Fic: Through the Eyes of A Camera (Rent)
Title: Through the Eyes of a Camera
Word Count: ~1020
Disclaimer: I own nothing of RENT. I don't even own a CD of it that works!
All feedback much appreciated.
-------
"I'm hungry."
"Me too."
"Is there any food at all?"
"Not that I know of."
"Oh c'mon, there's gotta be something!"
"Check the fridge then."
"I will, Mr. Know-It-All." Pause. "Something green, something grisly, and something blue--no, white."
Pause.
"Maureen?"
"Yes?"
"How do you confuse blue food and white food?"
"The lid was blue."
*loud sigh*
"Quiet, boy-o, I've had enough of your lip." Pause. "Ooh, an egg."
"Just one?"
"Just one."
"Not enough to eat then."
"Enough for one person."
"Help yourself."
Pause.
*thud*
*thud*
*thud*
"What are you doing?"
"Looking through the cabinets."
"Why bother? All you'll find is store-brand cereal -- what the hell is that?!"
"It's spice, pookie."
"Why the hell do we have spice?!"
"Don't ask me, I just live here." Pause. "You still hungry?"
"Yeah."
"Great! I'm cooking dinner tonight!"
"With an egg, white stuff, green stuff, and grisly stuff?"
"And spice!"
"And spice."
"Oh, and I found some Pam too."
*clatter*
*BANG!*
"Shit!"
"Everything all right in there?"
"The frying pan attacked me!"
"Who has a frying pan in this dump?"
"I do."
"Oh. Why? We never fry anything -- we never have anything to fry!"
"So I can make pancakes."
"Uh huh."
"No, seriously! My grandma used to make these great fried-potato-pancakes."
"You can take the girl out of Hicksville . . . "
"Be nice, I'm making you food."
"You failed to mention how."
"The white stuff is mashed potatoes! It's perfect."
"Are you sure?"
"Yup. Tasted it and everything. It's mashed potatoes."
"Okay. Need any help?"
"Do you know how to do this?"
"Hardly."
"Then thanks but stay the hell away."
*sizzle*
"Whatcha doing?"
"Ma-rk! I thought I said stay o-ut!"
"Just wanted to watch."
"And film it, I see."
"You can take the boy out of filmschool . . . "
"Cute. Okay, so I put the Pam on the pan so it won't stick."
"What won't stick?"
"The potatoes, pookie! Now hush! So. Then I put in the potatoes--" *shloop* "--and the egg--" *crack* "--and then some spice. Do we have any salt?"
"Catch!"
*squeal*
"Very funny, Mark."
Pause.
"So what next?"
"Um . . . "
"Maureen?"
"Hmm?"
"You HAVE made these before, right?" Pause. "Right?"
"Well. No. But how hard can it be?"
Pause.
"We're doomed."
"But you've got it on tape."
*sigh*
"So you put the egg, the potatoes, the spice in. Now what?"
"Now I flip them so they cook on the other side!"
"We don't have a spatula."
"Shit."
"Hell if I know how we got a frying pan."
"It's probably stolen from somewhere."
"Hey, remember what Collins says. 'It's not stolen, it's been liberated.'"
"Collins is a nut."
"And you aren't?"
Pause.
"Okay, gimme the biggest spoon we have." Pause. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"That's bull! Fine, whatever. A fork too."
"There."
"Okay."
"What the hell are you doing?!"
"Abandoning the pancake idea. Now I'm just going for fried potatoes."
"Doom looms ever closer."
"Fried potatoes with green . . . hey, they're lima beans!"
"Huh. Wonder where they came from?"
"I bet they ran away from someone. We should return them."
"Or we could eat them."
"Should we let the lima beans decide?"
"Why the hell not?"
"Okay, little lima beans! Who wants to go back to the farmer, and who wants to feed me and Markie! 'Oh, Maureen, I love you! I wanna feed you!' 'Yeah, me too!' 'Fuck it, we all do!' 'Yeah, put us in the pan already, bitch!' Wow. Enthusiastic little buggers, ain't they?"
"Maureen, if I didn't love you so much, I'd throw you in a nuthouse."
"Love you too, pookie. Okay, so we're gonna add more spices. And now listen to the pleasant sizzling noises fried food that is disgustingly bad for you makes."
*sizzle*
*pop*
"Do you even know what that spice is?"
"It's not labeled."
"Why are you adding so much to it?"
"Hell, it can't hurt!"
"Point taken. Should that stuff be that color?"
"Well, hash rounds are."
"Hash rounds aren't that dark."
"Some are!"
"If you say so." *sniff* "Hey, I think that's turkey."
"Really?"
"That's what it smells like."
"Where did we get turkey?"
"Leftovers from somewhere, maybe."
"Maybe it's what's left of the Thanksgiving dinner."
"What, you mean my mom's turkey?"
"Yeah."
"Urgh. That's at least . . . three months old. Not sure I wanna eat that." Pause. "Then again, what's in the pan doesn't look much better."
"In or out?"
"In. Can't hurt anything, I suppose."
"And 'in' with more spices as well. Here, pookie, taste it!"
Pause.
"You first."
"Oh c'mon, it won't kill you!"
"You don't know that. You first."
"Ma-rky. That really hurts my fe-elings."
*sigh*
"Fine."
"Yay!" Pause. "Well?"
"It tastes like mashed potatoes with burned bits mixed in."
Pause.
"Needs more spices then!"
"Maybe you shouldn't have used the whole bottle . . . "
"Aw, what's the worst that can happen?"
Pause.
"Fine, but you're trying it next."
"Po-okie! You don't tru-st me?"
"No. Try it."
"Only if you will."
"I will. After you."
"At the same time."
"Maureen . . . "
"Please?"
Pause.
"Fine. But Heaven help you if you cop out!"
"Right back at you, movie-boy."
"Okay. Ready?"
"Ready. One, two, three, GO!"
Pause.
*sound of two pairs of running feet*
*sound of two people being sick*
*door slam*
"Hello? Mark, Roger, Maureen? Anyone home? Ooh. Hello, Mark's camera. I don't suppose you know where your Lord and Master is, do you?" Pause. "You know, I bet you could do with liberation, Mr. Camera . . . "
"Don't. Touch. The. Camera."
"Shit, Mark, you look like hell!"
"What spice did we have in the cupboard?"
"Huh?"
"ANSWER THE QUESTION, DAMMIT!"
"Um, I think there was some nutmeg leftover from Christmas, but -- "
*noise of running feet*
*more being sick*
"Well that's odd." *sniff* "Urgh, what's burning?" Pause. "I didn't know we had a frying pan!" Pause. "Hmm. Despite Mark's threats, I think you, Mr. Camera, are the best answer to what's been going on here tonight . . . "
END RECORDING.
Word Count: ~1020
Disclaimer: I own nothing of RENT. I don't even own a CD of it that works!
All feedback much appreciated.
-------
"I'm hungry."
"Me too."
"Is there any food at all?"
"Not that I know of."
"Oh c'mon, there's gotta be something!"
"Check the fridge then."
"I will, Mr. Know-It-All." Pause. "Something green, something grisly, and something blue--no, white."
Pause.
"Maureen?"
"Yes?"
"How do you confuse blue food and white food?"
"The lid was blue."
*loud sigh*
"Quiet, boy-o, I've had enough of your lip." Pause. "Ooh, an egg."
"Just one?"
"Just one."
"Not enough to eat then."
"Enough for one person."
"Help yourself."
Pause.
*thud*
*thud*
*thud*
"What are you doing?"
"Looking through the cabinets."
"Why bother? All you'll find is store-brand cereal -- what the hell is that?!"
"It's spice, pookie."
"Why the hell do we have spice?!"
"Don't ask me, I just live here." Pause. "You still hungry?"
"Yeah."
"Great! I'm cooking dinner tonight!"
"With an egg, white stuff, green stuff, and grisly stuff?"
"And spice!"
"And spice."
"Oh, and I found some Pam too."
*clatter*
*BANG!*
"Shit!"
"Everything all right in there?"
"The frying pan attacked me!"
"Who has a frying pan in this dump?"
"I do."
"Oh. Why? We never fry anything -- we never have anything to fry!"
"So I can make pancakes."
"Uh huh."
"No, seriously! My grandma used to make these great fried-potato-pancakes."
"You can take the girl out of Hicksville . . . "
"Be nice, I'm making you food."
"You failed to mention how."
"The white stuff is mashed potatoes! It's perfect."
"Are you sure?"
"Yup. Tasted it and everything. It's mashed potatoes."
"Okay. Need any help?"
"Do you know how to do this?"
"Hardly."
"Then thanks but stay the hell away."
*sizzle*
"Whatcha doing?"
"Ma-rk! I thought I said stay o-ut!"
"Just wanted to watch."
"And film it, I see."
"You can take the boy out of filmschool . . . "
"Cute. Okay, so I put the Pam on the pan so it won't stick."
"What won't stick?"
"The potatoes, pookie! Now hush! So. Then I put in the potatoes--" *shloop* "--and the egg--" *crack* "--and then some spice. Do we have any salt?"
"Catch!"
*squeal*
"Very funny, Mark."
Pause.
"So what next?"
"Um . . . "
"Maureen?"
"Hmm?"
"You HAVE made these before, right?" Pause. "Right?"
"Well. No. But how hard can it be?"
Pause.
"We're doomed."
"But you've got it on tape."
*sigh*
"So you put the egg, the potatoes, the spice in. Now what?"
"Now I flip them so they cook on the other side!"
"We don't have a spatula."
"Shit."
"Hell if I know how we got a frying pan."
"It's probably stolen from somewhere."
"Hey, remember what Collins says. 'It's not stolen, it's been liberated.'"
"Collins is a nut."
"And you aren't?"
Pause.
"Okay, gimme the biggest spoon we have." Pause. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"That's bull! Fine, whatever. A fork too."
"There."
"Okay."
"What the hell are you doing?!"
"Abandoning the pancake idea. Now I'm just going for fried potatoes."
"Doom looms ever closer."
"Fried potatoes with green . . . hey, they're lima beans!"
"Huh. Wonder where they came from?"
"I bet they ran away from someone. We should return them."
"Or we could eat them."
"Should we let the lima beans decide?"
"Why the hell not?"
"Okay, little lima beans! Who wants to go back to the farmer, and who wants to feed me and Markie! 'Oh, Maureen, I love you! I wanna feed you!' 'Yeah, me too!' 'Fuck it, we all do!' 'Yeah, put us in the pan already, bitch!' Wow. Enthusiastic little buggers, ain't they?"
"Maureen, if I didn't love you so much, I'd throw you in a nuthouse."
"Love you too, pookie. Okay, so we're gonna add more spices. And now listen to the pleasant sizzling noises fried food that is disgustingly bad for you makes."
*sizzle*
*pop*
"Do you even know what that spice is?"
"It's not labeled."
"Why are you adding so much to it?"
"Hell, it can't hurt!"
"Point taken. Should that stuff be that color?"
"Well, hash rounds are."
"Hash rounds aren't that dark."
"Some are!"
"If you say so." *sniff* "Hey, I think that's turkey."
"Really?"
"That's what it smells like."
"Where did we get turkey?"
"Leftovers from somewhere, maybe."
"Maybe it's what's left of the Thanksgiving dinner."
"What, you mean my mom's turkey?"
"Yeah."
"Urgh. That's at least . . . three months old. Not sure I wanna eat that." Pause. "Then again, what's in the pan doesn't look much better."
"In or out?"
"In. Can't hurt anything, I suppose."
"And 'in' with more spices as well. Here, pookie, taste it!"
Pause.
"You first."
"Oh c'mon, it won't kill you!"
"You don't know that. You first."
"Ma-rky. That really hurts my fe-elings."
*sigh*
"Fine."
"Yay!" Pause. "Well?"
"It tastes like mashed potatoes with burned bits mixed in."
Pause.
"Needs more spices then!"
"Maybe you shouldn't have used the whole bottle . . . "
"Aw, what's the worst that can happen?"
Pause.
"Fine, but you're trying it next."
"Po-okie! You don't tru-st me?"
"No. Try it."
"Only if you will."
"I will. After you."
"At the same time."
"Maureen . . . "
"Please?"
Pause.
"Fine. But Heaven help you if you cop out!"
"Right back at you, movie-boy."
"Okay. Ready?"
"Ready. One, two, three, GO!"
Pause.
*sound of two pairs of running feet*
*sound of two people being sick*
*door slam*
"Hello? Mark, Roger, Maureen? Anyone home? Ooh. Hello, Mark's camera. I don't suppose you know where your Lord and Master is, do you?" Pause. "You know, I bet you could do with liberation, Mr. Camera . . . "
"Don't. Touch. The. Camera."
"Shit, Mark, you look like hell!"
"What spice did we have in the cupboard?"
"Huh?"
"ANSWER THE QUESTION, DAMMIT!"
"Um, I think there was some nutmeg leftover from Christmas, but -- "
*noise of running feet*
*more being sick*
"Well that's odd." *sniff* "Urgh, what's burning?" Pause. "I didn't know we had a frying pan!" Pause. "Hmm. Despite Mark's threats, I think you, Mr. Camera, are the best answer to what's been going on here tonight . . . "
END RECORDING.