ballad of a homeschooled girl.

how many conversations trapped lucky with only two conversation topics – fame or music? birdie had an uncanny knack for dredging up lucky’s deepest resentments, though lucky a little too self-absorbed and a little too self-unaware to realize exactly why – that birdie stood at the fork in the road to which lucky could never return, that she still had a choice that lucky never got to make. instead, lucky assumed it was because she was desperate and naive. “we should do it now, since we're already thinking about it. and we can definitely talk about music,” lucky said. as agonizing as the thought alone was, she was used to living in misery. “i can ask you about your life in, like, singing beaumont, and what, did you want to sing so you could get out of there? and i’ll talk about how i’d always been inspired by other young, women artists at a time when they were treated horribly while still being exploited for their talent,” she recited lucky pr training 101.

birdie wouldn't besmirch the names of the people who came before her when she was as famous as lucky, but she was still mostly deciding on pulling the ladder up after her. the way she saw it, fame was a status, not a spectrum. there might be levels to it, tiers, but you either were someone or you were no one. and even on the lowest rung — there comes a time when there's just not enough space and someone has to make a choice of who to let stay. all birdie wants to do is secure her spot. " okay. since my camera's all set up, we can just sit at the table and... you can ask the first question, if you'd like. "

as birdie continues speaking, her words take on a tinge of melancholy that kai doesn't exactly know what to do with. they shift awkwardly. ❛ right, yeah. good point, ❜ kai says. it's not that she doesn't agree with birdie. in fact, she thinks birdie's hit the nail right on the head. kai still remembers those late nights working on songs and putting together tiktok videos, all done with the hope of just getting their stuff out there. the call from supernova had been unexpected, and it was one of those moments that most people can only dream of. but now, several years, one less band member, and a pr girlfriend later, kai struggles to reconcile that with the 'organic' narrative birdie–and many others, kai's sure–has latched onto. kai nudges birdie, shoots her a grin in hopes to lighten the mood. ❛ but i guess that makes us the lucky chosen ones, huh ? ❜

if birdie was the chosen one, she wanted a refund. but maybe that was the point — there were chosen ones, and she was just one of dozens, a factory perfect line-up of marketable faces and voices, even if that market was cooler, more niche, like do not disturb. she still looks at kai and sees someone unattainably cool, authentic, with zero idea of what boils under the surface. to birdie, most of the world is like that: she takes it at face value, unless it behooves her to look closer. with kai, she has no reason to: what she wants to see is someone cool, someone she can envy. " it's scary to think of it as luck, though. that can run out any second. " that at least, is true. and cuts a little deeper than she'd like to admit.

izzy isn't quite sure what to make of that because she just doesn't have that sort of relationship with her band's music or performing in general. her idea of choreography is maybe jumping a few times on stage but even those are a rarity, especially these days. and being the center of attention? there's a reason she's a guitarist who sometimes adds backup vocals. even when this was what she swore she wanted and believed she wanted with everything in her, she never really had that crave for the spotlight. "i mean, you're in a girl group, don't all of the members like that and want that?" the genre of music of honeydew and the structure of the group is so different from mulholland drive and she's sure that the dynamics are much different than what she's used to. "aren't they your group members, though? why would they call you annoying?" the one thing izzy always appreciated about being in a band was the sense of camaraderie and the family formed in it, both literal and found.

her heart's on her sleeve and her lips are mostly unfiltered, so what comes out next sounds pathetic to hear ear, but she can't stop it from happening: " mostly i just worry i'm annoying to everyone, " not an attempt to be humble, or self-effacing, just a dose of reality she regrets the second she tastes it. " but yeah. i guess we do all want attention. but, it's a collaborative thing first and foremost. don't get me wrong. i'm not like, fuck everyone else, i've got mine. " she clarifies this as quickly as humanly possible, bright brown eyes flashing in a second from humiliation to hesitation. " i imagine it must be so different for you, right? you probably like, don't even have to worry about if they think you're good enough. if they like you. " she says this with wonder, not bitterness. like a dream she wishes she could will into reality.

@birdiewash || after keeping trin for long enough, lucky left her in the dressing room in favor of the task she’d offered to take on for her. unfortunately, she didn’t know the task would be with birdie before she accepted it, but lucky supposed she’d made her own bed in skirting her real responsibilities to waste trinity’s time. “hey,” lucky greeted birdie with a knock just as bland as her tone – one halfhearted rap against the door. “trinity told me they had to switch up a few eight counts of choreo last minute, something about a fashion emergency with someone else, and she wanted me to go through it with you.”

birdie perked up at the idea of spending more time with lucky and immediately hopped out of her chair, starling the makeup artist blushing her cheek and clattering birdie's book to the ground. " ooh! okay. that's a bit last minute. but, no one better to help than pop royalty, right? " this time, she hopes lucky knows her incessant grafting is a little tongue in cheek. but also, still true. " am i supposed to get everyone else? or just me? " please say one on one time. please say one on one time.

there it was: a point of commonality not teetering directly on their employment. by which laila meant the screen time limit, obviously. it would be debasing, to admit she cared about the possibly distasteful musical tastes of their fanbase. and it would be disadvantageous to clue birdie in on that with an authentic reaction to her admission, so laila laughed, instead—volume and pitch was slightly too high, as the mental image of a mature birdie performing their songs before a captive audience of geriatric bingo players came to her, unbidden. “i could see that for you. fun meet-and-greet idea, for sure.” it was beyond her paygrade, she decided, to estimate how likely her family was to love birdie. how much love did she have for birdie, anyway? “just, like, try not to take it personally if she mixes up your name with someone else’s, ‘cause she’s only just internalized that we’re not called honeycomb, and try not to mention thinking anyone else in the industry isn’t good enough for our edits, because she might mention it to someone else—” before laila could offer any more sage advice, her phone brightened with a close up on her grandmother’s wide eye. whatever tirade she’d planned on greeting laila with was interrupted by her miraculous recognition of someone who wasn’t laila. “oh, which one is that, now?” her apron swept across the screen in a lagging deluge of stain-coloured pixels, then pulled back to reveal an expression wrinkled by precisely the same amount of confusion as there was previously. “elias?”

birdie snapped into action the second the phone lit up, abandoning her usual excitable lilt and taking on a softer, much more even tone that was usually reserved for baby animals, fans, and anyone who could get her in trouble. " hi there! my name is birdie! like a bird. elian is one of our other groupmates. and they're much better looking. " she's joking, but also, obviously birdie thinks elian is the hottest person in a hundred mile radius, possibly more, and she wonders if she shares this charming anecdote if it'll win her any points. she looks back at laila expectantly, unsure if she should continue or not. or maybe this is a test to see if she does continue.

lucky simply did not care. each exaggerated compliment was another tooth ripped from her gums, just like the terrors that tore her from her sleep at night. "you are just the sweetest, aren't you?" lucky's voice dripped with convincing sincerity because flattering drivel was nothing new to her. she wrote birdie off just like she did the rest of her fans, barely even listening to what she had to say. maybe if she did, pulling her head out of her own ass for even just a moment, haeri might realize just how genuine birdie was, or how deeply she craved lucky's living hell. "but you're seriously blowing way too much smoke up my ass, and i don't think you're giving yourself enough credit either. you're already on the right path with honeydew and supernova. if there's one thing ory knows how to do, it's make stars," she lied because maybe birdie had what it took to shine on stage, but lucky knew she had a lot of work to do if she wanted to survive this industry.

birdie didn't want to be a star. not even a supernova, burning white-hot, as big as it gets. she wanted to be a planet. she wanted to be a universe. as selfish as it was to think it, to say it — in the dreams of birdie's future, honeydew was always a stepping stone. even if she got to write their own songs, her lyrics would never wholly be her own. they'd never let her stop dancing to play guitar, talk to the crowd in a way that felt off script. they'd never let her be her. and what was the point of being someone if that someone wasn't even you? birdie brushes off any allusion (or outright statement) to her effusiveness being a little over the top, shrugging her shoulders and doubling down, albeit a little quieter. " thank you. i appreciate it. we're working hard. but... hard work doesn't make it happen on its own, right? and neither does olivia rose. even though sometimes i do think she has super powers. you have to have... it. and you do, is all i'm saying. that doesn't go away. "

birdie's unexpected appearance makes kai straighten, almost like a meerkat being alerted at the sound of danger. in this case it's just birdie, so no real danger unless she was equipped with a colorful drink and kai was wearing a nice shirt. the dramatics pull a genuine smile from kai, though, amused enough to forget about being interrupted during her solo practice session. ❛ um. thanks, ❜ kai responds, watching as birdie disappears into the back area for a moment before returning with some things that were presumably left behind. the question throws her off, prompting an awkward chuckle. ❛ well, that depends on which answer makes me sound less insane. the vibey one, probably, right ? ❜

" going insane on a tour like this is probably a sign of sanity, " birdie says, offering kai a much more peaceful, even-keeled smile than her usual wide grin. she knew how it felt to have a lot of energy, desire, anger, excitement, anything that she needed to expel absolutely about to start bursting out of her finger tips. the life she was giving now is a whirlwind of emotions, and she barely knows where to put it all. " i'm like, half energy drink and half inhaled hairspray at this point, and i think it's making me more prone to... everything. including overreacting to projectiles. " there's the grin.

( actually -- elian would find that far too erotic for comfort. )

" oh? entertainment? is that what i am? " if she is, she doesn't mind it, she swears. but deep down, birdie doesn't think that's what it is. it couldn't be. they'd spent too much time together — ahem, intimately, yes, but also in rehearsals and interviews and group dinners and meetings and even just hanging out as friends, even though birdie loathes to think that that's what elian would call her. she doesn't know what she would call elian, though. it doesn't stop her from being upset at the situation in reverse, if only just in her head, if only just for a second. " lucky for you, behind my sweet personality, i can get reaaaally feisty. crazy. " she fakes boxing her fists up, like she's about to fight, though it sounds as unconvincing as it is. maybe true in an emotional sense, but when it came to the physical, birdie was a lover, not a fighter. as xey knew better than anyone. " how many hockey gays do i have to take down? can i at least train first? "

izzy almost said same but she didn't really want to let on that she wasn't enjoying all of this, even if it was written all over her face. because she thought she would and for a time, maybe she did. but no matter how hard she tried, the feeling that she was running from was still there. "i'm sure they wouldn't call you annoying. they're your bandmates." maybe izzy is overestimating the relationship birdie has with the other members of honeydew, but even when things are at their very worst, izzy always comes back to mulholland drive being a family. and in some senses, it was literal because her sibling was in the band with her but it was also something they chose. "what song are you most excited to perform?"

it immediately embarrasses her that she doesn't have an answer. she's not excited about honeydew's music — she's excited to have an audience, an avenue, to spend time with her friends (not family, not like izzy has), to see the world. but nothing about the art calls to her, and favorite feels so strong a word. " i really like the choreography to leak it. and anything where i'm center of attention vocally. but, that's selfish to say out loud. " birdie likes to give an honest answer when she can, even if it takes a minute for her to come up with something where she's stepping around the minefield of her restlessness and dissatisfaction. " and probably why they would definitely call me annoying. "

an angel and devil popped up on ruby's shoulder, the temptation of sabotage calling her name. it seemed easy enough, but they shook it off. ruby was better than that. they didn't need to sabotage some wide-eyed doe to reach superstardom. yeah, yeah, no way ruby was gonna let herself get cancelled for not being a "girl's girl" or whatever. "if you want to pop, you really gotta get your facial expressions down. you're so pretty but you need to captivate your audience!!"

birdie preens like her avian namesakes when ruby calls her pretty, unable to stop the bright smile that sweeps across her face and the tint of warmth in her cheeks. her brain takes the feedback and files it away automatically, with an exclamation point, underlined and everything in bold: important. she needed to captivate. " thank you. seriously. i just worry i look crazy if i'm just smiling like— " she forces a wild looking smile on her face, and then drops it. " the entire time. and if i'm trying to look all muggy, i look miserable. "

for a moment, haeri debated saying no, even though she was chronically online, so of course she'd seen actors on actors. then she realized she'd have to sit through a painstaking explanation of the concept and replied, "yeah i have. what will you call it? singers on singers?" her creativity, like everything else, had stunted when she joined the industry before she'd lost all her baby teeth. unfortunately, she knew birdie's idea would deeply please her manager who kept preaching that the tour talent were supposed to seem like a family. her confirmation sounded more like she was coming to terms with the decision than truly enthusiastic, but it was confirmation all the same. "but, yeah, that sounds fun. should we do it now? is there anything you want me to ask you?" aka give me the answers.

birdie couldn't believe her ears. she sits up quickly, grabbing her pen and her notebook and poising it to write — glittery pink puffball at the end standing at attention. " we can do it now! or we can do it later. depends on how much we want to prepare. um, i was probably going to see if they would be more interested it doing it on the label channels because it's sort of a cross-brand thing, and then they'd probably pick the name, but if they want it to come across more personal like the other stuff, i'd probably just be like "talking songwriting & music with lucky!", or something, because i'd love for both of us to just be able to dive into our experiences with our craft rather than any... noise about fame or whatever's trending, or anything like that. " she sounds deadly serious, committed — still bright, friendly, but a far cry from the bubbliest side people saw most often. " we don't— we don't really get to do a lot of our own thing, in honeydew, so i figured we could frame it around originally finding our path as musicians. people love the personal stuff. and i mean, it's very different, right? you were sort of already in the spotlight, and pivoted to a passion project. " an assumption, of course, but it didn't even occur to birdie lucky would be doing this if she didn't love it, deep in her bones, like birdie did. " and i'm from, like, the town from footloose but with singing, basically. " not that she had been allowed to watch footloose. but it really resonated once she did see it.

kai doesn't quite know how they managed to pull it off, but somehow they'd convinced a crew member and the production manager to let them stay for a bit after rehearsals. the official reason was to get some extra practice on the relatively newer drum kit–custom made for the tour, of course–arguing that the practice pad she'd been lugging around and storing on the tour bus not quite enough for her. the unofficial reason was that she was still keyed up from rehearsals and needed to let off some steam, and what better way to do that than by whaling on the drums in an essentially empty stadium ??? so that's what's kai's doing, running through a few different familiar grooves but mostly just letting her frustrations out. and then she slams the sticks down on the cymbals and one of them snaps in half, flying out of her hand and off the stage. ❛ FUCK ! ❜

birdie shrieks like she's at war and at risk of being hit by rogue artillery, squatting awkwardly on the ground almost like a cower and putting her arms up. the stick, of course, lands nowhere near her, and when she stands up and realizes this, she launches into a fit of giggles. at least, she's occasionally capable of finding her own drama a bit ridiculous. " you sounded really good before your stick decided to go rogue! " birdie comments, genuinely effusive, before skipping up the stage steps and heading toward the back, where she'd left her sweatshirt (hand embroidered by herself during a crafting phrase) and her water bottle (at this point, more sticker than metal) hours before. " are you like, raging in a vibey way and-slash-or against the machine, or did i just interrupt some kind of vent sesh and should leave? " it's a rare moment of self-awareness, even if asking is still a little off-beat.

before lucky can totally agree how amazing it would be to breathe the same air – seriously? – as stevie nicks, birdie catches her off guard with her effusive flattery. what is this, a meet and greet? haeri wonders through a perfect smile and humble wave of her hand. “stop, you’re so silly. there’s nothing inspiring about being a washed up child star.” that, at least, she means. “what, i got scouted when i still had my baby cheeks, and people decided they liked me enough to stick around? what you’re doing is so much more impressive.” surprisingly, lucky means that too. unfortunately, as impressive as it might be, she finds it more foolish than anything else.

" just because you don't feel as famous as you did as a kid doesn't mean you're washed up, " birdie said, dripping with how genuine she is. she rambles on, waxing poetic and unaware that lucky probably simply does not care. " fame has changed. the world has changed. and the world feels smaller when you're smaller. you are more successful than you've ever been, really. by many metrics. if my poster was on as quarter as many walls as yours is, in 2026, i wouldn't even need to catch the flu from stevie nicks to be happy. and that's all you. the whole sticking around thing is what's so impressive. there are so many stars that burn bright for their fifteen minutes and then are gone. and there's just nothing where they used to be. and no one remembers them. that's gonna be half of us on this tour. if not more. you already have legacy. " birdie wanted that so bad she could taste it, just on the tip of her tongue. she'd never craved anything more.

( @birdiewash ) // ruby had sat in on honeydew's rehearsal at the request of birdie (although she really did not want to, but alas... their publicist canceled their meeting so why not?). after the honeydew members said their goodbyes to each other, ruby beckoned birdie over. "you guys really are something," they complimented, unable to come up with a better adjective in the moment. it wasn't that the group was bad... it was just that they might be good enough to steal ruby's spotlight, and that was just unacceptable.

" thank you! " birdie beamed, the smile on her face blooming into a full-fledged grin. she takes a long sip of her water and stretches out one of her arms, trying to shake the movement from their dances out of her body. it's hard for her to snap out of the zone sometimes, to stop thinking in lyrics and notes and choreography when it was so much more natural than anything else. " it would mean the world to me to hear your notes. i mean, for the group as a whole that i can pass along, but... also for myself, as an... individual performer. " birdie keeps her tone extremely even, trying to hide her extremely preemptive desire to, well, leave the nest. individual artist was too much of a separation. and she loved honeydew. but really, when it came down to it — birdie knew who she had to look out for.

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❛ um. thanks ? ❜ something about the way birdie says real artist lands weird. it's not an uncommon sentiment, but something about the genuineness of it makes her uneasy. if she only knew exactly how much of that 'realness' was carefully curated... ❛ i mean, honeydew seems great, too. you all beat out like thousands of other artists to get in, so you must be good, right ? ❜ in actuality, kai barely knew anything about the group, and they hadn't exactly had the time to familiarize themself with the group's limited discography. not that they would admit that.

they were good. technically perfect, their voices hand-picked to blend well together, their images too, as much as management could control them. not to mention all the rehearsals that dragged late into the night, or training in dance until her feet were too sore to stand. she'd been confident that, yes, because they were good, that even if being a group had never exactly been her vision, birdie could be happy. and then they got their first songs. and then they got the response to the ep, and birdie had locked herself in her bathroom and cried herself so hoarse she had to sit there with her favorite honey lemon tea looking on instead of singing at rehearsal the next day. " i work with some of the most talented people in the business, " birdie says, diplomatically. the members of honeydew had never ever been a problem in her woes. they were family. which, granted, didn't really seem to mean much to birdie's. but it meant something. " but what matters is if other people think it, right? self-confidence doesn't sell records. there's probably half a dozen girls out there with whitney houston's vocal and and taylor swift's marketability singing in a café somewhere, thinking they could be stars. and they're right. but they're never gonna be. because nobody notices them. because nobody chooses them. " birdie says it with a distant sort of sadness, like she's plucking petals off the flower of fate. they love you, they love you not. " you guys made yourselves be noticed. i respect that. "