#stringmastery

this hasn't been the best week of fallon's life. quite possibly the worst, but she's not stupid enough or hopeful enough to think this is the end all be all of what's coming down the pipe. the expected arrival date of her period two whole weeks ago had come and gone. alright, fine, whatever. that is, until, she'd passed out in the middle of the one o'clock rush last monday. definitely not as chill. and peak NOT FUCKING CHILL IN THE SLIGHTEST, MY GOD when the ER nurse hit her with the, "honey, did you know you're pregnant already?"

she'd had no hope of keeping this under wraps, and hadn't even attempted to endeavor to. she came home in ugly, snotty, panicked tears, informed her roommates between panicky gasps. the upside? it could only be one person. the downside? who that person was, fallon had no clue.

well, she had a clue. tia's boyfriend's really, really into rock, so tia's now really, really into rock, and all of tia's friends, fallon included, now have to be really, really into rock. the group'd ended up at some rock club in the village on a night out a couple months back. fal still can't tell you what'd led to all those drinks (peer pressure), but she can definitely tell you what'd drawn her over to the stranger with all that hair (vodka. and the hair.)

back to last week, when the question of who their friend had fucked came up—he said his name was fenron or fenris or something!—tia's boyfriend lost it. unbeknowst to fallon, she'd slipped and fallen onto the penis of the guitarist of a massively up-and-coming band. through a series of increasingly convoluted connections via the boyfriend and some skillful white pages navigation, she'd come up with a phone number. one that thankfully had an answering machine, on which she'd left a very rambly, very nervous message passing the news along. then, the waiting game started.

this is day four of the waiting game. she's in bed, having spun the wheel of symptoms and won semi-comatose fatigue haze!, when somebody starts trying to beat her front door down. fallon blinks, scowls, shuffles toward the front door with a blanket around her shoulders and is ready to, at worst, kind of grumble at whoever's there. she undoes the chain and—