Watchful: Oneshot presenting Mr. Schneider, resident of 1334 Beechwood
(AN: Hi all! I'm just starting to dip my toes into the world of Monkees fic; hope you all enjoy my first attempt!)
I know you're watching; all of us do. You sit there, mindlessly absorbing the goings-on through a glass screen. What, you didn't think dummies are sentient enough to realize we're being observed? Ever hear of that fellow Pinocchio? I may not be a puppet, but we're both made of wood and typically work in show business, so it's close enough.
Do you live here? You ask. I do, but not alone. You've probably heard of the guys. Mike, Micky, Peter, and Davy: they're local celebrities, what with all the rescued princesses, run-ins with mobsters, and adventures in campaign finance reform. Oh, and they're in a rock group, but despite disturbingly catchy original tunes, gigs never really manage to pay the rent. The guys would do a lot better if they just got a camera crew to follow them around and made a television show out of the footage; kids would eat it right up! I mean, I'm no spring chicken, and even I like watching these Monkees go about their hazardous day-to-day lives.
That's mostly what I do—I watch. Sure, I might utter one or two lines from time to time or engage in a friendly game of checkers, but I prefer to relax in the corner by the refrigerator and keep an eye on things. I mean, I could take more of an active role in the proceedings, but you've got to admit that "Nesmith, Dolenz, Tork, Jones, and Schneider" doesn't have quite the same ring to it. Sounds like a law firm. In any case, living with these four long-haired weirdos is certainly more exciting than my previous gig modeling eyeglasses. That was a lot less glamorous than it sounds, believe me.
And then one day I was no longer an eyeglasses model. Old Willie finally decided to shut up shop—after all, he hadn't a single customer since '62. I was an unemployed dummy, sitting on the curb with the coatrack and generic watercolor prints when they found me.
"Can we keep him?" Peter practically vibrated with excitement.
"Don't we already have a dummy?" Micky said. Mike and Davy gave him long, hard looks while Peter pouted.
Peter turned to Mike. "Please?"
"Yeah, Mike," Davy said. "I think Mr. Schneider here might do us some good."
"Mr. Schneider?" Mike asked.
Davy said that it was the name of some big-wig producer or someone and maybe it'd give them some luck for a change?
After a bit more wheedling, Mike and Micky conceded. "It's not like it'll do any harm."
Well, I can't say I've enriched their lives that much, but that afternoon was the beginning of a new chapter for all of us, including me, the oft-forgotten fifth resident of 1334 Beechwood. Oh no, I don't want to be a Monkee. That would be far too chaotic and the only instrument I'm any good on are the bagpipes. I'm content just to watch; aren't you?