Right, so since technically this is based on real people I had to change some names.
I think it's pretty obvious who is who! Feel free to leave a review *heart*


Monday November 4th, 1963

The lights were bright and blinding. The Royal Command Performance was tonight, and it had sold out. People of all types, sexes and classes stood as this evening's audience. Women in the audience sobbed and pulled their hair, a sexual madness being liberated from their souls.

In their own private section sat: Queen Elizabeth II, Lord Snowdon and Princess Margaret. Even the British Monarchy had bothered to step down from their royal duties to witness this evening's performance.

The boys were feeling lively and they did what they knew they did best: they made music.

Dingo Stark sat with his drums his arms sore from keeping a lively beat up, head cheerily bobbing from side to side. George Harrisehn stood coolly holding his guitar, strumming along, a wide grin making way to his face; he still couldn't come to terms of where he was standing tonight. Poll Macartney sang along to "I Saw Her Standing There", tapping his foot and slightly bouncing as he played his bass. And Jon Lemon, well-

"Will the people in the cheaper seats clap their hands? And the rest of you, if you'll just rattle your jewelry!" he shouted wittily mid performance.

The crowd shouted even louder. On the bright side the thing about being blinded by the lights and deafened by adoring shrieks is that you can't even think about being nervous.

Just what was this madness beginning to unfold?

Little did they know that it was only the beginning of Beatle-mania...

The concert was a wild success. Even the Queen sent her congratulations and seemed pleased by the night's performance. So did the crazed fans that chased after the get-away car when the band exited through the stage's backdoor.

The after party followed. Jon was having the time of his life messing with some old geezer's that had arrived to the lavish penthouse party they threw. A pair of long legs that strolled in caught his attention. Nothing his wife would ever know about.
Poll sat coolly in a love seat two cookie-cutter blonde models wrapped around his arms, laughing at his lame jokes and stroking his chest. George was drunk as a skunk and was uncharacteristically laughing loudly at some joke that Dingo made, at the same time he stuffed his face with a handful of finger sandwiches. Dingo was in the zone, the life of the party like always, cracking jokes, popping expensive bottles of champagne and dancing the night away. Nearby was an annoyed waiter who would've rather be asleep. The only thing keeping him awake at this late hour were the colorful bills that Jon kept stuffing in his pockets.
He looked at growing zeros on the tab, which only continued growing before Dingo signed off on it. At this rate he'd never have to work another day in his life!

Little did they know that the four of them were about to receive a foul wake-up call.


Briant Epstone, the Beatle's manager, stood tall in his clean suit at 8:00 AM sharp. They were late. They were always late. Even Poll, who was usually the most noble out of the four, was late.

He had been phoning their homes all night and had been unable to find any of them. In the process he had even awoken Cynthea, Jon's wife, who was not pleased. It was after calling all of the five star hotels in London that he was finally able to get ahold of them. Of course, all four of them were together. George answered the phone in a groggy voice.

"You're late!" Epstone said angrily as the four finally strolled inside of the room- about thirty minutes later. Dingo was holding onto his blistering headache he stumbled from side to side as he walked still drunk. George seemed surprisingly alright, he wore dark sunglasses in order to hide his sleepy eyes and carried a bag of English muffins for breakfast. He was still wearing last night's outfit. Poll looked dead from lack of sleep his hair messy and sticking up in all directions.
A shameless trail of hickeys branded his neck. Jon stomped in angrily not understanding why their manager had taken the time to phone them all up and had snitched to his wife on where he had actually spent the night.

"Do we have to do this so early?" groaned Dingo as he rubbed his tired eyes.
"Oi, Georgie what are ya havin'?" Jon said hungrily eyeing the English muffing he was about to stuff into his mouth. He paused for a moment and the slightest grin made way to his face.
"Not Poll, that's for sure," he chuckled glancing at the purple bruises on his neck.
Poll's hand reached for his neck and he covered the love bites from the previous night. He flashed George an irritated look. Jon laughed and persisted on asking for a muffing. George retorted that he should've picked up muffins instead of home to change clothes. Dingo continued complaining-

"Enough!" Briant snapped on his last nerve. "I swear, the four of you. Just like children..." he shook his head on the brink of loosing his mind.
'And their career is barely launching off...' he rubbed his temples stressed out.

There was a long table in the empty meeting room. The four men sat on one side of the table facing their manager and friend.

"If you are wondering why I have gathered you here on this fine morning-" he said before ripping open the blinds of a window allowing the white light to fill the room. All men but George flinched at the brightness of the unusual day in England.
"It's because all four of you are completely out of control!"

Poll was about to protest, but Briant remained rambling.

"I know you boys are excited. Your careers are taking off, but you gotta remain in line. Don't loose control. Don't fall into vice so early in the game," he said roughly scolding his band. "And you know what else is out of control? Your finances!"
This time none of them complained, it was true.
"You're stirring hurricanes in mugs!" George protested annoyed.
"Yeah- what's the big deal? We'll just draw more from the bank-" Dingo said casually.
"And this is exactly why we have a problem," Briant sighed, shaking his head. He feared that if they continued spending and acting this way- well, their fame and fortune would be short lived. He would never forgive himself if that happened. Then again, he'd also be unemployed.

"So- all of you are here this morning because we are having interviews. We will be hiring an accountant to help you four with your finances (and teach you about how to use your money)."

The Beetles tidied up a bit and fixed their appearance ready for the interviews. The first interviewer that came in was a man that could've easily been Poll's grandpa. Jon didn't even give him a moment.
"Next!" Poll shouted abruptly.
"Yeah, if we wanted a porker around here we'd go to the butcher's instead! Oink! Oink!" he snorted before bursting out in a fit of giggles and high fiving Poll.
The other sniggered like school children. The man gasped, apparently he was a highly renowned professor from Oxford and had just been compared to a swine. "Well I never-!" the man gasped and scurried out of the room with his folders.
"Zip it! Lemon! This is not an audition. These people are professionals!"

Briant scolded Jon and the others and barked out that they were to be respectful. Other professionals came in. They all showed promise and years of experience. None caught the men's attention. It was then that the first woman came in her name was Dinah Davis. She seemed smart, she was average looking and had years of experience. But she had something that none of the other candidates did...
The Beetles kept quiet as she spoke. Briant watching them carefully.
It was then that George passed a note to Poll. Poll read it and smirked, then he wrote something on it and passed it to Jon.
"Hired Ms. Double D," Jon said blatantly. The woman ran out of the room sobbing.

Briant warned Jon not to objectify any of these hardworking women. He was threatened that if he didn't keep his trap shut, bad things would come to him. Jon could be such a swine sometimes.

More came and went, but none were successful. Until one finally stole their hearts.

A red heel clicked as it stepped inside of the small office. The sound resounded Dingo's ears and he jumped in his chair standing up erect. George's eyes caught side of a long leg and a mini skirt. Jon's eyes trailed from the bottom of that heel all the way up to the plumped cleavage she was showing off. Poll almost lost his balance as he leant forward over the table head over heels. The woman before them could've been a model She was straight down the definition of sexy.
She looked almost like she could be Bridgette Bardot's sister, a tall, blonde, bombshell. Poll covered his hickeys and flashed her a sly smile, and George removed his sunglasses.

She hadn't even introduced herself when Jon shouted "Hired!"

Briant rolled his eyes, "She hasn't even introduced herself!"
"That comes later. Over dinner, perhaps?" Poll added with a wink.

The woman before them giggled and handed Briant her resume. "Isabel Murdock," he read the title. In her resume he observed some experience and recommendations, but nothing out of this world. Most of it consisted on modeling jobs, there was nothing in accounting or finance. He looked at the way that the men were hungrily looking at the woman and the flirtatious looks she was giving them back. This was a bad idea. This woman was completely under qualified and she had gotten hired on the spot over professors from Oxford because Lemon was thinking with his boner.

Briant sighed. He rubbed his temples in frustration. So many professionals had come and gone and they were going to settle, for her. He didn't know what to do. And so he prayed for a miracle. He looked up at the dirty roof pleading his God for a sign, anything, or anyone that could take care of this issue. His prayers were answered and he suddenly heard a door slam and saw pages fly up in the air. His eyes snapped down back to reality and he saw a woman on her knees in the ground struggling to grab all of her papers, security attempting to hold her back. Half of her dress was soaking wet and her hair was a tangled mess.

"Miss! You are late, no more interviews," one of the guards said escorting her out.
"Wait-" Briant called. He looked at the woman's panicked face.
"Let her in. Show us what you've got darlin', yes?" he said carefully. Could this be the miracle that he had asked for?
Isabel, the tall blonde, whom stood in the middle of the room hands on her tiny waist brought a hand to her face to hide her cruel laughter.

"T-Thank you," the shy woman said coyly. Terribly embarrassed after having faceplanted in the initial second of her interview.

Dingo pretended not to look. George made a face. Poll's eyes went wide and Jon's mouth was agape. For the first time in what seemed to be forever he had gone mute. How was it possible for someone to look like that?!

If anyone in the British kingdom was the fitted definition of a munter it was her. She was a munter, word origin from the word monster. She was a woman of such hideous physical appearance that one would rather scour ones eyes out than snatch any glimpse of her.

The woman that had just come in had dark brown hair, her skin was stained with freckles, she was wearing absolutely no make-up and a pair of thick, massive glasses which hid her eyes from prying ones. Her brows were thick, hair bushy and to top it all she was dressed like Dingo's grandmother!

Amongst other flaws...

"Good-good afternoon," she managed. "My name is Sage O'Shea," she said meekly. The model standing next to the short woman looked down at her with apathy. There was no absolute way that she was getting this job.

She spoke about her resume, and how she had graduated as the top of her class and proceeded to explain what her experience was and how she had worked as one of the main account runner for a local clothing store for years until it closed down.

Jon visibly cringed at her appearance. Poll raised both of his brows in horror at her looks 'Had anyone ever told her what she looked like?' he mused.

"We'll I'd say our decision has been made, yes lads?" Briant said smiling proudly at the woman wearing the bulky sweater that deformed her. The dirty water that had splashed her only made her appearance worse. She was perfect. She had the brains and she wasn't what you would consider a "looker" meaning that there would be no distractions.

"It seems so," Poll said through a thin, impolite smile.
"Yeah- Ms. Murdoch welcome to the team," Jon clapped his hands a wide grin on his face. Isabel flipped her perfect, golden hair over her shoulder and smiled with her perfect pink Miss Universe lips. The other one allowed a loud gasp her knees shaking slightly. She looked at the faces of the four men sitting in front of her.

In the eyes of the handsome men, she was invisible.

Without another word she quickly scurried out of the room. She was outside of Abbey Road studios when she collapsed on the cold front steps no longer being able to stand up. Tears immediately poured out of her eyes like rivers down her cheeks. The day she had had. Waking up late, running to the interview, being robbed of her breakfast on the way, getting splashed by a passing car, tackled by security and then collapsing in front of four of the most important musicians of the day.

What was she to do now? What would her life be like?
She knew that she wasn't pretty enough to marry and what had been the whole point of all her efforts of her being the number one in her class if no one would hire her? This had been her fifth interview and still there was nothing. What would she tell her mother? What was she going to do? And with the rent coming up...

She clenched her fist as she furiously wiped her tears. It was always the same.

Anger boiled in the pits of her stomach. That other woman...
Despite having zero experience, she had gotten the job on the spot, just for being pretty. The situation was infuriating. It wasn't fair...

It was then that she heard shift footsteps and suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder.
"I'll be on my way security," she answered automatically sniffling, furiously wiping away her hot tears.

"Wait," It was Briant their manager. He kindly pried his eyes away from the hideous woman. "Hey, we're not done with you," he said placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

They returned upstairs. Sage kept on whispering apologies for her tears as she wiped them from her red, puffy, face. She stepped in before Briant. Even more embarrassed and nervous than the first time.

"Very well then," Briant clapped his hands together. "I think we've decided that we will be hiring both Ms. Murdoch, and Ms.-" He glanced at the brunette expecting an answer. "We have made a decision?" Jon scoffed under his breath to George who was sitting next to him. "He practically decided to bring in that horrid thing!"

George allowed an amused snort to escape his nose.

"O'Shea, Sage O'Shea," she repeated her name. "Ah, we have an Irish woman amongst us," Briant mentioned in an attempt to alleviate the awkward tension in the room. The mousy woman simply shrugged not liking the attention she was receiving. She didn't even bother in correcting him.

"So, since we will have two accountants I think it's best that we split up accounts, two and two? How does that sound? One of you takes two of the boys; the other takes the other two-"
"Oi-Yeah, I'll have the lush one?" Jon called out barbarically in front of both of them. Isabel simply allowed a charming laugh to flirt with Jon. His words felt like daggers digging into Sage's skin. She crossed her arms over her chest feeling even more insecure. For a moment she hesitated in weather she should take the job or not.

"Jon!" Briant hissed dangerously. Not that Jon even cared. He simply mouthed a 'what?'

Poll nodded, his eyes fixed on the blonde "Second that."
"Not fair," Dingo muttered under his breath annoyed.
"I guess it's settled then, I'll keep an eye on Jon and Poll's accounts, and- what was your name? And Snoopy over here will take George and Bingo's," she smiled and clapped her hands. "It's Dingo," he coughed loud enough for her to hear. He was insulted. "Right, Ringo," the blonde absentmindedly repeated his name wrong, again. No one seemed to notice or even bothered correcting Isabel from calling Sage the name of a dog or Dingo by the wrong name. It didn't seem to matter to them. Even she didn't dare stand up to the beautiful woman. Dingo slightly frowned.

Briant went over some of the details for the schedule in which the women would work and what their accounting and mentoring duties consisted on. The Beetles introduced themselves to the women, Poll charmingly kissing Isabel's hand and awkwardly nodding in Sage's direction. Jon didn't even introduce himself to Sage! Only George and Dingo had the decency of doing it like proper human beings. Than again, they were going to be the one's working with her. Then they left.

Both women signed some official documents and Briant reminded them how lucky they were. He had to step out of the room to make some copies leaving just Isabel and Sage alone in the office room.

Sage sat slouched over, with her nose buried in some of the papers that Briant had given them. She pretended like Isabel wasn't sitting next to her towering in height, grace and beauty.

"Listen, I don't know what you pretend you are doing," Isabel said leaning back on her chair. Sage only looked at her with her eyes wide.

"It's obvious that this is going to be a competition and if I were you I'd give up now, before things get ugly. Not like it makes a difference to you!" Isabel laughed cruel. Savoring every bit of her mean taunting.

Sage remained composed. The taunting wasn't anything new to her. She knew she was ugly and damn did people make sure that she was aware of that fact. "What? Don't tell me you don't even have the spine to retort something; anything clever, please?" she words rolled off her tongue in a bored tone.

Deciding on being the bigger person Sage bit her tongue.

"Sticks and stones might break my bones, but words will never break me," she said lamely. Just further igniting Isabel's pleasure. She prayed that Briant would return back to the room just so that Isabel could quit her provocations and she'd be safe again.

"Who taught you how to say that? Your mummy?" She proceeded pressing all of her right buttons.

"It's not my fault that you're under qualified and must take out your insecurities on me," she said in a calm tone exhaling a sigh. It was a simple non-threatening phrase, but it was just enough to send Isabel over the edge. Which was something that Sage had not intended to do-

"Underqualified?" she coughed in disbelief. "Are you implying that I'm some sort of gold digging slag?"

The mousy woman blinked twice confused.

"Hey, you said it, not me," Sage raised both of her eyebrows in amusement before shaking her head and turning back to her papers.
"Well, if I were you I'd mind my own business!" Isabel snapped. "And I'd wax that horrid mustache off your horrid face. The DalĂ­ look has been out for years," she said pleased with her petty insult.

Sage's hand insecurity reached for the edges of her lips. Isabel sniggered as the other woman glared.

For different reasons, each with their own personal agenda, both decided to take the job.