A/N:
Yuhp, another Roger-centric fic that I came up with the idea for a
while ago. I'm not sure how many chapters it will be, depending on
how it goes. So read and review. Disclaimer: No matter how
many times I forget to say so, I'll sadly never own RENT. That's
Jon's job.
I don't ask much from the world, and in return the world leaves me the hell alone.
I eat, sleep, angst, rock, and fuck. It's depressing and pathetic, I know. Those incredibly hollow, guilty pleasures are my whole life. And to be honest, I am one hundred percent okay with that. Roger Davis just wasn't meant to get out there and join the human race. I'd rather stay in the loft, thanks. So you can imagine how confused I was when after walking up the stairs to the loft, I was randomly knocked unconscious, only to come around at my own intervention.
Let me explain…
It was a…somewhat average day. I mean, no day can be completely average when you're friends with the people I'm friends with. The only abnormal thing that could be said about this one was that I had just done a load of laundry for the first time in my whole life. I don't know how I'd managed to go over two decades without touching a washing machine or a dryer, they're brilliant inventions.
Not even joking. Have you ever watched clothes spin around and around in a hypnotically soapy SPIRAL OF INSANITY?
Yeah, I didn't think so. It's magical. And then your shit comes out smelling like pretty flowers. And I bet you're suddenly fighting an urge to take a ride to the nearest Laundromat.
So there I was, looking deliciously domestic with my laundry basket of detergent-smelling plaid, scarves, and boxers. I got to experience the miracle of doing laundry, and I had an excuse not to get off my ass for another month. I was just about to slide open the door to the loft. Life was good.
That was when something that looked an awful lot like a hockey stick sailed towards my face and collided with my forehead. Yes; it hurt like hell. I had hit the ground and blacked out faster than you can say, "OH MY GOOD GOLLY GOSH!"
When I finally came around months later, I couldn't even remember my name.
Okay, maybe it was only a few hours later and maybe there was no memory damage at all, but I had THEE WORST headache. My arms and legs felt stiff. I couldn't move them. I could've sworn I was paralyzed. My head was pounding so much that I couldn't open my eyes, so I lay there for a few minutes, just listening. Trying to figure out who my attackers were.
"I still don't understand why the hell you knocked him out and tied him up!" Meems? It sounded like Mimi… Did she kill me? Or was I in Heaven? Why was Mimi there? Did she die too? WHO THE FUCK HIT ME WITH A HOCKEY STICK?
Those are the questions that plagued me…
"Well you all SAID that we were going to bound and gag him!" A second voice griped. This one was definitely not Mimi. Much deeper, and, well, male…er. Langston Hughes? He's dead! Maybe I WAS in Heaven. Or it could be Collins. Yeah, that would make more sense.
"We weren't serious! Why would we want to bound and gag Roger?" I knew that voice right away. Maureen. Even in Heaven, her voice was as irritating as ever. Sad how I knew her voice before my own girlfriend's. 'Bound and gag.' That was when I realized I wasn't paralyzed. I was bound in ropes. Well that's…cute.
"Why would you joke about bounding and gagging? Huh?" Collins countered. Good point, Collins. Very good point.
"BECAUSE IT MADE US FEEL LIKE SPIES!" Maureen cried. How typical of my friends…To nearly kill me because it made them feel like spies, "We were just going to wait for Roger in the fucking loft dipshit! Now he's dead!"
"He's not dead, Honeybear," Who else but Joanne? "He's breathing. And as intimidating as Collins can be, I don't think he'd murder Roger with a hockey stick."
I think that would depend on what I'd done to him.
"Thank you, Joanne," said Langston Hughes-Collins, "Anyone with half a brain knows that when someone is BREATHING, they're generally alive."
Maureen pouted. Not that I could see her, but I bet she did. She's Maureen.
"Well, it's going to be kind of hard to have an intervention if he's unconscious…" A geekier, more nasally voice added. Go figure. Mark was there too. What a strange place… I wasn't sure exactly what an intervention was, but it sounded like something that might be important in deciding whether I got to Heaven or Hell. So I decided I might want to participate. With all the incredible strength I could muster, I opened my eyes.
"ROGER! YOU ARE ALIVE!" Mimi exclaimed, lunging at me with a hug before I could sit up fully, no one bothering to untie me.
"This isn't a cloud, it's a table…" I mumbled, "We're not in Heaven…WE'RE IN THE LOFT!" I shouted, coming to a grand realization.
Mark leaned over to whisper in Collins's ear, "Do you think he's suffering brain trauma?"
"I heard that!" Mark was never a good whisperer.
Mimi let me out of the embrace, "Roger, I'm so sorry! We didn't mean to get you in here like this, it was Collins." Her eyes darted to him for a second and she glared, then directed her attention back at me, "Are you feeling okay?"
"Are you sure I'm not dead?" I guess I really wanted to be dead. Maybe because Heaven sounds pretty great in comparison to a loft with no furniture or heating.
Hell sounds good compared to a loft with no furniture or heating…
"Boy, you're not dead." Collins sighed, "You're fine."
"I'm in pain!" I snapped.
"You'll survive," Joanne added.
"But babe…now that you're awake-" Maureen added, trailing off and looking at the rest of them for support.
"What? I'm dying, aren't I?!" I asked, wide-eyed.
"Roger…" Mimi started, "the reason we needed to talk to you-"
"The reason we needed an intervention," Joanne supplied.
"Right, the reason we needed an intervention," Mimi hesitated, "Mark you want to take it from here?"
Mark heaved an exasperated sigh, "Roger, we think you need to get a job."
A/N: So yeah, let me know what you thought and whether I should ditch it or continue it. The next chapter would be the actual intervention, and then the rest would be several different jobs Roger attempts to succeed in with the help of the Bohos. Reviews are love.
