anxious
Title: THE BEATLES AND PRACTICING MY WRITING ABILITY, or BORN FROM BOREDOM
Author: Fujiko/Lennonhead/whatever you feel like calling me
Starring: The Beatles, many cameos from others along the way
Rating: T, to be safe. Vaguely disturbing subject matter, I suppose.
Disclaimer: Nothing is real. I do not own The Beatles, they are real people, and that is called slavery, my friends, which is illegal where I'm from. As well, I mean no slander by my depictions of my heroes.
Plot:It was an average day for John, Paul, George, and Ringo, until they discovered that their studio had transformed into a black abyss! This turns into a quest through the worlds of their dreams. Will they be able to find eachother, then find their way out? Yeah, probably. I mean, they went off to make more records eventually, right? Somewhat cracky adventures.
Artwork by myself.
Chapter 0: The Beginning (or, Did You Expect A Better Chapter Title?)
It was an average morning at a hotel, and like usual, Paul McCartney was at a table about to drink his tea.
Paul's tea wasn't anything like an average human's tea. It was made from virgin's blood and the souls of orphaned children, with some salted licorice extract for that zap to wake you up in the morning. It had to be made with the ingredients in exactly equal parts, and served in a portion of exactly one measured cup. All that work just had to be done. Nobody questioned it. Plenty of famous people requested strange things, such as always having fresh corn on the cob in their dressing room.
Nobody wanted to make Paul angry, of course.
But that day, Paul took a sip of his tea only to find someone had gotten it completely wrong. It had all the appetizing qualities of gym socks, with a slight taste of honey.
Paul spat it out.
"Alright," he yelled out, "Who is responsible for this outrage?!"
A familiar nasal voice came from behind the kitchen wall.
"How do you like your tea, Paul?" It said, and started laughing manically.
"John!" Paul screamed, "I'm going to kill you!"
George said, "Would you calm down? I can't hear myself think."
The first-class Beatles stared at him in sudden silence. George sat down on a chair nearby, lit a cigarette, and opened a newspaper. He slowly turned his head to face the others.
"What?" He asked.
"You were there?"
"Yes, always."
There were a few more minutes of confusion.
Soon the time came to go off to the studio and record. The Fab, er, Three sped down to the hotel parking lot, where John's Rolls Royce was waiting.
"I'm going to drive," said Paul, "I'll get us to Abbey Road precisely!"
"No way, man," said John, "You'll wait for traffic lights. You'll just slow us all down!"
Just then, the engine of the car revved up.
"Get in already," said George from the front seat.
After a short time driving, in which John stole the wheel and ran over an old lady, a small building, and a platypus, the three made it to Abbey Road Studios.
"Where did Ringo go off to?" George asked.
"Who?" Paul answered, and unlocked the door to Studio Two.
"Ey up, guys..." came a weak voice from the darkness inside the room, "I'm glad you remembered me... After a week..."
"Ringo!" George yelled, and ran into the room. It seemed infinite in its darkness. He soon became unseen as he traveled, with only the sound of his boots hitting the floor to indicate that he was still there. Soon that disappeared too.
Silence.
"We can deal without a lead guitarist, right?" asked John.
"I'm not going to be doing anything without George," said Paul.
"So what you're saying is that you're going to run in there and risk your life for that guy? I forget he exists half the time!"
"Don't be silly," said Paul, "I'll turn on a light." He reached into the blackness and flicked the light switch. A bulb lit up close to the door, but whatever light it gave was quickly swallowed up.
"Well, that's not gone right," said John, beginning to show signs of nervousness. The two stared into the black hole that Studio Two had somehow become.
"Well, I'm going in," said Paul.
"Tell Mum I love her, when you see her!" John snapped. Paul took a few steps into the darkness. John wilted and said, "Hey! Please, Paul, don't leave me. You're facing certain death."
"If you care so much about me, come in with me," said Paul, and he continued forward.
"I don't care about you," John pouted and crossed his arms.
"Goodbye, J-"
"Wait!" John ran after Paul, "I'm going with you! Don't leave me all alone!"
The two walked through the inky depths of Studio Two, staying close together so they didn't lose each other. There was no sign of George or Ringo, no sign of anything for that matter, just the never-ending darkness. John and Paul called out a few times, but there was never any answer but an echo.
"Maybe this is magic," said John.
"Don't be stupid," said Paul. "Magic doesn't exist."
"How have we walked so long without hitting a wall?" asked John. "How have George and Ringo disappeared? How does this darkness just swallow things up? Why is there such a distant echo when we call if this was a small studio? Paul, if it isn't magic, then what is it?"
"You ask too many questions," said Paul. "I'm getting tired, let's take a break."
The two sat down on the floor. It seemed to be made of some kind of stone. Paul took his boots off and lied down. He tried to look at John, but there was no way of piercing the blackness of Studio Two.
"I almost miss seeing your face, John," said Paul.
"As for you... I don't," John replied.
John started to think about the nature of this room. What happened to it? It had to be from supernatural means. Or maybe this is all just a bad dream. Eventually, he lied down and fell asleep.
When they awoke, everything was different.