AN: This has been bugging me for a while so I wrote it. It will be multi-chapter and mostly humor, but there will be some heavier stuff too. Oh and for readers of "Shot" and "Bug Juice" I will try to update as soon as possible. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own either RENT or The Breakfast Club. Life sucks.
Mimi straightened up with a long "Uunnh!" of frustration. She waited for a couple of seconds and then gritted her teeth and tried again. Once more it seemed her "call" would elicit no response, no Roger scurrying to their bedroom door to investigate into the source of his girlfriends distress. And distressed she was: as Mimi surveyed the room she was able to spot neither her knee-high Catscratch boots nor an inch of floorboard. This place is such a pigsty she thought.
In a last attempt to allow her lover to come to his senses and come to her aid before he found himself in very big trouble, Mimi bent down, dissected one of Roger's enormous shoes from the mess and hurled it aganst a wall, repeating her high-pitched grunt of frustration.
She listened. Nothing.
Okay that was it. She started out the door.
"ROGER! Where the hell are my…" And promptly found herself facedown on the floor.
Roger, Cap'n Crunch bowl in hand, was sprawled out on the couch watching The Breakfast Club with Mark, who was curled up in the armchair. Without looking up he called, "Watch out for the pile of clothes."
Mimi slowly got to her feet, eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Roger," she said, slowly, "Why is there a pile of clothes right outside the door?"
He propped himself on one elbow and looked back at her. "It isn't right outside the door, its at an angle. You just didn't come out right."
"I mean, why is there a pile of clothes here at all?"
"Laundry."
Mimi looked down. "These are clean."
"Yeah…so?"
By now Mimi's eyes had narrowed so far, it was a miracle she could still see.
"So why don't you put them away?"
"I'll get to it, don't worry."
"No, Roger, I am worried. Why? Because I cannot remember the last time you EVER put clothes away. And where are you even planning to put them, hmmm? Your dressers are full of NOTEBOOKS and old POSTERS. I can't see the floor in there and there are…WHAT?!"
"Shhh," Roger was gesturing impatiently and leaning toward the TV screen, "This is one of my favorite parts."
Mimi snapped. She let out a small shriek of rage and launched herself across the room.
"Oh crap," Roger muttered, and a second later he was up and trying to defend himself against his irate girlfriends tiny fists. Mark, who had previously been ignoring the pair, now switched off the TV and watched interestedly, munching on his own bowl of cereal.
"What is the matter with her?" gasped a bewildered Roger. After a few more minutes of wrestling Mimi slowed down and eventually wrenched her fists away and stood there panting from the exertion.
Roger watched her warily. "You okay, now?"
Mimi looked at him and sighed. "No, Roger, I'm not okay. This place is filthy!" She indicated the loft. Mark and Roger looked.
"It's not that bad," Mark said defensively.
"What do you mean 'Not that bad'," Mimi cried, "Look! There are boxes of books and rolls of film and god-knows-what-else everywhere! There is stuff left from when Maureen, Collins, Benny, people we don't know lived here! This place hasn't been cleaned since it was built!"
"That's never bothered you before," Roger pointed out cautiously.
"Yeah, you never seemed to mind," Mark agreed.
"Yeah, well…I…I don't know. It just bothers me!" Mimi plopped wearily onto the couch.
"Ow!" she leapt up again. Moving a pillow she discovered her missing boots.
"I thought the couch seemed lumpier than usual," Roger muttered.
Mimi stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. "You know what? I have to be at work in 45 minutes. Do we have anything to eat besides Cap'n Crunch?"
Mark tentatively held out a bow of doughnut holes. Mimi looked into it. A couple of them had dustings of grayish-green. Wordlessly she rose, grabbed her boots, smacked both boys over the head and stalked out of the apartment.
Mark and Roger looked at each other. "Doughnut?" Mark asked offering the box.
POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOP
Later that night as Mimi inserted her key into the lock she was starting to regret having gone off on the boys. Lately though it seemed like everything irritated her, not just the state of the loft. Oh well. She'd just have to apologize in the morning.
Said loft was about as dark as an East Village accommodation can get. Mimi started to make her way over to the bedroom door.
Smack! "Aaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"
A boxers-clad Roger came running out of his room. A few seconds later Mark stumbled out of his own room. He switched on the light and they both stared down at Mimi, sprawled across the floor, shrieking in broken Spanish.
"Why is the pile of CLEAN laundry in the middle of the FLOOR?!" she yelled getting to her feet.
"Because you didn't want it in the middle of the doorway?" Roger said meekly.
Mimi's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.
"That's IT! Tomorrow we are cleaning the loft! And let me just tell you, I am NOT going to end up doing it all myself. We are ALL going to clean the loft and that means everyone who has ever lived here that we can possibly track down and we are going to clean it until we are DONE! This place is going to SPARKLE, DAMN IT!!"
Conjures some scary images doesn't it? I imagine it's kind of like an infuriated Chihuahua. Anywaaaaaayyyy... There's been much debate over this, but I maintain that the little button is PERIWINKLE. Capitalized and everything. So please push the PERIWINKLE button and leave a review!