bijou » brian may [queen]

6

Two days later when Lillian walked into the recording studio at night, there was a certain electric buzzing in the air, and she could practically see the peak in productivity building up within the four walls as she shut the door behind her.

Looking around, she saw equally triumphant looks on each guy's face, though with little variations in each—Freddie's pleased arch of his eyebrow that proved this was his brainchild, John's toothy smile as he leaned against a double bass for some reason, Brian's satisfied grin as his last chord rang in the soundproofed room, and Roger's tongue poking out a little as he chuckled while twirling his drumsticks.

"You all look like the cat that got the cream," she said as she sat on the couch, pleasantly surprised by the change in atmosphere from the beginning of the week. As they began to set down their respective instruments and take off their headphones, their proud smiles didn't drop for one second.

"Well, it is a bloody perfect song," Freddie boasted, collapsing right next to her. He was a little sweaty, no doubt from the exertion of recording the vocals early on, but she didn't really mind. "Think it'll be our album opener, right boys?"

A chorus of "yeah"s and enthusiastic nods came, and Freddie's grin only grew wider. Lillian couldn't help but feel a little anticipation. "Will I get the privilege to hear it?"

"Of course, once it's properly edited and mixed," Roger said, perching on the edge of the table, which looked precariously close to tipping over with the unbalanced weight, and before she could cry out in alarm, John smartly decided to settle on the opposite end and stopped it from teetering. "It's a major "fuck you" to our ex-manager, you see, so that's why we're looking forward to how fucking pissed he'll be once he hears it."

"And he will, because I've got a good feeling about this album." With the way Freddie looked right now, like a peacock preening itself, Lillian had full faith in every word that left his mouth. His confidence in their artistry was exactly the reason why she believed in him in turn. "It'll be played all over the radio stations, just you wait, darling."

"What's it called, then?"

John reached behind him. "I'll do you one better. Here," he said as he handed her a messy paper, just as Brian took a seat on her opposite side. For some odd reason, there was an acoustic guitar across the empty chair in the room (the other one had officially been delegated to be the "songwriting" chair, it seemed), so she supposed he had no other options but to sit so close to her, what with the little space they had left. She tried her best not to think of how her entire right side brushed against his with every breath she took, instead focusing on the lyrics written on the paper in her hand.

Humming in amusement, she read the words at the top of the page. "Death on Two Legs. Interesting."

"Well, he was..." John paused for a few moments, scratching his head and searching for the right words to describe him, only to be interrupted by Brian of all people.

"A right cunt, that's what he was," he'd mumbled darkly, and if she hadn't been so pleasantly surprised by the fact that he seemed perfectly fine now with swearing in front of her, she'd probably have blushed a little at the way it sounded coming from him. "There's no way to sugarcoat it."

"I would've used "fucking tosser" but that works too," Roger said. He crossed his legs, before leaning over to eagerly watch Lillian's reaction as she read the lyrics. "So? What do you think? Freddie's the one who came up with it."

"He'll be shitting himself," she chuckled, "He seems like a foul git alright, so I don't feel sorry for him."

"I think I particularly like the part with the suicide," Freddie pointed it out, his nails covered with a fresh coat of black varnish.