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The Beatle World
A Beatle Slash RPG
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I was watching as the last of the decorators left the flat. Brian was supposed to be waiting at Alistair's house, having dinner and going over business with Alistair. He was supposed to arrive here any minute. I swore if he was late, I'dnever forget him. The lights were all low lamps, lots of candles. Red velvet had been put up as curtains and thick carpets had been brought in. Everything had a very dark and rich Victorian feel to it. I thought it would suit the moods rather well. I had hired a celloist, a violinist to come and play, but they were of a certain breed, and gay as I was.

Luckily, I knew they were loyal to me and nothing that happened behind these closed doors tonight would be disclosed tomorrow. I walked through the apartment, giving everything a final look over. Nothing looked amiss. Wonderful. I went into the bathroom and checked my hair and clothes before I heard the bell ring. Brian was here!

How sweet of him to actually indulge me in the whole experience and he wasn't simply coming in. I had worked so hard on this, I hoped he loved it.
Heavy stare
I hadn't heard back from Mal or Brian about my, okay mine and Ringo's weed, and I was getting antsy. Normally it didn't take more than a day and a half before one of them, lately it had been Neil and Mal, to show up with a nice fat bag. So where the hell was it? I had no idea, and Brian couldn't be found. Instead of going and tracking Mal down first, I headed over to Paul's house. Him and John were never without, and I needed some now.

I parked in front of the house and exhaled smoke before walking up to the door. I knocked quickly and wondered if possibly Jane was going to running about in anything tight, and short. That'd be nice. I grinned and waited for someone to come to the door.
blackandwhiteprettypretty
I'd left the office early, thinking I'd go home and call Ken Patridge, and see about the paperwork involved in buying the house on Chapel Street. However, I ran into Mal Evans on my way out of NEMS, and he'd thrust a brown paper bag into my hands, mumbling something about "George asked me for..."

I hadn't even needed to open the bag to know that Mal had probably spent most of the morning tracking down the drugs and rolling joints for George. Poor man, he looked stressed beyond belief. I assured Mal that I would deliver the joints to George and Ringo, and save him a trip. However, once I arrived home, I tossed the bag onto my coffee table and poured myself a drink. The joints would keep, I reasoned, and I had no intention of heading up to George's flat without some sort of buzz.

But I'd scarcely put my feet up on the couch when the bell rang. I set down my brandy, grumbling as I walked over to open the door.
PissedGeo
Ringo had headed off to see Maureen and I was out to see Pattie. I was bringing along some po so she could try it. I was really hoping she'd like it as much as I had. I drove over loaded up with joints and a pipe, just in case. I made it over to Pattie's pretty easily, since traffic wasn't heavy yet. I pulled up and parked, heading up the stairs with a grin and I knocked on the door.

I really hoped she'd like this.
blackandwhiteprettypretty
Mummy had suggested rather vaguely that I should have a house of my own in London, and the idea had been nagging at me for several weeks. I might have lost all interest in it, but after the incident with George and John, I just...I just needed to be away from the possibility of being walked in on by them. The idea of being away from George carried a sort of breathless, finality with it, but I simply could not handle being so close to him, constantly forced to look at what I could not have. So I'd called Ken Partridge, and he'd graciously compiled a list of prospects for me to review. Of course, I wound up excluding quite a few for being either too far from the office, or in undersirable sections of the city.

But even with those exclusions made, it was still a formidable list. After visiting a few on my own, I decided that, to keep myself from abandoning the venture entirely, I simply must bring along someone else on these visits. Peter would have been my natural first choice, but the way he'd been behaving lately was simply...too attached for my liking. I was loathe to encourage him further, even accidentally, so I was left with rather few options, at which point, I indulged more ridiculous desires and asked John to accompany me to see one of the more promising houses on Chapel Street.

I flung the door open with a flourish, stepping inside with John behind me. It really was a rather lovely house, I thought, upon first look. Much more spacious than my own flat, with the added bonus of being much more private. At last, no neighbors peeking suspiciously out of their doors when I arrived home with company.

"Well? What do you think of it?" I asked, turning to John.
Cute small smile
I was sitting in my room, door locked with a towel stuck underneath the door. Wait. I wasn't sitting. I could see the ceiling. Was I sitting on the wall? No, no that's impossible. Unless I put glue on my ass. Very strong glue. Oh shit, I hope I'm wearing pants otherwise I was never moving, or I'd rip off my skin.

In a panic, I moved, falling easily onto the familiar carpet and blankets falling around me. With a burst of giggles, I realized I was siting on my bed the entire time.

I sat up, seeing the phone. I should call someone. But who? For some reason I thought of Pattie. Mmm, god she was hot. And I was supposed to report to her or something, wasn't I? I reached out for my phone, taking hours to reach it and even longer dialing the number. Wait, how did I know her number? Did I know it? Well, I was dialing something.
I parked my car and headed up to the NEMS office building, where I was assuming I would find Brian, tucked away in his office with a drink and a migraine. That's where I would be if I was with him. But in two short days we would be having his party and I was beside myself with worry and excitement. I wanted so badly for everything to go off without a hitch, I needed it to. This would be one of those rare times I would be ablw to show off in front of him.

I smiled widely as I entered the building and passed by the girls in the front office. I paused at Alice's desk, (Brian's secretary), and wished her a good day and handed her a chocolate. I knocked on his office door and smiled at him.

"Hello, Brian."
small smile
I walked into the recording studio, finding that only George Martin, and Norman were there. I couldn't possibly be the only one here, could I? I was only four minutes early. I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder and I smiled.

"Hey John, where's George and Richie?" I felt like I was forgetting something important. What was today?
Cute small smile
I was in my room, sitting on  my bed and strumming idly at the guitar. Just moments before I had the greatest idea for a song, but it passed just as quickly as it came. Damn it all. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Just after six on a Saturday evening, and I was doing absolutely nothing. Something seemed wrong about this picture.

I put my guitar down and got up from my bed, making my way downstairs to find Jane.

"Ah, Peter, where's Jane?" He was just at the end of the stairs.

"She's in the kitchen, getting herself something to drink." I nodded and patted him on the shoulder.

"Thank you." I quickly went to the kitchen, seeing Jane. God, she was gorgeous. "Hey Jane, lets go out."
blackandwhiteprettypretty
I'd been offered a spot on a panel of judges at 'Beat Time for Oxfam'. As far as I knew, it was a pop talent contest with some sort of charity connection being held at the Prince of Wales Theatre. They'd asked me to bring one of the boys along to fill the remaining spot.

They hadn't specified, but I knew the organizers were hoping for John, or possibly Paul. And, in most cases, I would have obliged them. But really, I didn't think I could handle an entire night alone with John, and most certainly not with Paul. And...I didn't think I should ask George. So I decided to bring the one Beatle with whom my relationship was not entirely complicated, and asked Ringo.

I'm sure it wasn't his first choice of activity on a free evening, but he agreed, with the stipulation that I bought all his drinks for the evening. I'd agreed, although I was vaguely certain I would have been paying for the drinks, in an eventuality.

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Richie." I said, as he got into the car. "I know you're probably not eager to spend the night in a theatre of screaming females right after getting home from the tour."
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