The rain drummed an endless rhythm on the windows, shifting blue grey shadows that coated every surface in the flat like oil. A radio hummed weakly through bouts of static, as if it were frightened of disrupting the stillness of the room. The flat had little in the way of décor; a simple rug in the sitting room and a clock that appeared to have been made from spare bicycle parts were the only hint of personality in the confines of the bland off-white walls. It was a habitable, if soulless, place. It would have been a completely unremarkable place, but for the woman who made the payments each month.

A pair of legs dangled off the edge of the couch, connected to the torso of a slim woman staring at the lazy turning of a ceiling fan. Her eyes traced the curves of the spinning blades, round and round and round. A dust-bunny teetered on the edge of the leading fin. It was a stubborn thing, clinging to old wood in desperate need of fresh paint. A pale hand reached out blindly to a side table. It grasped once, twice, thrice before finally finding a long wand of Hawthorn. It wobbled as she directed it skyward. A pale silver light burned at the tip as the fan began to spin ever faster. Tortured screams of metal filled the air. The dust-bunny remained firmly in place. The light glowed again, stronger this time, and the fan ripped through the air like a bullet.

She barely huffed as the motor burst into flames. With a languid swish of her wand, the flames suffocated, the fan grinding to a halt. The dust bunny remained in place. Phoebe Lockwood pursed her lips. Squinting, she tried to sight the damnable thing, but the room spun lazily on its own axis.

“[i]Anemousss[/i],” her tongue felt as if it had been wrapped in cotton. A sharp gust of wind spiraled out of her wand, and, finally, the dust-bunny fell.

It was then that Phoebe realized someone was knocking on her door. She craned her neck, peering around her wall to sight the door. As if across a great distance, she could hear a familiar voice, a lilting Welsh soprano she hadn’t heard in months. The knocking came again, more insistently. Kicking her legs out, she rolled to one side, found her face in the sofa, and then rolled the opposite way. Phoebe ran a hand through her dark brown waves, feet padding towards the door, cringing against the bite of the cold tile.

Fumbling with the lock, she pulled the door inwards, peeking through. A buxom, impatient looking redhead stood in the doorway. Her hands planted on her hips as she gave Phoebe a thorough once-over.

“You aren’t even dressed you silly girl,” she pushed her way into the flat, hitting the lights. Phoebe rolled her eyes, shutting the door behind her and following the woman and her clicking heels into the kitchen.

“Rhiannon, I already told Aeron that I’m not going tonight,” she drawled, leaning against her fridge as the other woman eyed the barren room. Rhiannon turned to face her, full lips twisted into a pout.

“Well, that’s [i]stupid[/i] and I want you there. It’s Ashlyn’s birthday, you have to come. Everyone’s going to be there, Pheebs.”

Phoebe breathed in deep, tipping her head back against the stainless steel and closing her eyes. It was too bright, the fluorescent light buzzing in her ears. Rhiannon tutted again, reached out and shut off the radio on the table.

“Rhian, I really don’t feel up to it,” she protested slowly, but the redhead was already steamrolling over her.

“Well, we’ll warm you up and you’ll be fine,” she waved a hand dismissively, before her expression went serious. “Pheebs. You haven’t come out in months. We miss you. [i]I[/i] miss you. Look, it’s going to be brilliant. It’s the Avalon! Come on. For me?”

Phoebe sighed. There was no winning with Rhiannon. She should have known better than to argue. In nearly thirteen years of friendship, she’d never been able to say no to the flame haired witch. [i]Especially[/i] with the offer of Heat to clear her swimming head. She pushed off from the fridge lazily, spreading her hands in surrender.

“Alright. You win. Come on, let’s see if I have anything remotely cute in my closet.”

Rhiannon lit up like fireworks, squealing and grabbing her arm, dragging her through her own flat to her equally drab little bedroom.

-----

The rain had worsened over the past hour. Nearly apparating straight into a puddle, Phoebe gasped with laughter, dragging Rhiannon out of the way, stumbling into the redhead. They huddled beneath their umbrella, nearly losing it in the violent wind. They rushed along the sidewalk, and Phoebe was breathless by the time they reached a familiar set of double doors. Collapsing her umbrella, Rhiannon linked arms with the brunette, pulling her into the bar. 

The bass echoed in her chest, matching time with the coursing of her blood. Her skin hummed as they made their way through the crowd, green and gold light glittering all around her. Cinnamon smoke filled her lungs and she couldn’t deny that she had [i]missed[/i] this.

“Ashlyn!” Rhiannon shouted as they happened upon a large group, and Phoebe was caught off guard how different her friends looked out of uniform. It had been well over two years since she had joined them outside the hospital, a fact which did not go unnoticed.

“Rhian!! Pheebs! Merlin’s tits, I haven’t seen you in forever!” A dark haired witch with a garish tiara laughed, throwing her arms around them. Phoebe grinned wildly, squeezing the taller witch in a tight hug. 

“Happy birthday,” she greeted brightly, pushing her loose waves out of her face. “What are you, fifteen now?”

“Harr harr,” Ashlyn batted her bare shoulder playfully, “Twenty three, thank you very much.”

“Practically ancient,” Rhiannon intoned with a smirk, “Our little girl’s all grown up now. Kaiden, I think you’re officially no longer a cradle robber. Congratulations.”

“I’m so glad,” a curly haired wizard hovering at Ashlyn’s shoulder drawled, shooting Phoebe a tight smile. “Good to see you. Been a while.”

“You know how it is,” Phoebe said breezily, shrugging her shoulders. Rhiannon had flounced off to pick on her brother, Aeron, who looked amused at the sight of Phoebe. 

“Knew you’d show up,” he shouted across their small crowd, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Phoebe rolled her eyes, choosing instead to lean across the bar. Rhiannon had repurposed one of her old shirts, sending it plunging down her chest and back in a way that Phoebe thought looked a little young. Rhiannon assured her that it made her tits look fantastic. Judging by the bartender’s grin, it did the trick. Her lips curved into a wicked grin. She’d forgotten how good that felt. 

“Can I have a Pygmy Puff?” She purred, nails drumming on the oak of the bar, wild energy coiling in her stomach. The bartender nodded, and Merlin, she could barely keep still long enough to wait. Her patience was rewarded by a ridiculously pink martini, and the words ‘no charge’. Phoebe’s eyes danced as she pulled away. She’d remember that, she mused, once she tired of dancing and the company of her colleagues. She slipped towards a woman with a head of kinky black curls and a smirk on her face, exchanging insults with Aeron and a bald man. Phoebe grinned around her drink as she recognized him.

“Abel, you look like an idiot,” she informed him ever so kindly. The curly hair woman laughed there, her grin vicious.

“Thank you! Abel, I’m telling you, you should just grow it back out.”

“I [i]like[/i] it, Deirdre,” he complained, shooting the group a dark look. “It’s so much easier like this.”

“Your head looks weird, kind of like a misshapen potato,” Aeron informed him helpfully. Rhiannon giggled into her drink, reaching out and rubbing his head. He batted her hand away.

“You look a bit like you’re dying, mate,” she remarked brightly. Abel glowered, but Phoebe didn’t think she had ever seen him make any other facial expression in well over six years of working with him in the A&E. 

“Can’t believe you aren’t at work, Senior,” Phoebe directed to Deirdre, who shrugged her shoulders. 

“Well, I figured Warren could handle the floor for at least [i]one[/i] night. I wouldn’t miss overpriced cocktails with you idiots for the world.”

Phoebe grinned into her drink, taking a long sip of sickly sweet fire, humming. [i]Fuck[/i] that was good. She cast her gaze about the club, hooking a thumb through the belt loop of her leather leggings, grateful for the extra three inches her heels afforded her. At least she was no longer dwarfed by her companions.

“Pheebs! Come oooon, let’s dance!” Ashlyn had grabbed her arm out of nowhere, nearly spilling her drink. Phoebe stumbled, bracing herself against a grumpy looking Abel. She drained her cocktail, pressing the empty glass into his hand, and followed the birthday girl onto the floor. 

Everything was [i]more[/i]—louder, faster, brighter, a thousand different colours she didn’t even have names for, fire coursing through her veins. Everything was more potent, spiraling into the pulse of bodies and music. Phoebe let it wash over her, would happily drown in the madness forever.