(no subject)
Title: The Perks of the Commercialization of Christmas
Author: Michelle [chewychicle]
Feedback: chibi_mish@yahoo.com
Pairing: Roger/April
Word Count: 1,205
Rating: PG
Genre: Hmm, Romance/Humor-ish. (I totally just made that genre up, hehe.)
Summary: Roger has always gotten himself into some strange situations, but this one might have a few surprises in store. [Yes, I'm aware of how corny that sounds. XD]
Notes: I'm still not sure how I feel about this fic, since I tried doing 1st person POV and I'm not sure if I completely like the way it turned out. Ah well. :D Song lyric is from "I'm With You."
Special Thanks: To lilchibibunny, for making me love Roger/April. :DDDD
Spoilers: None!
Warnings: Very, very mild cursing. And a mention of male prostitution...lol.
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned RENT!
Ever since I was just a little kid, people have always been telling me that I have a knack for getting myself into some pretty strange situations. So it's no surprise that I'm sitting here at the mall, decked out in a Santa costume (complete with a fake beard, which I'm not too happy about), and waiting for a bunch of snot-nosed kids to tell me what they want for Christmas.
I'm not entirely sure exactly how I got here, either. I had gone out for a walk, since Mark had told me to stop messing with my guitar and to go do something productive, and that excercise was an important part of a well-balanced life. Which just goes to show how much MARK knows, because how can I expect to ever go somewhere with my band if we have no songs? I swear, I'll never understand his filmmaker ways.
Anyways.
So I was out walking, and this random guy comes up to me (out of nowhere, which was pretty creepy, if I do say so myself) and asks me how I'd feel about making a quick, easy $400 dollars. And I'm about to tell him that Hey, man, I'm no advocate of male prostitution; but before I know it they've dressed me up in this red suit and I'm saying Whoa, whoa, whoa, no one ever said anything about this; but by then it's too late. So now I'm stuck here, with all these kids.
Kids. Have I mentioned that I hate kids? Okay, not ALL kids. Just the dirty ones. Like the ones who are coming to sit on my lap right now.
And if they can make a guy like me cringe, then that's definitely saying something right there.
I've been sitting here for four hours now, and it's starting to drive me insane. Some nagging little voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that Mark is probably wondering where I am, but I push it away. Hmph. It's Mark's stupid fault that you're here in the first place, I think to myself. But I want to go home. I'm tired of these kids, and I'm tired of their incessant begging for more and more stuff. Stuff. That's all kids want nowadays. Stuff, stuff, and more stuff. I roll my eyes; Christmas has become commercialized.
So now, it's time for kid #526817. He's a particularly chubby one, too, so I'm not really anticipating his stay on my lap. I sigh. I am getting paid for this, after all. "Merry Christmas," I say in a bored tone. "Now, sit and tell Santa what he's gonna stand in line for this year."
The kid just gives me a weird look, but I can hear the sound of a giggle coming from my right. A very feminine giggle. I try and listen to the kid ramble on about PlayStations and cow-shaped pillows while craning my head to locate the owner of the laugh. Aha! There she is, a short, redheaded girl, leaning against the wall and smiling.
Whoa, I think to myself. There are some perks to this job.
And to improve my mood even more, the chubby kid leaps off of my lap and it's (FINALLY!) time for my break.
I'm so glad of this that I almost run off of the raised platform. Thankfully, though, I contain myself. Now to find this girl. I look around again; she's still leaning against the wall. Yes! I saunter over to her, trying to play it cool.
"So you agree with me about the commercialization of Christmas, then," say to her, taking pride in my winning opening line.
(All right, so maybe it's not that great. But hell, I had to say something!)
She gives me a crooked little grin, and I realize all too late that I'm still wearing my Santa beard. Shit. I try to take it off nonchalantly, which isn't such a good idea since this thing is practically superglued to my face. I struggle for a while until the hated white thing is finally off, and I throw it over my shoulder.
"Hi." Why did I ever think this was a good idea? "Sorry about that...I'm not actually Santa, well, of course, you already knew that...in real life, I play guitar in a...well, this is real life, but I mean.." I trail off; I'm doing this all wrong. I try again. "I'm Roger."
I chance a look back at the girl, and to my relief, her gray eyes are laughing. "Well, hi, Roger-who-plays-guitar-in-real-life," she says. "I'm April." April.
"I like it," I say, grinning at her. "So, what brings you here?"
"To the city, you mean?"
"Well, actually, I was talking about the Santa display. But your alternative suddenly sounds like a much better topic of discussion."
She gets a dreamy look in her eyes. "Oh, I don't know. I came for college, but the truth is, all I've ever wanted to do is dance."
I don't know what possesses me to say this next, but all of a sudden I'm blurting out, "This might seem weird, but would you, I dunno, wanna go out and get some coffee sometime?" Are you crazy?! I ask myself. You've known this girl for a total of five minutes. You've known her name for even less. What are you thinking?!
She smirks up at me. "Only if we can discuss the evils of the commercialization of Christmas."
And even though I have only known her for about five minutes, I can already tell that there's something about this girl.
"Well then, no better time than now!" I say.
"You don't mind leaving your crowd of admirers?" I turn my head as she points to the line of kids that is now snaking around the corner.
I think of my discarded, horrificly fake beard. I think of the $400. I think of Mark, wondering where the hell I am. I think of April and her red hair and her gray eyes and her laughter. I look back at her, and she mirrors the image in my mind.
"They'll live." I tell her, nonchalantly. She raises her eyebrows, and I try to save myself. "I'm not really this insensitive and stupid all the time, I promise." Then I think back, remembering something that Mark said once. "See," I tell her, "I'm sort of like the Wicked Witch of the West."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. I mean, I'm not green, or a girl, or anything-" ("I would hope not", she laughs) "-but you can tell that she's not all bad. Maybe she's a little mean on the outside, but...I just think she's misunderstood."
I offer April my arm. She rolls her eyes, but the hint of a grin gives her away, and she takes it anyways.
"A guitarist who poses as Santa but really is the Wicked Witch of the West." She glances at me, amused. "I think misunderstood is an understatement."
I laugh. "I can't believe this is what my life has brought me to," she continues, but she's really smiling now.
"Hold on to something," I tell her, "'Cause your life's about to begin."
And from now on, nothing will ever be the same.
Author: Michelle [chewychicle]
Feedback: chibi_mish@yahoo.com
Pairing: Roger/April
Word Count: 1,205
Rating: PG
Genre: Hmm, Romance/Humor-ish. (I totally just made that genre up, hehe.)
Summary: Roger has always gotten himself into some strange situations, but this one might have a few surprises in store. [Yes, I'm aware of how corny that sounds. XD]
Notes: I'm still not sure how I feel about this fic, since I tried doing 1st person POV and I'm not sure if I completely like the way it turned out. Ah well. :D Song lyric is from "I'm With You."
Special Thanks: To lilchibibunny, for making me love Roger/April. :DDDD
Spoilers: None!
Warnings: Very, very mild cursing. And a mention of male prostitution...lol.
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned RENT!
Ever since I was just a little kid, people have always been telling me that I have a knack for getting myself into some pretty strange situations. So it's no surprise that I'm sitting here at the mall, decked out in a Santa costume (complete with a fake beard, which I'm not too happy about), and waiting for a bunch of snot-nosed kids to tell me what they want for Christmas.
I'm not entirely sure exactly how I got here, either. I had gone out for a walk, since Mark had told me to stop messing with my guitar and to go do something productive, and that excercise was an important part of a well-balanced life. Which just goes to show how much MARK knows, because how can I expect to ever go somewhere with my band if we have no songs? I swear, I'll never understand his filmmaker ways.
Anyways.
So I was out walking, and this random guy comes up to me (out of nowhere, which was pretty creepy, if I do say so myself) and asks me how I'd feel about making a quick, easy $400 dollars. And I'm about to tell him that Hey, man, I'm no advocate of male prostitution; but before I know it they've dressed me up in this red suit and I'm saying Whoa, whoa, whoa, no one ever said anything about this; but by then it's too late. So now I'm stuck here, with all these kids.
Kids. Have I mentioned that I hate kids? Okay, not ALL kids. Just the dirty ones. Like the ones who are coming to sit on my lap right now.
And if they can make a guy like me cringe, then that's definitely saying something right there.
I've been sitting here for four hours now, and it's starting to drive me insane. Some nagging little voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that Mark is probably wondering where I am, but I push it away. Hmph. It's Mark's stupid fault that you're here in the first place, I think to myself. But I want to go home. I'm tired of these kids, and I'm tired of their incessant begging for more and more stuff. Stuff. That's all kids want nowadays. Stuff, stuff, and more stuff. I roll my eyes; Christmas has become commercialized.
So now, it's time for kid #526817. He's a particularly chubby one, too, so I'm not really anticipating his stay on my lap. I sigh. I am getting paid for this, after all. "Merry Christmas," I say in a bored tone. "Now, sit and tell Santa what he's gonna stand in line for this year."
The kid just gives me a weird look, but I can hear the sound of a giggle coming from my right. A very feminine giggle. I try and listen to the kid ramble on about PlayStations and cow-shaped pillows while craning my head to locate the owner of the laugh. Aha! There she is, a short, redheaded girl, leaning against the wall and smiling.
Whoa, I think to myself. There are some perks to this job.
And to improve my mood even more, the chubby kid leaps off of my lap and it's (FINALLY!) time for my break.
I'm so glad of this that I almost run off of the raised platform. Thankfully, though, I contain myself. Now to find this girl. I look around again; she's still leaning against the wall. Yes! I saunter over to her, trying to play it cool.
"So you agree with me about the commercialization of Christmas, then," say to her, taking pride in my winning opening line.
(All right, so maybe it's not that great. But hell, I had to say something!)
She gives me a crooked little grin, and I realize all too late that I'm still wearing my Santa beard. Shit. I try to take it off nonchalantly, which isn't such a good idea since this thing is practically superglued to my face. I struggle for a while until the hated white thing is finally off, and I throw it over my shoulder.
"Hi." Why did I ever think this was a good idea? "Sorry about that...I'm not actually Santa, well, of course, you already knew that...in real life, I play guitar in a...well, this is real life, but I mean.." I trail off; I'm doing this all wrong. I try again. "I'm Roger."
I chance a look back at the girl, and to my relief, her gray eyes are laughing. "Well, hi, Roger-who-plays-guitar-in-real-life," she says. "I'm April." April.
"I like it," I say, grinning at her. "So, what brings you here?"
"To the city, you mean?"
"Well, actually, I was talking about the Santa display. But your alternative suddenly sounds like a much better topic of discussion."
She gets a dreamy look in her eyes. "Oh, I don't know. I came for college, but the truth is, all I've ever wanted to do is dance."
I don't know what possesses me to say this next, but all of a sudden I'm blurting out, "This might seem weird, but would you, I dunno, wanna go out and get some coffee sometime?" Are you crazy?! I ask myself. You've known this girl for a total of five minutes. You've known her name for even less. What are you thinking?!
She smirks up at me. "Only if we can discuss the evils of the commercialization of Christmas."
And even though I have only known her for about five minutes, I can already tell that there's something about this girl.
"Well then, no better time than now!" I say.
"You don't mind leaving your crowd of admirers?" I turn my head as she points to the line of kids that is now snaking around the corner.
I think of my discarded, horrificly fake beard. I think of the $400. I think of Mark, wondering where the hell I am. I think of April and her red hair and her gray eyes and her laughter. I look back at her, and she mirrors the image in my mind.
"They'll live." I tell her, nonchalantly. She raises her eyebrows, and I try to save myself. "I'm not really this insensitive and stupid all the time, I promise." Then I think back, remembering something that Mark said once. "See," I tell her, "I'm sort of like the Wicked Witch of the West."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. I mean, I'm not green, or a girl, or anything-" ("I would hope not", she laughs) "-but you can tell that she's not all bad. Maybe she's a little mean on the outside, but...I just think she's misunderstood."
I offer April my arm. She rolls her eyes, but the hint of a grin gives her away, and she takes it anyways.
"A guitarist who poses as Santa but really is the Wicked Witch of the West." She glances at me, amused. "I think misunderstood is an understatement."
I laugh. "I can't believe this is what my life has brought me to," she continues, but she's really smiling now.
"Hold on to something," I tell her, "'Cause your life's about to begin."
And from now on, nothing will ever be the same.