1Which Broadway Character Are You?

A/N: So. My friend emailed me this quiz the other day, and it was "WHAT BROADWAY CHARACTER ARE YOU?" And I thought it would awfully fun to fuck around with the bohos and see what would happen if they took one of these tests. :) She wants some credit... credit to Annie!... but otherwise, this idea's mine. Guaranteed there are other stories out there like this, and I haven't read one of them. :)

— —

Roger loves Pac Man.

You don't understand me? Think I'm lying? Well, if you were here this particular day (it was a Saturday), you would understand what I mean. He'd been sitting in front of the high-speed Dell Inspiron 6000, though it didn't come out until around 2006, and clearly Mark and Roger are too poor to own a laptop computer, but, hey, FanFiction is easy to manipulate tenses and whatnot.

So! Yes, right. Authoress isn't allowed to get distracted these days.

Roger's eyes were glued to the screen, his big, circular Theodore Gibbs glasses framing his green orbs of wonderfulosity. Why does Roger wear glasses, you ask? Well, dear reader, it is because of the many years Roger spent playing Pac Man too goddamn close to the screen... and it also serves as a Roger-Adam not-so-coincidence that makes everyone excited (squee!).

It'd been twelve hours—he'd woken up at six in the morning and had been playing until six at night—when Mark finally crept up behind the screen of the laptop and popped out, shouting, "Boo!" and waving his hands.

Roger didn't move—he ate a big dot and swallowed the blue dudes with the x's over their eyes.

"Collins is naked, running through a building."

No response. Roger ate more of the blue dudes.

"...Mimi is fucking Maureen in your bedroom."

Nothing.

"SOMEBODY LEFT A WAFFLE IN THE TOASTER!"

"Mark, you're a fucking idiot," Roger yawned in a monotone, and swallowed the last blue dude and collected the rest of the dots. He stretched out his wrists, which were probably going to develop carpel tunnel at any given moment.

At that moment, the "gang" exited from the kitchenette area thing, sending Mark questioning looks. "Any luck?"

"No," Mark shook his head. "The Pac Man-y goodness has really gotten to him."

There was a short pause when everyone silently wondered, Pac Man-y goodness? but then put this odd thought aside.

"I've got a plan," Angel said, and strutting over to the laptop, she plucked it up from where it was sitting in front of Roger and threw it out the window, not quite as aware that a new one would soon reproduce as the author was, making Roger quite and incredibly angry.

"Wait!" Collins cried, and then motioned to the place where Angel had thrown the laptop. "Another one just... appeared!"

The readers hopefully by now noticed that this was a spoof on how us authors give objects that are lost forever the amazing ability of reproduction... even when they're thrown out of windows and fall hundred two five hundred feet onto solid concrete, either that or an unfortunate taxi.

But I digress.

The new laptop was there, and Roger was content.

Maureen tapped her foot impatiently. "Okay!" she shouted, and then charged Roger and shoved him off the chair. "My turn on the computer!"

Roger, who'd gone flying on the floor, slid all the way across the loft and stayed there, staring up at the ceiling. "Great. I almost killed the last fucking guy, too, Mo. Bitchface."

"Blame Aaaaaan-gel!" Maureen sang.

"It's impooooooossible to blame Aaaaan-gel!" Roger mocked her. This was true. How can you possibly blame Angel for anything?

Instantly Maureen had logged onto the Google machine and was typing in various quiz names... and then one popped up that made her squee like a fangirl, even though she was the one possessing the fangirls. "OMG!" she shouted, and almost fell out of the chair. "OMG! OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG, ZOMG!"

"...what?" Collins finally asked, being royally freaked out along with the rest of the bohos.

"ZOMG! It's a quiz—'Which Broadway Character Are You Most Like?'" she squealed again. "OH MY GOSH, I WANNA KNOW!" she bounced up and down, giggling like a stoned person.

Everyone had crowded around at this time, all wanting to know what Maureen was going to score as on this test. "Okay... first question. 'What do you like to do? A: Shop.' Oh! Well, that's it!"

"Woah, woah, Mo," Joanne held up her hands, "Look at the next one. 'B: Perform.' What if you had picked shop, and never saw perform there?"

"That's probably why I failed all those goddamn tests in high school. I just picked the first question that looked good."

"Which was A every time," Mark chuckled.

"No it wasn't!"

"Yes, it was. I went to cheat off of you and all you'd done was fill in A for every single bubble."

There was laughter. Quickly, Maureen finished the rest of the questions and came out with... "G(a)linda Upland?"

Quickly she scrolled down to the synopsis. "Let's see... 'You feel the need to make people 'popular' and not who they really are. You just need to step back and realize that you aren't 'that girl' maybe once, and let someone take the spotlight for once. However, you're sort of smart... you use your looks to get things that you don't deserve, and many people think you're noble, but you aren't. Once you get to know the person you don't like very much, you become best friends.'" She stared at the screen. "Well, that's a load of shit!"

She tossed the laptop out the window.

A new one appeared in front of them. "Alllright, Marky, your turn."

"Me?!" Mark cried, staring at the computer. "W-Why me?"

"Because." She pointed to the screen and instructed, "Go."

"Okay. First question: 'Which best describes you. A: You go out and get what you're waiting for. B: You know that what you're waiting for is coming. C: You don't want anything. D: You never wait. You're impatient, and patience is for squares, as far as you're concerned.'"

"I'd say B, man. You so know what's coming for you... LIKE—"

"A kick in the ass from Roger," Mark finished off-handedly, not even turning around to see Roger, who had been prepared to kick Mark up the buttockular area.

"Yeah," Mimi nodded, "Yeah, definitely go with B, that was weird."

There was a short silence where Mark finished answering the questions on his own, and then he let out a loud shout.

"Piss!" Mark shouted, bringing his fist down on the table next to him. "I got 'Little Orphan Annie!'"

Everybody burst into laughter. He read the summary out loud. "'You're poor, but you're very determined that 'the sun will come out tomorrow.' Eventually, you know that you'll either regain your old love, either that or meet your 'Daddy Warbucks' who will take you in under their wing.'" Louder laughter. Mark squinted. "Is that code for 'You're going to marry an old man?'"

Now Collins was hunched all the way over, laughing so hard that his face was turning a bright red. "Oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDD!" he let out a loud shout.

"OH YEAH?! OH YEAH, YOU THINK YOU'RE SO FUNNY? HOW ABOUT YOU TRY IT!" Mark shouted, and smacked Collins over the head with the laptop. "Go, you baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaastard!"

"Fine," Collins sighed, and pushed Mark off the chair.

"NO!" Joanne screeched, and clawed Collins until he fell off. "I WANNA GO!" she sat down and, at lightning speed, before Collins could shove her off, finished the quiz. "I'm 'Aida' from 'Aida.'" She paused. "WAIT! Aida's black! This test is racist, judging by race!"

Roger stared at the screen with his head cocked to one side, like a confused puppy. "Did they ask you if you were black?"

She paused. "No."

"Well, there you go. Now just read the damn paragraph."

She sighed. "'You are more or less undiscovered. The person beneath the slave you've become—'" she paused and glared at Maureen, "'—is nice and caring, as you always will be. You're a princess from another land, but a slave in the one you live in.'"

Spontaneously, she leapt up and pointed a finger at the sky. "I TOLD YOU I WAS A PRINCESS!"

"Woah, woah, woah, WOAH!" Collins jumped on Joanne's back and pinned her to the ground. "It's a METAPHOR, Jo. That means that in any other group but ours, you'd be treated as a princess because you're a fancy schmancy lawyer, but here you're just another alcoholic crackhead of our group!"

She stopped struggling. "Oh." Then: "DAMMIT!"

"MYYYYYY TURN!" Collins cried in a sing-song voice, and then leapt off of Joanne and into the chair. "Let's see... question one. 'Are you a ladies' man?'"

Instantly, everyone in the room erupted into laughter. Collins quickly selected the appropriate answer. "Two... what do you like on your toast?"

"JELLY!" Angel blurted, and Collins nodded.

"Si, but why do they ask such things?"

"I don't know."

There were a few more moments of silence—Roger attempted to show everyone his human pretzel but ended up blowing a gasket, which was soon restored by the Wonderful Doctors of FanFicland.

"I got..." he stopped. "Corny Collins from Hairspray."

"AHAHAHAHAH!" Everybody burst out, "COLLINS! HIS LAST NAME IS COLLINSSSSSSSSS!"

"'You've got potential to be/you are famous—'"

"AHAHAHAHHAHA!"

"—'and you're one of those people who comes off too nice to actually be genuinely kind. After people meet you, they say, 'They're nice... too nice.' However, you really are that nice. Though you have certain vices, you're a great person and friend and see everyone equal.'"

There was a short silence. "Damn you, Collins," Roger whispered through clenched teeth. "Okay, MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY TUR—"

"NO!" Angel shouted, and then collided mid-air with Roger, sending him flying onto a table filled with punch.

She quickly occupied the chair and typed with the speed of a secretary. "First question: 'Where would you dream wedding be?' Hmm... a backyard!" she clicked the appropriate letter. "Second question... 'Animal of preference? A: Dog.'" She laughed. "Heh... no. B: Cat. C: Lizard or frog. D: Fish. Um... cat, definitely."

The quiz took her a few more moments, and when the final score loaded, she laughed. "WOOT! I'm Mama Morton from Chicago! It says, 'You're a great person, and you always give the best and most honest advice there is. Though you do expect things in return, you have great friends and you accept everyone.'"

"That's great," Collins smiled and gave Angel a short kiss.

"GREAT!" Roger said, with red hair from the punch he landed in, "NOW IT'S MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY—"

"NO! MEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Mimi did an aerial attack and knocked Roger away from the chair, smashing her teeth into the top of the laptop. However, since this is a FanFiction and I don't own the characters, she isn't allowed to be injured that much. Damn.

"I WANNA GO!" She filled out the quiz as fast as humanly possible and bounced the whole time. "HUZZAH, I GOT VELMA FROM CHICAGO!"

"OMG, CHICA!" Angel squealed, "THAT MEANS WE'RE LIKE BFFS!"

"HOLY CHRIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The author added tons of unnecessary exclamation points for affect.

"NOW IT'S MY TURN!" Roger snarled, and jumped the computer. "MINE, IT'S MINE!" And he typed as fast as he could.

Everybody supervised as he picked his answers carefully. And then, the moment of unveiling...

"Ula from The Producers?!?!?!?!?!" Roger shrieked, and generally passed out off of the chair.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" Mimi screeched, her eyes wide. "AHAHHAAHHHAHAHAHHAHH! ROGER'S A GIRL! AHHHHHHHHH!"

"...Roger?" Angel asked cautiously. "Is... is there something... you aren't telling us?"

"Wait, wait!" Mark cried, "Read the paragraph!"

"'You are a blonde stripper-esque type,'" Collins read, trying not to piss his pants, "'or at least in your mind you are. Though you probably aren't foreign, you are one to paint a room white to clean it. You have men and women alike fawning over you and your sexy body. You're actually an idiot, though. And, no, sadly, you may not have the nifty accent she has. You have many blonde moments and are not that intelligente. Congrats.'"

Roger fans and Adam fans squeed about the fandom, trying to picture Roger wearing a skintight white dress and fucking Leo Bloom behind a couch, and painting a room white.

And the problem is, none of them had a problem producing this picture.

A/N: Didn't know how to end it, but I'm proud of it.

Thanks again to my pal Annster Dee.!

–Steph.