The life of a musician ((Conan))

[Mackenzie Holden]

Mack didn’t say anything when he said the only reason he ever talked to his family was because of money. Money. It all went back to money. When Mack had been younger, when she hadn’t even thought of getting a record deal, money was a huge problem for her considering she wasn’t considered a Holden. When she met Tommy, though, and had actually signed the contract with G-Major… Money was no object. She currently had over 50,000 pounds in her account at Gringotts (you can do the math of what that is in Galleons) and that wasn’t including the 10,000 pounds she had with her at the school. Which was really an unintelligent idea. Still, Mack didn’t trust neither her mother or her step father with it. So she kept it with her. She had paid off Trevor’s 3,000 pound gambling debt over the summer and she was still well off on money. She didn’t like to brag about it, though, because she knew that not everyone had the luxury of earning money for doing their passion. “Money is the root of all evil,” she said instead of mentioning her large sum. For the longest time, it was Mack’s money that was paying the bills at the apartment when her father and mother had divorced. She knew Pam still felt horrible about that and tried as hard as she could to pay Mack back, but… Mack wouldn’t ever accept it. Getting away from Derreck was payment enough.

She looked over at Conan before taking another cookie and biting into it. He was blaming his grandfather for the whole grudge thing. Mack chewed this over a bit and then nodded her head once, “Well, then. I suppose it’s up to you to stop the grudge, yeah? Simply done, too.” Mack looked at the fire as she thought about what she had said. Maybe it wasn’t so simply done. Oh, well. Her eyes landed on the guitar that was still burning and she felt a sickening pull on her stomach. “Urgh. I probably shouldn’t have done that, Tommy’ll kill me for sure. I’ve gone through four guitars in the last two months because of my random acts of… I don’t remember the word he used. I think I’ll blame you, though. He can’t do much if I blame you for it.” She smirked and then looked at the guitar even more closely. She had three more, but this one was different and she was deeply regretting it. She would get over it, though. She didn’t say anything, either, because she didn’t want to prove Conan right. After all, Mack might not be a typical Slyth but she was put into the house for one reason or another.

[jacob]

Conan shrugged off the subject of his family. More then anything he hated talking about his family, though he knew it was his own fault they had gotten onto the subject. He had brought up his uncle. His family was a terror to talk about and it always confused people. Werewolves? Yeah, werewolves. Oh well. His grandfather’s bite was what started the entire issue. If not for that they would be a regular family, well, maybe not so regular. The males in his family would probably have developed a different sort of obsession. Why was his mother the only sane one? Oh yeah, she wasn’t blood to Conan’s grandfather, which means she didn’t carry the crazy gene. Conan prayed he hadn’t received too much of that gene.

His mother’s family was Canadian. They lived in a part of Canada, French Canada, which to Conan seemed more like Russia then France. Conan had only ever been there once, when he was eight. After that his father forbade him and his mother from speaking to her family. They had disagreed with him as well and had confronted him, telling him his obsession with werewolves was unhealthy. Hmm, maybe if Conan ever needed sanctuary he could seek them out, though he had no idea where they were now, and he’d have to speak to his mother to find out. That would prove taxing.

When Mack mentioned blaming Conan for the guitar he looked over at her, letting his jaw drop slightly. “You’d blame me for it? How was it my fault?” He smirked and nudged her with his shoulder in a joking manner, trying not to think about ever having the need to leave his uncle’s home, if the day never came, Conan would be content. “So…who’s this Tommy guy? Who’s he to tell you not to burn a guitar.” Truthfully, Conan didn’t know much about Mack. He knew she was paid to make music, making her a muscisian, and that she was talented at it, but as for what her life was like…other then music recently becoming an issue with her…he really didn’t know much. He didn’t know who the people she talked about where. “You should just say…” Conan stood up slowly, thinking about where he had been going with his though. “Well I don’t really know what you should say to him but you shouldn’t blame me.” He laughed and looked around the room, it was late now, and he was slowly getting more and more tired, and though he knew he would not sleep much he felt he should at least lay down.