Plus that whole time travel episode where the bros swapped bodies with the original Bromancers from the 90’s, Chet and Rachel, which answered so many questions. Can girls be bros? Why yes they can! Can bros hook up romantically without losing their bromancer mojo? IT’S MESSY BUT THERE’S PRECEDENT!
While I preferred it in Season 2 when we thought Chet & Rachel were 100% platonic because there’s nothing subversive or original about a straight m/f friendship developing into romance in a popular TV show, this episode was clearly signposting a potential future narrative for our bros, and the future of the show.
I’m laying my heart on the line with this one. I think the show is gonna go there. Maybe not this season — but if not now, when? There’s no silver medal on offer if they pull another Teen Vamp scenario, saving the big gay romance for the final scene of the final season.
Go big or go home, Bromancers. We want boys kissing on TV, stat!
REFLECTION BY MSCINNOVAR:
Memei, what do you think of the headcanon that Chet & Rachel’s romantic relationship led to the loss of their powers, which is why they were passed on to Dan & Charlie, and eventually to our own beloved bros Eli & Tate? Are the writers hinting at the idea that if our Bromancers fall in love, that means the end of the show, with them passing their powers on to a new pairing? Or is that just an excuse to drag on the eye-fucking and the queerbaiting for another three seasons before they even start to address what the fans have seen all along? (So yeah the Teen Vemp reference might not be so far-fetched)
REFLECTION BY MEMEI:
Chet and Rachel’s soul-link and their friendship became stronger and more powerful when they kissed. So I don’t think that the ‘maybe almost gay panic’ moment between Eli & Tate in Ep 6 was just there for cheap laughs. They’re gonna need some serious firepower to take down/save Big Bad Cinnovar in the season finale… and the demon car was taken off the board last week.
So… what else have they got in their arsenal?
Smoochytimes!
If someone spoils this episode for me before I see it because of this dratted music festival, I’m going to set fire to something. Or someone. (Not looking at the drummer who has been tapping random patterns on the back of my seat the whole drive so far, we know you have rhythm, Sage, there’s no need to keep going on about it.)
REFLECTION BY KISSMETATE:
OMG I always forget you’re friends with the actual band members of Fake Geek Girl. I loved that song of theirs, Resting Witch Face? It totally reminds me of my ex. Do they have a new album coming out soon?
REFLECTION BY MEMEI:
There was a new album planned for early next year, but if their drummer keeps behaving like a kindergartener on the second leg of our road trip he’s gonna end up with no hands, so.
Chapter 4
Hebe Is Unexpectedly House Proud
Saturday
My magic is so embarrassing.
Hallows descend from a long line of rural hedgewitches. Most of our family tree gravitated to small towns around the greener parts of the East Coast, including several adorable tourist spots around Victoria and Tasmania, the states most likely to feature English-style villages.
Our immediate family moved to the city when Holly and I were old enough for high school, but as soon as we got our university entrance confirmed, the Mums ditched the city flat and went scurrying straight back to the lavender farm in the Dandenongs where we spent our childhood. They have their own bees, and sell candles at outrageous tourist prices from a tiny shop.
Hallow magic has always skewed towards the practical. I have several cousins who run a blacksmith’s forge — it’s more hipster art than horse-shoeing these days, but that’s where their magic finds its source, and good for them, sticking with an old school trade until it became commercially viable again. I have uncles who are butchers, bakers, tailors. Most of my aunts are doctors.
Then there’s me, and Holly.
She might be an indie rock star on the rise, and I might be… let’s face it, destined for a career in admin. But when it comes to our magic, we are, well.
We’re domestic.
Holly hides it better than I do. She only cooks if it’s something that’s going to look amazing on Instagram. She leaves her band clutter around our flat to disguise the fact that it’s always spotless.
I’m a gender studies major. I know there’s nothing wrong with domestic competence, but… it feels so anti-feminist, every time my magic hums with satisfaction from making people comfortable in our home, from cooking a meal or making a bed.
Like my magic decided that the only function I’m good for is to be a 1950’s housewife.
I won’t deny that it comes in useful at times. Like when you have to set up camp a with a horde of twenty-year-olds. Dec’s steady hands and Mei’s innate understanding of tent geometry went a long way towards being useful, but they weren’t the reason that everyone’s airbeds stayed plump all night, or the ants stayed away from our freshly-dug sandy spot, or the air of the sleeping tents smelled faintly of lemons as we awoke for the first full day of Winterfest.
That was all me. My magic. And it was me holding myself back. I could have put a mimosa in each of their hands as they crawled out to face the morning, and conjured perfect blueberry pancakes out of the air. But I did not.
Sure, there was a pot of cinnamon apple porridge stirring itself on a low campfire, but I’m only human. Also, that pot is a family heirloom.
Feeding people makes me happy, shut up.
Sage was jittery and hyper. He tapped out some tune on the leg of his jeans as he took over boiling the water for peppermint tea.
Dec looked like death warmed up. “If I had the strength, I would cut off your giant drumming mitts and stick them on a flagpole,” he grunted at Sage, fishing around in our supplies tent for genuine black teabags. His natural magic levels are so low, and so irrelevant to his sense of identity that he doesn’t worry about caffeine.
“Bad night?” I said sympathetically.
Dec leaned in, hooking an elbow around my neck. “Hebes. My own, my precious Hebe, light of my life. He was tapping all night. I think he was drumming in his sleep. You have to do something. Save me, Hebe-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Assassination?” Dec suggested hopefully
“It’ll be fine,” Sage insisted. “I’ll have it by tonight. Just… trying to find the right beat for a new song. A new sound.”
“Oh, Dec, I’m so sorry,” I breathed. “Honestly. If I knew he was working on a new song, I wouldn’t have let him come.” Sage in creative mode was insufferable.
“Hey I am right here!” Sage called out, not sounding remotely offended. “Being a genius. You’re welcome.”
My left hand conjured a mimosa and pressed it against Dec’s chest, almost without my conscious mind being involved in the process. “Leave it with me,” I muttered. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Mei. Mei could share with Sage without killing him. She normally stayed awake until 3am anyway… of course, that was when she had wi-fi access. Last night she kept jerking awake every few hours to check her magic mirror, which she had bespelled to reflect the contents of her phone, despite all the glitch feedback a charm like that attracted.
It was fine. I didn’t need sleep.
“You can swap with Mei tonight,” I told Dec. She was still asleep in our tent, so there was no one to argue with the change of sleeping arrangements.
Dec nodded gratefully, staggered over to the campfire and started ladeling porridge into a Fake Geek Girls Know Their Shit mug. “You’re an angel, Hebes. You’re my general and my hero. I would kiss you if I didn’t have a vengeful and suspicious girlfriend.”
So this was camping with the band. Not a complete disaster so far, but then Holly hadn’t dragged home a new boyfriend yet. The weekend was still young.
Speaking of my twin sister, there she was now, walk-of-no-shaming her way up the path to
our sheltered spot, wearing yesterday’s clothes. Her hair was a bird’s nest, her shirt was barely buttoned, and those were not her shoes.
Her makeup was perfect. Domestic magic strikes again.
“I’m in love!” she announced, helping herself to peppermint tea.
“I’m gonna need coffee for this,” grumbled Sage. “Do we have to pretend we like whatever Dave Matthews loving douchecanoe you’ve decided to latch on to this weekend? Or can we skip that part and go straight to convincing you to break up with him?”
“You’re tragic and no one wants to sleep with you,” Holly said sweetly. “I didn’t mean a person, Sage. Last night changed my life. I found a sound. The new sound we need, to take Fake Geek Girl to the next level.”
Sage’s hand paused, hovering in the middle of the pattern he was tapping out on his own mug. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Holly. They exchanged a look, a fierce mutual love of their band and their music and everything they had in common.
If they were remotely attracted to each other, they would have burned the world down in the flame of their love story. But they weren’t that, had never been that.
It still felt like the rest of us might get scorched if we got too close to Sage and Holly when they had those looks on their faces.
“Ugh,” said Dec into his porridge. “If you two are gonna be brilliant and inspiring at each other, I’m going back to bed.”
“Rack off then,” said Holly, helping herself to breakfast. “Is Juniper up yet? I need to update her on all the awesomeness she flaked out on last night.”
“So much for taking her with you as a guarantee of good behaviour,” I said pointedly.
“Wow. Careful, Hebes, your middle-aged governess is showing.” Holly tasted the mug, made a face (obviously hating how perfectly the porridge was seasoned) and wandered over to the tent she had been supposed to sleep in last night. “Junie, are you decent? I’m coming in.” She unzipped it, then backed away, looking worried. “Huh.”
“What’s up?” asked Dec.
“I guess Juniper didn’t come home last night either.”
“Get it, Juniper,” said Sage, impressed.
I caught the hesitation in her voice. “Where exactly did you leave her? Holly?”
“It’s fine,” said Holly. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
My magic, which had been so happy and content when I thought everyone was comfortable and looked-after, gave an uncomfortable lurch.
Where had Juniper spent the night?
Chapter 5
Whatever Happened To Miss Juniper Cresswell, Gentlewoman and Cellist?
Dear Diary
I don’t do this. I’m not like this. Last night was an anomaly.
That’s a lie.
A lot of what happened last night was out of character, but I can’t say it was an anomaly. I followed Holly Hallow, and shenanigans ensued. That pretty much sums up the pattern of everything I’ve done since she and her enchanted flyers entered my life.
Holly Hallow does something crazy, and I follow her.
There are times when I question my place in an indie rock band. I’m a classically trained musician. Twelve of my closest relatives including both parents, four aunts and uncles, my grandfather and several cousins, each play for one the country’s three premier orchestras: the Sydney Siren Chamber Orchestra, the Floating Orchestra in Melbourne, or the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra. My parents were expecting me to major in Real Music, with a possible minor in Unreal Music, as part of an ongoing path that has been mapped out for me since I was six years old.
Me + professional cello-playing destiny = true happiness.
But when I started at Belladonna U, staring at that whole curriculum of formalised music study, I couldn’t do it. I was done. Burned out. I fled to Unreal Humanities.
My parents had the expected collective meltdown, even when I promised them I was majoring in Political Science, that I wasn’t completely immersing myself in an indulgence of nineteenth century literature (my one true love).
They couldn’t understand me giving up music.
Truthfully, I only gave it up for a month. Four quiet weeks, before I followed a pretty girl who was stapling flyers to bulletin boards across campus. The flyers sang at you when you got near them, and there was something about the lyrics, so silly and geeky and fun.
It was so long since music had been fun for me.
My parents tried not to look smug and say “We told you so” when I went home for the weekend and collected Irene, my cello.
Needless to say, they were not delighted to discover that I wanted Irene with me to audition for an odd little geek rock band instead of fulfilling the orchestral destiny they had planned for me.
That was more than two years ago, and I have learned to trust myself. Following Holly Hallow into adventure and shenanigans is worth it, every time.
It’s not just because she’s so pretty it makes my heart hurt.
It’s not just because she’s fierce in a way that women simply aren’t, in my family.
It’s mostly because the adventures she leads me on are more than I would ever find for myself.
FRIDAY NIGHT
Following Holly was my first mistake. Losing her was my second.
“Just one drink,” I heard her promising Hebe, who wasn’t impressed we were decamping so early. “I’ll take Juniper with me.” Holly was using her most innocent voice.
She was also clearly using me.
Hebe gave her twin a dirty look, not fooled at all. “Juniper’s presence does not guarantee your good behaviour.”
“You know you’re not actually my mother, right?”
I cleared my throat. “Holly, I’m thirsty.”
Hebe gave me an impatient look, and washed her hands of both of us. “Fine. Try not to pick fights with any band you want to open for someday.”
“That leaves so many options,” Holly grinned.
“No it does not,” Hebe said sternly.
Witches don’t like to rough it. Sure, we were living in tents for a few days, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t do it in style.
The drinking tents at Winterfest were works of art. They looked like canvas on the outside, but once you stepped inside, you found yourself in a world of wonder and aesthetic glory.
Holly and I drank ouzo in an Athenian amphitheatre, champagne in a Parisian cabaret/karaoke bar, and something that I’m pretty sure was absinthe in a grimy Parisian night-den that looked from the outside like a Dryzabone propped up on three sticks, but had room inside for three chandeliers and several ornate fainting couches.
Holly likes to get the lay of the land, the first night at any music festival. She knows four times as many people as I do, but she never lets a conversation last for longer than five minutes. She always wants to be the first person to develop Opinions on which hangouts are best, and which are best avoided. That requires research.
With music festivals, everything’s a performance. Where ever you go, someone is singing or playing or unofficially auditioning for someone else’s band.
Holly was drawing more of a crowd than usual, and by the time the eighth person casually dropped into conversation that they had keyboarding experience, I finally twigged what was going on.
“Are we looking for a new band member?” I hissed in her ear.
“No,” she said, laughing it off. “Of course not.”
“Why does everyone think we are?”
She looked shifty. “I might have sent out some feelers?”
“You didn’t think to talk it over with Sage and I first?”
Holly shrugged, guiltless as ever. “We all know the band’s been spinning its wheels since Nora ditched us. Sage and I have talked about it a few times. He thinks we need a new sound — different songs, moving forward with the music. I think we need another person. If I find the right one he’ll come around soon enough.”
“Oh.” That stung. Of course Holly and Sage had talked about what the band n
eeded — or argued about it, whatever. They were like cats in a sack, those two, always scratching at each other, but they were close in a way they’d never been with me. Fake Geek Girl was theirs first, before they added Nora and me.
Would they even notice if Irene and I disappeared from the band? Would they miss me the way we all miss Nora? How long would it take before they replaced me with some new sound?
We were between our fourth and fifth drinking tents when Holly heard the voice. “That’s it,” she said, ditching her cider bottle in a nearby recycling zone and hurrying away from the fairy lights of the designated paths.
“What’s what?”
“The sound, Junie, the thing we’ve been missing. That’s it. That’s her.”
She followed the voice. And of course, I followed her. It’s what I do.
Let me condense our adventures somewhat. In search of the perfect voice who would apparently serve as some sort of musical bandaid to repair the undefinable missing something in our band, Holly Hallow and I may or may not have done the following:
1) tripped over three stoned Bromancers fans arguing about whether or not the season finale was going to be a game changer.
2) strayed into the camping ground of the Metal Headed Wombats, territory we usually stay clear of because Sage hooked up with 3 of the 4 band-members three festivals ago (yes, all on the same weekend) and the fallout almost destroyed their band.
Unreal Alchemy Page 12