South London Forever // George Karim

-mothers and teachers and coworkers -

Freddie took a breath in.

The library smelt like camomile tea and the velvet-like pine scent of the violin. Lockwood said it was a dark brown, whatever that meant, and the material in the matching case was red, like her favourite chair.

He was sitting in his armchair reading one of those poetry books he read out loud to her once, but she kept laughing because honestly Lockwood reading about meadows of flowers and creeks with frogs and love and colours in a completely serious tone was just hilarious.

Freddie picked up her stack of music books and felt for the cover just to make sure that she found the right one, but she knew what she was looking for and when she grabbed it by the pressed flower taped to the front. She propped it open and traced the first few notes with her thumb.

When she picked up the violin it sat perfectly underneath her chin, and she began the opening to 'Hotel California' by the Eagles.

The song was slow at the start, and gentle. It was like smoothed out rain drops on a window, trickling down until Icarus tapped her foot to the beat, tilting herself to keep the sounds in time. It was much easier standing, she could move around without bumping into a bookshelf, but Freddie had to concentrate on ignoring the pain in the palm of her hand. Maybe violin wasn't a good idea, but she'd promised she'd show George, and besides, it was nice to feel the notes dance around her.

Freddie sucked in a breath and dipped her head, moving to the side a little bit and following the flow of the song. It was one of her favourites to play, since it wasn't written by some dead guy in the sixteen hundreds, and it swirled nicely in the library filled with padding feet and turning pages.

"I thought I heard them say," Freddie sung quietly. "Welcome to the hotel California."

To be frank, she couldn't sing. Of course, she didn't sound terrible, her voice was just plain when she sung. Freddie couldn't be good at everything. It helped her keep in time though, so she'd mumble out every few lines to make sure she wasn't speeding up or muddled in the bars and frets. She had to keep quiet so Lockwood could read too. "Any time of year, any time of year... you can find it here."

Freddie closed her eyes, it didn't make a difference to the ghost-stained rapiers and Sources dancing in the corner of her vision when she moved in circles, but it just felt more natural to block out the world when she played. Maybe it was so she could pretend she was back on stage, spinning in circles with her pink pointed shoes tied with lacy ribbons or backing the younger dances from behind the dark curtains, invisibly setting the mood to the hushed audience. "She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friends."

"I made- oop, sorry."

Freddie kept playing as George tiptoed across the carpet, China chinking against each other, and Freddie bowed her head, feeling her short spiky hair brush her eyelashes as she moved.

"Some dance to remember," Freddie hummed quietly at the irony of her words, "some dance to forget."

"No means no."

"My body my choice, Lockwood," Freddie shot back, and held her head high in triumph until she had to spit the mango sorbet flavoured toothpaste [it wasn't her fault she couldn't read the packaging] into the sink, holding her hair away from her face.

Lockwood's voice echoed from his bedroom, and he emerged, shoes clicking on the tiles when he walked into the bathroom. "I am your superior, and you will take orders from me as I request so."