FicWad

A/N: Points to anyone who catches the RENT reference. Along that same line, references include the original show/Queen, Barry Manilow, Neil Diamond, the Beatles, RENT, David Bowie, the movie Labyrinth, and many others. Odds are, I don't own anything you recognize.

Chapter Three- Underground

Galileo and the girl had stopped in a broken-down alley for the night. She was curled up into a ball, resting and shivering.

Cracklin’ Rosie, get on board!

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…

He, on the other hand, couldn’t get to sleep. More names were flooding his mind again, some old, some new. Many were ones he had forgotten, having been without his laptop, his records, all his purpose… He was beginning to wonder if he was turning into a GaGa guy for not being able to function without his technology.

Lucy in the sky with diamonds…

Fat bottomed girl, you make the rocking world go ‘round… go ‘round…

No! he thought. Granted, he wasn’t about to look at her… bottom. Well, she probably did have a nice…

What was he thinking? He’d only known the girl for a few hours, and already he was judging her, thinking he knew enough to give her a name…

But, didn’t he already know her? She had looked sort of familiar, and they had gone to the same school…

Wait… She was the girl from his dream! The one with the weird hair! That was it. It had clicked.

Would that dream come true?

Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the fandango?

Scaramouche? It had a nice ring to it. What was the rest of it again?

Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you…

Will you what?

Anyway, it was a good name, but he’d have to run it by her in the morning. He looked over toward ‘Scaramouche’, still shivering. How could she be shivering? It had to be at least 30 degrees Celsius. Regardless, he slipped off his jacket and laid it over her.

Maybe he should get some sleep.

________________________________________

The blond-haired girl from the Scottish Zone listened intently. She couldn’t hear anything, but she couldn’t be too sure. She was cautious, even to the point where she had scared off a lot of Potentials. But there was no way that he could be captured, no way that she would be able to go on without him.

It was dark. It was always dark in the underground, but it seemed darker than usual. It was quieter than usual, as well. It had been quieter ever since the Hotel California had been taken. Charlotte Friggin’ Church had remained in the Heartbreak Hotel for the past ten years, mourning Jon Bon Jovi’s death. She had been one of the most successful scavengers for the HC, but since that day she had not left the Heartbreak. Many of the others were taken by the SPs, and some of the best had gone.

However, there was no sense in getting all choked up about it. She was only thirteen at the time. It had been ten years. A lot had happened since then, and they had to keep pushing forward.

So she sat, and waited for the all clear from Britney.

“It’s pretty clear up there, Meat!” She heard the black man call out from further down the tunnel.

“Are yeh sure the cops’re gone!” She called back.

“I’m goin’ up to the surface!”

“Well, be careful!” She paused for a moment. “I’m comin’ up, too!”

“No!”

Meat climbed up the ladder and lifted up the pothole. She slid out from underneath and looked around, her eyes scanning the environment, looking for any possible source of problems. The van parked alongside the abandoned road was clearly empty. The sky was clear of any hovercraft. Their location passed her visual check, and she looked over toward Brit. He was clearly annoyed with her behavior.

“You are so stubborn!” He yelled.

“Yeah!” She returned his angered stare. Then, her face softened. “Tha’s wha’ yeh love abou’ me.”

He smiled. “So, what we got?”

“Not much, mainly plastics and hydrocarbons. But, we got a sheet of tin we can wobble,” she began, going through her rucksack. “Some pebbles tha’ make a nice ra’tle. A bo’tle we can blow ‘cross, oh, and this swee’ wire we can twang!”

“Sweet, sweet, music!” Brit smiled. Then he pouted. “Damn, if only you had found a piece of wood we could bang on the one I got…”

“Well, ah suppose—” She began, throwing her arms around him. Quickly she stepped away. “Ooh, yeh naughty boy. Ah found a nice, big, piece ‘a wood righ’ ‘ere!”

“Not now, Meat! Now, you’re job is to take this stuff back to the Heartbreak,” he explained.

“But if yeh just—”

“No! I travel alone. You know that. How can I do the things I do when all I’m thinking about is you?”

“Wha’ ‘things’? Yeh know tha’ ah can ‘elp out. Yeh know yeh’ll be thinkin’ abou’ me either way.” Couldn’t he see? There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t give up to stay with him.

“Sometimes ah wish yeh didn’t care so much abou’ this stuff. Sometimes ah wish we’d never heard of ‘da vibe’!”

He looked crestfallen. “You don’t mean that,” he half-asked.

“No,” she said, thoughtfully. “Ah s’pose not. I’s jes’ tha’ ah miss yeh so much, baby. It ge’s tougher ev’ry time yeh go away,” she said, putting her arms around him.

“Hey, baby, I’ll come back,” he reassured her. “I always come back. And someday, I’ll bring the Dreamer with me.” He squeezed her tight. “Someday, babe.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes ah think i's us tha’s dreamin’,” she said, pushing him away. “Perhaps the music really did die.”

“It’s only sleeping, babes. It's in a deep, deep sleep. It won't be me that wakes it - but one day I'll find the man who can. And if I can just find that lost vibe, we can share our love with the whole world. And you know what happens then, babe? We get it all!”

“Brit…” She was tired. It was hard to have to listen to this every day. Difficult to believe after so long. So long of searching, hoping, waiting. But he continued.

“Can’t you hear it, babe? Listen,” he put his arm around her. “All the kids singing along. With real music.” She could almost hear it. She could imagine it, the music returning, louder and louder. The Dreamer, finally appearing. He would be tall, strong. Like Brit. “They’ve all got their babies. They’re dancing, singing, laughing. The whole world joining in.”

“Thousands ‘a people in fron’ of us,” she whispered.

“Rooms and rooms of them!” he said, holding her hands.

“Wit’ their ‘ands in the air!” Meat said, looking out at the crowd she could almost see, almost smell, almost hear. It was there, it would be reborn. The music would return. And the GaGas would be GaGa no more. “God, Brit, ah really wan’ it all.”

“We’ll get it, Meat,” he said, holding her close. She buried her face in his shoulder. “We’ll get it.”

“Ah love yeh.”

He kissed her forehead. “You’ve got to get back to the Heartbreak.” He handed her his bag, and she picked up hers.

“Wai’.” She paused. Her ears were picking up something. “Inta the van.”

“What?”

“Jus’ go!” she hissed, moving into it herself. “Somebody’s comin’.”

They both got in just in time as the voices drew nearer.

________________________________________

As soon as the two of them had continued their trek from the Globalsoft prison, Gazza began to talk almost nonstop.

“So, s-so what’s your name? W-what’s your story? W-when did you know you, I mean, how did you know you were, you know, d-different?” He asked. Before she could even open her mouth, he continued, “I-it’s like my whole life, I mean, all my life, I-I've always known that I had some kind of, um, p-purpose, y'know, s-some special destiny! Th-that has to mean something, surely!”

“Oh, it does,” Kate said, cutting him off. Does this guy ever stop talking? “That you’re a self-importan’, arrogan’ arsehole.”

He stopped in his tracks and stared at her. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Wha’ ‘special destiny’?”

“I-it has to do with the stuff I dream. T-the phrases, they always come back to the same thing.” He gestured outward. “I see a great, wide space. And people - people everywhere. And noise - huge, huge noise! And then - then come the words!”

“Ooh, wha’ words?” she asked, sarcastically.

“‘Seek out the place of living rock. A bright, bright star will lead the way. Go to where the champions played!’” He said, his voice cracking near the end.

“Sounds like bollocks to me,” she said slowly.

He looked at her as if she were the one hearing things. “Maybe,” he said, leaning against the van nearby. “Y'know, I-I dreamed a name for you too, I think.”

Great, she thought. Well, maybe it would be better than ‘Kate’. “How’d you do tha’? You only met me yesterday.”

“W-well, I always knew I’d meet you. I-I always knew there was a-another… rebel, rebel out there! A-another wild thing!” he said, giving her a small punch on the shoulder.

“Okay. Bu’ it has to be better than ‘Galileo Figaro’.”

“Hey! I have a good name…” He muttered, looking insulted.

“So wha’ d’ja wanna call me?” She said, expectantly.

He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “Scaramouche.”

Scaramouche? That was the best he could come up with? “Scare-a-/moose/? It’s a bi’… crap.”

His face fell. “Well, I-I did dream some others, but, frankly, I thought it was the best!”

If that was the best, she was scared for what the worst would be. “Wha’ were the others?”

“Long tall Sally. Honky-tonk woman. Cracklin' Rosie, Ernie the Fastest Milkman in the West, Lucy in the sky with diamonds. Or… fat-bottomed girl.”

She cringed. “Okay, I’ll take Scaramouche.”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging.

“Scaramouche!” she called out to nowhere. “Actually, I quite like it. Sounds kind of anarchic! ‘S almost like wha’ I think they used to call a ‘tune’,” she said.

“…Well, yes… Scaramouche, Scaramouche… Will you do the fandango?” He asked, reaching out toward her.

What was Gazza on? What was he talking about? “Are you tryin’ to ge’ in my /pants?/”

He snapped back up, the look on his face priceless. “N-n-no!”

“Well, wha’s doin’ the fandango?”

“I-I think, well, perhaps… perhaps it’s dancing!” he squeaked.

“Oh, you mean like GaGa moves?”

“Well, yeah, sort—”

“Excuse me while I—” she mimed throwing up “—puke! Globalsof’ write the songs—”

“Yeah—”

“They work ou’ the steps,” Kate said, imitating dance moves.

“Uh-huh—”

“An’ every kid on Planet Mall does the /exac’ same thing/!”

“I-I know, but… I-I think there was a time where dancing w-wasn’t like that,” he suggested. “When it was more, um… free. You know, sort of… individually expressive,” he mused, suddenly deep in thought.

Gazza then proceeded to perform the most outrageous, most pathetic display of dancing she had ever seen, his arms flailing around and seeming to be holding some imaginary object.

“…Well, I’ve never seen something quite so embarrassing in my life.”

He looked at her as though she had just entirely denounced his entire belief system. “W-well, it looks better when I’m holding a tennis racket!” he squeaked.

“T’would have to.”

“Okay, l-look. Maybe doin’ the fandango is just about being friends,” Gazza speculated.

“Friends? Well, I never had a ‘friend’.”

He rolled his eyes, once more leaning against the van. “You amaze me.”

She looked toward him. He may well be a complete nutter, but she had to admit he was an overall nice guy. And she supposed she owed him. He had, after all, helped her escape Globalsoft and had given her a brand new name, which was starting to grow on her. She had stopped thinking of herself as ‘Kate’ and more as ‘Scaramouche’. “I always though’ I’d quite like one, though,” she offered.

The boy looked back at her. “S-so we are friends, then?” He asked, hopefully.

“If you want.”

“O-oh, I do! I-I really do!” He said, moving toward her.

She took a step back. “’Kay. So we’re friends,” she said, sarcastically enthusiastic.

The boy giggled, a girly noise. “This is so cool!”

“S’long as you work on your dancing…”

There was a rustle from inside the van.

“W-what’s that?” Gazza asked, moving behind Scaramouche, seemingly frightened.

“Great lot of balls you’ve got,” she muttered. “’S probably nothing. Le’s get going.” She turned around and began walking past the van.

“Le’s ge’ ‘em!” A deep, feminine voice called out from behind the van. Scaramouche felt her arms be grasped by someone, and she struggled to break away as Gazza was pinned against the van by a dark-skinned man wearing a… skirt? Yeesh. “Quick, bitch! Where’d yer boyfriend ge’ those words?”

“What words?” Gaz inquired, not even struggling to get free.

Scaramouche was very confused. “Wha’ boyfriend?” She looked back to see a thin, blond-haired woman dressed in an even stranger assortment of clothing than herself. She spoke in a Scottish accent as she continued.

“Well, ‘e calls yeh ‘Scaramouche’! ‘E’s read the fragments! ‘E knows the ‘oly texts!”

Gaz stuttered, “I-I don’t know any holy texts! I-I don’t know w-what you’re talking about!”

“Long Tall Sally! Cracklin’ Rosie! The words, man! The words from the past! Where did you hear this ancient and sacred poetry?” the man yelled.

“Yeh’ve seen the fragments! Yeh’ve been ta the ‘Eartbreak ‘Otel! Yeh’re a spy!” the woman said.

“No, I-I said I don't know what you're talking about!” He laughed a little. “I-I just hear these words in my head, th-that's all!”

“Who are you?” The man grilled, pressing Gazza further onto the van.

“I-I don’t know! W-why do people keep asking me that?” He asked, confused. There was a silence. “I-I am the walrus!”

The black man was taken aback and released Gaz as the boy continued. “This is Major Tom to Ground Control! Can you hear the drums, Fernando? I am,” Gazza proclaimed, “the Dancing Queen!”

Well, at least the ‘Queen’ part was right.

“Meat!” the man said, running over to the Scot holding Scaramouche captive. Was that her name? ‘Meat’? It was worse than Fat-Bottomed Girl! He began whispering toward ‘Meat’, and she couldn’t make out much of what was being said. But the next words confused Scaramouche more than the silence.

“Then she’s the spy!” She said, gesturing toward Scaramouche as the younger girl broke out of her grip.

“Wha’?” Scaramouche interjected as the older man continued.

“No! He’s the Dreamer! The one we’ve been waiting for!”

“Then tes’ ‘im! And ‘is chick!”

Was Meat referring to her? “His /‘chick’/?” she called out. “Wha’ am I now, poultry?”

“Tes’ ‘im!”

The man took several steps forward as a silence fell over them. Gaz looked confused. “A-Are they talking about me?” he asked in a whisper. Scaramouche rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to provide a sarcastic reply, but…

“Mama,” the man whispered, almost talking like Gaz. “Just killed a man.” He got louder and more- musical? Yes, that was it. It was music, real music. “Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he’s dead.” He stopped, and pointed at Gaz, who looked even more confused.

Once more, a silence fell over the group.

And then… “Mama, life had just begun, but now I’ve gone and thrown it all away,” Gazza finished. It was amazing, it was… uplifting, even. Beautiful.

But what made it different than when the GaGas spoke along with the Globalsoft ‘songs’? Was it the words, the ‘tune’? Or was it just that it was Gaz? Was she… actually beginning to like the boy?

No. It had to be something else. Obviously the others were awed as well, and they wouldn’t be in love with him. So it must have been the words.

The man stood agape. “He knows the text! But he’s never read it! He’s the man!”

She had been right; it was the words that had impressed them.

Meat ran over toward Gazza. “Well, then, wha’ does it mean? Tell us! ‘Oo is ‘Mama’-”

“Uh-huh-”

“’Oo’s been killed-”

“Yeah-”

“Why ‘as it all been thrown away?” She asked, looking at Gaz as if he was some sort of god.

He muttered something about not knowing, and leaned back against the van in frustration.

Meat looked back to the other man, seemingly overwhelmed by annoyance. “We’ve been searching for the meaning all our lives! And now yeh don’ know?”

He grabbed her shoulders. “I-I tell you, I-I don’t know! I… I just hear these things in my head! That’s all! Um… Mama!” he continued the song. “Ooh-ooh!” The man put his hands over his mouth.

“You have to come with us,” the man commanded.

“Well, no’ ‘er! We don’ need ‘er!” Meat said.

That made her want to go even less. What did this lady have against her? She hadn’t even officially met ‘Meat’.

“L-look, I’m not goin’ anywhere without Scaramouche,” Gazza protested, putting his arm around her.

Scaramouche pulled away from him. Did he think he could just make her decisions for her? “No, Gazza, who said I wan’ to go anywhere? These people could be killers!”

“We are, baby!” The man in the dress said.

“Don’ call me ‘baby’!” But she was unheard as the man continued.

“Killers, thrillers, and bismillahs!”

Meat continued, “We’re the resistance! The las’ ‘ope!”

“We are,” he paused for dramatic effect, “the Bohemians!”

“An’ now yeh ‘ave a choice. Are yeh ready ta break free?”

“Do you want it all?”

“Ta be a shoo’ing star! A tiger!”

“Defy the laws of gravity!”

“Are yeh ready to be champions?” Meat called out.

Scaramouche groaned. “Nah. Sounds a bi’ borin’ if you ask me.”

“What?” Gazza turned toward her.

“I was joking, Gazza,” she explained. “Of course I wanna go!”

“Then understand this,” the man said, suddenly deadly serious. “If you join the Bohemians, you’ll be an outcast, forever. No longer a member of the consuman race!”

“Sounds perfec’. Le’s go!”