Dressing Room

Author's Notes: Okay, so yes, this is very inspired by A Pathetic Fanfiction (no, that's the title) and Ten Minute Break, but, well, there are differences…

"Oh, thank god it's over!"

Angel looks up serenely. "Oh, was that the Roger/Mary Sue fic? It's over?"

Roger, looking too scarred to speak, nods. "Thirty-two chapters," he manages to choke out before snatching up a water bottle and taking a long swig from it. "Oh my god, Angel, you have no idea how painful that was."

Angel raises her eyebrows. "I've been shipped with just about everyone, Roger, including a plastic pickle tub. I think I know what you were going through."

Just then, the door slams open and Mimi, Benny, and Maureen enter, each looking flustered. "I do not want to know," Roger says, preparing himself for the worst, before Mimi giggles and shakes her head.

"No, I didn't," she says, jerking her head toward Benny while twirling a curl around her finger. "No, it was actually – well, it was the same story, but it was Benny/Maureen and, well, I was with another Gary Stu."

Roger exhales deeply, before frowning. "Hey! How come they're all over now?"

"Huh?"

He just sighs. "Mark! Collins! Joanne! Get over here!"

The bohemians gather around, and in true RENT spirit, Roger climbs onto the table in the middle of the room. "What's with all the Mary-Garys?"

Collins, who looks infuriated, comments that "These nine-year-olds keep signing up, and since they all think we're hot, you know, we get shipped. With them."

A simultaneous shudder passes through the bohemians, particularly Mark, who still has not recovered from the Mark/Mary Sue fic in which he was forced to devirginize a girl who later turned out to be twelve years old. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night, terrified that the annoying little pipsqueak will come between a between-the-sheets encounter with a real character, or worse, that there'll be a sequel.

Benny, smug, announces, "I never get any Marys."

"No," retorts Roger, "you get Garys. Any surprise why?"

Nobody answers. Benny growls menacingly.

Mimi, lowering her voice, looks at Roger and whispers, "I know where they come from."

Everyone in the room's neck snaps to turn to face the young dancer. "You what?" demands Mark in disbelief.

"I know where they come from," she repeats. "The Marys and Garys."

"Where?!" everyone yells.

Her signature coy smile adorning her face, Mimi stands and sweeps her arm toward the door. "Follow me," she says, and swaying her hips, she exits.

With nothing else to do, the others immediately get to their feet and follow her.

At first, the walk is relatively uneventful. Whispers pass through just about the entire group, save for Mimi and Benny, whose face is being stuffed with snack food that probably contributes to his expanding waistline and the slowly diminishing amount of stories that feature him.

"You know, we're not supposed to be here," Roger comments. It's true; while there is no rule specifiying that the "Misc" floor is off limits to characters, never before has it been done. The whole Fanfiction-Dot-Net building, apart from the dressing rooms and story platforms, is devoid of characters.

Mimi shrugs, casually passing by the "Musicals/Plays" room without a word. Maureen and Roger peek their heads inside, but retract them when their respective lovers yank their sleeves and pull them along the hallway.

At last, the bohemians come to a single steel door. Peering inside, Collins – the tallest of the group – can see the sparkling white walls. Cursing himself for the tremble in his hands, he pulls the door open and gestures for the others to enter before him. Behind everyone else, he at last files in, and is disappointed to discover that the door merely led to two other doors: one reading "Mary Sues," the other labeled, "Gary Stus."

"Hi!" comes an unfamiliar voice. The bohemians turn to face a redhead in the doorway of the Mary Sue section. "Are you guys new?" Even though the girl is underage, all the heterosexual males are transfixed by her at once, as well as Maureen, Joanne, and Mark, who doesn't really fit into any category of sexuality.

"I'm Kaya," the girl says chirpily. Roger's head falls into his hands.

"Definitely a Mary Sue," he mutters. Mark snorts a laugh, not as entranced by Kaya as anyone else, considering his fandom-known crush on Roger.

Seemingly unfazed, Kaya takes Roger's hand and pulls him forward. "You can be my boyfriend," she says delightedly. "I'm fifteen. I write songs. I was abused by my last boyfriend, so I'm emotionally unstable and yet daring and extroverted. I enjoy Stoli, preaching no-day-but-today, and long walks on the beach. Any questions?"

Roger feebly attempts to free himself of her grasp, even muttering that Kaya isn't a name for a redhead anyway, but is dragged into the room. The door closes behind him, and as soon as he enters the very pink chamber of the Mary Sues, he wishes he hadn't.

Girls are everywhere. Blond, black, brown, red, and "exotic"-colored hair is strewn everywhere, on the rim of the hot tub and draped over the heads of the girls sitting at the bar. Not a single girl's thighs are hidden, nor shoulders, nor back. The one thing that is invisible on these girls are their actual faces; covered in make-up, Roger cannot distinguish a single actual face. Except –

"Hey!" he exclaims. "I know you!" His finger pointing wildly at a single girl who could be anyone considering the vagueness of the gesture, his eyes widen. "You're that gorgeous exotic dancer girl from the story where Mark killed himself, Mimi was dead, Angel was alive, and Maureen kept trying to hit on me even though she was my cousin!"

Just about every girl in the room stands at this declaration. "That's right, Roger," they breathe, and advance upon him. Suddenly he is hit by the fact that the summary he gave could be applied to just about every Mary Sue-centric story he's ever starred in, and he is backed up into the wall by these girls, sweating and petrified. One girl's lips come terrifyingly close to his mouth, and –

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" comes a voice from the doorway. Everyone turns to the door, only to find a tall, blond man there, a guitar brandished out as a weapon. "Leave Roger alone!"

Eternally grateful, Roger stumbles over to the man and is wrapped in his arms. "That's okay, Roger," the stranger says. "I'm here for you, man. I'm the best boyfriend you've ever had."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Roger says, backing back up into the wall. "I'm straight."

With a snort, the man shakes his head. "No, stupid, you think you're straight. Then I kiss you, you fall in love, and I move in with Mark, who gets jealous and tries to kill me, and you're disgusted by Mark's behavior and move out. With me. Into my apartment, where we are – alone."

Roger's head shakes frantically. "I've never been in one of those," he mumbles, terrified.

"Well, that's 'cause they weren't popular 'till now. Don't worry, by next week, you'll be totally used to it."

"I don't want to," Roger squeaks, and makes a break for the door. Unfortunately, a girl blocks his path. She looks about thirteen, and her ribs protrude. Revolted, Roger tries to push past her, but she will have none of that.

While chewing her gum, the girl comments, "Did you know I'm a dancer?"

"I don't care," Roger informs her. "Move."

She merely bats his hands away. "My name's Emily."

"Why are there so many freaking Emilys in our stories when the name wasn't even popular until 2005?" Roger demands.

The girl shrugs. "I don't know, I didn't write it."

"Yes you did," Roger informs her. "Your writer's name is EmilyVieLove, which, you know, doesn't even make sense."

She scowls, folding up her T-Mobile Sidekick and putting it in her miniskirt pocket. "Whatever. Besides, I'm not your love interest."

"You're not?" he asks, bewildered. Surely nobody could resist his charm.

"Nope," she replies. "I'm your daughter."

Horrified, Roger ducks underneath her arm and pushes the door open. He manages to open it, but about a million pairs of arms wrap themselves around his waist to prevent his exit. Utterly trapped, he falls to his knees, trying in vain to bat away the Mary Sues with some sort of untamed desire for his underfed body.

Just as his pants have been stripped off and the next article of clothing may well be his boxers, Roger remembers what he has been taught by the Fanfiction-Dot-Net Emergency Training course for fanfiction characters. When dealing with Mary Sues, always remember: they are not bright, and they are not human. With that in mind, Roger gasps. "Look over there!" he screams. Of course, the many blond heads surrounding him spin around to see Roger's invisible discovery, and he takes that opportunity to crawl beneath their legs (fighting back nausea) and hurtle towards the door.

When he reaches the door, the girls are still gazing around in hopes to discover whatever it was that Roger saw. Knowing he does not have much time left, Roger reaches out into the hallway and grabs Mark. "Get in here!" he screams, and pulls the filmmaker in by his sleeve. Mark is obviously petrified, but does not resist.

The girls glance from Mark to Roger, unsure as to which victim they should attack. They look just about ready to make up their minds when suddenly, forceful lips hit Mark's, and he is forced against the wall.

"Oh, crap," one girl mumbles. "He's gay?"

"And with a real character?" whines another.

"But that goes against everything we learned in the Mary Sue Training Course!"

Roger detatches himself from Mark's face for one single moment. He merely says to the girls, his voice an utter deadpan, "Why don't you go attack the Garys?"

"Because they're gay," complains a girl in the back.

Roger shrugs. "So? It means you can use the handcuffs you keep back there." He points to the corner of the room where a bookcase is stationed. Living in the East Village, Roger can identify false bookcases at once, and knows that if this particular one is turned around, it reveals a variety of handcuffs, leather ties, and the like. How does he know? He keeps one in his and Mark's bedroom in the loft.

"We should get Mimi something here," Roger muses. "Hey! Pass me a knife?" he yells to one of the girls.

Since Mary Sues always have excellent reflexes and throwing abilities, it is no surprise when Roger catches and pockets a knife.

"Why a knife?" inquires Mark.

Roger grins. "'Cause she can say she was with as many Garys as she wants, but I know she was with Benny."

"So who are you killing?" Mark asks, unfazed, as he pushes the door open.

Roger laughs. "Nobody, silly."

"Then why – ?"

"To cut open her teddy bear and replace the 'I love you' voice box with the Darth Vader one Collins keeps under his bed."

Mark shakes his head.

"What?" Roger asks.

"Don't do a Darth Vader voice," Mark says between choked laughs.

Curious, Roger tilts his head. "What should I do instead?"

"A Gary voice. No – the voice of that Gary, the one who was practically molesting Collins." Mark points to a stereotypical homosexual out in the hallway. His pants are leather and skin-tight, and his voice a falsetto that could easily be found on a particularly snotty fourteen-year-old girl.

"I like the way you think, Mark," Roger says. "A Gary voice. What could be scarier?"

The answer to that? Absolutely nothing. Except, perhaps, for the look on the mods' faces when they discover that the ever-troublesome RENT characters have broken into an off-limits room again. Since it's the dwelling of the Mary Sues, the girls with whom the moderators have their adulterous affairs, Mark is probably right in his suggestion to "get out of here as fast as we can."

So scarred for life, the eight bohemians make their way from the dressing room of the Marys and Garys back to the RENT dressing room.

They never speak of that day again.