragging the pad of her finger through the seams. As the fortune teller opened her ancient mouth, lipstick puckered in the lines of it, she quivered, pulling away her hand from that grasp. There’s no such thing as fate. The fortune teller looked at her, with those sad, wise eyes, so dark they were nearly pupilless, so sharp they reflected everything— go, girl. Make a better one.

She remembered that night so clearly as she caught site of the woman, almost a ghost now in the time since she’d last seen her. Nik Moreau was beautiful, cat like and small-boned but fierce in a way that made Len shiver. The curve of her neck as she ducked to light a cigarette was so achingly familiar she wanted to run to her, but the past dogged at her heels, nipping, small teeth sinking into flesh. “Hello Nik,” she called, pausing before she came too close, remembering her damnation of the fortune teller— the fate she’d make better. She clung to that thought but she was always foolish and the name wasn’t rusted on her tongue but slippery, waking up and bouncing inside her chest. Nik, Nik, Nik. “Missed me?”

.

Hunger is an inheritance, and Nik Moreau was born voracious. As a child, she watched silent, fox-eyed, clever; backstage, an overspill of tangled skin, keening sighs and then the crowds, with their reaching hands, faces upturned as if to Olympus. All the while, that yearning grew—like a seed she cupped in small palms, that she held up to the window, to the fading sunlight as one city flickered into the next. Older, she was a rose, her beauty another heirloom, but that was all her mother had ever given her. The sharp, feline edges of her face and her appetite, but never the sustenance. She searched for it in a hundred thousand moments, and discovered all she’d grown were weeds; brambled, with sweet fruit in sight but never within her reach. Adoration, affection. Love. A gift her mother so readily packaged for others, never for Nik. 

But hunger comes in many forms; weaponised, it’s the sharp blade of ambition. And Nik has achieved; she has feasted and been longed for in return, just tonight alone. There’s lipstick on her jaw, a dark splotch on her neck that could be a shadow, or a keepsake. And there’s that voice that she’d know anywhere. The others had warned her, of course, but it surprises her—that it’s taken this long, magnetised as they always were, that Len’s voice still feels like the tender press of a bruise. Those clever eyes slide over to her; they take their time. She drinks her in. “Like a hole in the head,” she says, but she’s smiling through the smoke that unfurls between her teeth. Nik leans into the moonlight and offers her a cigarette. Behind them, the party spins on, but the night could be a world away. She’s watching her face. “You’re different,” she says at last. It’s liquored honest, and Len is aglow, captivating. She always was. “You look more... sad.” 

[nikmoreau]

DOVE ALDRICH​:

Dove smacked her thigh. “Come on, is that all you’ve got,” she shouted at the man who had risen from his knees, staggering in his stance as he collected his pride made to part from the duo. If drinking was a game, Dove was a champion. She drowned her last shot, the discarded cup laid down on the grass. “What do you say,” she called at the mans back. “Who else wants to get scammed,” she shouted with a laugh, stumbling back and against Nik, her head against the other girls shoulder. “How much we’d get,” she asked, gesturing towards the lump of cash the other girl had collected. 

.

Dove’s shouts don’t only scare off the man; heads whip around all around them, her voice carrying despite the music. Dove is a shock of lightning, and Nik loves her all the more for it. Their heads fall together; Nik thumbs through the cash, fingers nimble from their instruments, and endless card games as a child. “$20 a shot. That guy has more cash to burn than common sense.” She finishes counting and, tucked under the warm curve of Dove’s arm, leans into her with a catlike grin. “A clean $340. Let’s go spend it all.” 

[nikmoreau]

RAIN MORRISON​:

starter for: @nikmoreau​​ location: full moon party

“  𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘  –––––  what  about  her  ?  ”  a  game  often  played  between  them  ,  korain  points  out  a  pretty  brunette  sipping  on  a  drink  by  the  edge  of  the  pool  at  paradiso  .  he  looks  back  at  nik  with  a  coy  smile  the  gives  a  subtle  shrug  .  “  if  you  can  have  her  making  out  with  you  in  five  minutes  then  i’ll  buy  your  drinks  for  the  rest  of  the  night  ,  deal  ?  ”

“Do you have the kind of liquid cash?” Acceptance is silent, sealed with a smirk. “The whole perving over girls making out? Very 2008 of you,” Nik says, but already she’s on her feet, disrobing in the middle of the crowd. She drops her clothes into Rain’s lap. “Keep an eye on them. That’s my favourite shirt.” Dressed in just her underwear, she slips into the pool; nymph-like beneath the moonlight, she swims straight toward the girl, who has noticed her now too. She nestles between her thighs. “Hi. My friend and I were sat over there, wondering how you taste,” her gaze drifts to her lips; Nik smiles. She even adds a sigh. “I’ve come over to find out.” 

[nikmoreau]

FT. LEO HASTINGS

what: full moon party ( friday, may 7th ) who: @leo-hastings​​​​​

Nik slips through the crowd like sunlight on water; it’s a skill honed from a childhood backstage, swinging through a jungle gym of gyrating bodies. Leo’s near the end of his set—she’s close now, a flash of a VIP pass enough to satisfy the bouncers, but she waits for a lull in the music. And then, in her best Valley accent: “Oh my gahd, do you like, take requests?” 

[nikmoreau]

FT. GABE HASTINGS

what: full moon party ( friday, may 7th ) who: @gabehastings​​​

The dance floor is a hive of gyrating limbs; abuzz with his brother’s music, they usher her closer, but Nik is no stranger to Gabe’s body. A hand splayed against a muscled chest, her face bathed in neon, grinning; if they’re the picture-perfect pair, well, they’re certainly practiced. “Thirsty?” She leans in closer. “To your left. With the dragon tat. Fifty bucks for whoever fucks her first.”

[nikmoreau]

FT. DOVE ALDRICH

what: full moon party ( friday, may 7th ) who: @dovealdrich​

By now, Nik knows challenging Dove to anything is best avoided. The chump who approached them, all wide grins and a fat wallet didn’t—but judging by the smile that’s slipped with every shot, he’s starting to get the picture. Nik’s lost count when the man concedes defeat; she wipes her mouth clean with the back of her hand and grins at Dove. “How ‘bout you give him an arm wrestle instead?” 

[nikmoreau]

LAURENCE MERCER​:

She speaks familiar and kind, though Laurie sees the way her eyes dart with unexpected surprise.  The right thing to do is smile back, be kind to the woman he’d only known as a girl, but all he sees in her face is the sneer of another and he gags on the memory of pity he’d never wanted.  Neeks, he reminds himself, didn’t screw you over. This anger isn’t earned. And it should be noted that he tries, tries to act his age rather than the kicked fool he’d been a decade before.

“It’s been a long time,” he agrees, managing a hard smile.  “Can’t say I’d expected to see you out here.  Not that Costa is the sticks but, last I’d heard, you were following in the family business.” Does it sound bitter? Laurie hopes not, only supportive. “You passing through on your way to top charts?”

.

A long time is an understatement. Even then he’d stood out, a pearl her mother coveted as part of her collection, but he’d been a boy. If she could see you now. Nik nods—because he’s right, because it’s polite to exchange pleasantries when your past shows up in the fruit aisle, but they can always lead to more. “A decade, at least. Or that’s what we’ll round it down to,” She grins; something warm and easy that erases the years between. “You look good.”

And there it is—the umbilical noose Nik can’t bite clean, her achievements always an addendum to Aida. “I’m in a band. We’re called King Hit,” by now, she’s bypassed the shelves for an unhindered view. “Charted, past tense. Our frontman would call it raw talent, but I’d say we ought to thank the TikTok algorithm in our Grammy’s speech.” It’s teasing, more humble when smoothed with a smile. “We’re here recording our next album.” Feline eyes dart to the fruit in his hand; she leans in and plucks it from his fingers. “What brings you here? Don’t say to get a tan.”

[nikmoreau]

📱 | dove & nik

Dove: Found this sick electric bass

Dove: https://i.pinimg.com/564x/4c/09/f7/4c09f784f2f866f42c4866ec0a018421.jpg

Dove: You want it?

Nik: you sugar momming me, aldrich?

Nik: not a complaint.

Nik: how much?

Nik: i'm bidding on a squier as we speak.

[len-covello]

"would you give us another shot?"

Len grinned into her cup, white teeth flashing in the dark. Her mouth is stained red with cheap wine from a box, it tastes like vinegar but gets easier to drink the more of it there is. “You know I would,” she said softly, affectionately reaching out with a curled index finger to tuck under Nik’s chin, holding it in place gently as she ran the pad of her thumb over the familiar swell of her bottom lip. This is a place haunted with ghosts, and now, wine drunk and placated, she has to remind herself twice that some of them were cruel. She pulled away reluctantly, heavy lidded as she looked into the dark eyes holding her own. “I’d let you break my heart a hundred times, even just to hear the songs you’d write about it.”