A/N: I haven't updated this in a while, but it's fun as hell! I absolutely HATE MarkAngel, and for those of you who think otherwise, I also don't like MarkRoger. AT ALL!
"I'm going to kill myself. Honestly. I'm going to throw myself over the edge of a cliff and have DONE with it!" fumed Mark as he stormed into the dressing room. Angel followed him, an ice pack clamped to her temple. Mimi and Roger split apart like two amoebas, while Collins looked up from his coloring book. Mark began to pace fervently, his glasses bouncing on his face. Angel wearily collapsed on the sofa beside Mimi.
"Mark, it was the author's first RENT fic, cut her some slack," Angel sighed, shifting the ice an inch to the right. Mark ignored her and continued to circuit the room, his hands strangling the air in agitation.
"No, I am not going to cut her some slack! That little bitch just put me through the worst nine chapters of my life! The WORST! I bet her—OW!" Mark yowled in pain and hopped on one foot, wrapping his hands around the soon-to-be bruise on his shin. The leg of the table he had whacked it on wobbled dangerously, but stayed erect. Everyone winced and struggled to hold back laughter.
"What exactly was wrong with this fic, pray tell?" Collins asked, leaving his chair to sit on the couch armrest beside Angel. She ground her teeth together and pressed the ice pack harder into her scalp.
"Well, hmmm...it's really hard to say. One possibility could be the fucking telephone booth that the author crammed us into for two chapters straight where we—surprise, surprise—had to make out pretty much nonstop. Or it could be the therapy sessions with Maureen and Joanne where we had a 'circle-of-sharing.' And let's not forget that this particular author was convinced that I wore ballroom gowns 24/7...or at least dresses with consistency as such. Get the picture?" Collins raised his eyebrows and putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. Mimi nodded at Mark, who had limped over to Collins' vacated chair and was gingerly sitting down.
"And what about you? What were the worst parts?" she asked him curiously. Mark groaned and leaned back in the chair, one hand massaging his bruised shin.
"Most of what Angel said, and then some. I bought Angel a fucking kitten! I'm allergic to cats!" Mark was starting to turn red again. Collins squeezed Angel's shoulder and held back laughter. Mark looked like he was about to start ranting again, but he just strangled the air a little more and gnashed his teeth. Roger rolled his eyes and pulled Mimi closer to him.
"Well, at least it's behind you."
"Yeah," Angel sighed, lowering the ice pack and tentatively feeling her skull for sore spots. "At least it's behind me."
"Hey, Angel," Mimi said after a moment. "I've been wondering…you know those fics where you go on and on about Collins and how great he is and usually describe fucking him in some abstract, meaningful way?"
Angel sighed again and replaced the ice pack, giving Mimi a rather condescending look. "Yes, Mimi, I know the fics."
"What about them?" Collins asked, frowning. Mimi smiled.
"I did happen to be speaking to Angel, you know."
"Mimi, you just said it yourself; I'm usually the sole subject of those fics. I think you're pretty much talking to me too."
"He has a point," Roger cut in.
"Whatever," Mimi huffed, waving the topic away. "Anyways, I've been meaning to ask you…how come you're ALWAYS one the following: a rape victim—" Mimi ticked off each item on her purple-painted fingertips as she said it.
"—a rape victim, an ex-prostitute, a sexually-repressed psycho, or someone who's been on the bad end of a giant, terrible gay-beating? Am I missing something?" Mimi asked, her last finger still outstretched. Mark held up one hand.
"You forgot a sexually-harassed/abused-as-a-kid sob story."
"Thanks, there's that too," Mimi said, letting her hands slip back around Roger's neck. She looked over at Angel, who was rolling her eyes.
"So? How have so many writers gotten this weird collective thingy about you? C'mon, it does pop up a lot."
"Yeah, I've had to help you sort through your troubled feelings and memories at least fifty times," Collins reminded the drag queen. Angel nodded thoughtfully.
"Very true."
"And we usually have to deal with your mood swings and crying fits in open public settings," Roger said. Angel nodded again.
"Also true."
"Don't forget—"
"Mark, I get the point, all right?" Angel interrupted, glaring at Mark. She crossed her legs and shrugged, her forehead wrinkling in thought.
"I don't know…maybe because I'm so bouncy all the time. They decide that no one could possibly be happy all the time, so they make up a rape story or a mugging story or a prostitution story, all for the purpose of depressing the hell out of me and everyone I talk to."
"Amen," Roger added. Mimi poked him in the chest and considered what Angel had said.
"I guess you're right…I mean, God forbid I have enough angst going, what with Roger and the smack and Benny and being a stripper and having incredibly well-toned leg muscles..."
"Poor you," Mark said sarcastically. Angel smiled and leaned over to tap Mimi on the thigh.
"You might have some pretty legs, honey, but I have the monopoly. I mean, come on."
"I can vouch for that," Collins chimed in. Angel grinned and elbowed him.
"Shut up, you."
"Well, every other fic I'm doing something to you where I get a pretty good view and/or feel of those things, and I have to admit—"
"Oh, Collins, before I forget," Roger spoke up suddenly. "You know that CollinsRoger fic? The one where I get drunk after Mimi dies, we fuck each other, and then you come back and tell me and I try to kill you?" Collins winced, as though thinking of this fic was physically painfully.
"Yeah, what about that thing?"
"I want you to know that at no point have I actually enjoyed any of that. At all. Ever."
"Ah, welcome to the brotherhood, Roggie," Angel cooed, patting his knee. Mimi whirled to face her boyfriend, nearly whacking him in the face with her hair.
"What? You really are gay? God, Roger you are such a—"
"Wait, wait, what the hell are you talking about?!" Roger exploded. "I said I didn't like that!"
"Which is code for I loved it and now need to come to terms with which sex I really prefer to fuck," Collins told him, hiding his smile. Roger gritted his teeth and threw a couch pillow at Collins.
"So how 'bout you, huh? S'pose you liked it well enough?" he asked, glaring at Collins. Collins rolled his eyes and put his hand on Angel's shoulder.
"Nah, not really. You're better in bed than Mark, but who isn't? Personally, I just prefer Angel."
"Aw, thanks honey. I prefer you too."
"For god's sake, you two are freakish. Aren't they, Ma—Mark?" Mimi turned to look at Mark, stopped, and smiled. The blonde had slumped in his chair, his head lolling to the side as he slept.
"Oh, he's so cute when he's sleeping," she cooed. Collins smiled.
"I'm not surprised. Fat as I can tell, that boy's been running from fic to fic for the last four hours. It's no wonder he's so out of it."
"Well, let him sleep," Angel said. "Least it means I'm not going to have to get in another god forsaken telephone booth with him."
"Until the next fic, that is," Roger pointed out. Angel closed her eyes and leaned back.
"Great. Until the next fic. Thanks, Rog."
Poor, poor Angel...
