A/N: This takes place the day before my fic 'Come On' starts, FYI. So for time reference, if you're too lazy to piece together all of the hints made in the actual fic as to when it takes place, it's about...oh, March '89. So, Benny and Maureen are probably still living in the apartment, and Roger has ALMOST met April. (He meets April in 'Come On'.) Just a little something that didn't really fit with Come On, but fun anyways in its references to Buzzline.

.-.-.

"Thank you, Patrick, for that exclusive interview. In other news..."

"You're watching that sleazy shit now, Roger?" Mark raised an eyebrow at Roger as he threw his camera bag on the couch next to Roger as his roommate continued to fiddle with the back of an old television that dulled all the lines and colors from the show they were somehow picking up.

Roger glared up at Mark for a moment before returning to the television. "I can't get it off this channel. It's all I'm picking up."

"Not even actual news? Not that local news' much better, really..." Mark disappeared from view for a moment as he ducked behind the couch, looking for something underneath it.

"...We're sending it down to Brenda now to look into this hot new case!" "Thanks, Alexi! Yes, it's true! The infamous band of the 8BC, the Gunpoints..."

Roger emerged around from the back of the television for a moment, peeking over the top to look for a moment at the screen. "'Infamous band'? How come I haven't heard of them?"

Mark shrugged, still digging for something underneath the couch. "Some new band out there."

Roger walked around the television, examining the fuzzy picture a moment longer. All of a sudden, he began pointing frantically at one of the people on the screen. "I know that guy! That guy! He wanted to be in our band!"

As if he really cared, Mark popped up, his left eyebrow raised yet again. "Suppose you didn't let him in."

The guitarist waved a hand at Mark, motioning him to be quiet. Now both of Mark's eyebrows were raised like theatre curtains as he listened to 'Brenda'. "Here is an interview with the lead guitarist, Blake Hammer..."

Roger let out a harsh laugh, going back around the television to continue fiddling with its many wires. "Hammer. He was a sell-out if I ever saw one. Ended up walking out of the audition saying he didn't want to work with 'bums like us' anyways."

Mark laughed as well, though his was a little more half-hearted. He hadn't met Roger's band yet, but he had a feeling from what he had heard of them that they were not exactly 'sophisticated', as his mom had usually called people like that. People like Roger, he thought with a mental voice that reminded him immensely of his mother.

Thankfully, Roger didn't notice the half-hearted sag to his roommate's laugh. There was a silence, during which both of them listened to Blake Hammer's static-wrought voice from the television. "...really excited about our success. We're planning to sign a record deal with a big company and get our first album out by the first of next year..."

Roger remained silent, but Mark piped up. "A new album out in nine months? That's impressive." Silence. "Erm, isn't it impressive, Rog?"

"Sell-outs" came Roger's crisp reply. Noticing that he had hit a sour spot, Mark resumed his search underneath the couch for whatever he was looking for.

Amidst the silence, the phone suddenly rang out. Once. Twice. The voice machine took over with their newly created 'Speak'.

"Hi, Pookie, it's me..."

There was a sharp 'Ow!' from the vicinity of the couch as Mark hit his head on the bottom of the couch. Roger suppressed the laughs that just begged to come out as Mark hurried to the phone as quickly as he could. "Are you there, Pookie, Sweetie? Oh, shoot, you're not there..."

"HI...Maureen..." Mark grabbed the phone as quickly as he could, attempting to catch his breath as excited squeals floated through the loft. "Yes, Maureen...I just got back a minute ago...I've been looking for it...Are you sure you left it here?...I'm looking! I swear I'm-OK, OK...Maureen, please...I'll find it, don't worry...OK, Maureen, OK...I will...Yes, I...Maureen, I can't look for your ring if I'm on the phone...OK, thank you...I...I love you too, honey...Yes, I'll call you when I find it...Ok...OK...BYE, Maureen!" Mark slammed the phone down, breathing heavily as if he had just run a mile. Roger immediately broke into a hysterical fit of laughter, rolling on the floor. "ROGER!"

After a few deep breaths, Roger resumed his task with the chords. "Man, you'd jump off a bridge if she asked you too..."

"I would NOT!" Mark's face was brighter than a bright red balloon as he went back to the couch, bending down on all fours and resuming his own chore.

More laughter. "Now, I may have flunked senior English, but I can quote Shakespeare." He formulized a Shakespearean accent on the spot, and spoke in his most 'sophisticated' manner. "Me thinkest thou doth protest too much!"

"FOUND IT!" Mark emerged holding a miniscule ring with a gold band and a glittering ruby catching the little sunlight that filtered in through the dirty windows. The young filmmaker took a few more deep breaths, as if just finding the ring had spent all of his energy, and then trudged over to the phone. "Gotta call her back, now..."

Roger suddenly stood up, glaring at the television, kicking it. The image on the screen disappeared suddenly. "Fucking piece of shit."

Mark rolled his eyes. "You've gotta take some anger management or something." This only earned a sour glare from his roommate as Mark picked up the phone, dialing a number. A pause. "Maureen? It's me...Mark! Who else would...Yes, Pookie..." He put his hand over the receiver, glaring at Roger, who had just fallen on the couch in a fit of laughter. "Shut UP!" He removed his hand from the receiver. "Yes, I'm here. Roger was being an idiot. ...Oh, you know Roger..." Mark couldn't suppress the smirk that surfaced from the sour look he received from the guitarist on the couch. "Yeah, I found it...I've got it right here. Do you want me to bring it to you?...Wait, WHAT? Maureen, I...Maureen, you know I don't like...TOMORROW! Come on, Maureen...Oh, please, Maureen...I just hate those...I have not been filming non-stop! I spend time with you! Don't...please, no...no, stop crying...Maureen...OK. OK. Sure. ...Yes, tomorrow is fine. Yes, Maureen...OK...OK. I'll...see you tomorrow." He slammed the phone down again with a look on his face like he had just received his death sentence.

Roger looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "What is it?"

The look of dread Roger saw on Mark's face nearly made him start cracking up again. "Maureen...wants me to take her out on a date."

This was not what he had been expecting. "But...you hate going out with her. She got you..." He began laughing softly, shaking his head. "Man, she's got you wrapped around her little finger."

Mark's eyes were closed as he collapsed on the couch next to him. "And...she wants to go to a club."

"She got you to agree to take her clubbing!" This was amazing. "Well...that works out. Me and the band have a gig tomorrow. You can come with us."

Mark sighed, his face buried in his hands. "OK..."

All of a sudden, the television turned on of its own accord. The annoyingly perfectly dressed anchorwoman smiled at them through the now clear picture. "And that concludes this hour of Buzzline. Until next time, viewers, this is Alexi Darling, reminding you to keep your day sunny and darling!" She gave an annoying wink, just as a boot shot out at the screen, shattering the glass and creating a hole where Alexi's face had been moments ago.

Mark stood up, stuttering. "Roger! We saved up money for ages to buy that! And i-it was working!"

Roger rolled his eyes, picking up his guitar and beginning to pluck out the beginnings of a disconnected song. "I hate watching that sleazy shit anyways."