This is more or less the whole play of WWRY with a few twists and Gaz's scattered thoughts. Praise, criticism, corrections--whatever, they're all welcome. This is my first fic, enjoy!
The usual "don't own it" speech goes here. Names, song lyrics, and basic story lines belong to Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor, John Deacon, and Ben Elton. The odd Beatles or Greenday or--well, pretty much anyone's quote could be here, too. Nothing really belongs to me; I'll just say that.
Note: I know that this one is short, I'm writing another part to it on my other computer and it would be WAY too long to have it together, and awkward if I separated them.
I'm Going Slightly Mad
I've seen every blue-eyed floozy on the way.
Galileo was dreaming again. There was the same man as the other nights, singing these words, and more. But Galileo never remembered more than one line from a dream, except once, the line that repeated itself over and over again. Something about going to where the champions played, the place of living rock...a bright, bright star will lead the way. Where did the champions play? Who WERE these "champions"? What's this star thing about? And just WHAT was living rock?
These were the things that Galileo thought about every day. When the fire starts to burn it drives you more than half-crazy. There it was again; a random phrase, following some sort of rhythm. With a pounding heart, Galileo woke up from his dream.
"Bloody hell," he said to himself. Just when I think I'm done with those dreams they come back again. Oh well, might as well get up for another great day at the clone zone.
Getting up, Galileo noticed he was late. Barely enough time to drag a comb across my head, he thought as he ran out of his house. Running out, he literally ran into some weird-looking girl. With a "Piss off" and the vilest glare you could imagine--well, no, you couldn't possibly imagine such a thing--she was off, leaving Galileo to stare at her retreating back. You don't waste no time at all.
The girl certainly wasn't a Gaga girl--it just wasn't possible. She wore only what Galileo could describe as a torn up bed sheet, army boots, and some sort of jumper, all of which were black. Her eyes had black all around them, with framing spiky black eyelashes. Her hair was purple and tied up in knots. The laptop bag she carried was black with rips on it. It kind of looked like someone had tried to half-heartedly sew the rips up with red thread.
Scaramouche, he thought, remembering a past dream. The words came back: Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango? "Shut up!" he said to the voice in his head, before it could get any worse. He decided to follow her.