𝙐𝙇𝙏𝙍𝘼𝙑𝙄𝙊𝙇𝙀𝙏 - 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙩𝙤𝙣

IV

CHAPTER FOUR
BARBWIRE
( episode 3: the pollywog )

Marge has the radio an unusually loud volume when Violet rolls over the next morning, kitchen appliances whirring away just after eight. She lay staring at the grubby ceiling for a while, little pockets of sunlight hiding between her scrawny bedsheets. A light headache is peppering away inside her temples by the time she manages a trip to the bathroom.

Stepping out of the shower, she stares back at the bleary reflection in the mirror, a touch of eyeliner still stained along her waterline, faint purple crevices under her eyes. If this was how she'd felt after skulling one drink, hell knows how Nancy must've felt waking up this morning.

Trudging back to her room, the shrill of a wall phone rings through the house. 'Harper Residence,' she hears Marge say lightly, mindlessly task myself to bare minimum of dressing and bag packing, crows squawking away outside her window.

She slams a palm into the window pane. 'Shhh,' she hisses at the nasty little things, watching them swoop away. Outside, she can see that one of them has left a trail of silvery blue goo in its footprints along the ledge. Violet didn't even want to begin to know what that was. 'Gross,' she mutters to herself.

'Violet!' Marge yells from the kitchen.

'What?!' she retorts groggily, ruffling a towel through her damp hair.

'It's for you!'

She rolls her eyes, tossing the towel aside and heads for the kitchen. Marge had strewn the phone on the countertop, going back to unpacking yesterday's groceries still in their bags.

'I really don't want to talk to Dad right now,' she grumbles.

Marge glares at her. 'It's not your Father. It's a girl asking for you.'

Disappointed but not surprised. Violet plucks the phone from the bench.

'Hello?'

'Violet,' came a small, croaky voice from the other line. 'Hi. It's Nancy.'