ringo starr imagines

the intern

The band watched as the intern marched in and sauntered into the control room with a large pile of papers in her arms. Her shiny red heels clicked against the floor while her hair bounced with every step. Her skirt swayed side to side and her eyebrows furrowed into a soft frown.

John and Paul whistled at her. Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't pay attention to them and continued on her path. 

John scoffed.

"She's so damn tight. Can't have fun with that one," he said as he tuned his guitar.

"She's a bore. You'd think all the girls would play with us knowing who we are," Paul shrugged.

"Y'know, I wouldn't mind a cheeky comment from her. All she does is stomp around in her little heels," George said.

The intern was the newest member in the studio. She was approximately George's age. She always had a pile of paperwork in her arms every time she entered the studio and always wore the same clicking red heels. They could all hear her heels clicking in their dreams. They matched her straightforward manner. She appeared to be kind and talkative with the men in the control room, yet with them, she was timid and disinterested in their attempts to pry her open.

John and Paul were always the most flirtatious ones. Her bland responses always disappointed them and touched at their ego. George was polite with her but found her unstimulating. As for Ringo, he was the most sympathetic of the bunch. Her character interested him. Although the others didn't see much in her, he deducted a meticulous personality in her. The way she carried the air around her made him want to solve her like a puzzle. Anytime they had any interaction, he was as polite as can be. He thanked her for any little action she did for them and always asked her how she was doing. He was always capable of getting a response from her and sometimes even crack a sweet smile.

"Let the bird be," Ringo defended. "She's always looking out of her skull."

"Whatever ya say, Ringo. I think she has the devil in her heart," Paul sang. "What if we wrote a song about her? Ya think she'd notice us?"

"What are we gonna write about her? She ignores all my love, she's a bore, she's a snore," John snickered. Ringo scoffed loudly. The guitarist heard him. "Does little Ritchie have feelings for her?" he smiled devilishly.

"No, I don't, but she's a nice girl. You're all just pricks," he answered.

George chuckled as John studied the drummer. He smirked and shook his head. The band dropped the subject of the intern.

"Miss.L/N, could you please keep your papers off my area? Thank you, Love," George Martin gritted his teeth.

Although he liked the intern and liked having an assistant to go on coffee runs, his intern tended to irritate him even if she didn't mean to.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Mr.Martin," she stuttered.

She was quick to reorganize all her papers and get them off of his area. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. Her breaths quickened. Her anxiety started to boil. She now thought the producer was annoyed by her presence. She pushed her thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. The secretaries at the studio always handed her mountains of paperwork for her to do. When she wasn't taking notes on the producer's instructions or going on coffee runs, her hand was cramping from all the excessive writing. The woman wanted to get out of her entanglement, but she couldn't lose what she had rightfully earned. As stressful as it was, she knew it would benefit her later in life. Hopefully.

Norman Smith came in and acknowledged her presence before making her follow him around the studio. She kept her notebook and pen in hand and wrote down every instruction and explanation given by her mentor. The boys watched her carefully as her pen glided across her notebook effortlessly, and whenever she bent down the slightest bit, they acknowledged her exposed skin even when it was only a centimeter.