Chapter Text
Chapter 7: Twilight
Eleanor pushes herself through the dense crowd until the two arrive at a dodgy makeshift stage in the center of the warehouse. A couple of old wooden crates pushed together and stacked on top of each other are all the musicians need to make their voices heard amongst the rambunctious rumble of adolescence and smoke.
“It’s not a fetish! I’m just stating facts.” From behind a set of cherry red drums, Santiago quickly teeters back and forth on a rusty metal stool. He shoves one of his drumsticks towards Lee who is nonchalantly adjusting the knobs on her guitar, barely batting a lash in his direction.
She sucks her teeth and calmly waves him off. “Sandy if that’s what you’re into then so be it. If you like getting your dick smashed by random strangers then go forth mate.”
Thump! “Shit. My bad.”
Off to the side, Fish lets out a few amused snickers as he picks up the massive black speakers he just knocked over. With a makeshift strap made out of worn bandannas and shoe strings, Fish’s green bass is carelessly slung over his shoulder, ready to riff.
“Be a bit more careful, will ya’. Those are my brother’s mates’.” Santiago tosses him a quick glare before impatiently pulling his attention back to Lee. “And first, stop calling me Sandy. Second, if Eleanor does it than it’s fine but–”
“I have apprehended the missing person!” Eleanor boisterously announces as she whips a teasing slap across Maeve’s shoulder. A friendly assault.
Lee spares Maeve a brief look and greets her with an unenthusiastic, “Hey.”
Maeve can only give her a polite smile before Santiago jumps out of his seat. “Mj, I thought you ran off with all my drinks.” He quips in a half hearted joke, smoothly twirling his drumsticks from one hand to the other. “I’ve got some good pints in there for later.”
“So I’ve been told.” She flicks Eleanor a humorous glance when Fish abruptly launches himself off the ground.
He excitedly bounds towards Maeve with his signature gap toothed smile wide and sloppy across his face. “Oh! Thanks Madison! I was looking for that!” He quickly snatches the pile of black cords from atop the cooler and starts unwinding them. Maeve quirks her eyebrows. Madison?
“Mate, that’s not her name.” Lee corrects.
“Pretty far from it actually.” Santiago adds.
Fish roughly plugs the cords into the speakers by color, calmly muttering “Red, blueberry, yellow”, before innocently flopping his head to the side. “But, it started with an M right?”
“I mean that’s true…” Maeve humorously shrugs her shoulders, a soft smile on her lips. It’s not often people get her name wrong but Maeve just can't bring herself to get mad at him. David Attenborough never got mad at Gogo for stealing his papayas. That's kind of the same thing.
“I swear it’s the brownies talking. Look Mj, that's as good as you’re gonna get from him.” Santiago curtly interjects, immediately waving them off with a flippant glance. “Anyway like I was saying, moshing is so romantic. Like romantic as fuck.” He admits, sending Eleanor a flirtatious smirk.
Readjusting the microphone, Lee rolls her eyes. “And like I said, if you're a masochist, then sure. Because most guys who mosh have gotten their dicks smashed at least once.”
Boldly flicking his middle finger towards her, Santiago sneers, “Fuck off.”
“Childish.” Lee sighs, returning a soaring little birdie of her own accented with a sharp black acrylic.
Ignoring her, Santiago eagerly continues. “Me and Ellie met because of moshing. She punched me clean in the face but she hit me so bloody hard I thought she was some bloke picking a fight. Got a pretty minging black eye but I also got a lush girlfriend so I’d do it again, one hundred percent.”
“Oh yeah I remember that.” Eleanor larks, walking towards him. She leans over Santigo’s shoulder and gives him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “My knuckles were bruised for like two weeks. Felt really bad afterwards though.”
Santiago rolls his eyes, a skeptical quirk in his brow. “Sure you did.”
“I really did, I promise.” She giggles.
“Did the guilt come before or after you laughed in my face when I was laying there half dead?”
“Well if you were dead, you’d be the hottest corpse I’ve ever seen…”
The two fall into their usual flirtatious banter. She quietly hums to herself, envisioning the mosh pits she’s seen online. A crowd full of people thrashing and twisting their bodies around to one unifying tune. One unifying body. They always seemed like fun. “I’ve never moshed before.” Maeve muses aloud. “But I kind of want to try it out.”
Eleanor quickly shakes her head. “Maybe you should sit that one out Mj.”
Maeve tilts her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
With a heavy groan, Lee slings her guitar strap over her head then tosses Maeve a lazy look. “I agree. You should probably hang at the back. You’re a bit….” Lee cuts her eyes at Maeve then tosses Eleanor a gentle sideways glance. She rolls her eyes and softly clicks her tongue, mulling over the words in her mouth before eventually letting out a reluctant sigh. She turns a small knob on her guitar and casts Maeve a pointed look, casually shrugging her shoulders.
“Delicate .”
“Delicate? ” Maeve frowns, turning her head towards Eleanor.
Eleanor gives her a sheepish smile, fiddling with the collar of Santiago’s leather jacket. “Well we just wouldn’t want your hair to get frazzled…” She looks away and awkwardly clears her throat. “Or your jaw to get broken.” She mutters that last part in a hushed tone under her breath.
Maeve frowns. “What?”
“Well isn’t time for us groupies to get going? You guys look like you’ve finished setting up.” Eleanor cutely jostles Santiago’s shoulders and gives him one last kiss on the cheek before making her way over to Maeve. She puts a firm's hand on her back and begins ushering her towards the crowd but before she can Maeve abruptly stops.
"Wait, I have something for everyone.”
Maeve digs into her purse until her fingers graze over a smooth waxy surface. Just what I was looking for. Smiling to herself, she pulls out Mr. Owen’s bag of suckie sweets. She doesn’t know why she decided to pack them up earlier but, purse candy is always the best kind of candy. Especially before a recital or an underground rave in this case. She gestures the small bag towards the group in an enticing little dance.
“You guys want some ‘good luck’ candy? Or I guess I should call it ‘break a leg candy’. You get the point.” She offers a kind smile.
Eleanor snorts, letting out a loud guffaw. “What are you? My Nan?”
Rolling her eyes Maeve ignores her, turning her gaze towards Lee who casually waves her off. “No thanks. I’m not big on sweets.” She says politely.
Maeve then shifts towards Santiago who gives her a contrite smile.“Can’t have any.” He sheepishly points to the shiny metal cage around his crooked smile. “Braces.”
“Braces.” She repeats in the same sullen voice.
Finally, Maeve offers her candy to Fish who immediately shoves his hand into the tiny wax bag. “Do you mind if I take all the blue raspberry ones? Those are the best kind.”
Although before she can even answer, Fish is already sectioning off the sticky blue candy into the palm of his hand. Maeve simply shrugs.
Welp, let the show begin I guess.
888
“Are you pillocks ready to blow the fucking roof!”
Maeve and Eleanor stand within the eye of the storm amongst the crowd of excited teens. Close enough to the back to not be in moshing territory but not so far enough away from the front to not at least see the top of Lee’s bright red hair. Judging from the jittery hum and rumble in the air, Maeve already knows the crowd is about to erupt into absolute pandemonium as soon as the first riff on Lee’s guitar flies through the air. Everyone cheers, screaming loudly and stomping their feet. And to her surprise, Maeve is blowing her lungs out along with them, the shared excitement in the room slowly taking over her body. She feels tingly all over.
Am. So. Ready! The moment is finally here. The moment to rock!
Lee smiles and lightly strums her guitar, riling up the crowd even more. “We’re Sick Habits so scream as loud as you can because tonight we’re gonna make hate to you!”
The crowd falls into an uproar, throwing empty cans on stage and screaming until their necks are red and throats are bruised. Maeve can feel the anticipation in the room, palpable against her skin. Lee quickly turns around and gives Santigo a nod. He slams his drumsticks in a fiery surge against the cymbals and smooth batter heads. Like an ignited crack whip, Lee twists her body around in a rage until she opens her mouth to sing.
“I’ll make hate to you in the midnight hour! With tangled sheets and anger's power! No more love, just a twisted game! Let’s ignite the fire, feed the flames!”
She looks even cooler on stage. Lee’s bright red locs swing around her ankles like a fiery tornado. Her voice is powerful and robust, belting forth the catchy lyrics in a melodic tune. Santiago is a beast on the drums, slamming against them in a passionate fury. With the same sweet smile on his face, Fish violently strums the bass with bright tenacity and gumption. Slamming the soles of his converses against the stage in beat with the music.
Thump! Lee beats her heavy black Demonias against the stage.
Crash! Santiago rages against the drums and hurtles into the golden cymbals.
Slam! Fish excitedly jumps around the crates, throwing his russet curls into a whirlwind behind him.
Maeve lightly bops her head and swings her shoulders. Rocking her hips and shaking her butt. Turning her body any which way to move along to the addictive beat. Sick Habits are amazing! I wish I would have seen them play sooner. Everyone else around her seems to think so too as they dance and clap along to the song. Eleanor excitedly turns towards her with wide eyes and red hot cheeks.
“Doesn’t Santiago look so hot when he plays?” She loudly gushes, quickly turning back around before Maeve can respond. Eleanor coos and shouts from the audience, passionately fawning over her boyfriend and riling herself up into a craze. Maeve is pretty sure he can’t hear her, but Eleanor doesn’t seem to care. She’s so supportive . Maeve thinks back to a poll she read in one of those cheesy teen magazines, the ones with the glossy bubblegum pink covers and a deceptively young looking thirty somethings smiling on the front. She remembers reading an issue that had one of those cheesy little surveys on which band member archetypes teen girl’s find the most attractive. The guitarist, the lead singer, the drummer or the bassist. Maeve glances back towards Eleanor and chuckles. I guess every teen girl does wanna get with the drummer. Or was the guitarist? I can’t remember.
After three more songs, Sick Habits’ set is over and a few more bands take the stage after that, all bringing the house down. A band called The Disorderlies are finishing up their set. The raven haired guitarist strums his last notes and everyone erupts into thunderous applause. The crowd roars as they exit the stage, stomping their feet in a youthful vigour. Maeve’s having the time of her life. Her underarms are definitely more than a little sweaty, her jumper is now messily wrapped around her waist, and she knows her hair is going mad from all the humidity. My curls look so sad right now. She knows she looks disheveled but then again so did everyone else. All under the same humid funk that’s been permeating the air since she’s arrived. An odorous smell dense in teenage sweat, worn denim and, tarte breath. A funk wrought with music, dancing, and rebellion.
She quietly looks around, waiting to see a head of hot pink hair cutting towards her. Everyone had left not long ago because Fish was feeling a little sick. Eleanor was here with her but after seeing Maeve’s burning red palms she left to get her another Fruuti seltzer from the cooler. I can taste that vanilla blueberry already.
As the next band starts to take the stage, the crowd is already going mad and practically foaming at the mouth. They must be popular, Maeve thinks as she curiously eyes the stage, immediately recognizing them as the three friends she saw talking earlier in the night. The purple haired girl is excitedly bouncing about the stage, riling up the crowd as she slams her drumstick together. The large one and the lanky boy with the blonde hair quietly ignore her while they plug their instruments into the large black speakers. The energy in the room seems to be rising until the boy from earlier causally strides on stage with his glossy red guitar slung over his shoulder. The boy with the Charcoal eyes. Being a great deal taller than the last performer, he carefully readjusts the height of the microphone and swivels it upwards.
Now that he’s up on stage, Maeve can get a really good look at him. He’s tall and lanky with a tight muscular physique running across his limbs. Her eyes flick upwards towards his hair, thick and tightly coiled around each other in rich stalks. Wicks maybe? Her nan has locs but hers are more uniform and tight, typically styled into her typical neatly placed woven updos. However, his lacks any sort of consistency. They are wild and untamed, growing from the roots and defiantly reaching out towards the sky .
A loose cropped black tank top hangs from his shoulders and a sleeveless leather jacket is bulky against his lithe frame. He shifts to pick up a thick black aux cord and jams it into the side of his guitar, but Maeve can’t help but get drawn back to that haut expression marked all over his face. Arrogance walks a thin line with confidence. And trouble walks a thin line with adventure. The boy with the charcoal eyes seems like he dances across these junctures, never afraid of slipping or falling, only moving with an undeniable grace. That is the face of chaos and chaos is really really handsome.
Maeve’s cheeks heat up and she quickly averts her eyes, letting her mind wander back to that magazine poll again. The bassist, the guitarist, the drummer, or the singer? Sparing another glance at the boy, a faint blush caresses her cheeks. Yeah, it was definitely the guitarist.
“Fish is fine. I mean he’s throwing his guts up, but fine nonetheless. Lee and Santiago’s dealing with it.”
Eleanor rejoins her and shoves her phone back in her pocket. She cracks open her seltzer before kindly handing it to her. “Fish is one of the most extreme lightweights I know. Mate barely had two pints and he’s already sloshed.” Eleanor stands close, touching Maeve’s shoulder and talking loudly over the rumble and chatter of the crowd. Taking a cooling sip of her Fruutie , Maeve only hums in response, her eyes still glued to the stage. I wonder what school he goes to , she silently muses.
Eleanor quietly follows her gaze and purses her lips, a small smirk pulling them taut. Nudging her arm, she says, “Isn’t that the bloke I saw you with earlier?”
“What?” Maeve quickly snaps her head towards her friend's prying eyes.
Eleanor gives Maeve a skeptical quirk of her brows, lips pulled into a puckery pink sneer. “When I was looking for you earlier, I saw you talking to that bloke.” She flippantly gestures towards the boy then slings her arm over Maeve's shoulder, bringing their faces even closer together. A slithering hum escapes Eleanors lips, clicking her tongue in a cheery chime. “You two seemed pretty friendly.”
Chuckling, Maeve gently pushes her away. “We weren’t friendly. I just kind of tripped and fell on him. Trust me it was awkward.” She sheepishly shrugs her shoulders, fiddling with the small metal tab on her seltzer can.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Eleanor waves her off, clicking her nails together in disbelief, glossy and fiercely scarlet. A sweet smirk curls the ends of her mouth and tickles her eyebrows, teasing words hot on the tip of her tongue. Eleanor bumps Maeve’s hip. “Still doesn’t change the fact you think he’s fit.”
“What?” Maeve quickly shakes her head, feeling her freckles start to tingle against hot cheeks once again.“I didn’t say that.” She fires back defensively.
“You didn’t have to. And who could blame you? He’s real nice to look at.” Eleanor cuts her eyes towards the boy still tuning his guitar on stage. Even amongst the thick crowd, the girls being imprisoned by bulky shoulders and jaunty laughter, Eleanor holds him firm under her gaze.
“Please stop.” Maeve whines. She instinctively covers her cheeks despite knowing her blush is hardly visible even in the dimly lit space.
Eleanor brings her hands towards her temples, two fingers pressed firmly against either side of her head. She narrows her eyes until she’s practically squinting at the boy. With her intense stare, Maeve wouldn’t be surprised if he could feel a cold chill run up his spine.
“And stop looking at him so hard. It’s weird.” She playfully waves her hands in front of Eleanor’s face.
“Maybe, if I stare at him long enough, I can will him look in this direction.”
“You’re talking about telepathy?”
“Exactly! See you, just read my mind.” Eleanor chuckles and flippantly shrugs her shoulders, putting her hands up in surrender. “What? I’m just havin’ a laugh. Besides, it beats your usual type.”
Maeve crosses her arms. “My usual type?” She questions.
“Moist looking blokes with sweaty hands and chapped lips.” Eleanor responds matter-o-factly.
Maeve can’t hold back the visceral guffaw flying from her mouth. She cracks a large knowing smile. “Are you talking about Reggie from primary school?”
“You mean Reggie the Veggie? He was always so bloody weird and he dyed his hair with that green marker that one time. Practically made him look like a piece of broccoli.” Eleanour purses her lips. “I never understood why you had a crush on him.”
Maeve shakes her head “I was ten Eleanor.”
“Still .”
“He was nice.”
“Still. ”
Softly shaking her head, laughter falls from Maeve’s lips. “You’re impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible.” She giggles, pulling out her phone and quickly tapping the screen.“Anyway, I’m gonna text Santiago to tell him Dejected Choices are about to perform.”
Maeve’s head snaps back to the stage with large clueless eyes. “ They’re Dejected Choices?” She had thought so earlier but the thought quickly slipped her mind and she didn’t have time to think about it.
“Yup, they’re the ones Santiago’s always bitching about.” Eleanor rolls her eyes then shoves her phone back into her pocket, casting Meave a knowing glance. “And the bloke who's caught your eye is definitely their replacement guitarist. Let’s see if he’s any good.” She gestures her hand towards the boy calmly tightening the strings on his cherry red guitar.
Maeve only hums in response. She doesn’t know what it is but she has no doubt the boy can play. Like really play and she’s sure the rest of the crowd knows it too. Everyone seems to be waiting in anxious chatter and bated breaths. The way his fingers itch towards the strings is almost as powerful as that hungry look in his eyes. The type of hunger Maeve feels before a recital. A craving ravenous hunger than can only be sated with a roaring sound full of soul, full of passion, and full of rage. He’s hungry, starving, and so are we. Maeve can feel herself getting giddy. I’m in for one hell of a show.
The boy with the charcoal eyes is about to bring the house down.