The Eyebrows of Harrison and the Drunkover of Starr
George is forced to get his eyebrows waxed and Ringo has a uncomfortable drunkover .
Rating: Erm... I dunno. Bit of swearing, but that's it
Disclaimers: The Beatles own themselves and if I did own them, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction about them, would I?
John Lennon sat on his bed reading The Sunday Times with mild interest, his legs crossed at the ankles. Ringo was lying on his stomach next to him snoring lightly, his face turned away from John. He was drooling slightly on the the pillow, one arm wrapped around it. His legs were sprawled about everywhere, barley leaving room for John on the bed, but he didn't mind. Paul was sat on the small sofa near the door, munching on a slice of burnt toast, reading a book that was placed on his crossed legs.
"Shmrr..." Ringo murmered in his sleep, rolling over to John. John looked down at him, with a raised eyebrow.
"He's a right weirdo when 'e sleeps."
"Not as bad as you, your snorin' could bring a bloody 'ouse down!" Paul shot back at him, his mouth full of burnt toast.
"Don't talk with your mouth open."
"Don't you mean 'don't eat with your mouth open'?"
"Either way you should shut your mouth," Paul grinned at him, black crumbs stuck between his teeth. John stared him, revolted. "Christ son, shut your pie 'ole!"
"Shut me pie 'ole?" Paul laughed, nearly choking on his toast.
"We'll all drown in crumbs if you don't!" John retorted, grinning. Paul threw the book he was reading at him and John dived for cover as the book flew over to him. The book just missed him and Ringo, ricached off the headboard and onto the floor. "Oi, you'll wake Ringo," he warned, looking over at the sleeping Beatle to see if he had woken. But he was still snoring peacefully, oblivious to Paul and John's fight.
"Are you joking? We could start World War Three in this room and he wouldn't wake up!"
John glanced at the clock above Paul's head. "Where the fuck is George? What's Brian doing to him?"
"He's kidnapped him," Paul said offhand, now looking about for his book. "We're never gonna see him again."
"Probably," John replied, returning to his news paper.
"Where's me bloody book gone?" Paul muttered to himself.
"Doesn't matter, it was a shit book any way," The door banged open, making the two conscious Beatles jump. George stormed in, slamming the door behind him, Ringo still dead to the world. "What's up, Harrison? What did Brian want?"
"Nothin'," he muttered angrily, stomping into the kitchen.
"You alright, love?" Paul asked frowning.
"I'm fine," George murmered, muching on some dry bread. He nodded towards the sleeping Beatle. "What's up with Rings?" Paul looked over to Ringo.
"Didn't you hear 'im come in last night?"
"Nah, I was asleep."
"He was completely pissed," John said picking up Paul's book and handing it to him. "Stayed out drinking from 9 to 2, didn't even know who I was. Kept calling me Tom, who ever the fuck he is."
"Yeah, well at least you weren't a bird called 'Mary' last night," Paul grinned. He turned to George, sitting down with a thud on the sofa. "What did Brian want?"
"Nothin'," he growled.
"Well, it was enough to piss you off! What's up with ya?"
"I told ya, it was nothin'!" he snapped, walking back into the kitchen. John raised an eyebrow at Paul and George came back into the room with a glass of water. He sat down next to Paul and sighed. "You'll take the right piss if I tell ya."
"No, we won't! Come on, tell us!" George looked down at the glass in his hands.
"I've got big eyebrows, allright!" Paul and John looked at each other and simaltaneously burst into laughter. George glowered at both of them.
"That's what you're upset about? 'Cause you 'ave big eyebrows?" John gasped between laughs.
"I like 'em, but Brian doesn't. He's making me getting 'em waxed tomarra," John and Paul laughed even harder at this.
"They look alright to me!" Paul giggled, looking at his friend's eyebrows.
"That's what I said to 'im, but he wasn't havin' any of it! I've gotta go and have 'em waxed tomorra. I don't even know what that bloody means!" John managed to stifle his snickering and his behind his news paper.
"You're all a bunch of bloody pricks," George muttered darkly, scowling.
"Like you wouldn't laugh at us if we had to get our's waxed?" Paul asked, grinning.
"No, I wouldn't!"
Paul scoffed. "Bullshit! You'd take the piss, just like us. Can't wait to tell Ringo," he said, an evil gleem in his eyes. He looked at Ringo who had rolled over in his sleep and was now hanging precariously off the end of the bed. A bit too precariously... "John, grab 'im!"
Thud!Paul and George winced as they heard him hit the ground with a heavy thump. John stared at where Ringo had just been on the bed, his eyes wide open. "What happened to him?"
"He fell off the bed, poor sod," George said, leaning over, trying to see where he had fallen. They heard a groan from the floor and a disheveled Ringo appeared from the floor, his eyes groggy with sleep and pain.
"Ooh... God..." he moaned.
"You alright, Ring?" John asked frowning, grabbing him under the arms, half heaving him onto the bed. Ringo managed to clamber onto the bed with John's help and almost immediately began to climb under the covers. He stayed curled up there, hands over his pounding head.
"Me 'ead's killing me..." the lump under the covers groaned pittifully.
"Oh yeah, I forgot you've got a hang over!" Paul said brightly, walking over to the bed and whipping the sheets off with a flourish. Ringo curled up tighter, wincing.
"Paulie!" he whined, making him sound about five years old. "What are you do-o-oing?"
"I don't think he's hung over, I think he's still pissed!" George said, joining Paul to torture their shortest.
"I'm not pissed!" Ringo cried deffensively, sitting up. "I'm... In a funny mood," John laughed at this. God, Ringo was funny when he was drunk, almost sweet in a way.
"Sorry, Ringo!" John yelled down Ringo's ear. "I can't hear you!"
"Ahh!" He flinched away from John's harsh words, curling up and throwing the covers over himself again. But this was far too much fun. George pulled back the covers grinning, bad mood forgotten. He pulled out the bread he was eating and waved it under Ringo's nose.
"Do you want somethin' to eat, love?" Ringo groaned as a wave of naseua hit him forcefully. He tried to bat George's hand away pathetically.
"Leave me alone!" he whined, trying to grab the covers that were so cruelly stolen from him. But Paul tore them completely of the hotel bed and tossed them onto the floor. Ringo growled, glaring at Paul. "You're all meanies!" he declared angrily.
"Aww, we're sorry Ringo. Did we hurt your feelings?" George asked smiling.
"Yes, you did," he mumbled, unable to detect the sarcasam in George's voice. He thew them a hurt look and curled up on the bed, hugging one of the pillows. Knowing they may have gone a bit too far, John reached over and ruffled Ringo's hair. He turned to look at John, scowling.
"C'mon Ring, we're only messing about," Ringo sighed moodilly and rolled over again. John rolled his eyes, smiling. "You'll get over it," he called, strolling off into the kitchen.
"No, I won't," Ringo answered moodilly.
"Hey Ringo, I've got something that'll cheer you up!" George turned to Paul, glaring at him with venom. Paul grinned hapilly at him, oblivious to his evil glare.
"Don't you dare..."
"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in defeat. Paul remained silent for a moment, but then he burst out. "George's got to get his eye brows waxed!"
George spun around. "You bastard!" Ringo sat up in bed, still clutching his pillow, his normally straight hair now in unruly tufts.
"He has to get what?"
"He has to get his eyebrwows waxed!" Paul cried with relish, jumping away from George's fist just before it gave him a dead arm. For a second, Ringo looked perplexed. But then, he burst into laughter, even though the pain in his head went up about two notches. Ringo tried to speak, but all he managed were a few gasps.
"Oh yeah, it's bloody halarious!" George spat angrily. Ringo was now doubled over with laughter. In fact, he was laughing so hard that he wasn't even making sound. The only way you could tell was by his whole body was shaking.
"Christ, it wasn't that funny!" Paul said, a bit taken aback by their drummer's reaction.
"It isn't funny at all!" George cried indignantly.
"I think things are twice as funny when you're pissed, or somethin'," Paul observed. John walked into the room, holding in his hand greyish like liquid. George and Paul jerked away from the drink as if it was toxic.
"Oh god, not that thing!" George said in horror, as if it was some type of torture weapon.
"Yes, that thing," John said, shaking Ringo's already trembling shoulder. "C'mon son, time to start breathin'."
"What the hell is in that?" Paul asked disgusted. John turned to him serioulsy.
"You don't wanna know," Ringo had managed to tone his fit of hysterics down to a giggle. "Tilt your 'ead back, love," John instructed Ringo, carefully hiding the drink behind his back.
"How come?" he looked up at John, still chortling from the news of George's eyebrows. He cocked his head, puzzled at the strange request. John couldn't help but smile at the perplexed look on Ringo's face.
"I'm gonna give ya somthin' to drink."
"Is it nice?" John paused for a second.
"Yeah, it's lovely."
"Alright then!" Ringo tipped his head happily, waiting for some amazing elxir to go down his throat. Paul and George looked at John, half shocked, half amused.
"You lying bastard!" Paul squeaked.
"Shut up!" John pinched Ringo's nose and forced the drink down his mouth. Once Ringo had gluped it down, he gagged, choking on the foul drink.
"You said it would be lovely!" he squealed, betrayed.
"Yeah, sorry about that," John grinned. "But you'll be thankful next morning when ya have a hangover."
"'Cause it'll stop you throwing up."
"So that's what you throw it down our throats when we get back from the pub..." George said with slow realisation. Ringo lay back down on the bed, still making strange 'ach'ing noises as the foul taste was still strong in his mouth.
"I take it too ya know! I don't just make you drink it to torture ya!"
"Feels like it sometimes," Paul murmered.
"Anyway," John said, ignoring Paul's comment. "We've all got to be at our best tomorra."
George frowned, "Why?"
"'Cause you're getting your eyebrows done!" he said brightly. George paused for a minute.
"Wait... Do ya think you're coming with me?"
"'Course we are!" Paul declared happily, gathering the covers that had been tossed on the floor.
"No you're bloody not!" George squealed indingnantly. "I'm goin' on me own."
John scoffed. "Yeah, like we'd let you do that."
"You're not coming with me!"
"Yes, we are," John replied, smiling smugly. George was about to speak but a voice from the bed intterupted him.
"Hey, where did all the covers go?"
Paul, Ringo, John and George all sat in the waiting room of the clinique. Paul had his ankle up on his knee his head buried in a newspaper. Ringo sat next to him him, sunglasses on his face, flinching at any loud sound. John sat next to him, looking about him with interest and George was sitting beside him, wringing his hands over and over. His brows were set in worried frown as he stared into space. John looked to him and frowned as well. "You alright, George?"
"No, I'm not bloody alright," he muttered angrily turning to the Beatle next to him. "I have to get hair ripped off me face you lot are 'ere to take the piss out me when I get it done!"
"C'mon, it won't be that bad," John said, trying to console his friend.
"How the hell would you know?" George said angrily, his voice rising. "You're not even getting it done! What I don't get is why they can't just shave it off or somethin'."
"Nah, they probably couldn't find a razor big enough," John grinned and George glared daggers at him.
"John, shut your fucking mouth," John still grinned, but did as he was told. A red haired woman opened the door to the room infront of them and asked to the room. "George Harrison?" Ringo flinched at her loud voice and Paul smirked behind his paper. George looked to John, then reluctantly stood up.
"Sure you don't need me to hold your hand, George?" he asked sweetly. George turned around blushing, pratically fuming with rage.
"Fuck off, John," All he got in response was a cheeky grin and a little wave.
"Bye, bye Georgie," George turned around and stormed off into the room. The red haired woman, evidently unpeturbed by the Beatle's bad mood shut the door behind them, making Ringo jump again. "You alright Ringo?" he asked, a bit too loudly. Ringo took off his glasses and scowled at him.
"Go away, George," John smiled, half mockingly, half kindly and put a hand on Ringo's shoulder.
"I'm John, love," Ringo frowned for a second confused. Then he realised what he said.
"That's what I meant," he mumbled, putting on his sunglasses. Paul leant over to look at John.
"Dya think he's still pissed?" Paul asked him.
"Nah, 'e's deffinately hung over. Aren't ya, son?"
"You're hung over, aren't ya?"
"...No," he mumbled deffensively. John looked to Paul again.
"Yeah, he's hung over."
"Serves ya right for doing four drinking games in one night," Paul scolded. "It's a miracle your bloody liver didn't explode!"
"Shut up," Ringo murmered. "The bloke who challenged me was a right arsehole, I couldn't let 'im win."
"Oh, matter of pride was it?" John asked raising his eyebrows.
"No, he really was a bastard! Bullyin' all the birds 'n' that..."
"Aww, 'e wanted to save the damsels in distress," Paul grinned to John.
"Yeah and by the end of it 'e was too pissed to do anythin'!"
"Why didn't you just fight 'im? Although..." Paul looked Ringo up and down. "Let's face it, unless he was a midget, you wouldn't really do that well."
"I can fight!" Ringo cried angrily, hurt at the slight on his height.
"Yeah, if you're on stilts!" John injected, laughing.
"Jus' 'cause I'm a bit smaller than most people doesn't mean I can't fight."
Paul scoffed, "A bit smaller?"
"Why Paul, d'ya wanna have a go?" Ringo asked, trying to make him self bigger, making Paul grin.
"Ringo, you're smaller than me an' you've got a hang over. All I need to do is yell at ya and shove ya in the chest and I'm done!"
"Wanna try?" Ringo asked menacingly. Paul just smiled at him and returned to his news paper. "Wuss," The drummer muttered under his breath, crossing his arms.
"Shorty," Paul retorted from behind his news paper.
"Play nicely children," John said in a motherly tone, rolling his eyes and picking up a magazine.
"Well he started it!" Ringo said deffensively.
"Well, you shouldn't 'ave got so pissed then, should ya!"
"Children!" John said, breaking up the fight between them. "If this goes on you'll get no tea tonight!"
"But he started it!" Ringo exclaimed, even more annoyed.
"Ringo, if this goes on I'll have to put you on the naighty step!" Ringo rolled his eyes and Paul stuck out his tounge. "You too Mcartney!" After this they lapsed into a silence. They were they for over an hour, simply waiting for their friend to appear from the door. After about five minutes, they began to come up with theories as to why George was taking him so long.
"I reckon she's killed 'im," Paul said bluntly.
"I think he couldn't take the pain jumped out the window," Ringo said.
"Nah, he's shaggin' her!" John said looking at the door almost expectantly.
"Christ, he's quiet."
"I reckon he killed her and now he's wonderin' what to do with the body."
"I think she drugged the wax and now she's doin' stuff to 'im."
"I think he's shaggin' her."
"I think she's kidnapped 'im."
"Well, I think they're both Russian spies and this is 'ow they meet up to talk about us."
This went on for over an hour. By the end of it, they were actually starting to get a bit worried. "How big are the bloody things?" Paul asked incrdulously.
"That's what she said," Ringo muttered, smiling.
"Not to you she didn't," Paul retorted, grinning. Ringo opened his mouth to argue but then the door opened. George stepped out and it was all the three Beatles could do to stop themselves laughing. Ringo had taken off his glasses and was squinting at George, trying desperately to hold back his laughter.
"How bad are they?" George asked, a little nervously. Paul leant forward a little and tried keep a straight face.
"They... They're like little black worms." Ringo could no longer hold his breath and he burst into laughter, shortly followed by Paul. John somehow managed to hold his own while Ringo and Paul fell about each other in a fit of giggles.
"What the hell's she done to me!" George cried out, running to a mirror. His mouth dropped open. Paul wasn't lying about the 'little black worms' comment. "Oh Christ!" he yelled, horrified. "They are like bloody black worms an' all!"
"They'll grow back," John tried to console him, but even he was chortling now.
"It'll take months!" George wailed, staring dismally at his once normal eyebrows.
"No, it won't! And anyway, what took you so long? Couldn't of taken that long, could it?" George turned to look at him. "Were ya givin' 'er one?" John asked, winking and grinning. George rolled his eyes.
"You think everythin's about sex, you do."
"That's 'cause usually it is."
"No, I wasn't shagging her."
"Then what the fuck were you doing?" George smiled for the first time that morning.
"Getting a massage," he replied brightly.
"Is that just another term for sex?" Paul gasped, still laughing.
"How the fuck would you know, you never get any?" Ringo yelled, sliding down his seat. George tunred from them to John.
"I told you to stop slipping stuff into their drinks, ya know it messes them up!" John hung his head in mock shame.
"Y-you're right George. I-I dunno what came over me." George grinned and Ringo, frowned looking at his nails.
"What 'appened to your nails?"
"They're all shiny."
"Got a manicure," John's face cracked with mirth and he started to laugh.
"You... You got a manicure?" he chortled, a massive grin on his face. George was still smiling and was making his way slowly towards the door.
"You know we're never gonna let this go?" Paul asked.
"Oh, I know," George answered brightly, ever coser to the door.
"Then why are you still smilin'?"
"'Cause I'm not the one who's paying for it," And before they could protest, he made a dash for the door. The red haired woman walked up to John and passed him a peice of paper. He unfolded it and his eyes nearly popped.
"245 quid, are you mad?" he yelled at her. "We can't pay this, can we lads?" He turned to see what Paul and Ringo had to say about it, but only found empty seats. The red haired woman was staring at him with her arms crossed. John reached for his wallet, glaring, "That's it. When they get home, they're all going on the naughty step!"