Fight From the Inside

13 | What's Going On?

Long time no see. More to come soon! 

Roger set the tiny tile down on the board, looking very proud of himself after he took a small swig of his drink.

"There. E-a-r. Ear."

"Seriously? That's the best you could do?" Brian said, tauntingly laughing at his friend's choice of words as he sipped his bottle of Guinness.

"Oi, shaddap, I've got nothing but vowels here! Let's see you do better, poodle head."

Brian shot a disproving look at Roger, who, seeing the look on the guitarists face, burst out laughing.

Brian smirked, playing the word 'recent' off of the 'r' Roger had played, a very smug look working its way across his face.

Meanwhile, Madeline, Stella, and Freddie were all in a deep conversation about the intricacies of the perfect platform boot, Freddie hilariously waving his hands about over Stella's thigh high velvet platforms.

Later that night, Freddie would certainly try them on.

And not only did he try them on, but he paraded them up and down the street, causing the errant groups of kids their age to either pick up their pace or stop and marvel themselves, grinning at Freddie's contagious enthusiasm.

By the time the evening had wrapped up, Stella was fast asleep next to Freddie on the floor and Roger was drunkenly begging a tired Madeline to stay.

"Really, I can't tonight, Rog", Madeline insisted, pleading with the drummer. "Some idiot in my group scheduled a study time at 8 in the morning. It's 3. I've really gotta get going-"

A lightbulb flicked on in Roger's head, practically illuminating his half-lidded blue eyes.

"What if... w-what if I stay with you tonight? Would that be okay?"

Madeline grinned. His drunken thoughtfulness was endearing and impossible to turn down.

"Alright, blondie." She hooked her arm around his, pulling him gently through the door. "Let's head out before we wake anyone."

"Pff, yeah, especially Brian. Stupid poodle-haired scrabble-winning guitar-playing wanker..."

--

"So you finally slept with him?"

Madeline glared at Stella over her steaming tea, ripping open sugar packets and pouring them into the cup.

"Stel-"

"What?! I knew you weren't gonna spill it out on your own accord. Sometimes I've gotta prod you."

Madeline wrinkled her nose, staring down at the tea in front of her.

"Yeah... I did. I feel kind of weird about it though because we haven't had the 'talk'-"

"Mads, he's clearly infatuated with you!"

"I know, I know, I just... I've heard about his reputation, you know? I trust him, but should I?"

"I don't see why not. He seems to be pretty genuine."

Madeline took a sip from her tea and sighed. "I suppose you're right. I'm not giving him the credit he deserves."

--

Madeline walked into the bar, black sequined dress hanging off her frame, a cigarette in between two fingers as she dodged clusters of people talking and laughing amongst themselves. She eventually made it to her familiar perch at the back of the bar, settling herself into her usual seat, nodding politely at the bartender.

"Vodka tonic, Madeline?"

"Yeah, thanks man."

She ashed her cigarette into the ashtray the bartender placed in front of her, looking around and over each shoulder. Where was he? He said to meet her here at ten...

The bartender placed the drink in front of her, the thick glass making a thud against the wooden bartop that could be felt over the thumping music. She sipped on the black straw, humming along softly to the sounds of T-Rex. Turning slightly on the stool, she elected to spend her time watching the throng of people dancing while waiting for Roger.

She took a puff of her cigarette, subconsciously ashing it into the ashtray before taking another sip from the black straw. She slowly let her worried thoughts of Roger's whereabouts turn to thoughts of stealing Marc Bolan's wardrobe and writing songs about sex too, since that seemed to be a good topic of the times. Plus, she smirked to herself, she had plenty of material to work with in that department since seeing Roger...

But did he think of her in the same way she thought of him? The seed of doubt had been planted despite Stella's reassurance, and the only way to ease her thoughts was to surely have the 'talk', as awkward and nerve-wracking as it would be. But how does one go about that? Surely not in a noisy bar...

Madeline felt stuck between a rock and a hard place.

After a few minutes of awkward conversation starters rolling around in her head accompanied by the idle tapping of her foot against one of the wrings in the barstool, eyes glazed over in thought, she returned back to her previous position. She toyed with the straw in her now mostly-ice drink, putting out the cigarette, then nearly jumped out of her seat.

"Hey." A familiar smoke-hazed voice spoke into her ear as a hand snaked up her side.

"Goddamn, Roger. You scared the shit out of me."

He chuckled deeply, mouth still next to her ear, causing a deep vibration down her neck and spine, all the way to her boots.

"I like to keep you on your toes." He smirked. Noticing the slightly absent look on her face, he frowned. "Whatcha thinking about?"

She turned to face him, alarmed at how much she adored the quizzical look on his face. Shit, he could read her way too well. She pecked him on the cheek and shook her head. "Nothing."

"That's not a 'nothing' look, Madeline, that's a something look."

She sighed, nervous eyes avoiding his gaze. "I can't tell you if it requires shouting over Get it On, Roger."

He smiled warmly, grabbing her hand. "Let's go."