A Night at the Theatre

Chapitre 3

Roger was the first to open the door and it felt like you finally breathed: you had spent three hours tucked between Brian and him at the back of the car.

Paul Prenter, the band's assistant - but more Freddie's than anything -, was driving and passed grab all of you at your houses. As Brian was the tallest of you all, he had opened the front door; Paul lost no time to spat out: "Hmm, Brian, I think Freddie would prefer to go at the front."

Brian blinked and Roger, already there, had answered: "Of course he would. Everyone would prefer to be at the front of that fucking car."

And that's how you had to shift and go at the middle place of the backseat as Brian complied, preferring not making a fuss.

The ride between Brian's house and Freddie's happened in a heavy silence, where Roger hid himself behind his sunglasses and Brian and you didn't dare to say anything; well, nearly complete silence as from time to time Roger asked you to stop bumping into him. "Roger, I do not control the holes in the road for fuck's sake."

"Just try not to mo-"

"Can you please shut your mouth?"

Paul was looking at both of you in the mirror, hell in his eyes.

Roger pouted and you held his gaze till he had to look back at the road.

It has been ten minutes you had met him, and you already had a strange feeling about his whole being.

His attitude vanished as soon as Freddie climbed in the car; you swore you could have believed it was another man than two seconds ago. He was all smile and lost no time asking him if he slept well, had a great breakfast, not forgotten anything...

You cocked an eyebrow and looked at Brian; this one made gave you a "I'll tell you" look.

You spent the next three hours being yelled at by Roger for barely touching him, yelling back at him for yelling at you, talking with Brian but most of all listen to Paul talking to Freddie like he was God on earth.

"Shit!"

You followed the blond when he got out and looked at him: he had just walked into a mud puddle, dirtying his white boots. You laughed and he turned to you, shooting you with his eyes.

Paul quickly got out to take the suitcases in the trunk, followed by Brian to help him. Freddie huffed and removed his sunglasses as he glanced at the property: "I had been told it was a farm, but lord... It really is a farm."

You lifted your face and went next to him; indeed. From where you were, all you saw was a farm standing in the middle of fields out of sight. If you didn't know it was studios, nothing could have told you so. A small barn was further, cows grazing here and there and chicken wandering a bit everywhere.

Paul cleared his throat: "The owners are on holiday, we'll be untroubled. Just us." He quickly glanced at Freddie saying that, and you cringed. Did he think he was a member of the band, or...?

He took Freddie's suitcase and started to walk towards the propriety. The rest of you took yours and followed him, observing the surroundings as you were walking, Roger casually swearing as he still didn't pay attention where he put his feet.

The door led to a living room, opened on the kitchen. There weren't any dining room, just a table there.

Paul crossed it and motioned you to follow him upstairs. The rustic steps squealed below your feet, seeming to have a hard time supporting your five weights. When you all arrived up safe and sound, you eyed the four doors.

...

Four?

Lord, don't say there won't be any bathroom... You sighed internally, thinking as you didn't notice any other stairs leading down or whatever.