I FEEL THE FEVER

    those four strings sitting against the fret board lying against the wall in the other room are a constant reminder that the music that helped her get through that time is still with her, and that she’s a part of it now. where it’s going to take her is unknown but she knows whatever happens with it is going to be great. she’s happy now, with the life she’d made and the things she’s created. it’s a step closer to the nirvana she wanted so badly at sixteen.

             “ fuck yes, i’ll toast to that,”

   a grin resides on her face as she taps her can against the older woman’s. this is new for her, the positive female influence that she’d gone without growing up. she tells herself it’s good.

          Nostalgia left a thousand tastes on her tongue, each flavor entirely meshed into one another; the reminder of too many dreams and not enough reality. One scent left her disgusted while a memory revived the perfume of text books and Guinness, the elongated runaways and family feuds all prominent between the fruity tang of hops and pleasant remembrances- even the hardships were considered blessings since their passing. While there were, perhaps, choices that could have been well avoided, but nonetheless beneficial.

            ❝ That’s the way to go! ❞

  〈〈  MEME || @sohelish

        A snort came bubbling up, fingers fiddling with the camera lens before fixing it onto the device, a few sketches sprawled across the trunk floor. She had considered going in alone, local rumors and whispers spoke of its abandonment, some even speculated that ghosts were the reason for its poor predicament. It was practically falling to pieces, stones chipped away, aged statues no longer had detail and windows were weathered, what wood there was now splintered; it was a horror attraction. 

Although despite all the excitement this castle held, Margaret settled on some company, someone who knew the stories better than she did, and Hel seemed to know her way around.

       ❝ Bad rep, huh? They also say a whole family was murdered here. Think the killer is still roamin’ ‘round in there? ❞

    stories of her past spark remembrance of brenda’s own. visions of dusty basements and overcrowded rooms with loud music take her away from reality for a minute. the loud bass vibrating in her chest as she stands in the middle of a sweaty room having the time of her life. she was a handful, whether is be the bad attitude or the bad habits, sneaking out and talking back to anyone in a position of authority.  rebellion flowed alongside her blood.

       “ oh man. replace family parties with punk shows and you’ve got me at sixteen. i was a shitty teen. can’t say i’m that much better now, but i’m working on it. ”

    nostalgia aside, a smile finds residence on her face as she answers. this isn’t how she thought she’d be spending her evening, but she’s pleasantly surprised by the outcome of margaret’s confrontation.

   Those mistakes still vividly played in the mind, fingers sore from cords that took her to places farther than where she stood, beats that made life into a drug. The mention of rebellion on the edge of Brenda’s tongue made that smile grow, her head tilted backward to meet the wall and eyes grew distant with a sigh of reminiscence. Music she both played and chanted along still echoed over pub walls, despite the years that scribbled over youth.

❝ My god, the rock shows were blinding! The only thing worth the hangovers was the bloody tea at Bonnington’s. ❞

( Guys, it’s official, papers have been signed, adoption services have accepted. Margaret MOTHER OF THE GLADE. )

         note to self: have a better hiding place for beer in the future. she’ll have to have teresa remind her.

   brenda takes the can, popping the tab with her index finger and spraying her hand with small dots of foam. her heart has come back down to a regular level of beating after pumping wildly with anxiety. she’s had too many experiences where she hasn’t been given a second chance like this. brenda takes a seat opposite of her and has a sip, smirking as margaret speaks. there’s truth spoken in her words; that she’d be wasting her time trying to tell brenda off and she can’t help but laugh at the mention of her younger self.

                      “ that so? were you a troublemaker at my age? “

         Although her smile forms that of a somber one, there isn’t a twinge of regret in her blue eyes. The only thing that demanded to be felt was the joy of never a second thought, if she had the chance to change her past, she wouldn’t change a single second. Margaret was aware of tough loved and used the method herself once or twice on her own children, but always they would be given a chance she never got and supported every decision despite personal opinions. Perhaps that was a foolish way of parenting, but she preferred freedom over chains.

The laugh is mimicked with more baritone, taking a few more sips here and there. Relaxed against the wall and knees pointed to the ceiling.     

-- H E A D C A N O N

( Scott Richard Valor was Margaret’s only known biological sibling, adopted out alongside her just 3 years older than her. Although the parents had only wanted Margaret, the two were inseparable and it was either take both or leave them. When adopted out, the two were like glue no matter the situation. Scott was what she called her guardian. In the end, Scott was never what they called a rule-breaker or wild one as they did Margaret; though he was never scared to join in the fun every now and then, he didn’t go searching for it the way his sister did.

Scott was a painter- a mural painter, and worked outside of the home most of the time. He moved out by the time he turned 16, around the same year Margaret started drinking. With as much urgency as he could, Scott tried pulling Margaret out of the home and away from the mental abuse and into his own flat in Nottingham, UK, but failed. At 19, Scott finally came out to his friends and family to being homosexual; while his parents shunned him, Margaret had finally moved in with him to prove her support right around the same time she was pregnant with (Newt). With both his partner and sister, he moved to London for a job offer at a new Chapel. He took it without hesitation and got Margaret her own flat after his nephew’s birth.

    well fuck. she knows she’s not the greatest liar but her inebriated state must have made that really obvious. white teeth suck in a bitten bottom lip as she scrambles around in her foggy brain for a suitable answer that won’t land her in any more trouble. looking back, that was a really bad lie considering there’s a beer can sitting on the wall behind her. she tries to inconspicuously move her body to cover it, most likely failing like her other actions have done already this evening. brenda can see she’s not winning this one, so she admits her defeat.

           “drunk? mmm, no not really. tipsy maybe.                       just a couple beers.“

      her a mere three years earlier would have lied her ass off even more, probably insulted the poor woman’s mother and then laughed in her face. now, however she needs to think about her future, and getting caught drinking probably isn’t going to work in her favor.

                     “what’re you gonna do?”

     Pursed lips and slight tilt to the head speaks her approval of the answer she’s been given, suitable enough and in fact admired by Margaret. It was useless to banter and judge, it only encouraged rather than stopped children from doing those distasteful acts, sins as some would call it. Margaret wasn’t going to stand there and point out the beer can; she wasn’t going to deride actions, but instead moved to the beer case hidden under the bed and pulled out two beers. One was handed to Brenda and the other for herself, sitting across from the girl casually.

            ❝ You told me the truth, darling. With truth comes rewards. ❞ She takes a sip, smile played on thin pink lips as if a brother just returned home from war.

Fun fact: Margaret is afraid of frogs.