Just for clarification, the POV will switch between each section, and each chapter will not be in chronological order.
Also, can I just say how much better this chapter is compared to the first? I mean unless you disagree then feel free to say so.
A decade after Matlin passed, the wound she unlocked had yet to be closed. Whether it is purposeful or not, Ho-Boe refused to acknowledge the matter that Musa was her mother through and through. Bar her eye and hair colour, Musa's psyche is a replication of her mothers. The naivete for something better, but the strength to remain idealistic.
The faith in people, music, society, magic- him.
~o~
She's known. Always has. Her father was angry- is angry. Resentful of the fact that Matlin had left, abandoning him and their 5-year-old child. Indeed, the temper continued through him like blood through veins or electrons in a circuit. Deception became a second language. Humiliation, a pastime.
Could Musa blame him? His soulmate had vanished, as did his peace of mind. Ho-Boe is tired and broken from an affair many suffer from, but in his soul remains bitterness, rather than healing. She had tried, time and time again to rid him of this melody he kept replaying. Encouragements and pleas' could only pause the rhythm that began years ago for so long. At 15, Musa had been through a sufficient bulk of emotional trauma. The dark haired teen had to let go. Kickoff the next lullaby somewhere new. Someplace where she wasn't defined and reminded of her past. Her father could take it. He was a fighter, even if he didn't know it.
With having been a victim of the alien living in her father's body, Musa didn't expect him to act anything less than how he had when she confessed, "I'm leaving. I've decided to attend Alfea College for Fairies."
"Oh yeah? What kind of fairy would you be?" Outrage blazing in Ho-Boe's eyes. The table separating the two seemed to shrink under his narrowing glare, the traditional food left untouched.
"Music."
o~o
Others may conceive it as a sin, an addiction or a poor excuse. To Ho-Boe, it was more than a simple noun, it meant a getaway to freedom. A one-way ticket to the past. A destination he often travelled to in visit of his late wife. He had created a system for his daily life that included destruction and animosity; a deadly pair for residents of Melody and his liver. A curse and a blessing.
God, it's not like he intended to develop this disease- this burden. But what else did he have- what choice? His offspring that would eventually leave? A reality that continued to prod him of his broken home? But as of today, Ho-Boe pledged abstinence. A vow to himself and Musa.
It wasn't simple, or straightforward. In fact, it was taxing, messy and demanded things he didn't have. A dispute that breathed down the flesh on his neck persistently, only to end as a result of an intoxicated facade. 'Rise, love. Keep your strength and push through. For Musa, for me, for you. You do not have much time with her anymore.' Is what Matlin had spoken, causing a mantra to spawn in his mind. Pathetic how he couldn't have found the vitality himself, deriving it out of his dead wife. However, throughout his inebriated state, he had also come to another realization. Ho-Boe had put Musa in undeserving agony, having to see him as another vulgar drunk that littered the streets. Slurred blasphemy and invectives poured out without a filter, not one remark lost in the ears of his child. 'A gift', is what people had said, learning the fact that Musa could hear everything within the kilometre. Instead, he had first-handedly experienced the adversity of her hypersensitive hearing. And he exploited it.
~o~
Eight counts. The steady beat of her father's clammy fist against the kitchen counter. A recurring noise that left her ears ringing, an indicator he was particularly morose at the moment. Occasions like these brimmed Musa with relief knowing she had work at the small cafe a few roads elsewhere, even if only the other employees were present amidst her performance. Ho-Boe was not made aware, by all means. The blue-eyed teen preferred to not be criticized and commanded to depart her safe haven.
Grasping the knock-off pouch adjacent to the box television, she shuffled to the door, careful to not bring attention to herself. As the musician's baggy denim and black sneakers grazed the wooden floor, her father twisted around abruptly, causing Musa to jump.
"For someone with such perceptive hearing, you would think you would not get startled anymore."
Crossing her clothed arms over her chest, she angled her sight towards the addict. The former artist looked worn and pitiful in his week-old apparel. He always did. "You know I can choose the sensitivity, right? Maybe if you actually paid attention, you'd see I've grasped the concept," Every single time without fail, the two concluded a simple conversation with a stab at one or the other, "And at the moment, I'd rather have it lowered all the way."
Irritation coursed through her as she stormed the remaining distance, an escape from the cramped townhouse. Only a meter or two off from the exit was when she was so rudely interrupted. "Musa, please."
'Respect your elders.' The virtuoso thought repeatedly through gritted teeth. "What?"
The old man took his time rising to his stubby feet before responding with sincerity she hadn't witnessed in ages, "I want to change, for you. Even if it's going to be demanding and draining, and-"
"Wait, what?" What is happening right now? What realm did she accidentally wander into?
"I know I haven't been anything like the father you are entitled to. I came to understand that I am an addict, and even though I cannot support you in ways I wish I could, I want to try. If you'll let me." Never in her life has she observed her father so uncomfortable and awkward. And at no point in her -almost- 16 years, had she heard him come close to an apology. Ho-Boe did not ask for anyone's forgiveness ever. People on Melody just didn't- it was practically law, excluding the few ballads here and there.
"I don't- I just-" Musa dug around her vocabulary to seek words she couldn't seem to find, "Are you drunk?"
"No. Where are your manners?" The older man snapped, clearly offended.
"What is with the sudden change of heart? Where was this a decade ago?"
"Musa, please. I'm trying."
The performer was fighting the urge to flee immediately until inevitably caving. Darting to the door with freedom practically radiating off it, she noticed Ho-Boe retreating to his stool on the island. An emotion she did not experience often began consuming her, clawing at her throat. Guilt. Latching onto the brass knob and tugging it open, the soon to be college student gave one last look at her father.
"I forgive you."
o~o
When he wasn't flushed upon cheap booze, the past soloist was quiet. For some, it could be depicted as peace or tranquillity. Yet, for a music lover, it was the reverse. Generally, a pleasant harmony laid in the atmosphere, even the muted hums of a fridge nearby. He had long since then silenced any and all appliances, resentment governing his every action. Areas where instruments used to stand were replaced with dust and a heavy reminder of the past. So when Ho-Boe had officially declared his commitment to remain sober, he was once again, enveloped in the deafening silence. His only child was absent from the house and present in the Pastorale Cafe. Following its title, the coffee shop was very much plain, but harmonious nonetheless. Not like he could recall specific details as he had only heard of it through word of mouth. He sat drowning in the muted living space. His long stares switching from floor to ceiling, his hand twitching from the empty space in his dominant hand, usually replaced with a drink. Battling the demons that murmured in his ears, the single father plugged the aged television in rather aggressively. Slouching in the tight recliner, he closed his eyes in hopes that the welcoming arms of sleep would come. He could do this. He would do it for her and rise to the challenge.
~o~
Once the Sun had set and street lights flickered, Musa strolled home, earbuds planted against the canal. The path before her was left deserted as children ran inside and young adults abandoned their homes for Melody's downtown area. Occasionally, Musa would join her friends on their excursion to the realms' most lively place in an attempt to avoid the confined walls of her residence. Except -for once since her dear mother passed- she didn't feel displeasure lingering on her fingertips and a longing that extended throughout her small chest.
The eventual Guardian Fairy jogged up the short stairs with a hasty wave to the neighbourhood grandma, Melisma. With caution, she gingerly unlocked the front door to reveal a resting Ho-Boe. Sliding in without so much of a squeak, Musa inspected the living room meticulously for any remnants of booze. It's not like she didn't trust him -she didn't-, the cerulean haired teen would just rather her not to be overwhelmingly optimistic and end up choking on childlike hope. Roaming the house twice, she returned to the sitting area in relief. Maybe her limited family would have the prospect of being content. Maybe.
She sympathizes with her father. How could she not? Separating from a decade-long craving was ambitious. The longtime drunk would need assistance, even if he didn't confess so. Musa was grateful he even wanted to try. Keeping sober was probably agonizing, as the saying says, old habits die hard. The vocalist seized the thin knit blanket, slinging it onto Ho-Boe and then proceeded to into her room upstairs.
o~o
The wind was unkind and warm due to recent weather changes and the oceans surrounding the musical planet. A hot rush swam across Ho-Boe's skin as he stood alone. Musa had boarded the ship to Magix only moments ago and Ho-Boe was clearly struggling to come to terms with it. Perhaps it was the fact that he had abandonment issues that sprouted at a young age, beginning with his parents. A child growing in absence of a mother and father is plagued with issues sooner or later, and having your soulmate die on you is just the cherry on top. So when your only child decides to leave at the early age of 16, it's understandable that you hit another familiar low point.
Thus, he does what he's most familiar with. A small bar in Melody's slums that welcomed anyone with a small amount of currency: tosto. Crescendo was cold and dim, dust drifting onto rotting wood and empty glasses with a sour smell hanging in the air. The bar was empty, save for a group of older residents of Melody and the lone bartender. Included in the small body of friends were 2 men and women, each different physically and psychologically, yet the same through experiences not much could say have accomplished. Loneliness was also a considerable factor, bringing in the most distinct people from all poles of the small realm. The former alcoholic crept his way around the oh-so-tempting bar and towards old friends he hadn't seen in months. Between the last time he was in contact with them and now, he and Musa had spent most of her summer together before the new semester at Alfea began. A way of reconciling damaged memories and a broken childhood, though they both knew you couldn't replace the past with the present. Hence, the father was uneasy at the response of his companions.
"Ho-Boe?" The dyed blonde remarked. She was pretty but aged beyond her time. At the mention of his name, all occupants turned around to glance at the once regular client. Much to his surprise, there were no glares or mocking laughs. Instead were short howls, grins and a welcoming atmosphere. Relief filled him. He didn't go to Crescendo for another drink, but to reunite with old friends and further his rehabilitation. It was a mix of laughter and unity- something he took for granted during a haze of liquor. The discussion was composed of months worth of adventures and soda in place of the usual beers. That is until a sombre confession overruled the euphoria.
"I have-," Ho-Boe cleared his throat, "I have a liver disease from the alcohol, and... I need a transplant."
Pity sprouted over their expressions and silence quickly ousted the rowdy environment, not before a bony red-head questioned, "Have you told Musa?"
"No, no. There's no reason to with her beginning college. Besides, I'll get a transplant." The four friends didn't miss the shaky look in his eyes.
~o~
The musical fairy could remember the first time she walked into Alfea to leave her home four years ago. Four years worth of friendship, experience and bliss even when Riven was essentially possessed by Darcy and the Ancestral Witches. But never had she thought it could so easily come to an end. Especially after the celebration of defeating the Wizards of the Black Circle and restoring peace on Earth again. Especially after her and Riven were in better shape than before. And especially, when she visited her father every summer since she left.
Musa had received the call the day the Winx Club and the Specialists arrived back to their respective dorms. She remembered feeling ecstatic to be back at her second home and to finally scratch that itch to write anew. The sky was clear, bar the rainbow arising out of the Sun fairy herself with the help of Layla of course. Techna had gone on to explain to Musa the dispersion of light through water in the air, prior to the Guardian Fairy of Melody ignoring her and whatever she was ranting about. She had reached the entrance when her nifty new phone -a result of Techna's experiments- rang. Perching against the pink walls as the rest of the girls entered the building, she tapped the screen. It was so bad. So terribly bad. She had to leave right then and now, but she didn't. The other girls needed to know, they were her sisters for godsakes.
So she did.
Musa hadn't allowed herself to cry, she didn't want or need anyone's pity. In fact, Flora and Bloom had cried more than enough for her. Possibly due to the fact that Flora and her sister lost her parents very young. Then there's Bloom, everyone already knows her story. Or it could just be that they're both incredibly empathetic. After that situation, she uncomfortably walked to the shared room between Techna and herself. The rose doors close after her with a heavy thud like the consistent beating in her head. She would not allow herself to break down in any way. The fairy had to be strong. Grasping her notebook and a puffy jacket off the floor onto her shoulders while articles of clothing fly inside the duffle bag with the help of transparent fuchsia bubbles. A sharp shrill occupied the cluttered room when the zipper of the bag was filled. The musician was frantic, wanting to finish as soon as possible. Barging back in the common room, her roommates jumped. Stella dropped the dutch braid she had started, Layla was knocked off balance, Flora raised her head from the flowers nestled adjacent to the window, Bloom had tossed Kiko aside from where they were on the large sofa, and Techna dropped a screwdriver onto the hard ground.
"Where are you going, sweetie?" Flora questioned, her voice croaky.
"Home. I-," Deep breath, "I need to take care of some stuff."
"Have you told Riven?" Bloom pitched in, glaring at Layla's not-so-subtle eye-roll in reaction to the name.
Oh shit. Guilt and embarrassment overwhelmed her when she realized she forgot about Riven. "Um... I will now?"
Bringing her phone out of her jeans pocket, she swiftly draws open a message among the two, typing brief sentences.
Going back to Melody, sorry for cancelling on you. Something came up.
It was time to go home.
o~o
The air was cold and crisp, bright and passionate. Welcoming the evilest of spirits and the friendliest characters. There were many people, dressed in pastels and light shades. Some young and old, women and men. Buildings are high and low, loud and quiet. There is no urge to run away but alternately an appreciation for this place and its people. He sifts through the crowds and the gentle remarks. He needs to find something, even if he doesn't know it. He does so accordingly, and he finds it. Rather, her. His unsteady hand is reaching forward, his mouth quivering, "Matlin?"
"Ho-Boe," She laughs, and god, he hasn't felt this way in years. Then they're dancing and singing like the old times- the good times. They have each other, and it's more than enough.
~o~
It is said that anger and bargaining is step three in the seven stages of grief. Maybe she could advocate for that, but all she has felt are anger and frustration. Not like she could act upon her emotions, the past week all she's done is sign papers, call the funeral director, receive flowers and ignore calls from her friends and Riven. If she wasn't in the middle of mourning, she would have felt wrong about her actions. But she didn't. Most of her life, she's been controlled by her emotions. Not this time though, for the first time Musa felt numb even behind the anger and listening to heartwrenching ballads. Usually, she could connect, empathize with the feelings the artist exhibited. Become one with the music, a small side-effect to her powers. It's as if her ability has been put on pause.
Consequently, she has no response to Riven at her doorstep, eyes flaming. "Why didn't you tell me you were here?" The specialist demands. The magic bearer peers behind the stony figure and notices the nosy neighbours peeking out from windows and doors. It seems they've never observed a male before. On the other hand, the inhabitants of Alto Avenue have presumably never viewed someone with an unbelievable bone structure, an incredibly toned form and spiky hair. It was definitely the spiky violet hair. The new homeowner shrugs and opens the door wider, beckoning him to enter. She forgets he's never been in the townhouse, previously filled with mismatched furniture, now succeeded by virtually empty floors and dust particles. The artist slouched on the antique couch followed by a shut door and a heavyweight alongside her. "Why didn't you just tell me what was going on? Do you know how hard it was to find you?"
"Not hard enough it seems," Musa countered. The violet-haired hero clenched his jaw. She could discern he was becoming aggravated, more than when he first arrived. His dark eyes bore into the side of her head, prompting the singer to avoid eye-contact.
"Musa," He was truly annoyed now; he never used her actual name, "-look at me." She only turned her head the other direction in acknowledgment. Exasperated, tanned fingers reached under her jaw and turned her to face him. For the first time since she left, she feels wrong. The Guardian easily detects the worry and distress under the irritation of her companion.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know what-"
"I know," A breath she didn't know she was holding escaped in relief, scooting herself closer to bring the hero into an embrace. Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, Musa ponders the basis of their relationship and how lucky she really is. The good and bad have all benefited them both, keeping and testing their relationship time and time again. He came here for her. Took the effort and time to find her, to be with her. She loves him. They both know it, even when she doesn't say it often. "You cut your hair?"
Musa smiles, "I did."
"I always did like it better short," Riven hums, fingering the navy, shoulder-length locks.
"Me too."
o~o
Riven always found it ironic how cruel and kind life could be. Reality decided to do both today. The Sun was abnormally radiant and flowers were sprouting at a rapid pace. It was no wonder that the perkiest faires of the cult Musa belonged to were doing the utmost. He really could not stand the whole group of blood sisters and their disconnection with the real world, always fluttering their wings and ignoring the truth that not everything was butterflies and rainbows. Nevertheless, none of them were important including his teammates, only a select blue-eyed fairy. She was dressed in black like every other guest, her recently cut hair pinned back and dull flats bearing the composers petite feet. The daredevil himself was covered with a dark dress shirt, pants and shoes. The main attraction, on the other hand, was provided with traditional clothes worn by citizens of Melody, resting inside the open casket filled with colourless flowers. It was quiet, excluding the soft words spoken by a lanky man with red hair. Each word fell on deaf ears in the process of focussing his attention on the would-have-been princess. Musa was oddly stoic compared to her usual loud and boisterous self. He was no empath, but after being with someone for multiple years it wasn't challenging to identify the problems your significant other was coming across. She was quite obviously suppressing whatever she was feeling, bizarre for someone so in tune with their emotions.
Before he knew it, the heavy coffin was sealed and lowered in the relatively blank area, aside from the dozen other headstones splattered over the field. From what he read on the entrance sign, the grassland was a sacred place reserved only for the royal family. Originally he was very much confused at why Ho-Boe would be buried in this space until his brother and successor, King Garomius, elaborated. In summary, royal blood would always stay royal even through abdication and cut family ties. During Ho-Boe's reign, he maintained peace and musicality for the short period. That is until he had chosen an opera singer over the Crown.
The long-established wake and funeral were followed to the tee, with the exception of a performance made by the music fairy herself. The cobalt haired girl made her way to the empty space next to the hefty tombstone, engraved in it 'Passionate in song and family. May you rest in peace.'. A whirl of violet and fuschia symbols curved to form an instrument similar to a clarinet. An oboe is what Musa had called it when she started practicing a few days earlier. A haunting yet airy sound overcame the shuffling of feet and odd coughs coming from the sizeable crowd. Pale fingers fluttered over the many keys, producing a harmony that screamed in a language Riven couldn't understand. Although it seemed the people of Melody followed along, the few sobs and dreary appearances were sufficient evidence. Strangely, the musician ahead of him was robot-like, something he thought only a tacky neon-haired tech guru could pull off.
.~.
Out the window above her worn dresser, she could see the salty ocean rushing against the shoreline. An infrequent crash keeping her from the lull of a faraway sleep. Hot breaths induced flicks of blue hair to fly up and down, corresponding to an exchange of gases caused by none other than the hero crowding her rear. Musa brushes the loose hair off the bundled duvet and begins the motion of slowly slipping out under Riven's arm. At the point where everything but her leg is untangled, the other occupant of her childhood bed stirs. Spawning a short melody off the top of her head to prevent the coloured haired boy from rising. Sweet arrangements wavered near the ceiling, pulling her into the past that had her and Ho-Boe bonding over a piano. At the mercy of music, Musa finds herself creaking a door open to the master bedroom. Her throat feels swollen and a throb squeezes her chest. The moonlight glows down into the room, casting a shadow upon the few objects accompanying the room. Stepping to the closet opposite of her, she hesitantly unfolds the doors to reveal dusty music sheets and old clothes. A wind blows through an opening, effectively letting fragile documents to spill.
Her fingers gleaming and tickling, steering to a lone sheet. A first in half a decade that her ability to control her magic has disappeared. Follow the magic; a popular phrase in Magix and exactly what she does. Musa bends down perpendicular to the wood floors and carefully lifts the page. What she sees is the least of what she expects- lyrics. And they're good. Really good. Incomplete, but if there's one thing she can do to preserve her fathers legacy, it's this. Swiftly moving to the island in the kitchen, lyrics in hand, she sets herself on the stool and writes. Time is moving at an impeccable speed compared to the few lines shes got down when a noise breaks the illusion.
There stands Riven, leaning against the wall to the entrance of the kitchen, "Did you sleep at all?"
A barely visible shrug indicates she hasn't. "Y'know, rolling your eyes isn't good for you," She retaliates, only for the taller of the two to repeat his actions. In a flash, she watches the swordsman prepare breakfast and slides a mug spilling with black liquid in front of her, followed by a crowded plate. "Oh. No thanks."
"I wasn't asking you." Her eyes trail up from his crossed arms to the stern look on his face. The blue-eyed girl challenged her opponent situated across the counter. She was so frustrated with everyone and their tip-toeing around her. The pitying and coddling were wearing thin as was her patience.
"Well, I don't want it."
An agitated sigh escaped his soft lips, "Stop acting like a child and eat it."
"No. I am sick and tired of you and everyone else treating me like I'm some helpless kid," Her voice seemed to get louder and squeakier the longer she spoke, "So what if my dad died? He's dead! He's dead and there is nothing you can say or do to make it any different!"
"You're right. Your dad is dead Musa. He's gone and if you want to stop everyone from babying you then grow up! For fuck's sake, all you've done is act like this lost puppy that no one knows how to help because you won't help yourself! Stop acting like you're some special kid who lost mommy and daddy when there are people who have it worse than you!" The anger that once inhabited Musa was now shared in Riven as well. Ripping the paper underneath the plate and slipping on bulky white shoes, her magic rips open the door only to force it closed behind the wielder.
"Fuck."
~o~
Musa had never gotten nervous when doing something she loved, but the history behind the lyrics and piano was different. Sure, she had performed in dedication to her late mother, but never for her father. The vocalist remembers finally completing the composition after a fight with Riven. She had come back after finishing the song during a much needed cool down and apologized. What Riven had said at the time was the truth, even if it was a little blunt in her opinion. But that was 3 months ago, a time of grievance and isolation that lead her to tonight.
It was mild and starry up on the outdoor stage of the Fruitti Music Bar. Unlike her previous performances, it was just her and her magic. No backup singers or pianist, there was no need since Earth had been exposed to magic for a while now. In the centre were the singer and an elegant piano to the right. Most other musicians would have been formally dressed, but Musa had always had her own thing going. So there she was, in bootcut jeans and a cropped black top.
As a wave of colourful glimmers pressed the piano keys at the rightful time, the performer looked at the large group in front of her. The Winx Club and the Specialists stood next to the stage in support wearing their usual Earth clothes. As she opens her mouth, she is suffocated by the sentiments the original writer had felt- vulnerable and fearful. And then it's her. Sombre and perplexed. What the fairy doesn't understand, maybe she never will, is why her father didn't tell her. How she managed to disregard the obvious indications. Yet it's okay.
She forgives him.
THERE IT IS. DONE, FINISHED AND COMPLETED.
Hopefully this chapter will suffice for the time being. Most chapters will probably be the same length but it depends on the song time, amount of lyrics, etc.
Here is some of the terminology I used this chapter (for names and stuff):
Pastoral (cafe Musa worked at) - something of a pastoral nature in music, whether in form or in mood
Melisma (neighbourhood grandma) - a group of notes sung to one syllable of text
Tosto (currency on Melody) - to perform a certain passage of a composition swiftly or rapidly
Crescendo (bar Ho-Boe used to go to) - a gradual increase in volume
Please review and give feedback, it really helps me push out another chapter as fast as possible (although the wait time might be the same for the next chapter because new semester and all)! Thanks for making it down here!
Until next time...
