Beatles in a Beetle

The Great Flood

I don't own the Beatles! In fact, none of us can ever own anything! The world is a free place of love! Hallelujah Hare Krishna Flowers!

A/N: I may not be updating as frequently in the future as I have of late, but I'll have the next one in a few days! Buckets and buckets of thanks to the Mysterious Guest and omgringo on FanFiction and to CityofStarlight and Macca40 on WattPad!

By 2:30, the Beatles were tired of telling the press their favourite colours and what they would do when the bubble burst. Lunch had come and gone, but the reporters had refused to leave the suite where the Beatles were imprisoned until their next concert. Brian, Neil, and Mal weren't around to usher them out, either; first some local official had kept the managers away, then an angry man in a bowler hat had shown up and demanded immediate payment for his Volkswagen rental car.

"Or I'll sue!" he had yelled dramatically at Neil and Mal, waving a piece of official-looking paper in their faces. They had escorted him to wherever Brian was dealing with the local official, leaving the Beatles to fend for themselves against the reporters.

It was clear that either John or George was going to give way to the inevitable and get rid of the press. John was lashing out at the journalists at every possible opportunity ("What sort of women do you like?" "Ones who don't ask me annoying questions like that"), and the "Quiet Beatle" was retreating further and further into his shell ("What, in your opinion, is the Beatles' best record, and why?" "Mmm"). Paul was still posing for the cameras as usual, and Ringo was holding up fairly well.

John was the one who finally cracked.

"Do you have any hobbies outside of music?" asked a middle-aged reporter.

"Yes," replied John. There was an awkward pause, in which everyone in the room became quiet for different reasons. They looked at John.

The journalist cleared his throat. "And what are these hobbies of yours?"

"Magic," replied John with a straight face.

"Really?" asked the female reporter John had insulted earlier.

"Yes. Wanna see a magic trick?"

The writers and photographers exchanged glances. "Sure, why not?" replied the man who had originally asked the question.

"Excellent!" exclaimed John. "Which trick should I do?" he asked George in a stage whisper.

"How about the disappearing Beatles?" requested George dryly.

"Right, lads! Away!" ordered John. He trooped into the bathroom, the other Beatles not far behind. As Ringo stepped over the threshold, he swung the door shut behind them.

The reporters all stared at the door.

"What do we do now?" asked Ringo.

"Shh!" said the other three.

The reporters continued to stare at the door.

"I can't believe we just did that," said George with a grin.

"Shh!" said the others again.

The reporters blinked at the door.

"Was something supposed to happen?" asked one.

"We should go out the window!" suggested John in a whisper.

Paul, who was closest to it, peered out.

"Nah, it's too high up," he whispered back.

"Shh!" said George and Ringo.

A babble of conversation slowly picked up in the Beatles' suite.