Greetings, what follows is a largely absurd Rent related tale which will hopefully be one of many. It's rated for some rather crude descriptions in some places, but there's nothing too bad really. I hope you enjoy it.

Before I begin, thanks should go to Sapphirenight for providing encouraging comments half way through the writing process. Most of my stories tend to fizzle out and dissapear half way through writing the first chapter, so receiving positive feedback half way through was a help.

Now, to the story…

Rent Rendered Ridiculous by Richard

Story the First: Roger, the Vengeful Demigod of the 10th city Owl Population

The story starts, as such stories often do, with Roger sprawled out on a peeling couch with a Guitar outstretched across his torso like an awkwardly placed and arguably sated lover. It had been weeks since he'd been able to churn out anything of a creative bent. The price for success is high as you know, and in the aftermath of his soulful finale about Mimi, his creativity and inspiration for music had been reduced to the equivalent of dust.

Another slightly awkward development was that due to the collapse of a kitchen shelf and an unfortunate altercation between his head and an overly heavy bag of chestnuts, all memory of the song as well as whatever happened between the ages of six and eight had been knocked from his head, so he was effectively back to square one.

Despite the finger severing cold of late December, he decided to head to the roof where his enthusiasm might possible be sparked by the stars or the sight of a pedestrian more noticeable then the rest.

The pedestrians were the same as they always were however and the stars were hidden behind the grisly screen of light pollution. So Roger settled for just plucking random strings to random chords and hoping for the best. This in turn led to one string snapping and wrenching itself free of the guitar altogether by the resulting backlash. Roger was spared an impromptu beheading by only the narrowest of margins, and instead the string merely slashed open a bird feeder overhead, showering Roger in seeds.

Before he could so much as utter one shocked expletive, a stately barn owl descended from the skies and perched atop Roger's head. This creature then promptly began devouring the assorted nuts and raisins concealed amongst his hair, I know that Owls are carnivorous in nature, but the local mouse population had been pretty much ousted by rats and a rather vicious gang of Cats who were calling themselves 'The Chosen of Felix.' As such, the owls couldn't afford to be choosy.

To that end, three more owls descended upon the bemused Roger and started pecking away seeds and in some unfortunate instances bits of his hair and skin as well. He tried to shoo the creepy menaces away but his flailing efforts only attracted two more to him. Soon the poor man was encased in owls and decided that his only recourse was to wait out the onslaught, lest he suffer the wrath of their grim beaks and claws.

The incident left Roger with numerous cuts, twelve small bald patches and a lingering owl odour. In response to his misfortune, Mark made it a point to film him at least three times a day, he said it was necessary for a new film of his entitled 'The Beast of Bohemia." Roger tried to swat him away with a rolled up newspaper but met with little success as moving his arms was made painful due to the assorted peck marks his feathered assailants had left.

At his first wince of pain however, an almighty hooting sounded from the balcony. Both Roger and Mark were stunned to see no less then a dozen angry looking owls perched by the window. All of them were screeching at Mark and scratching at the glass with their menacing beaks. What followed once they flung a trash can through the window and stormed inside was best described as a maelstrom of dung and vengeance against the scarf wielding ruffian who was tormenting the bringer of food in the time of famine.

By the time they were done, the top half of Mark vaguely resembled a foul smelling snowman. To make matters worse, as he was soon to discover, the shower was devoid of heat and could only cast forth freezing cold water upon Mark's dung strewn nude body. Most uncomfortable as you can probably imagine.

The head owl of the group, a snowy owl named Geoff who spoke only Spanish, explained the plight of his people to Roger and how they would be keen to render similar en-dungings of who or whatever he chose in return for more foodstuffs.

Roger, who curiously enough thought it more odd to see owls in the daytime rather then to see a talking one, (and who had a passing knowledge of Spanish helpfully), soon came to realise that he had something of a small militia at his command. For little more then three strips of date-expired bacon and a packet of wine gums, he could send forth his legion of winged beasts to strike out at his enemies.

Now Roger, despite the occasional moment of unbecoming uncouthness which any and all may succumb to from time to time, is fundamentally a force for good. As such he soon had his small army patrolling the streets, defecating and tearing at the ears of all manner of disreputable individuals such as muggers, drug dealers and one annoying bloke who lived up to the stereotype and pissed on people's stoops every night. (His reasoning was that it was easier to urinate outside then to unblock his own toilet. Don't ask me what he did when he needed a dump, trust me, you don't want to know).

There were however two problems with this otherwise flawless scheme. One was that any songs involving a force of feathered secret police proved too nefarious a theme for Roger's songwriting purposes. Two, well, consider if you will the line:

"And we're hungry and frozen."

Yes, food was a problem. Mark and Roger were struggling to make ends meet once again what with no jobs, the hasty rejection of Benny's rent-less contract and the cost of getting the window fixed, for which the owls remained unapologetic.

The good news however, was that the cash machine which Collins had thoughtfully rewired remained as yet un-fixed. Therefore under cover of night, Roger traveled to the ATM with owls perched on his head and shoulders, and more flying close behind. He typed in the code A-N-G-E-L and pilfered a princely sum of money from the device. He then took them all for a nice steak dinner, which he hoped would keep them happy and faithful for a while.

The next day the owls returned to the cash machine, pecked in the code on the keypad, drained the machine utterly and flew off to Santa Fe where they opened a restaurant. (No, really, they did. They called it Chéz Hoot. It received 4 stars from the health inspector.)

Anyway, they made it a point to promise Roger a discount should he ever choose to eat there. He was glad to receive it.

Thus ends tale the first. Keep an eye out if you will for the next installment.