A/N: Please review... this is my first fiction. Well, first RENT fic.
December 24 9 P.M. The Loft
"December 24. 9 P.M., Eastern Standard Time." Muttered Mark, beginning the Christmas Eve tradition of the Boho boys. Eye glued to the viewfinder, he clumsily began to weave his way through the loft. Stumbling over the thick extension cord that snaked its way through the loft, Mark grumbled. "Shit." He muttered, aiming the camera at the offending object.
Raising his fist, Mark banged on Roger's door. "Get up Rog. Christmas Eve. Maureen and Joanne'll be here soon." He yelled, knowing perfectly well that this would quickly develop into a fight. Bam! Bam! His fist met the door two more times.
Settling back on the table that stood at the middle of the room, Mark aimed his camera at Roger's door. "December 24. 9-"He paused to check the watch around his wrist. "05 P.M., Eastern Standard Time. And here we sit. Still trying to record life. Instead, I, Mark Cohen, am recording still life. Roger's door."
"Mark!" Roger barked, his voice carrying through the locked door that separated his room from the rest of the building. "Shut the hell up." The sound of a guitar quietly slipped through the divider. Out of tune.
"Not until you..." Mark's voice trailed off as there was knocking at the door of their loft. Odd. None of their friends ever knocked. Hell, Benny didn't even knock. Turning the camera to face him, he looked into the lens and spoke. "There's a mysterious knocking at the door, and due to the fact that Roger has become an antisocial hermit, I'm going to answer it. Just like the phone."
When Mark pulled open the heavy steel door, his questions still weren't exactly answered. Whoever it was had a giant stack of newspapers in her arms, topped with a case of wood, and cloth grocery bags hanging from her arms. Mrs. Claus perhaps. "Uh... Hello?" He said, more of a question than a greeting, but oh well. Pulling some of the papers and wood into his own arms, he stared down at the girl standing in front of him. A pair of emerald optics met his warm hazel gaze.
Brushing past him the girl stepped into the loft and dropped her bundles onto the floor. Pulling a black cap from her head, she shook her head, blonde tresses whipping out around her. She was small. Tiny really, with long wavy blonde hair and big green eyes. The only clue to her identity was the fact that she looked like she'd dressed from Maureen's closet. Tight jeans, tight top, but somehow a softer look than when Maureen wore them. Yes, she was Maureen's little sister. In more ways that one. Her name? Dakota Johnson. Something that Maureen was always jealous of. That she had such a basic name and that her little sister had such a unique, memorable name. At one point, Maureen had even tried to convince Dakota to switch names.
Tugging at the hem of the crimson sweater he wore, Mark looked confused. Not raising his eyes to meet his visitor's, he cleared his throat. "Um... not to be rude. But who are you?" He asked, nervously.
Laughing Dakota picked up the bags of food from the ground and dumped them onto the counter. Taking the items out, she placed them one by one on the counter. "I can't believe that you could forget me Mark. I thought you had a better memory than that." She responded, not giving him her name still. "In fact, I bet Roger can remember me." Leaving the groceries half unpacked, she ran across the loft. Banging on the door, she shook her head. "Still a recluse?" She asked, looking at Mark.
"Go to hell Mark!" Roger yelled, tone sharing just how annoyed he was at the moment. When the banging didn't stop he strode across the room, and opened the door a crack. Sticking his arm out, he swatted the body closest to the door. And connected with... well, something that Mark didn't have as far as he could remember.
Shrinking back into his room, Roger sighed. If there was one thing he didn't want to deal with on Christmas Eve, it was women. Or a woman, whatever the situation may be.
"I told you it wasn't me!" Mark yelled, voice sing-songy.
"Crikey!" Dakota exclaimed, grabbing her chest. Banging on the door again she pouted. "Now you have to come out Roger! You owe me for bodily harm!" She yelled, hand beginning to grow sore from the banging.
Sighing, Roger stuck his head out the door. "Dakota?" He asked, surprised. Last they'd heard Dakota was off in Boston at Emerson, being taught how to do something she loved. Perform. In a different sense than Maureen. Dakota could act, and sing... and dance. She became a character. She wasn't the character, like Maureen.
Blinking, Mark looked from Roger to Dakota confused. And then it clicked. "OH! Dakota! Maureen's little sister!" He exclaimed, picking up his camera again. "Mystery guest... unmystery-ized."
Rolling his eyes Roger disappeared back into his room.
Snorting Dakota rolled her eyes. "I'm 20, Mark. And I'm not so little." She purred, batting her lashes at Mark. Heels clicking as she crossed the room, she surveyed the groceries in front of her. "Let me answer your questions before you ask. I got in today. I'm staying with Mo and Jo. They're fighting. I don't know when they'll be here. I raided their apartment and now I'm making you Christmas Eve dinner. Mo said that he won't eat." She said all in one breath in her throaty voice. Her last statement was accompanied with a nod in the general direction of Roger's room.
Blinking Mark set his camera down and rubbed his hands together. "It isn't that he won't... he just doesn't. If I can get the food in front of it he eats like he hasn't had food in a month. But he won't do it on his own." Sighing he took off his glasses. Sitting down at one of the stools that stood against the countertop, he yawned and rested his elbows on the counter and leaned forwards, running his fingers through his hair. "It's almost like he's trying to die... passively." He said his voice rising with full knowledge that if nothing else, it would lure Roger out of his room.
And it did. Roger bolted out of his room, face red and eyes blazing. He was angry enough to hit Mark. A white-hot rage bubbled inside of him, sick and tired of Mark and his patronizing ways. If he didn't feel like eating, then it was his own damn business. "Damnit Mark! Mind your own damn business. I'm so sick and tired of you and your goodie two shoes business." He yelled at his roommate's back.
Grabbing a bottle of Absolut off the counter top, Dakota held it in the air, ready to drop it. "Chill the hell out Rog. Or the vodka drops. And I will you two. Stop fighting or else." Seeing that she'd caught their attention from the way they'd both frozen, staring at her and the bottle. She laughed. "Go make nice for a bit. I'll cook you something. And it's doubtful that we'll be seeing Maureen or Joanne tonight, they're fighting. And then they'll be making up." She said, thrusting her hips. Setting the bottle back down, she tucked her hair behind her ears. "Benny coming?" She asked.
Both males stared at her, relatively stunned. This was going to be an interesting holiday season.
December 24 9 P.M. The Loft
"December 24. 9 P.M., Eastern Standard Time." Muttered Mark, beginning the Christmas Eve tradition of the Boho boys. Eye glued to the viewfinder, he clumsily began to weave his way through the loft. Stumbling over the thick extension cord that snaked its way through the loft, Mark grumbled. "Shit." He muttered, aiming the camera at the offending object.
Raising his fist, Mark banged on Roger's door. "Get up Rog. Christmas Eve. Maureen and Joanne'll be here soon." He yelled, knowing perfectly well that this would quickly develop into a fight. Bam! Bam! His fist met the door two more times.
Settling back on the table that stood at the middle of the room, Mark aimed his camera at Roger's door. "December 24. 9-"He paused to check the watch around his wrist. "05 P.M., Eastern Standard Time. And here we sit. Still trying to record life. Instead, I, Mark Cohen, am recording still life. Roger's door."
"Mark!" Roger barked, his voice carrying through the locked door that separated his room from the rest of the building. "Shut the hell up." The sound of a guitar quietly slipped through the divider. Out of tune.
"Not until you..." Mark's voice trailed off as there was knocking at the door of their loft. Odd. None of their friends ever knocked. Hell, Benny didn't even knock. Turning the camera to face him, he looked into the lens and spoke. "There's a mysterious knocking at the door, and due to the fact that Roger has become an antisocial hermit, I'm going to answer it. Just like the phone."
When Mark pulled open the heavy steel door, his questions still weren't exactly answered. Whoever it was had a giant stack of newspapers in her arms, topped with a case of wood, and cloth grocery bags hanging from her arms. Mrs. Claus perhaps. "Uh... Hello?" He said, more of a question than a greeting, but oh well. Pulling some of the papers and wood into his own arms, he stared down at the girl standing in front of him. A pair of emerald optics met his warm hazel gaze.
Brushing past him the girl stepped into the loft and dropped her bundles onto the floor. Pulling a black cap from her head, she shook her head, blonde tresses whipping out around her. She was small. Tiny really, with long wavy blonde hair and big green eyes. The only clue to her identity was the fact that she looked like she'd dressed from Maureen's closet. Tight jeans, tight top, but somehow a softer look than when Maureen wore them. Yes, she was Maureen's little sister. In more ways that one. Her name? Dakota Johnson. Something that Maureen was always jealous of. That she had such a basic name and that her little sister had such a unique, memorable name. At one point, Maureen had even tried to convince Dakota to switch names.
Tugging at the hem of the crimson sweater he wore, Mark looked confused. Not raising his eyes to meet his visitor's, he cleared his throat. "Um... not to be rude. But who are you?" He asked, nervously.
Laughing Dakota picked up the bags of food from the ground and dumped them onto the counter. Taking the items out, she placed them one by one on the counter. "I can't believe that you could forget me Mark. I thought you had a better memory than that." She responded, not giving him her name still. "In fact, I bet Roger can remember me." Leaving the groceries half unpacked, she ran across the loft. Banging on the door, she shook her head. "Still a recluse?" She asked, looking at Mark.
"Go to hell Mark!" Roger yelled, tone sharing just how annoyed he was at the moment. When the banging didn't stop he strode across the room, and opened the door a crack. Sticking his arm out, he swatted the body closest to the door. And connected with... well, something that Mark didn't have as far as he could remember.
Shrinking back into his room, Roger sighed. If there was one thing he didn't want to deal with on Christmas Eve, it was women. Or a woman, whatever the situation may be.
"I told you it wasn't me!" Mark yelled, voice sing-songy.
"Crikey!" Dakota exclaimed, grabbing her chest. Banging on the door again she pouted. "Now you have to come out Roger! You owe me for bodily harm!" She yelled, hand beginning to grow sore from the banging.
Sighing, Roger stuck his head out the door. "Dakota?" He asked, surprised. Last they'd heard Dakota was off in Boston at Emerson, being taught how to do something she loved. Perform. In a different sense than Maureen. Dakota could act, and sing... and dance. She became a character. She wasn't the character, like Maureen.
Blinking, Mark looked from Roger to Dakota confused. And then it clicked. "OH! Dakota! Maureen's little sister!" He exclaimed, picking up his camera again. "Mystery guest... unmystery-ized."
Rolling his eyes Roger disappeared back into his room.
Snorting Dakota rolled her eyes. "I'm 20, Mark. And I'm not so little." She purred, batting her lashes at Mark. Heels clicking as she crossed the room, she surveyed the groceries in front of her. "Let me answer your questions before you ask. I got in today. I'm staying with Mo and Jo. They're fighting. I don't know when they'll be here. I raided their apartment and now I'm making you Christmas Eve dinner. Mo said that he won't eat." She said all in one breath in her throaty voice. Her last statement was accompanied with a nod in the general direction of Roger's room.
Blinking Mark set his camera down and rubbed his hands together. "It isn't that he won't... he just doesn't. If I can get the food in front of it he eats like he hasn't had food in a month. But he won't do it on his own." Sighing he took off his glasses. Sitting down at one of the stools that stood against the countertop, he yawned and rested his elbows on the counter and leaned forwards, running his fingers through his hair. "It's almost like he's trying to die... passively." He said his voice rising with full knowledge that if nothing else, it would lure Roger out of his room.
And it did. Roger bolted out of his room, face red and eyes blazing. He was angry enough to hit Mark. A white-hot rage bubbled inside of him, sick and tired of Mark and his patronizing ways. If he didn't feel like eating, then it was his own damn business. "Damnit Mark! Mind your own damn business. I'm so sick and tired of you and your goodie two shoes business." He yelled at his roommate's back.
Grabbing a bottle of Absolut off the counter top, Dakota held it in the air, ready to drop it. "Chill the hell out Rog. Or the vodka drops. And I will you two. Stop fighting or else." Seeing that she'd caught their attention from the way they'd both frozen, staring at her and the bottle. She laughed. "Go make nice for a bit. I'll cook you something. And it's doubtful that we'll be seeing Maureen or Joanne tonight, they're fighting. And then they'll be making up." She said, thrusting her hips. Setting the bottle back down, she tucked her hair behind her ears. "Benny coming?" She asked.
Both males stared at her, relatively stunned. This was going to be an interesting holiday season.