SO COME ON LET'S FORGET THE EMOTION TIE THE BLINKERS OH, HOLD BOTH HANDS RIGHT OVER MY EYES DEAFEN ME WITH MUSIC 'TILL WE'RE LOST IN THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT AND I MOVE AND YOU HELP ME KEEP THESE HOURS ALIVE HELP ME CHASE THOSE SECONDS I JUST KEEP TALKING ABOUT IT BUT I'LL DO NOTHING ABOUT IT TELL ME DID YOU SEE THE NEWS LAST NIGHT ?
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vices and virtues could get you far and mickey had always preferred the former. she found them in cigarettes and alcohol, in late nights and bright lights. performing was its own kind of evil, too, she had discovered. her pulse would race and she found that she thrived on the attention -- which was maybe because of the painful lack of attention she received as a child, but she didn’t dwell -- and there was nothing she loved more.
she performed whenever she could. at the moment, she was in between bands -- she knew she wasn’t easy to work with, too headstrong and too obsessive -- but she played at open mic sessions whenever she could. it wasn’t what she preferred but it was something, and that was what really counted.
coming down off the small stage the coffee shop had set up in the back, she nodded her head in thanks towards the small smattering of applause. she could only dream of the future where she would be on stage in front of stadiums of people; the applause would be deafening, she knew it. but she could settle for a meager reception and free coffee for now. she had claimed a table before playing, off to the side, and she had set her things on it. there was a mug of coffee beside her computer, her guitar was in its case sitting across from her, and sheets of music and lyrics were spread out over the rest of the table. mickey thought she’d probably be there until the café closed.
every time the bell of the door rang, her eyes shot up. there were more and more people filling up the small shop, and slowly but surely all the seats filled up. she didn’t mind the busyness, she would have rathered it be busy when she was playing, but the noise of everyone around her didn’t bother her.
“ if anyone wants to sit down, i’ll move my guitar. i can’t spare any table space for you, though,” mickey spoke, not directing it towards anyone in particular. her face didn’t wear a kind expression but she moved her guitar so it leaned against the wall beside her, pushing the now-empty seat out with her foot.
isa would like to say she didn’t mind that practise or classes often ran late, that it was all worth it in the end. but really, coming home so late that she had to hurry to go grocery shopping because otherwise the store would be closed and she’d have no food.. she wished that was different, amongst other things.
so here she was, her cart filled with groceries for the next few days. the only perk to shopping at these hours was that it wasn’t super busy. after such a full day she was too exhausted for small talk with neighbours. or to deal with people snatching the last item of something she was just about to grab. “excuse you?” she protested, turning around to face the other person. “not to be like that, but i call dibs.”
takeaway containers filled mickey’s fridge most of the time, an assortment of nearly-empty condiment jars and half-drunk coffees surrounding them. she rarely ate at home, throwing leftovers into her fridge when she came back after a late night, and she thought she had only turned the range once when she needed to light a cigarette and her lighter was in the other room. her flat only served as a place to sleep anyway. she didn’t spend much time there. she was forever busy, trying to find a place to play a show or practicing. she had been told she had a one-track mind from when she was young. it seemed like that wouldn’t be changing any time soon.
still, if there was one thing that wasn’t conducive to takeout and leftovers, it was ice cream, and late night practices always left her with an aching for something sweet. there was a grocery store around the corner from her flat, and she could count the number of times she had been there on one hand, but it was convenient and she couldn’t deny her appreciation of that. she had reached into the freezer, fingers ghosting over the fronts of pints until she wrapped them around the last container of butter pecan.
mickey froze hearing the voice beside her and she straightened her shoulders before turning towards the girl with a narrowed gaze. saying, “ you can’t call dibs when i’ve already got it in my hands -- that’s just not how it works. ” she glanced down at the pint and then back towards the freezer. “ there are plenty of other flavors for you to choose from, but this is mine. sorry. ” the last word burned on her tongue, no real sympathy behind it at all.
*vine vc* what’s up, i’m bex, i’m twenty, and i never f*ckin’ learned how to read. my pronouns are they/them + i’m in the est timezone. yeet. if you like this, i’ll come slide into your dms to talk about plotting !!
“ ━━ ◤ an introduction ; ◢
natalia dyer. cis female. she/her. — did you see { micaela rego }, i haven’t seen the { twenty-three } year old in a while! you know, they’re a { musician }, and have been living in jersey city for { seven months }. some say they're { corybantic & brassy }, but i think they're { witty & passionate }. regardless, i’m glad { mickey } is here.
“ ━━ ◤ we’re miles from way back when ; a history ◢
micaela jane rego was born on february 13th, 1995, to a family that was already bursting at the seams. with four children already, the rego family was cutting all the corners they could by the time mickey was born. james rego worked two jobs and his wife, sophia, worked another. there was no money to spend on her, and they couldn’t afford the time to raise her either.
their little home outside of london was always busy. her siblings were always in and out, friends in tow, and her parents had their extended family over consistently. while it would be ideal to say she could remember being raised in the arms of her mother and father, that was never the case. she was passed off to whoever was available -- from the arms of her siblings to aunts and uncles to neighbors. her brother, donnie, saw her take her first steps. old ms. garrissey from across the way heard her say her first words (it was ‘cat’, if you’re curious).
her childhood was filled with hand-me-downs and pass-alongs. her wardrobe was a mish-mash of what her older siblings didn’t want and what fit her. she wore jumpers some days, switching to cuffed shorts and shirts with dinosaurs the next -- it didn’t matter. they couldn’t afford anything else. her favorite toy was a train set with some of the tracks missing. she would fill the gap with mock-ups made from popsicle sticks and paper.
she was ten when her eldest brother, donnie, got a guitar for christmas. it was used, purchased from a neighbor who felt bad for the family, but he was seventeen and thought it was the coolest thing ever. he wanted one for so long, had begged and had pleaded, claiming something along the lines that it would make him a better person -- her sister, heather, told her that he just wanted to get girls -- and then he got it. mickey had seen the instrument and for the first time had felt true jealousy.
of course, for the first few months he had it, she couldn’t touch it. it was his and he wasn’t about to let his brat of a little sister break his things. while offended, she stayed away. that is, she did until he got bored of it. come the summer, it lay in his room, nothing more than an oversized paperweight. she snuck in one day, plucking at the strings weakly. she had to have it.
it became obvious that her brother no longer cared for it and he gave her an absent wave when she asked if she could have it. it was nearly bigger than she was but she looked at it with the reverence it deserved. while her brother only ever learned to play a few songs from memory, she went to check out books from the library. she learned the chords and where to put her fingers on the frets.
like always, a part of her was worried she was copying something from someone else in her life, but this felt real. she wasn’t grasping at becoming someone else, not this time. this was hers and hers alone. her soul and heart belonged to playing. she took music classes when they were offered at her school, toting along her guitar on the busses and her walk. there were times where she offered to help clean up the music room after class just to get extra time to practice.
once she was old enough to work, she found herself with a part time job and less time to play. it was agony. she never liked lessons at school and working just seemed dull and monotonous. neither seemed like they would have any impact on her future, not when her guitar was the only thing that really mattered to her anyways. she never stuck around jobs a lot. she’d skip shifts to play a gig, she’d roll in late, make-up smudged and still high from the adrenaline that only music could bring her.
the time came that she finished school, and she was struck with the notion that all she had was her music. nothing else mattered, nothing else could -- but that was fine. she busked on city streets, in the tube station. anything to just play, even if it didn’t really matter.
she moved to the states after she finished school. nothing was working out. she didn’t get along with the people she was in a band with -- they had different goals, wanted different things. she needed a change, so she left. jersey isn’t what she wants, but there’s a decent pop punk music scene. she’s thriving. mostly.
“ ━━ ◤ i can see a change in you ; the personality ◢
doe-eyed with a vacant stare, mickey has always been seen as unassuming at first glance. when she was younger, her siblings and family spoke over her, stronger and wiser and simply bigger presences. but once she was old enough to go out on her own, once she wandered the streets with the stars and streetlights lighting the way, it was clear she was just as bold as the rest of them -- it just took a little more coaxing, a little more time, to see it in her.
but she’s passionate and wild like the rest of the lot. everything she does, rather everything she cares about, her whole heart is into -- every fiber of her being aches and there’s never doubting that. what’s the use of doing something if you only plan to do it with half-effort? she could never see the point. if she was going to fuck up, she wouldn’t have any reservations about it. it was all or nothing, and it always had been wildness became her. frenzied behaviour suited her.
while she was still in school, it was more likely to see her out than ever studying. whether or not she was playing a show, she could be found at house parties and smaller shows more often than not. she craved playing, but sometimes it was enough just to hear the music. she’d drink and enjoy herself and just get lost in the mood of the evening. it was her element.
where with music she throws her whole self into, nothing else measures up. she might argue with it, but she’s flaky. she’ll show up late or forget, and her apologies are only ever half-hearted. it’s never malicious, not really, but it should be known by now what mickey cares about. if you aren’t to do with music or a guitar -- only expect fifty percent of her. mind, body, soul -- nothing else matters.
“ ━━ ◤ show me distraction even for just one night ; extra, extra ◢
aesthetic: mirrored sunglasses. never smiling for the camera. calloused fingers and long nails. doc martens with scratches colored in with sharpie. driving down the highway with the headlights off. a laugh, loud and undampened. impatient clicks of her tongue. distressed tee shirts. chipped nails painted red. a collection of guitars she’ll never play. rings on every finger. the smell of bleach and hair dye.
headcanon #1: mickey was in a handful of bands within her final few years of schools, but none of them were ever for her. either they wanted something more from her -- friendship or whatever -- or their level of passion didn’t measure up to hers. it was hard and more frustrating than she would have cared for.
headcanon #2: her family doesn’t get the music thing. they don’t think it will last long for her and have always criticized her for not doing something more practical. they insisted she knew what it was like to struggle, that she should have wanted to break free of the constraint of not having money, but she always spat back that they never understood what it was like to have passion. they settled for something less, and it had never gotten them anywhere anyways. now they only call on holidays. sometimes she answers.
headcanon #3: if she sees a guitar that’s interesting, with a pretty design or interesting things written or drawn on it, she buys it. it’s the one thing she splurges on. most of them just go into storage, but a few she displays at her flat. one of the guitars there is actually the first one she ever got -- the one she stole from donnie -- and it’s old and broken but it’s the one that she’s most fond of.
quick facts: no one calls her micaela without her getting more upset than reasonable. the first song she learned to play was eleanor rigby by the beatles. she can play bass but she doesn’t prefer it. she talks to her brother more than anyone else. her phone ringtone is some fall out boy song she loved three years ago and never bothered to change. her go-to snack is chips and vinegar. she’s allergic to dogs. her favorite color is cornflower blue but she tells people it’s grey.
“ ━━ ◤ potential plot ideas ; ◢
fuck-up friends: give me someone mickey can make decisions around without facing judgement. the reverse stand true, too. they stay out too late, do stupid shit -- but they look out for each other. they tease with love.
flatmates: mickey is probably... the worst roommate. she comes and goes at all hours. she plays music at three in the morning only to have the neighbors pound on the wall. but she’ll never eat the food that’s in the fridge and will always be up for a movie night or a heart-to-heart. of course, the latter will be riddled with insensitive sidenotes and afterthoughts -- but at least she’s listening.
missed chances: give me almosts. almost friends, almost loves. maybe they hit it off but never followed through. now it’s awkward and there’s something wistful about when they see each other now.
enemies: god, give me someone who can’t stand mickey and the feeling is returned. maybe they come from different backgrounds. maybe there’s jealousy. just give me someone who makes mick’s blood boil and her teeth gnash.
hot chocolate friends: friends who are only friends when it’s convenient. maybe they’re both in town, maybe they both are on a break. when it’s good, they laugh and enjoy each other’s company. still, they would never be the ones mick would call in an emergency. they’re not to be counted on and they won’t last forever.
other things: i’m a sucker for brainstorming, y’all, just let me know !!
