TIMING: Nebulously in the recent-ish past LOCATION: Pinheads PARTIES: Siobhan (@banisheed) & Rosemary (@necrosemancy) SUMMARY: Siobhan and Rosemary go bowling! No, really. CONTENT WARNING: None!
The idea of a girls’ night was idiotic: in Saol Eile, every night was a girls’ night. There could be no distinction between one type of night from another. When you were a banshee, the nights were always for the girls, and the bones, and the worms. But Siobhan knew that this was one of those human things like “wine-o-clock” (Siobhan drank wine at all hours) and “party time” (this has a similar problem to the concept of girls’ night). Still, when Rosemary suggested it, Siobhan stared into the empty eye sockets of Rosemary Jr. and knew that nothing sounded better. That skeletal cat had been the first gift she truly cherished in a long, long time.
And so, even though Siobhan didn’t know how to bowl, she arrived at Pinheads an hour early, bound the nosy owner up in a temporary deal to leave her alone, and practiced before Rosemary’s arrival. In one hour she had learned that she was so unskilled at bowling, that her lack of skill itself was a statistical anomaly. By the time Rosemary showed up, Siobhan was already a defeated lump in the booth. She’d planned to win Rosemary over to friendship with her bowling skills, knowing that her personality couldn’t do it. It was nice, she thought, having Rosemary as a friend for a flicker of time. After girls’ night, Rosemary was sure to hate Siobhan.
“I put on ‘Worst Algae in London’ from ‘Shellney Todd: The Crustaceous Harbour-Barber of Fleet Street’.” She frowned. “It’s not very good.” Siobhan sighed; now she had to do it, the numbing drivel of pleasantries: how are you, thanks for coming, you look good. She shivered and forced herself to sit up straighter and smile. “What are we betting?” she asked. “I am going to beat you at this game of…large ball rolling. Wipe the floor, in the metaphorical sense; I would never debase myself with chores.” This was as kind of a greeting as Siobhan could muster. “Money? Bones? Skeledog?”
—
A night out with Siobhan was a rare treat.
The other woman was so spectacularly weird, that Rosemary always looked forward to her company. After all, a friend who one could criticize the inaccuracies of skeletal Halloween decorations with was a rare friend indeed. Even rarer was one with an affinity for making pets of skeletal animals. If anyone in town understood and respected the witch’s weird little extracurricular hobbies, it would be Siobhan.
As the witch wandered into the bowling alley, she almost immediately spotted Siobhan. The woman was sat rather miserably on the couch by the lane that had their names preset on the screen. Something vaguely Sondheim-esque with vague crustacean themes played over the speakers as Rosemary approached, equal parts concerned and curious.
“Hopefully it turns into the just bad enough to be entertaining sort of musical, so we can laugh at it.” The witch said with a grin. That was Siobhan. No hellos, no small talk- straight to the point. Mention of a bet had the witch’s competitive streak flaring to life and she grinned. “How about whoever wins has to find a cool new skeleton for the other one. That way either Skeledog or Rosemary Jr. gets a new friend. Maybe a snake skeleton or something.” — Siobhan perked up. Of course, no one could find a better skeleton than her, and finding a skeleton was not a punishment at all. Giving one up would certainly be a challenge. Was Rosemary aware that giving a skeleton away was akin to a marriage proposal? Or a death proposal? There were many nuances in her culture to the giving of bones. “Deal!” she said gleefully, like a cat snatching up a mouse. Then: “fuck.” For one entirely blissful moment she’d forgotten she was a fae, and that a deal wasn’t a trifle. She hadn’t even bothered to negotiate better terms! If she wasn’t a disappointment for the numerous other reasons she was a disappointment, then she would be for this. “Snake skeleton, how… quaint.” She grit her teeth. Siobhan’s head throbbed: she could not magically become better at bowling. She looked up into Rosemary’s eyes. But I could cheat, she thought. A win was a win. Her lopsided grin returned. “Do you want to be BOOB or ASS?” Siobhan asked, pointing at the bowling screen which she had already set up, from her multiple attempts to learn. “BOOB goes first.”
And above them, Worst Algae in London shifted to a new song. —
“Right? I think it would be pretty fun.” The witch agreed. She wasn’t sure where exactly she could get a snake skeleton. The Bizzare, maybe. Or else one of the curiosity shops that sold little taxidermy creatures in the least likely positions- like can can dancers or magicians or burlesque artists. Surely a place like that would have a strange skeleton or two.
Rosemary grinned back at Siobhan as the woman offered her her choice of names on the screen. “Hmm.” She crossed her arms, looking up at the glowing screen. “I’m gonna go with ‘ASS’. You can be BOOB.” Rosemary offered. She didn’t mind going second. After all, it was all in good fun. “Love the name choices, by the way.” She added, as she set to finding a bowling ball that looked fun- maybe something purple, or glittery…
She picked up a purple and pink ball just as the songs switched over to another track- one apparently called Shrimpanna, which the witch could only assume was a take on Johanna. The lyrics didn’t quite make any sense, but Rosemary didn’t think a musical parody of Sweeney Todd that seemed to be shrimp focused was meant to make sense.
—
Siobhan turned her head away from Rosemary, cursing under her breath. Going first was a curse; she was hoping Rosemary would want to be BOOB (who didn’t want to be BOOB?) and thus, go first, allowing Siobhan time to think of a strategy. She grumbled as she picked up an all-black bowling ball, unable to tell the differences between them. She went for the one with the biggest number, because that meant it was the most powerful—or so she thought. The ball just seemed heavier.
Siobhan stood at the lip of the lane and threw the bowling ball. That is to say, she threw the bowling ball. Why would a perfect, superior individual such as Siobhan know the proper form for such a pedestrian sport? She threw the ball like it was a shot-put and when it landed with a loud THUNK and twisted into the gutter, she was not surprised. Still, she was embarrassed and it was made all the worse with “I peel you, Shrimpanna” blaring over the speakers. She did not peel Shrimpanna, and she would not be stealing Shrimpanna and she could not be sweetly buried in her angel hair pasta.
“I was making it easier for you,” Siobhan said as she sat down after another gutter ball. BOOB had a competitive score of zero so far. “I wouldn’t want you to feel bad when I win,” she said; she couldn’t look at Rosemary exactly though. She needed a plan. A distraction so devastating that Rosemary’s performance would suffer.
But what did she know about Rosemary? She liked pink, and fashion, and skeletons and did you need to learn any more than three facts about a human? Siobhan sunk into her seat. “Nice ass!” she called out. Might as well, anyway, seeing that Rosemary was ASS. Maybe there was a posterior based distraction she could use? Maybe she’d go back to the jukebox? The shrimp version of Sweeny Todd was growing on her, though.
—
Rosemary watched as Siobhan’s first attempt at knocking down the pins soared through the air, landing with a resounding thunk (that somehow managed to be in time with the rhythm of the orchestration accompanying the artist singing about their beloved Shrimpanna), before swerving into the gutter. The first gutter ball was followed by a second, which was followed by Siobhan’s reluctant retreat back to the seats. “Of course, I understand.” She said, all good nature as she stood to take her first attempt.
She walked up with her multicolored bowling ball, and stared at the army of pins that stood in formation at the end of the alley. Rosemary was in the middle of her first roll as Siobhan cheered from behind her. The ball left the witch’s fingers, rolling at a slow diagonal down the lane until it clipped a single pin and sank into the gutter. The witch laughed, jutting her hip out to show off the feature her friend had insisted on complimenting. “I think it’s my best asset. Get it?” She grinned, before taking her second turn. The ball sailed down the lane before swerving to sink into the gutter. With a score of 1 point, the witch went back to her seat. “You’re up.”
—
How did one make friends? In Saol Eile, that involved giving bones (not to be mistaken for the romantic, sexual, or antagonistic reasons bones were given). Perhaps the same was true for Rosemary, bone appreciator as she was, but it wasn’t true for humans in general. Siobhan watched as her ploy worked, the ball spinning off into the gutter. But Rosemary was…making a sound. With her lips. She was choking. She was dying. No. Was that… laughter? Not at Siobhan but at the thing she had said, as though it was funny. And that thing happening to Rosemary’s lips… was that a smile? Siobhan’s jaw hung open, and her heart, it was… doing something. She swallowed. There were stakes here now—they had put skeletons on the line, after all—and yet, the oddest thought suddenly struck Siobhan: she wouldn’t mind losing.
Preposterous. A fae minded losing, even a fae like Siobhan. Perhaps one especially like her, who was winning so little in every other respect. But if she lost, she would go out and find Rosemary the best skeleton she could—a snake, since she had seemed interested—and she would give it to her and perhaps even see Rosemary smile again. For her. Because of her. Perhaps she would ask Rosemary how she was doing, what she had gotten up to. They could be friendly; there might be a handshake, maybe even a stab-less embrace. Maybe Rosemary wouldn’t be her pink friend-but-really-a-means-to-an-end-to-get-Skeledog but just her friend (still pink); a friend and not someone she desired the bones of. Perhaps, even, Rosemary didn’t care at all that Siobhan was bad at bowling and by extension, Siobhan didn’t care. Rosemary sat down and Siobhan’s heart was eating itself. A friend, she thought. A normal human friend, one who would not disappoint her and one she would not disappoint. Perhaps Siobhan could do good things with her mind, happy things with her hands, kind words with her mouth.
By the Sea started to play—Siobhan noted that the title was unchanged—and she stood. “I think your best asset is your laugh,” Siobhan said softly. That was the sort of thing friends did, right? Honest compliments? But it sounded too honest to her ears. “Bitch,” she added to tone the remark down. She picked up a pink ball and threw it the way she had watched Rosemary do, before the ass comment.
It twisted towards the gutter, Siobhan was sure she’d end the round with another fat zero on the screen, and then it clipped two pins and tumbled away. Siobhan jumped, she squeed, she gleefully clapped her hands. “Did you see, Rosemary?” she asked, turning around. “Two of those infernal pins vanquished!” Two more pins than she had ever gotten before. Then she heard it: her voice had picked up into that disgusting, shrill, childish register that denoted excitement. She cleared her throat. “This was… satisfactory. I can do better. I am not enthused by such mediocrity.” She took her second turn and it rolled unceremoniously into the gutter. “It is your turn, miss ASS.”
—
Rosemary’s expression softened at the compliment from Siobhan. Her laugh wouldn’t have been her first choice of complimentary things about herself. It was probably the ‘witchiest’ thing about her. It was loud, and bright- a genuine cackle at times. But Siobhan was there, appreciating it for what it was. And punctuating it with bitch a few moments later. The witch let out an amused huff, watching as Siobhan turned back to her second attempt.
The pink ball sailed down the alley, curving toward the gutter, but it managed to clip two pins on its way past. Siobhan was elated, jumping and cheering, and Rosemary let the infectious joy sweep her up too. “Yes!” She cheered, hopping up excitedly. As suddenly as Siobhan’s enthusiasm had presented itself, it was gone. The other woman had shrugged it off, resuming her cool, unaffected demeanor. The witch’s smile remained. She knew Siobhan was excited. If she didn’t want to show it outwardly like Rosemary did, that was fine. Rosemary could be excited enough for the both of them.
BOOB gave way to ASS, and Rosemary curtseyed. Her first attempt was dismal. The ball slipped from her fingers in an odd way that sent it spinning a moment before rolling straight to the gutter. She scrunched up her face, trying to figure out which way to go. “Let’s try this again,” She said, before sending the ball rolling down the alley a second time. It clipped off three pins, and she clapped. “Better than nothing! You’re up, my dear BOOB.”
—
Siobhan’s bones rearranged. She wasn’t having fun—that would require someone to be dying—but she was having… a moment. Her stomach fluttered; her cheeks burned with the effort of chewing back her smile; she had the distinct thought of reaching out and wrapping her arms around Rosemary (humans called that a hug, Siobhan thought of it as a disgrace). She watched Rosemary bowl and her heart sank when the ball spun into the gutter and soared when the next one twisted into the pins. It wasn’t her ball, those three points weren’t hers, but it was like she had placed her hand upon Rosemary’s and could count the victory along with her. Siobhan squirmed. A spell had been cast on her, or else, a squishy ghost was inhabiting her body. Though, it wasn’t that she felt foreign to herself, but that she felt too much like herself.
Her fingers squeezed into the holes of the next bowling ball. With her throat battling the sudden lump lodged in the middle, she had nothing to say. “Dear BOOB,” the words burned her ears. Siobhan turned and dropped her ball into the gutter, watching it roll uselessly down. She grabbed the next and did the same. “I will get you your snake,” she said. She couldn’t look at Rosemary. “I have… work. Now. Important work. Essays and… professor things. I must work. I must go.” She watched the swirling wood grain of the floor, her eyes tracing the curves. Several thoughts punished her at once: stab Rosemary, sit back down and play more, promise Rosemary five more skeletons, punch Rosemary, leave and never touch anything ball-shaped again, ask Rosemary if she wanted to go boning. Siobhan swallowed.
Whatever was happening to her, she didn’t like it; her skin was being peeled open, and everyone could see the vulnerable throb of her heart. She felt like a child, waddling up to Rosemary’s side with a magpie skull, asking to be her friend please. Finally, Siobhan turned to Rosemary. “I…” She slammed her jaw shut, swallowing again. “I would like to do this again… sometime,” she whispered, before her mind could swing around with the milieu of good reasons why she shouldn’t. A fae didn’t make friends with a human; a human was so far beneath the consideration of a fae that she might as well be looking at a grain of sand.
“Bitch,” she added quickly, but there wasn’t a trace of sharpness in her voice. Siobhan wrung her hands, shifting slowly towards the exit until she could break away and purge the thought of pink from her mind.
