A little thing I wrote that I had been thinking about for a while. This is all supposed to occur within the third day of Roxie's arrival at the lost. Humor, not serious. Everything belongs to Jonathan Larson. Save, my single character.
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Third day, calm enough and still getting all of the newcomer's suitcase to have a permanent place to stay. Couch or spare room? Still deciding, and she sleeps where she wants. Even if it is occasionally under the table after too much to drink… Zoom in on a new side of Roxie. By the way, weather's a little better, and it's a bit warmer. Much more comfortable then the much colder days, obviously.
The loft was as messy and un-kept as ever. Nearly dirty enough to drive one insane. Well, not the two men who inhabited the space for quite some time. But if you lived a life of luxury, and not one speck could be seen on the floor. This could be a bit of a, problem, to say the least…And possibly, for this one cleanly drag queen who looked as if this place was any dirtier… she would just take her chances in a dumpster.
Zoom in on Mark, fixing his camera for the umpteenth time getting the grease of old tools everywhere. Maureen had run off with it again and nearly destroyed the thing in an attempt to film a bird in the park. Roger, still sitting on the couch with feet propped up on the coffee table and writing a song with muddy boots. Roxie? Staring at the both of them with a look of complete and utter disgust in her eyes. Who could possible blame the poor the thing?
"How the hell can you guys live like this?" She finally had screeched making the two remaining bohemians nearly jump out of their skin. They had theorized, using Collins' philosophy of 'actual reality', that Roxie would temporarily shut down like some sort of computer. Thus, granting peace and quiet... "It's so… Filthy! Disgusting. Muddy. Gross…Like you two are bachelors or s-" The bronze skinned girl quickly cut her self off. They were two bachelors who lived like animals. "Well, that's it. I'm going to do something about this." Rouge painted lips huffed in an obviously irritated fashion.
Roger had been the first to speak realizing that he had broken a string, "What the heck do you mean by that? Look, do what ever the hell pleases you. I still am not cleaning this place." The former rocker had then carefully loosened the peg to remove the string. A broken chord was always a pain in the ass when it had happened, as rare as it was. At least now, mentally, he had someone to blame it on. At least they would be able to see parts of the floor much better.
Mark would have asked if there was anything he could help with, but knew what fate would be his own. Then this 'drill sergeant' would force him to do all the work in her little act of innocence. It would make one wonder if she had just come here to go on some sort of power trip. Truthfully, that fit Roxie a little too well. Maybe that's why she didn't get along well with too many people. Eh, well, she's right the loft was getting rather out of hand. Plus, fixing this wreck of a camera sounded much more appealing then scrubbing the old floors. Whenever Angel had attempted to clean the loft she would end up bending over in a certain way that would only bring her to the couch to pointlessly make out with Collins for a half hour. At least if there was a danger of drowning, the two could go without air for quite some time.
Well, when this little army of one had come back he looked determined to clean up this wreck. Hair tied up in a messy bun, and wearing Roger's jeans and Mark's lest favorite sweater Rosando was going to tackle this all in hopefully one day. Well, the two would've objected to this, but they figured not to disturb him, and just leave things as they were. But mentally, those two bohemians were placing bets on how long he would last in attempting to tackle this job. "There, now watch me prove you two wrong."
An hour had past…
Rosando had just touched base with the kitchen getting all of the dishes in the sink. One by one he washed them, but before hand, had made sure to soak them for a while. Luckily he had just enough soap to get them to a point where they would be clean. Each plate, cup, and anything else was just as grimy as the last. Caked on old food, and assorted other things. It was already looking bad seeing as he had to stop every now and then to get away from the horrible smell. When that was finished all of the dishes were put on a rack to dry. Roger, still working on his one song. Mark, drinking a cup of coffee and working on an old screenplay.
Present time…
Emerald eyes looked weary as repetitive motions were made. Back and forth, back and forth. Scrubbing that god-awful tub. But there was no way on earth that this porcelain prison was legal to bath in. No need to actually go in detail on describing what a mess it was. "Markie! Get me something to drink! Coffee! This bathroom is defiantly going to be one hellova party." Then, complete silence on Rosando's end, then… A high-pitched scream.
Mark was the first to run in with the cup of coffee, and obviously alarmed. What could scare this guy? After all, he was the type to rip the wings off butterflies and kick puppies. It's a genealogy thing. Yappy dogs never were rewarded. There he was, Rosando Schunard was sitting on the sink as a mouse was crawling around on the floor accompanied by an earwig. "Ohmahgawh! Markie! Kill those things. Please!" Emerald eyes darted from those two creatures and up to the cameraman desperately. "Puh-leeze."
Mark, well, Mark didn't know what to do either. He didn't like the sound of bugs being squished, and what was he supposed to do about the mouse? Defiantly not stomp on it or something. That would just be plain disgusting. "Um… Uh… Well what do you think I should do? I can't kill those things!" Poor Mark, he had no idea what this situation would turn out as. Especially when neither of them was willing to try to get rid of the unsettling mood these uninvited guests had created. Ruffling his light hair with one hand, he was trying to quickly make a decision. When the filmmaker had finally summed up the needed courage to solve the situation… The earwig had died of trauma and the mouse had run far far away.
Angel's older cousin stared blankly down at the floor for a few moments. "H-hey! Lookit that. They're gone. Thanks Markie. You're a lifesaver." He had smiled like a complete dork, and that was Mark's reward. It wasn't like Rosando to do that at all. To actually be kind and not yell at him for no apparent reason. The first glimpse of hope. "Now… Help me down from here please…" He was apparently, stuck. Well, it was more of, not being able to move at all.
The very very white boy had set down the coffee cup carelessly and inspected Rosando for a moment. Yet another challenge. If he had touched or tried to pull Angel's cousin off the sink in any suggestive way, that would only bring a long string of yelling. Oh dear god. This wasn't going to be very fun. Clumsily putting one arm under her knee area he was going to try the old fashioned 'bride and groom' threshold walk. Unfortunately that brought a very ungrateful grunt from Rosando his brows arching. Okay… Step two. Fuck, there was that look again. That 'crossing-the-arms-over-chest-and-glaring-because-I-am-spoiled-and-nearly-impossible-to-please-even-if-I-am-in-a-great-mood' look. 'Damn, just get off the stupid sink your self if you are going to be so picky about it'. Last try. Mark now timidly turned around and offered to give him some sort of piggyback ride. Surprisingly enough the filmmaker felt the shift of weight and defiantly was carrying some weight. Hey, it was a little strange to feel how, despite how weak he was; the pumpkin headed albino could still carry this weight. Just like his cousin, Rosando didn't weigh all that much. Feeling soft lips on his neck a shiver went down the bohemian's spine. "Y-your welcome." He stuttered letting the dark haired boy go so he could stand up. Well, the reply to that was a simple wink, smile, and a, 'thanks again'. It didn't take him too long to scurry off to the camera, his salvation.
"Hehe, white boys." Rosando then took the cup of coffee and took a sip. Continuing on with the tub another screech was heard; he had fallen in with the help of sheer unforeseen clumsiness.
"Fine! You win! …Stupid tub…"
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Error I forgot to catch. The book by T.S. Elliott is titled "The old possum's book of practical cats". Sorry for the error. It was from quick searching and bad memory. By the way, school's coming up for me in a couple of weeks. So I probably won't be able to update when that is coming around. My birthday's on the twenty-ninth of August by the way. It would be nice if you guys could write little speed written Rent stories for me. Favorite couple is Collins and Angel obviously. Maybe even a little story including Roxie too. XD That would make me even happier. I want to see what you guys interpret her as.
