Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Bohemians, nor do I own their favorite dining place, the Life Cafe. I guess you could say the waiter's mine, but I don't really want him. 3 I'd gladly trade him in for one of the Rent characters.
He stared at the tall, thin glass, covered in condensation and filled to the brim with ice water. A solitary lemon slice bobbed about at the surface, and as it was placed on the table before him, the lemon slice half-submerged itself and popped back up again like those tiny round bobbers people use when they go fishing. Placing his palm against the side of his overheated face, Roger sighed and leaned his elbow on the table while he tuned out the clamoring conversation all around him, wondering why he let Mark drag him here. He remembered why when Mimi slipped her arm gently around his shoulders and ruffled his hair, leaning over and whispering "I love you" in his ear. It was her that really convinced him to come to the Life Cafe that evening.
The day had been so wonderful. He guessed he just didn't want it to end. He wasn't going to go home to an empty loft with only the day's memories accompanying him while everyone else stayed out a little later creating new memories. He needed to spend as much time as possible with his friends while he still could.
He forced a cheery humming noise in response to Mimi's affection, but it ended up coming out sounding like the moan of a dying sheep. Mimi simply planted a moist, somewhat grandmotherly kiss on his cheek and turned back to chat with Angel, who was sitting on her left and probably didn't mind the fact that she couldn't get a word in edgewise over Mimi's incessant chattering. Roger felt himself smirking at this one-sided conversation, but the grin ended up looking like a grimace, and Mark zoomed in on his face while he commented that Roger didn't look too well. No shit, jackass. You're the one that dragged me here.
However, Mimi's voice reminded him that he came willingly, and he smiled again, looking a little more content this time around.
A plate of appetizers was placed in the middle of the table, and almost at once hands sprung forth to grab at first choices. Roger sipped at his water, letting the cool, chilly liquid slide comfortably down his sore throat. Suddenly a large nacho was invading his line of vision and he instinctively batted it away, unaware that it was Mimi's hand offering it to him.
Joanne stopped talking to Maureen as the chip flew in her general direction and landed inches away from her, half of it balanced on the edge of the table with the threat of falling with all its cheesy messiness into her lap. The entire table got quiet, except for Mark, who narrated the event, making sure to get a close-up of the look of disgust on Joanne's face. Roger felt himself redden as all eyes fell on him. Joanne gradually lowered her gaze to the soggy, cheesy nacho chip pieces; delicately extracting the uglier half from her food with her thumb and index finger, she flung it at an unexpected Mark, who was quickly silenced. The table exploded into a general gasp of surprise, a sound that soon turned to laughter.
Mark himself was laughing, but this was only a means of diversion, and Roger knew this when Mark actually put his camera down. Casually, Mark lifted a container off his plate and swiftly whipped its contents of sour cream across the table right back at Joanne, who wasn't caught off-guard this time. She leaned back in her seat, the cream soaring right past her and splashing instead onto Maureen, who had unfortunately chosen to wear her favorite shirt that day. Once more the table fell silent; it was all fun and games until Maureen was splattered with something.
Mark stuttered in his defense as Maureen's eyes locked angrily onto him. "M-maureen, I'm really sorry," he stammered, looking around the table for someone to blame. "Joanne threw the nacho at me first. I was trying to get her back, not you."
Maureen's gaze shifted to Joanne, and Mark let a alleviated chuckle escape his throat as he reached for his camera, assuming he was off the hook. Joanne didn't say a word. Instead, she pointed directly across the table at Roger, who now had his head down and was trying to ignore the whole fiasco. Maureen grabbed a spoon and lifted an overflowing load of salsa off of Joanne's plate, then without warning, chucked the entire mass at the half-conscious Roger's head. With mock drama, Mimi rammed into Roger, pushing him out of the way and taking the airborne salsa chunks for him.
Roger was jolted back into reality, now very much awake and aware that Mimi was practically on top of him, her face spattered with salsa. Everyone laughed, except Maureen, who cackled triumphantly, as Mimi, her eyes squeezed shut, felt around the table for a napkin. Roger, who didn't even have the slightest idea that the projectile salsa was intended for him, sat up and joined in with the laughter. Mimi's hand touched a napkin just as Roger quickly licked some of the salsa off the side of Mimi's face. The laughter increased in volume as Mimi let out a squeal of disgust, but she started to giggle as well.
The group was silenced once more as the waiter approached the table, raising both eyebrows until they were hidden under a mat of dark bangs. "Would anyone like dessert?" he asked as Roger continued to lick the hysterical Mimi's face, hopeful that the offer would be so graciously denied. "Perhaps a cup of... coffee?"
As if bringing them caffeine would do anything to calm these hyper diners down.
Without hesitation, Angel shot her heeled boots out and kicked Roger's leg, causing him to cease this display and spin around. Collins answered for the entire table. "No, thank you," he replied quite politely, then leaning out into the aisle, whispered to the waiter, "Don't worry, you're getting a huge tip."
Roger, feeling suddenly better than he had felt when he arrived, and quite relieved that he decided to come, smirked as the waiter grew tinier with distance while he made his way to another table. Suddenly there was something cold touching his back, and he turned to see Mimi putting an ice cube down his shirt. Instead of arguing, he took his punishment like a man; besides, he had started it.