This is for my friend, so yeah….
Italics are Mark's thoughts.
Disclaimer: I do not own any RENT characters. Or my friend or the teacher for that matter (GOD DOES!! lol)
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"Come on, Mark…Let's go home!" said Roger Davis as he tried to pry his friend away from the bar.
"Come on, come on. One more shot of…" said a very drunk Mark as he half-heartedly tried to hang on to the bar table.
"Mark, I know you're happy about your promotion…but I do not…want…to carry your ass…HOME!" With that, Roger threw Mark off the table. The strong rocker had accidentally threw Mark a little harder than necessary, and the filmmaker went flying into a couple's table, hitting his head against the corner.
Roger sighed and shook his head as he saw his now almost unconscious friend. "Great…Just fucking great."
The lights and noise of the Life Café dimmed to Mark. He tried to say something, but the alcohol was getting to him. Then he blacked out completely.
Insert line here!
"Shit…"
Mark Cohen rubbed the back of his head and opened his eyes. He must have been passed out for at least seven hours by now.
After sitting himself up and adjusting his scarf, he looked around in surprise. He had no idea where he was.
He was in a dank, freezing basement of some sort. The walls were a dingy white, and the floor was carpeted with a blue-gray, scratchy carpet. As he looked farther, he realized he was surrounded by black computers. He stood up and walked over to the computer lab area.
"Roger? Collins? This isn't funny. Ooo…I'm scared. You can come out." He wriggled the ends of his scarf around.
His voice echoed in the big room, but Roger's chuckle didn't come back. Neither did Collins' whooping laugh or Maureen's high-pitched giggle.
Now he started getting scared. What the hell is going on?
Mark found a clock. 6:45 AM. At least he was right about one thing.
Then he saw the calendar directly underneath it. March…2007? What the fuck? It's 1992! Isn't it?
"This is too weird…" Mark whispered. Suddenly the bright, florescent lights switched on, and there were footsteps coming down the stairs.
Mark looked around frantically, then jumped behind a large desk at the front of the room with two computers.
Mark could only see the floor under the desk, but soon he saw two pairs of feet. One had on a pair of black Converse sneakers with rainbow stripes on the toes. The other had on a comfortable pair of brown loafers.
"Thanks for opening the computer lab, Mr. Glade," said a girl's voice sleepily.
"No problem. I left the door open, so you can leave whenever you need to," said a man's voice.
The girl and the man continued to have a conversation, but Mark tuned them out. He decided it would be okay to see these people. He peeked over the desk.
The girl was probably around fifteen years old. She had long, midnight-black hair, tinged with some red here and there, that stopped at her thighs. She wore a black T-shirt that said Mustang across the front, and a dark-blue pair of jeans. On her face, she wore deviled-colored glasses.
The man was in his mid to late twenties, Mark guessed. His hair was cropped short, and it was a simple brown. Mark assumed he was a teacher, considering he was wearing a nice shirt, a yellow tie, and formal blue slacks. As Mark looked closer, the strangest thought came upon him. Maybe it was the hangover kicking in, but Mark thought the man looked a lot like the newest national talk-show host, Conan O'Brien.
Mark probably would've thought it was him, except for the fact the girl had called him "Mr. Glade."
Mr. Glade walked back up the steps, and the girl sat down at one of the computers.
Once the teacher was gone, Mark figured he could at least ask the girl where he was. He tentatively stepped out from behind the desk, and cleared his throat.
"Excuse me? Um…"
The girl yelped and jumped at least five inches out of her seat. She whipped her head, hair flying everywhere, to face him.
Mark put his hands out in front of him. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I…I'm not a robber or anything…"
The girl didn't say anything, but she seemed to calm down a bit.
"Look…can…can you tell me where I am?"
"Do you know you look just like Mark from RENT?" the girl cut in.
Mark gave her a confused look. "Umm…I don't know what…Rent is…but…my name is Mark…"
The girl giggled a bit. "Huh. Funny. What's your last name?"
"Uh…Cohen…Mark Cohen is –"
"OHMIGOD!" The girl squealed. "Do you live in New York?"
Mark had no idea why this strange girl seemed to know his name, know where he lived, and kept asking these questions. "Uh…yeah…"
The girl clapped her hands and stood up, "Do you have a roommate named Roger, an ex-junkie HIV-Positive songwriter, an ex-girlfriend named Maureen, a performance artist who's engaged to a girl named Joanne, a lawyer, a friend named Mimi, an S&M dancer HIV-Positive junkie who's Roger's girlfriend, a best friend named Collins, a gay HIV-Positive philosopher who's girlfriend is named Angel, a HIV-Positive drag queen?" she asked all in one breath.
Mark just stood there dumbfounded.
"Well…do you?" The girl asked excitedly with a twinge of annoyance.
"I…uh…um…what?"
The girl sighed and rolled her eyes. " I said, do you have a roommate named Roger, an ex-junkie HIV-Positive songwriter, an ex-girlfriend named Maureen, a per-"
"No…No, I caught all that, thank you," Mark cut in, waving his hands. "But…why…are you asking these questions?"
The girl rolled her eyes again. "Just answer the question, please."
Mark sighed, digging the palm of his hand into his eyes. "Yes…yes, those are all my friends…"
The girl's jaw dropped. Her eyes were as big as saucers. Mark thought he saw the girl tremble a bit.
"Oh…my…GAWD. You ARE Mark from RENT!"
"Huh…OOF!" Mark had been tackled by the girl in a large hug. Mark rubbed his head again.
Why do I keep flying into things?
Then he realized he was being showered in kisses by the girl.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD. You are my favorite character, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!"
Mark made a few weak attempts to push the girl off of him, but gave up. After a few minutes of letting her do it, he patted her on the back.
"Yes, yes…thank you, thank you. Can I sit up now, please?" he asked with as much annoyance as he could muster.
The girl quickly got off of Mark, and Mark slowly got to his feet.
The girl didn't attack him anymore, but she continued to stare lovingly at him.
"Ok…can you tell me where I am?" he asked, helping the girl to her feet.
"Omaha North High…of course," she said, gesturing around her.
"Where?"
"North High...in Omaha…"
"Oh, never heard of it…" said Mark, scratching his head.
Maybe I'm more hung over than I thought.
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This is mostly for my friend and beta-reader, but I felt like posting it.
Our social studies teacher is the spitting image of Conan O'Brien, so that's where that's from.
Uh…yeah…Reviews are cool, but you don't have to…This isn't the end :D