Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Mj on Earth-138
Song: God Save the Queen by The Sex Pistols (1977)
"Don't be told what you want. Don't be told what you need. There's no future. No future..."
Maeve's softly taps her feet against her pillow, keeping in beat with the song as she sings quietly to herself. Her head of coppery red curls bob from side to side while she lightly nods her head to the music. She quickly readjust her right ear bud then turns to the next page in her magazine. Her dark hazel eyes quickly scans the page before jumping onto the adjacent one with a disinterested hum. On the glossy paper a lithe woman stands in one of those uncomfortable model poses, her jaw jutted towards the camera and her long legs in a wide stance. With a buzzcut, bold black eyeliner, and glossy neon blue lips, Maeve thinks she looks quite striking. She's wearing an oversized leather jacket layered in colorful vintage looking buttons, safety pins and shiny silver chains dangling off her shoulders, with nothing underneath but a tiny black thong and stilt like silver studded boots.
"Wish I had the confidence to pull that off..." Maeve sighs under he breath.
She lightly taps her finger against the edge of the page in deep thought, being careful not to crease it. If Eleanor sees so much as a tear she would go mental, Maeve thinks to herself. She gently turns to the next page and amps up the music on her i pod.
"God save the queen. 'Cause tourist are money..." She hums to herself.
Although reluctantly, Eleanor lets Maeve borrow her magazines or what her mum calls "juvenile rubbish". Her favorite is a small zine Eleanor orders from the states called Underground Conversations. They feature punk fashion editorials and funny mini comics, ranging from political cartoons to three panel gags. Her current obsession is a one off series called The Acid Fuckers. It's about a zombie, a vampire, and a ghost who are all in a punk rock band together in the ninth circle of hell, trying to claw their way out one hit song at a time. Something about the crude drawings and zany humor gets the occasional giggle out of her. A small smile pulls at the ends of Maeve's lips. Her mum would probably rather her read something by Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte or any other high brow self proclaimed literary "classics". Instead, she's reading some "juvenile rubbish" called the Acid Fuckers. Currently giggling at the Vampire named Aliester, sucking the blood from his human girlfriend's tampon. There's irony in there somewhere.
Suddenly a knock rapts from her door, followed by a brisk, "Maeve dear, I'm coming in."
Maeve can only quickly stuff the magazine under her covers before her mum swings the door open, barging into her room.
"Did you not hear me calling you from downstairs?" Her mum's hand is perched on her hips, their permanent resting place whenever she's miffed or running late. Which is probably both right now.
"Um..no?" Maeve responds sheepishly.
Her mum narrows her deep hickory eyes at her and marches over to her bed, quickly snatching up her i pod. She glances at the screen then purses her red lips. "No wonder you didn't hear me, you were listening to this crap again. "
Maeve rolls her eyes. "Mum please-"
"Don't mum please me. What you should be listening to is Rieding's Concerto Opus number thirty six for the recital you have next week. Remember?" Her voice is as thick and stern as it always is and Maeve can't help but let out a small sigh.
"Yes. I remember." She mutters.
Satisfied with her response her mum gently hands back her pink i pod. "Oh and dear you shouldn't be laying on your bed in those clothes, they'll wrinkle. I just got them delivered from the cleaners the other day. Up you go."
Maeve quickly stands up and smoothes out her navy blue satin dress, trying to get rid of any alleged "wrinkles" her mum might complain about later. "See. No more wrinkles." Maeve says gesturing to herself.
Her mum narrows her eyes, quickly glances over her before releasing a reluctant sigh. "Good. Now your father is putting on his tie but we're already running a couple minutes behind. I refuse to be late again for the Ashbury Foundation's Annual Banquet. It's not a good look dear."
Maeve only nods in response, remembering how embarrassed her mum was last year for arriving in the middle of the Mrs. Ashbury's "prestigious" commencement speech. Traffic was really bad that day and dad didn't know a better way to get to the venue. Maeve could feel her mum's frustration from the passenger seat and tried to drown it out with music. However she could still see the flickering glint of her mum nervously twisting her wedding ring, a biting habit Maeve doesn't know the origin of. Although it wasn't her fault, Maeve still felt at least a little bad, although missing part of Mrs. Ashbury's speech wasn't the worst thing in the world. She glances upwards to see her mum once again fiddling with her wedding ring, her tell-tale sign of nerves.
"Speaking of good looks, do I look alright in this? I'm not sure if this color is too much. Maybe I should have gone with the black dress..." Her mum mutters the last part more to herself.
Maeve quickly glances at her. She's wearing a form fitting shiny silver gown that looks radiant against her glossy chestnut skin. A white fur shawl is wrapped around her shoulders and her coarse curly black hair is pulled into a neat bun at the back of her head. With a light dusting of bronze makeup and the espresso bean freckles dotting her face, she looks as beautiful and put together as she always does. Or as her dad likes to call her, fit.
"You look nice, mum." Maeve says.
Her mum's shoulders drop a little, slight disappointment in the arch of her brow. "Just nice, dear?" She lightly waves Maeve off. "I'll have to ask your father instead."
As if on cue, her dad yells up from downstairs. "Honey! I might need some help!" His baritone voice booms, reverberating off of the large marble staircase.
"Coming!" Mum yells back before turning to me. "Come now dear. It's nearly time for us to go." With a quick turn on her vintage 1978 pointed white Prada heels, her mum immediately exits her room, leaving Maeve to collect her things.
She quickly grabs her silver clutch from the foot of her bed and stuffs her i pod and ear buds inside. I'll be definitely be needing them later, she thinks. She clumsily kicks on a small pair of black heels and shoves a pair of dangly gold treble clef earrings into her ears, almost dropping the little rubber backings. She swiftly moves over to her gray vanity and grabs a small tube of pink lip gloss. It must have been one of her older ones because the little cute cartoony faces across the bright pink strawberry label were scratched off. Even the lipgloss inside the tube seems to be separating, one side holding a thick red oil and the other a sticky glittery substance. Maeve doesn't have time to look for another one so she snatches the tube and untwists the cap. She swirls the applicator around inside the tube until the gloss resembles a shimmery pink substance similar to when she first brought it from Boots. Maeve slathers the sticky gloss on her lips, the flavor of artificial strawberries and probably red dye number six seeps into her mouth. How can something taste so good and so wrong at the same time?
Maeve looks up into the mirror, giving herself a quick glance over. Although not as glamorous as her mum she cleans up pretty well. She borrowed her mum's pearl headband to push her coppery red hair away from her face, making sure to leave some springy rivulets near her ears and forehead. With a light dusting of shimmery rose gold eyeshadow and similar cinnamon colored freckles smattering her face, she looks almost like her mum. Almost. The weird red hair was thanks to her dad, or his Irish heritage rather.
She heads towards her door and grabs a white fur shawl identical to her mums. While out on a business trip her dad stopped by a small boutique in Paris and thought it would be really cute if Maeve and her mum were twinsies. In truth the shawl was more of her mum's taste than hers. She still adjusts the soft fabric over her shoulders anyways, knowing her dad would get a kick out of it.
Maeve quickly exits her bedroom and heads downstairs to see her mum and dad by the front door, talking amongst themselves while she fixes his tie. She neatly twists the black fabric together, and lightly adjusts it against his neck. Satisfied with her work she places a small peck on his cheek.
"Thanks dear." Dad says, a small smile tugging at the ends of his lips.
She lightly pats his chest, a tiny smirk on her face. "Always a pleasure honey." Her mum says in that same coy tone she always uses whenever she teases dad. Her voice is a smidge lighter, as if she's one smile away from breaking out into full on infectious laughter. Maeve joins them at the door. Her dad turns towards her and tosses her one of his wide goofy smiles.
"Ready to go Eve?"
Maeve shrugs her shoulders, "I guess." She mutters.
Mum crosses her arms. "I guess? What is up with these curt answers. You spend too much time around that Eleanor girl. I swear she has no manners..." Her mum softly clicks her tongue with a disapproving shake of her head.
Ka-chink!
With a firm twist, her mum crisply unlocks the front door and heads outside, heels clicking impatiently against the pavement. Maeve gently rolls her eyes and goes to retrieve her i pod when her dad gently taps her on the shoulder. He bends down and gives her a knowing look, leaning in close to her ear.
"Don't worry I'll drive extra slow so that we can miss some of Mrs. Ashbury's commencement speech. Just don't tell mum." His voice is in a deep conspiratorial whisper.
Maeve lightly giggles. Knowing every year Mrs. Ashbury has a habit of making the commencement speech as long and as dreadful as possible. With her dramatic hand motions and gaudy bright blue eyeshadow she almost looks like a juggling clown. Maeve gives her dad a firm handshake and speaks in the same hushed tone.
"Ay aye captain." With a wink and a pat on the back the two both walk out into the cool night night air.
"Come on you two! We gotta get a move on!" Her mum shouts from the drive way, standing next to the Dad's glossy parked Porsche.
Maeve wraps her fur shawl tighter around her shoulders, although it doesn't stop the icy chill still biting at her legs. She walks over to the sleek black car and opens the backseat door, sliding inside. The immediate warmth of heat envelops her and she swiftly fastens her seat belt. She leans against the firm black cushions and takes in the fragrance of lemon cleaner and that weird new car smell. Her dad opens the passenger side door for her mum then quickly jogs around to the drivers side, harshly pulling the door open than plopping inside. He shoves the key into the ignition and with a crisp, turn and click, the engine groans to life. He smoothly pulls out of the driveway and onto the open road. Her dad goes to twist a small black knob on the center console, releasing a prickly static sound from the speakers. The low rumbly sound eventually clears to resemble the voice of a woman.
"Tonight, the notorious masked vigilante, Spider Punk as he's known online, has just made another appearance earlier this evening..."
Maeve quirks up in her seat. This must be the news station, she thinks. She leans forward to listen
"...He has recently captured three criminals who are allegedly linked back to the home invasion of Benjamin Wheatley, owner of the multimillion dollar meat processing company, Wheatley Naturals. Along with capturing the three criminals who stole three thousand dollars worth in valuables from the Wheatley estate back in September, Spider Punk has reportedly vandalized and destroyed three of Wheatley Natural's London factories..."
Maeve quirks her eyebrows up. If she can recall correctly, she's pretty sure that company was in the news for a massive recall of their products. Apparently their meat products tested positive for E coli, despite the president profusely denying it to every mainstream media outlet. Hmph! Good riddance.
"Mr. Wheatley's been reported saying in quote, 'The amount of money I lost from those petty thieves doesn't even compare to the amount I lost in revenue and stock from that bloody Spider Punk. Whoever he is, I'll sue him for the damages and-"
"Alright I think that's enough of that rubbish." Mum says, turning to one of her boring jazz stations.
"Mum, I was listening to that."
She can practically feel her mum roll her eyes. "Honestly Maeve, I don't understand your obsession with this Spider punk man or whatever he decides to call himself. He's a bad influence."
"He's not." Maeve mutters under her breath.
"There are those curt answers again. You'll listen to this but you won't listen to that podcast I sent you with Amninatta Forna on it. Now that's worth your time."
Maeve slumps back in her seat. "He's just... really cool." Unlike me. Maeve adds that last part in her head. Maybe if she were half as cool as spider punk, Eleanor wouldn't call her a posh priss all the time.
"He is pretty cool." Her dad chimes in, giving her a cheeky smile from the driver's mirror.
Her mum tosses him a disappointed glance. "Jeff love, please don't encourage her."
"Aww come on. It's all in good fun."
"Good fun? Did you see what he was in the news for last week? He's all over the internet and from what Ms. Brighton tells me the kids are treating him like he's some sort of hero. Maeve is seventeen, frankly she could do without such vulgar influence and..."
Maeve reaches into her clutch and pulls out her i pod, shoving her earbuds into her ears. Clicking a small button, the miniature pink i pod illuminates, casting a blue light on her face. She quickly thumbs through her endless amount of songs until she finally decides on one. The opening cords of an electric guitar whine soulfully and pierce through her ears. A silent sigh escapes Maeve's lips as she turns to look out the window. The busy streets of London slowly becoming a blur and the street lamps forming long yellow streaks across the glass like sheet music. Her parents' petty bickering fades away into the background and a roar of drums and screeching vocals takes its place. Maeve lets out a steady hum.
This is going to be a long night.
888
"And that is why here at the Ashbury Foundation, we strive to uphold ten important morals. Number one above all else is love. Without love how can we ensure our children have a brighter future or..."
Ms. Ashbury waddles about the stage in big dramatic motions, the bright pink plumes of her gown almost making her look like a flamingo doing a horrible job of balancing on one leg. A small sigh escapes Maeve lips. Welp, the good thing is that we made it here on time, the bad thing is that I have to sit through another one of Ms. Ashbury's self righteous bloody speeches, Maeve thinks to herself. She lazily glances around the massive venue. A large crystal chandelier dangles above their heads and round tables covered in pristine white clothes circle the marble floor. Long velvet curtains hang from impressive arched windows covering the walls along the perimeter of the venue. They all culminate into an impressive display of drapery in the center where a small black marble stage rests, with a dramatic Ms. Asbury perched atop it like a yapping bird.
Every year the Ashbury family donates a large sum of money to the Westimore Ladies' Prep School and their brother school, Westimore Gentlemen's Academy. They always throw an elaborate celebratory banquet and invite all the families, faculty and administration from both schools for the formal event. In her periphery, Maeve catches a pair of honey brown eyes staring at her. A couple of tables down, a girl with rich tan skin and long sleek black hair gives her a small wave and soft smile. Fatima. She is one of Maeve's nicer classmates. The rest of them, as Eleanor likes to label them, are sniffy pricks. Maeve sends a small wave back in return before Fatima's father taps her on the shoulder, stealing away her attention. She looks quite nice in that saree, Maeve thinks, eyeing the beautifully embroidered dark green fabric draped across her shoulder. She'll have to tell her that when she sees her later.
"Number Five is intelligence. We must fill our children's heads with the brightest voices and limit outside distractions. Social media is one of them and I'm sure you've all been seeing this Spider Punk delinquent going around..."
Ms. Ashbury continues on in the background but Maeve still can't will herself to listen. She glances at her mum who seems to be fully engrossed, hanging off every word. She shifts her head slightly to see her dad discreetly looking down at his lap. Although she can't see, judging from the reflection on his glasses, he seems to be playing Candy Crush on his phone. Maeve lightly scoffs. He better hope mum doesn't catch him. Suddenly, Maeve feels a small vibration against her thigh coming from her silver clutch. She undoes the dainty pearl clasp and pulls out her phone, making sure to keep it hidden under the table. I guess I have more in common with my dad than just red hair. The bright fluorescent screen sparks to life, casting a glow on her lap. The name Eleanor pops up in a small text message notification. Maeve swipes up to read.
Eleanor:
Meet me in the bathroom 😈
With rich hazel eyes, Maeve quickly looks around before typing back a quick thumbs up. She stuffs her phone back into her clutch and slowly pushes her chair back, being careful not to scrape it loudly against the floor. She smoothly slides out of her seat and gently pushes it back underneath the table. Before she can turn away and leave, her mum quickly grabs her wrist.
"Where are you going?" She asks, her voice just below a whisper.
"The washroom." Maeve says, gesturing towards the corridor at the back of the venue.
Her mum swiftly glances behind her before letting go. "Fine. But don't take too long."
"I won't" Maeve says softly before scurrying towards the long hallway. She enters the brightly lit corridor and pushes open a heavy oak door to her right, nudging up against the ornate silver handle. She walks into a wide room with glossy wooden bathroom stalls lining one side and marble sinks with hanging oval shaped mirrors lining the other. Miniature versions of the chandelier from the main room are hung across the ceiling in neat rows. Maeve notices Eleanor in the corner lounging atop the sink counter tops with her back against the wall.
Eleanor's angular upturned nose and sharp black brows were both pointed towards her phone, flicking the screen rapidly with stubby fingers dressed in bright red nail polish. A wrinkled black dress and oversized cream jumper pool around her shoulders. An amused look covers Maeve's face, knowing Eleanor's mum must have forced the rebellious girl in it to hide her tattoos. Pale blue eyes finally meet hers and a crooked smile spills across Eleanor's face.
"Mj! I was wondering how long you were gonna listen to Ms. Ashbury blabber on."
Maeve walks towards her then hops up next to Eleanor onto the sink counter. "Were you here this entire time?" She chuckles, leaning up against the mirror.
"Of course. I told my mum I had to use the bathroom forty minutes ago. Pretty sure she forgot I even asked. Anyway, I started getting bored so I thought you and I could have a bit of a chin wag." Eleanor pops a sticky bubble of her bright pink gum then slides it back into her mouth, chewing loudly.
"What's up with that?" Maeve gestures towards Eleanor's hair. A shiny synthetic looking wig with shoulder length brown strands sits lopsided on her head. It looks to be cut in one of those old fashioned styles from the fifties. The ones with blunt cut bangs and choppy curled ends.
Eleanor groans and snatches the wig off, tossing it onto the tile floor. She runs a hand through her hair, tousling around a wild neon pink pixie cut. "My step- dad went absolutely mental when he saw what I did to me hair. Said I looked like a street rat and made me put one of my mum's wings on. Said I would just embarrass him if I didn't"
"Harsh." Maeve says.
Eleanor gnaws on her gum even harder. "I know right! Sometimes I wish he would just piss off. He's bloody annoying when he really get's going."
Maeve glances down towards Eleanor's signature chunky leather boots. She can't help but smile. "And the boots?" She asks.
"I told him if he wanted me to wear the bloody wig then I wouldn't have to wear those heels he brought me last winter." She gives Maeve a mischievous smirk and pops another bubble.
Maeve lets out a an airy giggle, filling the bathroom with her delight. Eleanor was one of the only people who could make her feel this at ease. School, her parents, violin lessons and everything else could sometimes be just so bloody suffocating. Eleanor suddenly shoves her phone in Maeve's face, a picture of two vintage looking t-shirts on the screen.
"Which should I wear? My black 1978 Sex Pistols shirt or my 1980 Underground Wankers t shirt?"
Maeve quickly glances between the two, not really knowing which one is better or worse. "Um...maybe the right one?" Maeve says in more of a question than an answer.
Eleanor groans, taking her phone back. "I don't know why I asked. You only wear preppy button up blouses and knitted jumpers."
"That's not true." Maeve says, defensively. Well... maybe a little true, she silently admits to herself, a sheepish smirk playing on her face.
Eleanor gruffly chuckles, tapping her long fingernails against her phone screen. "It's fine. I'll just ask Santiago what he thinks."
A warm smile tugs at the ends of her lips when she mentions the name. Santiago is Eleanor's boyfriend, although Maeve has only meant him a couple of times. She knows he's apart of some band called, Sick Habits but, she's never heard them play. The only thing she remembers about him are his pointy leather shoes and the fact that he thinks Maeve is hilarious. Although she is certain it's more of a laughing at situation than with. Maeve is pretty sure to him, she's funny in the way that a baby is funny when they're trying to walk.
"Why do you need my opinion on t-shirts anyway?" Maeve asks.
Eleanor immediately quirks up and her cheeks swell scarlet with excitement. "Apparently there's going to be a rave at the Twilight. Santiago told me as soon as he found out. Sick Habits and a bunch of other local bands are playing there too. It's gonna be absolutely mental!"
The mention of the Twilight immediately peaks Maeve's interest. She has heard about places like the Twilight before, mostly from the magazines she borrow's from Eleanor. Secret underground rave spots. Legal or illegal. The Twilight used to be an old run down paper mill in east London but some teenagers turned it into one of those illustrious underground rave spots she's heard so much about. A place where music roars and screams, where sweaty bodies thrash and flow together, until the sun peeks through the sky. Hence the name, Twilight. Videos of it are practically non-existent, only word of mouth will clue you into its existence. Maeve has always wanted to go but the only word of mouth she would ever get such news from is Eleanor.
"I thought the Twilight was scheduled to be demolished?" Maeve asks.
"It is. So this is going to be the last rave it's ever going to have. Which means tomorrow night is going to be fucking amazing!" Eleanor loudly bangs her fist against the wall for emphasis, a large toothy grin on her face.
Maeve's shoulder's slump slightly. "Tomorrow? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Eleanor gives her an exasperated expression. "Are you serious Mj? I stopped telling you about these kinds of things because you'll say you'll go but then you never do. It's always my mum'll do this or mum'll do that." She switches into a mocking high pitched voice, putting her hands together as if she were a praying cherub.
Maeve lightly waves her off. "First of all I do not talk like that. And second of all I would have definitely gone if I knew it was the Twilight."
Eleanor lightly scoffs, staring at her in disbelief. "You must be pulling my leg. You think your mum's gonna let you go on a Monday night to a rave at an abandoned mill in east London?"
Maeve pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, knowing Eleanor is right. "Well it's true. She'll have my neck if she knew I was going. I just need to find a way to phrase it so that-"
"Mj. You and I both know your mum's never gonna say yes no matter how you phrase you. You just need to sneak out. Rebel a little. Stop being such a posh priss all the time."
Maeve rolls her eyes at the phrase, posh priss. She never liked it and Eleanor was hell bent on throwing it at her every chance she got. Whether it was about the way she dressed, the way she talked, or even the way she ate her food. According to Eleanor she was a posh priss.
Maeve crosses her arms against her chest. "How come I'm a posh priss if we go to the same school? In theory we're in the same tax bracket."
Popping another bubble with her gum, Eleanor says, "See but I'm different from you. I didn't grow up posh. Me mum married some minted bloke and that's why I'm here."
She hops off the counter and bends down to pick up her wig. From the other side of the door, an obligatory round of applause rings out. Signaling the end of their conversation. Maeve lightly sighs to herself and slides off the small ledge, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. She looks up to see Eleanor fixing her wig in the mirror, the patchy part still lopsided on her head. She meets Maeve's eyes through the mirror and gives her an amused smirk.
"Welp since the speech is well and done we should probably leave. My mum is definitely suspicious by now and your mum is...well...you already know."
Maeve leans her head back with a groan, her copper curls spilling over her shoulders. She already knew it's been well past the reasonable time for her to have taken a piss and washed her hands.
"I know. I know." Maeve says.
The two girls exit the washroom and walk out the corridor. The whole room seems to be buzzing now with parents mingling with each other and cliques of students giggling in the corner. The servers, dressed in black suits with old fashioned tail coats walk around with silver trays balanced on gloved hands, serving glasses full of wine and sparkling cider.
"There you are Maeve!"
Maeve turns around to see Fatima heading in their direction, her shimmery saree swishing as she walks. Fatima's kind smile immediately sours when she glances to the right of her, casting a miffed glance at Eleanor. Returning a sarcastic smirk, Eleanor waves back in return.
"Hey Fa-ti-ma." She says, stressing every syllable in her name between loud chews of gum.
Fatima rolls her, lightly tossing her glossy black hair over her shoulder. "I wasn't talking to you." She says before turning to Maeve, the smile returning to her face. "Maeve your mum's looking for you. She said you disappeared earlier."
Maeve slowly nods her head, imagining that narrow eyed pointed look she'll be confronted with later. "I was using the washroom." She says.
Fatima tosses a flippant glance at Eleanor who seems to be chewing her gum louder, popping obnoxious bubbles in Fatima's face. "So you were talking to Eleanor." She says curtly in more of a statement than a question.
Eleanor lazily shrugs her shoulders. "It's not like Mrs. Ashbury doesn't say the same thing every year."
Fatima lightly waves her away. "Your breath reeks of smoke." she quips, lips upturned in disgusts.
"That's what the gums for." Eleanor says, pointing to her mouth still gnawing on what Maeve has to assume by now is a flavorless rock hard rubbery mound.
Fatima gruffly scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "Its not like it's covering anything up. Just like your wig."
Maeve looks to see small strands of Eleanor's bright pink hair poking out from underneath the front. Eleanor quickly shoves her wig back into place and rolls her eyes.
"Whatever." She says. Eleanor then turns to Maeve and gives her a knowing smile. "I'm gonna go find my mum but if you change your mind about Twilight let me know. See ya Mj!" With a light punch to Maeve's arm, Eleanor turns on her heel and swiftly leaves, becoming swallowed up by the crowd.
Maeve lets out a small, "See ya..."
Fatima rolls her eyes. "Honestly, why do you hang around her? She's so annoying. And that nickname she always calls you too." Maeve turns around to see Fatima with a scowl on her face, shaking her head disapprovingly.
Maeve shrugs her shoulders. "I think Mj is pretty cool." Way cooler than Maeve.
Fatima purses her lips, releasing a small sigh. "If you say so." She then softens her face, giving Maeve another one of her beauty pageant winning grins. "I'm gonna go use the washroom, but I'll see you tomorrow morning, k."
"Yeah. See you tomorrow." Maeve says, tossing her a small wave before walking into the crowd. Maeve spots her parents almost immediately, her mum radiating like a diamond in her silver dress. She slowly walks towards them, dragging her feet against the floor. She knows she's gonna get an ear full as soon as her mum catches sight of her. Despite her impending doom. There's only one thing on Maeve's mind.
I gotta figure out a way to go to Twilight tomorrow.