In the year 1971, astronomy student and aspiring guitarist Brian May's ill-fated camping trip may have more consequences than he first realized. Small but unexplainable things start to happen to him after he is bit by a dog in Humpy Bong Forest. His...
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The clock struck noon and Freddie did one final sweep of his flat. He had to make sure that everything was perfect. He scribbled down any lyrics that came to mind, cleaned his entire flat, and even gave his two precious kitties, Tom and Jerry, a bath in preparation for his band's first official jam session. He even warned his neighbors in advance about the noise.
Freddie sat expectantly by the front door on the floor with his cats on either side of him. Tom rubbed up against Freddie's leg and Jerry hopped onto his lap. He was so excited about being able to play in a group that he had to continuously fight the urge to check outside to see if Brian and Roger had arrive yet.
"Any minute now, my sweets," Freddie whispered to his cats. Jerry mewed back at him.
The familiar sound of Roger's car's engine sputtering to halt rattle the front door and Freddie's ears pricked up.
"He's here. It's started! Be on your best behavior, my lovies," Freddie purred to his cats as he gave them a final stroke from nose to tail-tip. He gently set Jerry back down onto the floor and dusted off the cat hair that accumulated on his light blue shirt and khaki pants.
Freddie walked out the door and Roger popped open the boot of his car revealing a neatly stacked dismantled drum kit. He could already hear his phone ringing with noise complaints. The drummer bumbled around the other side of the car with a stern face.
"Good afternoon, Roger," Freddie greeted, "How can I help you bring some of this in, hm?"
Roger grabbed his snare drum and snapped, "This car is the love of my life. If you scratch it, I will kill you."
Freddie grabbed the high hat and scoffed, "Nice to see you too."
"'Nice to see you too,'" Roger mocked in a high pitched voice. He kicked Freddie in the ankle.
How dare he? What is with him today? Freddie thought. He poked Roger with his elbow. Roger shot him a glare and set down the snare.
"What was that for?" Roger asked as he put his hands on his hips.
Freddie retorted, "You're being a prick."
"How can I help?" asked a familiar voice behind them.
Freddie turned around and saw their new guitarist. Unlike the first meeting, he was put together and sound. He was well-rested and alert instead of tired and inattentive. He wore a striped shirt and his once dirty clogs were scrubbed clean. He clearly made an attempt to style his hair, though it was still a curly mess. His look was topped off with a toothy grin that hinted at some long lost dimple on his cheek. Freddie couldn't help but think, How cute.
"Hello, Brian. Good afternoon. Nice to see you," Freddie said, drawing out the last bits so that Roger could hear his passive aggression.
Roger picked up the snare drum again and said, "If you could get the two toms there, that would be great."
