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"dinner." it was not the first time andie had muscled in to birdie's trailer with the leftover pastries from fast break - it was actually somewhat of a ritual. but they didn't throw the bag onto birdie's table the way they usually would, instead placing it down almost gingerly. andie was going to learn to be less careless. "i tried to save the last piece of banana bread, but some loser threw a temper tantrum until i sold it to them. plenty of cookies though. you make it to work?" they were perpetual motion today, already digging through the bag (and avoiding eye contact).
Birdie barely looked up from the rerun of Cheers they were only half-watching when their door banged open. Their unspoken open door policy aside, Andie's arrival was clockwork.
(They squashed the relief they felt at Andie showing up at all and dismissed it as foolish. Of course they showed up. When had they not?)
"Any white chocolate macadamia?" they asked, getting up from the couch to join Andie at the dining room table and glancing into the bag over their shoulder. Birdie resisted the urge to drop their chin onto it.
They reached around them and grabbed blindly for the first thing they touched, and their nose only wrinkled a little when it came up with an oatmeal raisin.
"Just to check in. They were fine without me for a month, they can deal without me for another couple'a days. I've mostly just been going over this setlist. Do you think maybe Dramamine should go after Stars?"
Noa doesn't get nervous. Anxiety is pushed away, transformed into anger if released at all. He's confident, he's bullish. There's no room in his life for entertaining pussy shit like feeling insecure.
That being said, something is wrong with the group. Not him, them. Stemming from Birdie, he suspects, who has been acting like a caged animal since their stop in Pennsylvania. It's throwing everything off. It's making Noa antsy, and pissy.
Not nervous. Not anxious. Just unable to focus on what matters because he's stuck focusing on making sure Birdie doesn't make like their name and fly the coop, leaving the rest of the band in flux.
Leaving Noa in flux.
"Don't need luck," Noa argues. He doesn't have to lift his voice, has never needed to with them. Most of the time, he doesn't need to speak at all; Birdie can reach into his brain, sift out the important bits, know exactly what he's thinking. Maybe not anymore.
"I'm just checking on you, Bird. Can't seem to find you anywhere else."
Noa wasn't dumb. A month ago, Birdie would've sworn up and down that he was the smartest person they knew, especially when it came to them. When they moved, he moved; vice versa. They dreamt up a melody; he was humming it the next morning.
The two of them been on the same page from the moment they met. Mind readers, twin flames, soulmates, two ends of the same red string — whichever Birdie preferred in any given week.
So why was he being so fucking dumb? Why did they need to propose the idea that maybe they didn't want to be found? Why did they feel like they needed to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until whatever it was that had shifted between them clicked back into its place?
Birdie abandoned the seat but continued to flit around the stage, making superfluous checks to avoid making eye contact with him.
"I just need to make sure everything's perfect," they said, plucking at the high E string on Quinn's guitar and frowning when it rang out flat. "We just need to get through this show, and then..."
And then what? They'd go back to normal?
They fiddled with the tuning peg with one hand and waved vaguely with the other. "And then we can just get back to real life."
Milo startled just a fraction when Birdie rounded the counter, but still let out an exclamatory, "Birdie!" at the sight of them for the first time in like... a month? Had it already been a month? He let out a breathless laugh at the little kiss. "Woah, woah, easy there tiger, you're gonna knock me over," he joked, a grin on his face.
He glanced around the store at their unspoken inspection, assuming there was no way he was getting such treatment if not for the current state of the store. "But, you better be gearing up some kisses for Devon and Ana, too. They were a big help." Which meant that Devon was and Ana just did her usual thing of doing whatever. But still, the place was still standing.
He instinctively reached for the cup of coffee nearest to him. "So, how was it being gone? Hope you didn't miss us plebs too bad."
Birdie wrapped Milo up in a proper hug before letting him go, but they stayed perched atop the step stool. (They always preferred eye contact when they were talking to other people, and there was no hope with Milo unless they literally gave themself a leg up. It may or may not have been why the stool lived there in the first place.)
"Kisses for everyone," they promised, completely sincere. "Literally anything for the people who saved me from that one really scary look that Reenie gets when she's mad."
Picturing it now — dead eyes, creepy little smile — sent a shiver down Birdie's spine.
Their wide smile faltered just the slightest bit at the question, but they grabbed their coffee cup and took a quick sip in a feeble attempt to cover it up.
"Oh, you know. It was cool. But — and don't tell anyone this," they leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "— being a rockstar? Kinda overrated."
"What about here, huh? I heard something about a basement party. You got gossip for me?"
for @pipmojis
at milkshakes, hot dogs & french fries, friday 1pm
"God, it's so good to be back."
Birdie look down at their food reverently. They would swear up and down, with absolute sincerity, that every single bite of their chili dog was healing something deep down inside of them.
At the end of the day, Birdie was a homebody. Being on the road was nice (until it really, really wasn't), but nothing beat this. The predictable rhythms of Colossal, the usual spots. A chili dog and an oreo milkshake.
"I know that we still have a show, but I can't wait to just...fuck off and do nothing for a little while."
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for @hayesonthecourt
at the stone's, saturday 11:30pm
"Boo," Birdie whispered — well, it was probably closer to a half-shout, given the deafening noise around them.
They waited for Devon to turn around before enveloping her in a bear hug, with a long "hiiiiiii!" careful not to let their overfilled solo cup spill any of its contents spill down her back. They probably held on for a beat too long and squeezed a little too tight, but whatever bright red concoction was in their cup was turning their usual inclination toward a cuddle up a few notches.
"I feel like I've barely seen you!" they yelled over the noise as they finally let go of Devon.
Outside of making sure that the store hadn't gone up in flames in their absence, they'd gone back to their day job only in the loosest sense. Management was really just a few sporadic check-ins while they dedicated the rest of their time to the band's final push.
"Milo says I owe you a kiss for the store still being in one piece."
Birdie had already exhausted every possible avenue, stopped every crew member, only to be met with the same answer: "Ask Logan."
They didn't want to ask Logan. They didn't want to see Logan. They'd much prefer if they didn't have to be in the same building at all.
Something sour rose up in the back of their throat, and they forced themself to stop and take a few deep, calming breaths. They rolled their shoulders as if it would physically shake the antipathy creeping up the back of their neck.
When they finally managed to find her, they stopped again and schooled their features into neutrality.
"Hey," they urged, with a light squeeze to Logan's elbow. It was familiar, friendly in a way the two of them weren't. But Birdie just needed to get through this show without issue. Needed it desperately.
"We're missing a wedge and no one seems to know where it is. Any ideas?"
Birdie's hand eased into Fallon's, tugging lightly as their eyes took on a doe-like quality. They didn't expect it to work, really, but they'd still cycle through their usual tricks to try to tempt her (guilt her) into agreeing.
High off of the adrenaline of their set and the spliff dangling loosely from their fingers, Birdie was just about ready to sprint all the way to the Stones' place, and they'd be happier if Fallon was right there with them.
"Pleeeeease, pleasepleaseplease? It doesn't even matter if you don't have an outfit, we can literally go to the store right now and find you something."
Birdie had walked in with their eyes half-closed and shoulders tense, bracing themself for the chaos they were sure they would find in the store after a month-long absence. On the record, they would say that they always had complete and total confidence that Milo would hold the fort while they were gone.
Off the record? They'd plead the fifth.
But the place hadn't burned down in their absence, the racks were in order, the floors not collecting dust.
"Milo, I could kiss you," they said, rounding the counter and placing two cups of coffee down before they made good on that hypothetical and got up onto the one-step stool they kept there to place a loud mwah against Milo's cheek.
The question was posed with no shortage of uncharacteristic hesitance, almost lost behind the bass that was shaking the entire house. Birdie's high tops scuffed against the wood grain of the Stone's front porch in time, their eyes trained down at the spot they were wearing at.
They raised the cigarette idling burning down in their hand to their lips, as if it might buy a little more time between now and the moment when they would actually have to broach the subject they'd just brought up.
The asking was the easy part. Talking about the actual something was harder.
Even Julien answered in the negative, Birdie didn't hear it. They barreled forward, afraid they'd lose their nerve if they didn't just ask it.
"Things feel different now, don't they? With all of us."
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for @noasweet
at fight club, saturday post-soundcheck
"Give me a little more on the hi-hats?" Birdie called out into the darkness beyond the floodlights and in the general direction of the sound booth as they tapped a drumstick idly against the cymbals.
(Messing with Andie's sound, which they indulged in more often than not, probably wasn't the wisest decision. But they hadn't noticed yet, so Birdie didn't expect them to start now.)
They could vaguely make out the shape of a thumb being raised in the black, and they struck the hi-hat at Andie-intensity, listening carefully to the echo throughout the venue. A nod to themself. "Perfect, thanks guys!"
They stood and turned to adjust the seat back to its usual height when they spotted the outline of a figure lingering in the wings. They didn't have to look twice to know who it was.
"You know it's bad luck to be in here before we go on," they said, without looking up from their task. No one was allowed on stage between the official end of soundcheck and set but Birdie, lest it tip the scales they'd just leveled out perfectly.
(They'd probably made a few exceptions for Noa now and then, but right now, he was the last person they wanted to see.)
fingers ringed in silver (always silver, never gold). a microwave meal spinning round on a turntable off its track. bandaids on scraped knees. stacks of half-filled journals. playing the same line over and over again but changing the last note every time.
full name:Â bridget sugano
nicknames: birdie, bird
pronouns & gender:Â they/them, non-binary
birthday & birthplace:Â june 5 (29); colossal, oh
location: the trailer park
sexuality: bisexual
occupation: manager of tantrum & keys for 2nd heaven
about.
birdie's been on their own since they were ten. raised by a single dad in the trailer park, they were a latchkey kid until they weren't. dad disappeared one afternoon, and the only things missing from the trailer were a few items of clothing and a backpack. he was kind enough to crack the safe containing meager life savings open before he left, so birdie lived off of that for a while, kevin mccallister-ing their way too and from town until neighbors finally took notice. birdie's sworn by the "it takes a village" adage ever since.
one of those villagers was a middle school music teacher who let birdie eat lunch in the band room every day and played british glam rock nonstop. they like to say that everything they ever learned about music, they learned in that room. music theory far beyond their classmates' level just sort of came naturally to them. they were probably some kind of prodigy, but they don't like labels.
they weren't interested in formal education in...anything. school was an afterthought, even though that band teacher would unsubtly leave conservatory pamphlets around the band room for them to find.
they got their first job at tantrum in high school, when reenie caught them trying to steal from her. well, "caught" is probably the wrong word. it was something cheap — just a t-shirt that didn't have holes in it — but birdie felt so bad for stealing from a local place they admired that they made it halfway down the block before turning around and throwing themself at reenie's mercy. she told them they could just take over behind the register for the rest of the shift so that she could leave early that day and they would call it even. birdie's been there ever since (and they got to keep the shirt).
they still live in the trailer they grew up in, even though they can probably afford better by now (they're more frugal than other people might expect, having had to learn how to stretch a dollar from a very early age). they like their village just as it is. and they don't like the idea of signing a lease.
personality
+ empathetic, trusting, perceptive
- compulsive, impatient, flaky
tidbits.
MILKSHAKES, HOT DOGS, AND FRENCH FRIES ORDER. oreo milkshake, chicago-style dog (if the one guy who can do it right is in the kitchen. if not, chili dog), crinkle-cut fries drowning in ketchup
LET’S OPEN YOUR CHARACTER’S WALKMAN. WHAT CD IS INSIDE? last splash by the breeders
their first big purchase was a motorcycle that they're not and have never been licensed to operate. it should probably be in a junkyard by now, but birdie refuses to let it die. they're not a bad handyman themself, having been forced to learn a thing or two when duct tape just didn't seem to be working anymore.
gemini sun/aquarius moon/gemini rising. if the double gemini scares you, maybe it should
their spirituality isn't rooted in one specific school of thought, and some would argue that it's actually pretty nonsensical. everything they know, they know from a neighbor whose entire home looked like any tarot parlor you might meander into off the street. she would throw around a lot of words or concepts from any number of religions or philosophies that birdie now likes to throw around themself — but they like to pick and mix. whatever feels right feels right, you know?
looks and sounds like a vegetarian, but definitely isn't one
they have mixtapes upon mixtapes filled with...whatever. they carry around a tape recorder basically everywhere they go, because what if their door hinge makes that really cool sound again? they've occasionally just left it running without meaning to and recorded whole conversations
andulkaphoto
germansingergirl
