Challenge 184- The Missing License

Fri, 21 Jul 2006 04:02:49 GMT

Title: The Missing License
Author: Amanda (autumnnight12)
Feedback: Would be lovely. Especially because I'm not sure if this style is even comprehensible.
Pairing: Maureen/Joanne, and somehow some Mark/Roger slipped in there unintentionally
Word Count: 2471
Rating: um, R for Roger's and Maureen's mouths
Genre: General, silly
Summary: Roger is the only one who really remembers what happened last night.
Notes: I don't really write very often, but... well, sadly, this fic is like 50 percent true...
Special Thanks: Everyone who writes for these challenges and keeps me addicted to lurking here.
Spoilers: none, really
Warnings: Lots of mentions of throwing up. And drinking.
Disclaimer: I do not own RENT.

1) I wake up slowly, blinking into the bright sunlight. I must have forgotten to close the blinds last night—last night! I sit up with a start, then suppress a moan as my head catches up with me. Shit. I look around—I’m in my room, still dressed in my skirt from last night, though I am wearing a different t-shirt. I slowly swing my legs to the floor where they collide with—“oof, what the fuck, Maureen?”—okay, Roger is on my floor. No need to panic. I stand up slowly, looking for my bag, open it. Okay, all my cash is gone, no surprise there. Still have my credit card, and my ATM card, and—oh, fuck, where is my license? Great. I close my eyes to repress a sudden wave of nausea. Okay, sitting down seems to be in order. I shuffle out of my room and to the couch, where I plop down to a—“Maureen, I’m sleeping here, god!”—a Mark. Okay, there is a Roger on my bedroom floor and a Mark on my couch. I sink down to the carpet, clutching my purse. Mmmm, so soft…

“Maureen? Maureen, what the hell is going on here?” I wake up slowly, blinking at the pair of legs in front of me. I crane my neck back, back, back, to see—“I visit my parents for one night and you decide to turn the apartment into a flophouse for your alcoholic friends?”—oh man, it’s Joanne. I try to sit up but my head does not want to leave its place on the floor. “And you manage to leave the bathroom reeking of vomit, and the kitchen reeking of vodka and beer and whatever the hell this sticky mess is—” Joanne takes a break from her rant to shove an aluminum pan in my face. I can smell the vodka from here. I moan as I turn my head and whisper “Jello shots” but Joanne isn’t listening and suddenly the smell has done it and my head is not the issue and I jump up and run for the bathroom. I somehow manage to slam the door.

When I stumble out, however many minutes later, Joanne no longer seems pissed. She and Roger are standing over Mark, alternately poking him and sipping coffee. They both turn as I stumble out of the bathroom. “Here, baby, I made you some coffee,” Joanne smiles and shakes her head. “What the hell did you three get up to last night?”

I take the coffee and shove Mark over so I can sit. “Pookie, I don’t really know, but—oh shit.” I grab my purse and rifle through it. “Shit, I didn’t dream that. I really did lose my license. How the fuck did I do that?” I close my eyes and carefully lower my head onto the couch’s arm. Roger laughs, and without moving I raise my voice as high as I can without encouraging the headache I can feel building behind my eyes to explode. “You fucker, what the fuck are you laughing at? Why didn’t you fucking…” I feel Roger’s hand on my head.

“Shush, you. Do you even remember what happened?”

I open my eyes cautiously. Mark is awake and curled up next to me, clutching his own mug of coffee, and Roger and Joanne have settled into the armchairs across from us. They are watching me intently. Joanne smiles again. “At least this time when you drunk-dialed me you didn’t tell me to fuck off repeatedly. Although I did have to explain to my parents why a ‘client’ who desperately needed my legal advice at three am was yelling ‘I love you pookie! I love you Jo-Jo!’ repeatedly into the phone.”

I moan. “Fuck, I think I remember that.” I glare at Roger. “Why did you let me—”

“Hey, don’t look at me, I’m not your keeper.”

I glare again. “Fine. Anyway, I think last night’s coming back to me. We were celebrating or something, right? Um, um- oh!” I poke Mark- “Marky’s movie won that award! I remember! So I made green Jello shots, because green is like money, but then we ran out so I added in some raspberry powder.” All the excitement is making my head throb, and I close my eyes for a moment.
Mark turns to me and croaks, “That explains why my vomit was red and green this morning. Good, I thought maybe I was dying.”

I grin. “And then… we went to Doc Holliday’s, right? And the bartender there was wasted and kept giving us whiskey shots, and then…” I pause. Shit, what then? “Um, did we take a cab somewhere? With…someone dancing, or something? Did I dance on the bar? Wait, was Collins there last night? I totally remember being on some street corner and Collins was, um, standing in front of a storefront speaking…Spanish or something? And then we went home…right? Wait, wait, wait—” Roger is full-on laughing now, and even Mark is grinning. “Did I throw up on a street corner? Did I get arrested?”

2) I turn to Maureen and shake my head. I have to admit, when I woke up this morning to her ass on my hip I was completely confused, but it all came back to me pretty quickly. I think. I had a lot of time to think this morning in the bathroom while hugging the toilet. “No one got arrested, Maureen,” I croak. Shit, when did my voice get like that? Roger is still laughing, but I’m pretty sure it’s not at me. I hope it’s not at me. Maureen was definitely drunker than I was last night. I was sober enough to stop her from making out with me twice, although by try three I was sick of rejecting her. I don’t think I’ll mention that to Joanne. I clear my throat a few times and Roger shakes his head knowingly. Fine, if he thinks he’s so cool… “Don’t, Roger, I know what happened last night. I found out that Proof Positive had won that festival I entered, and Maureen insisted that we come over here to celebrate.” Joanne glares at Maureen. I really think that our little party should be the least of Joanne’s worries. “And then we all got pretty drunk here,” Roger is shaking his head, mouthing ‘not me’ to Joanne. What, they have a little bond going now, the non-hungover twins?

I shift to get up and prove that I’m not really hungover either, thank you very much, but Maureen leans against me and murmurs “don’t move, pookie, you’re so comfy” and I smile as Joanne narrows her eyes.

“So we went out to the bar, which was a total dive, but at least Maureen got us free drinks. And then…oh, oh yeah, um, those guys wanted to go out dancing with us but Roger scared them off,” I mumble. I don’t get why guys are always hitting on me. I may be skinny, but I don’t give off a gay vibe. Do I? No… “So then Roger wanted to take Maureen home,” Roger glares at me, “okay, take me and Maureen home, but Maureen ran away from us, and when we finally found her she was on the phone with—I guess with you?” Joanne shakes her head and shrugs. “So I guess Roger distracted her? I don’t know. And I called Collins to help, because I was confused about where we were.” Roger is laughing now. Did I miss something? I hate not being in on the joke. “And then he told us to stay put and that he was coming, but then Maureen started throwing up, and then I wandered into a…bodega? Wait, where the fuck were we? There was someone speaking Spanish in the store, I think, and then…oh, oh wait, Mimi was there, maybe? Right? And then Collins showed up and Maureen was throwing up and we took a cab back here with the money from Mo’s purse. Roger, why are you laughing?”

3) Oh my lord, these kids were so fucking wasted. I mean, I was drunk, I know it, but at least I knew where I was when I woke up. And I didn’t black out. What a fucking joke, me being the most sober one. Me being the one explaining the night. I kind of like this, except for the part where I had to find Maureen a clean shirt last night and then evade making out with her until she fell asleep. Okay, must stop laughing. “You guys have no fucking clue about last night, do you? Wow, I’m surprised we’re not all in jail right now. Okay, where to start? You’re right about the partying here, and then at Doc’s we did do shots, and Maureen started dancing on the bar, and talking about how she really wanted to go clubbing, so these guys who had been chatting up Mark decided to get you two to go out.” Joanne looks pissed, so I put my hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, the only person Maureen kissed was Mark.” Joanne glares at Mark, who groans. “So you do remember! Yeah, I pulled Maureen off the bar, and while I was telling the random guys to fuck off I guess she wore Mark down because when I turned around…” Joanne looks ready to kill. Shit. “No, Joanne, they were just kissing, it was no big deal. Mark makes out with me when he’s drunk all the time, and Mimi doesn’t mind.” Joanne does not seem to accept this as proof of how little kissing means, but whatever. “So then I decided maybe everyone was drunk enough to go home and sleep it off when out of nowhere Mimi shows up, drunk as hell. Don’t ask me how she knew we were there. She was with some girl from the Cat Scratch Club who had a car, and so I asked the girl if we could get a ride home, since there was no way in hell I was dealing with three drunk girls—” Mark swats at me from across the room—“I mean three drunk people anymore. And somehow, while I’m keeping Maureen from vomiting in this girl’s car, we end up being driven to the fucking Barrio.” Maureen and Mark, who had been drifting to sleep, are wide awake now.

Maureen gasps. Oh, great, now she’s going to be overly dramatic about—“My god! You took us to Spanish Harlem! How could you let this happen?” Fuck. I am not about to sit through an hour of this.

“If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have—” I take a deep breath. “Do you want to know what happened or not, drunky?” Maureen stops talking and nods. “Okay, so once I figure out where we are, Mimi decides we should visit her family. Only Maureen takes that moment to run off, god knows where, so we all have to chase her down to some phone booth, where I suppose she called Joanne. And then Mark called Collins, though how he told Collins where we were I have no idea, and then we all went to sit on the corner, and then Mark and I went into a bodega to get some water, and when we came out Maureen and Mimi were talking to the police. Well, Mimi was talking, and Maureen was chanting ‘fuck the police’ and giving them the finger.” Maureen shakes her head and shrugs. “I mean, we all know you don’t like the police, but it took some fucking smooth talking by Mimi to get you out of that. See,” oh man, I forgot about this, this is fucking hilarious, and I turn to Maureen who looks fucking terrified “you gave them your id, and Mimi gave them that fake from her aunt that says she’s 33. So, apparently in her drunken little mind she decided that a 33-year-old out with a 22-year-old could only be a whore or a jilted woman, so she starts telling the police that her husband left her last week and that you are the daughter of her best friend, who is out of town, and that she bought you too many drinks but she’s looking out for you now. And you, meanwhile, have put your head down, and you’re moaning ‘I’m sooooo sooooorry. I didn’t mean to make you maaaaad.’ And then the nice cop tried to comfort you but he was, like, repulsed by the fact that you’d thrown up all over yourself. It was great. And then the cops lectured Mimi for a little, and then handed her your ids and were walking away.” Maureen grins, and I shake my head. “No, Mimi doesn’t have your license, because you immediately yelled ‘You’re not my mother! I want my fucking id!’ so she gave it to you to shut you up. Something tells me it’s still on the streets of Harlem somewhere. And while I was listening to all this nonsense, Mark got it into his head that he needs to buy the cops off, so he went back into the store and came out with a pack of Marlboro Reds. Ha. Thank god the cops were gone by then.”

Maureen sighs. “I’m really glad I’m not in jail. How the fuck did we get home?”

“Collins somehow found us and hailed us a cab, but not before Marky smoked the whole pack of cigarettes.” I grin at him. “Don’t worry, that’s what the sore throat is from. It’s not blow-job voice.” I dodge the pillow he flings at me. “And you were right, we did pay for the cab with Maureen’s money. And we dropped Mimi off at her mother’s. And Collins went home because he has class today. I think.” I turn to Joanne. “Is it a weekday? Whatever,” I grin, “we’re all safe and sound, so all is right with the world.”

Joanne glares at me. “I would not put it that way, Roger. And for your information, it is a Tuesday, a day when normal people are being productive members of society.” She turns to Maureen, and I stand up to go before this gets ugly. “I think you and I,” she continues, “need to have a talk about all this drinking.” She sighs. “And we need to go report your id as lost.”

Mark is still curled up on the couch, so I quickly hoist him up. “C’mon, buddy, let’s go.” As I drag him out the door I can hear Joanne’s voice get louder as Maureen’s screeching starts up. I turn to Mark and drape my arm around him. “Pancakes?” He moans, turns, and throws up off the stairwell. “Yummy,” I say. “Pancakes it is.”

Wow

Sun, 26 Mar 2006 23:58:43 GMT

So, I mostly just got this account to post fanfiction. And I am mostly just writing fanfiction to procrastinate. So here's my first post. Let's see if I can get the hang of this. :)