Beatles in a Beetle

Genghis Khan

"This is your opportunity to be a hero, Doctor Lennon 007!" he cried.  "Tell them you don't own the Beatles!"

A/N:  Special early release on WattPad for Macca40 -- thanks for the help with "Nerk Twins," mate!

At around three-thirty, the Beatles were lounging around their suite, alone for once.  George, who had scooped up his deck of cards on the way out of the van, was playing solitaire with them, sitting cross-legged on the floor.  The cards were a bit oddly curled from being soaked in the bathroom earlier but were still legible enough to read.  Ringo was curled up in an armchair, reading a comic book.  John was sprawled across the sofa, his feet up on one armrest and his head on the other, watching the television.  Paul sat on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, leaning back against the couch at John’s feet.  He was immersed in a newspaper one of the reporters had left behind.

“I can’t believe Brian didn’t let us bring in our instruments,” complained George as he scooped up his cards.

Paul folded up his newspaper.  “I know!  Here we are, doing nothing, when we could be practicing!”

“You want to be doing work now?” asked John, incredulous.

“Come off it, you like music as much as I do,” said Paul.

“D’you want to play cards or something?” asked Ringo, slapping shut his comic book.

“I’d rather watch telly, if it’s all the same to you,” replied John.  Ringo threw the comic book at him.  It bounced off John’s legs and hit Paul in the head.

“Ow!” complained Paul, straightening his wig.

“Your poor fake hair, that must really have hurt it,” John sympathized.

For a while all they could hear was the weatherman on the television, George shuffling his cards, and the fans screaming outside.

“I know what we can do!” exclaimed Ringo.

“I’m all ears,” said George.

“Ooh, can I be noses?” asked John eagerly.

“Let Ringo talk,” admonished Paul.  John wordlessly mimed zipping shut his mouth, locking it, and throwing away the key.

“Let’s play charades!” suggested Ringo happily.

The other three Beatles looked at each other and shrugged.

“Sure, why not?” said George.  He slid his cards back into their box.

“You go first, Rings,” said John, pointing lazily at the drummer. 

“Hang on, let me turn off the telly,” said Paul.  He stood up, walked over to the television, bent down, turned it off, and returned to his seat on the floor.  John pulled out his notebook to keep score.