Disclaimer: RENT is not mine. Thank you, Jonathan Larson!
Plot: The bohemians gather at the Loft to have a partay! However, a certain someone goes a little nuts from too much booze, and chaos ensues. Hey, I rhymed! Oneshot crackfic. MoJo, AngelCollins, RogerMimi
A/N: this one was written because my good buddeh Sofri (Sofricus Aurora Zakuro) challenged me to write a RENT story involving invisible pickles. And this is what came of it. WARNING: Major crack and fluff
"Hey! Open up!" Collins pounded on the door to the loft with one fist, the other arm occupied holding a bag of food, wine, and beer he'd brought with him. Angel had stopped by Mimi's apartment on the way up to collect the dancer, and they both came up behind him as Mark pulled the door open. Angel was wearing her favorite green tights, floral print skirt, green/yellow/orange sweater, and six-inch black heels. She'd brought some of her own drinks in her plastic pickle tub. Mimi wore her purple skirt and blue sweater-type thing. And Collins… well, he's Collins.
Mimi headed over to Roger in the kitchen, where they shared a hello kiss… a five minute long hello kiss. Angel just chuckled and leaned in to Collins, who put his arm around her. They walked over to the couch; Collins set his bag on the coffee table, and they settled onto the soft sofa with Angel on Collins' lap.
Mark looked at the others silently. Here we go again…
And then the peace was shattered as Maureen burst into the apartment, yelling, "I'm here! The party can start!!" Joanne followed her in, also laden with a bag of assorted groceries and shaking her head at her partner's antics. Roger and Mimi jumped apart in surprise, Roger glaring daggers at Maureen for interrupting them. Collins just grinned and called out, "Oh yeah! Let's get this party started!"
Everyone gathered around, Mimi sitting on Roger's lap and Joanne and Maureen cozying up to one another. Mark just sighed and pulled up a chair, and they dug in to the food and drink, laughing and chatting loudly.
Two hours later, the atmosphere was decidedly more chaotic. Angel still sat on Collins' lap, giggling uncontrollably for no discernable reason. Roger and Mimi were having a major make-out session behind the couch, and Maureen and Joanne were laughing uproariously at each other's stupidest jokes, alternating between this and making out.
Suddenly, Mark jumped up onto the table, his normally pale skin flushed and eyes wild. "THEY'RE COMING!!!!" he screamed, flailing his arms about, beer splashing from the bottle clutched in his left hand. "THEY'RE COMING TO EAT US ALL!!!" Roger poked his head up from behind the couch, looking ruffled and annoyed. "Shut up, Mark!"
The filmmaker stumbled slightly, kicking Collins' half-full beer bottle off the table onto the floor, where the spillage started to seep through the floorboards. Collins broke from kissing Angel long enough to yell, "Oi! What was that f--" Angel cut him off by kissing him fiercely, and his alcohol-bogged mind quickly forgot about the lost beer.
"THEY'RE COOOOOMIIIIIIIING!!!!" he yelled again, "THE INVISIBLE PICKLES! THEY'RE COMING TO EAT OUR BRAAAAIIIIINS!!!" He screeched and flailed, splashing beer onto Joanne, at which point Maureen pelted him with a handful of pretzels.
One hit him in the eye and he howled, staggering to one side and falling off the coffee table onto the floor with a loud thud. "MY EYE!!!!" he screamed again, taking a chug out of the mostly-empty beer in his hand. He writhed around on the floor, screaming unintelligible things in an alternatively terrified and angry voice. Occasionally, there'd be a discernible word, such as "PICKLES!!" or "INVISIBLE!!!" or "THEY'RE GONNA EAT MEEEEEE…"
Roger popped up from behind the couch again just in time to hear Mark yell "PICKLES!!" and shouted for no apparent reason, "Pickles??? We have pickles!!" He dashed over to the kitchen, sock feet sliding on the floor, dragged a jar of pickles out of the fridge, and shot back over to the couch. Once there, he wrenched the lid off of the jar and upended it over Mark, laughing as the brine and pickles rained down on the half-conscious filmmaker.
As Mark sputtered and Roger laughed, Angel suddenly got an idea. She shot upright and staggered over to her pickle tub, sitting forgotten on one side of the couch. Snatching the tub up, she held it as high as she could and waved it around. "I got yer invisible pickles right here!" she yelled, laughing. Collins, who had a bit more experience holding his drinks, picked up Mark's camera from its perch on the couch-side table and turned it on, giggling (yes, giggling) as he pointed it in turn at all of the other bohemians.
Mark, now passed out on the floor.
Joanne and Maureen, pointing and laughing at Mark.
Angel, waving the pickle tub around above her head and yelling.
Roger and Mimi, making out behind the couch.
And he just laughed. And laughed.
The next morning…
Collins woke up to see Angel lying on top of him, hair disheveled, with a contented look on her face. He smiled and stroked her cheek gently, groaning slightly as he noticed his splitting headache. She let out a long breath, and he wrinkled his nose instinctively; morning breath mixed with beer breath was enough to knock a person out.
He looked around, seeing Mark still passed out in the exact same spot as the night before, seemingly uncaring to the pickles all over him, including one resting squarely between his eyes. Joanne and Maureen were lying together right next to the couch, on the floor, with Maureen's head almost underneath the coffee table. The pickle tub lay discarded atop the same table.
Sitting up carefully, he peered over the back of the couch to see a jumble of arms and legs that was Mimi and Roger, both with a blissful look on their faces. He chuckled, absently stroking Angel's hair as she slept. He knew she wouldn't be up until around noon; getting drunk always knocked her out for a long time. She never had been able to hold her booze.
He reached over to the coffee table and picked up the camera from next to the pickle tub, remembering vaguely his taping of the other's escapades the night before.
Despite his splitting headache, he laughed at the memory. It was worth it. So totally worth it.