ᵍʳᵒᵘᵖⁱᵉ
˚₊‧꒰ა 🎤 ‧₊˚
[ an offer ]
📍𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙽, 𝟷𝟿𝟽𝟷
𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐧. Ever since his assumption upon the offer from the band, the four have grown strong friendships.
Freddie has been extremely happy as of late, seeing as he and Mary have been together for almost a year now, and the band has been extremely successful. And of course, his Y/N, who had officially graduated university with a law degree and a strew of suitors in her wake.
Freddie glanced up at the sound of a horn honking, finding the three other bandmates and myself sitting in the van. He got up, glancing around before tapping the small hood. "You're late."
"Yes, well you can blame Roger," you stated as he hopped inside. "Apparently his hair wasn't 'swept' enough."
"You know, I think you're actually enjoying the swept look," he countered. "That's why I go to the lengths of maintaining it."
"Good god," you sighed.
You breathed in the fresh air, looking at the open fields surrounding you. In any other situation, you would've enjoyed the scenery and nature around you, but when the van was not moving with a broken tire, dumping you in the middle of nowhere... you tend to preoccupy your mind with the uncertainty and the humidity.
A tractor rolled past as Roger complained, "This is bollocks!" He was snacking on a sandwich to keep his mind at ease, often offering you a bite, to which you declined.
John grunted as he continued fixing the van tire when Brian passed with a very helpful insight, "It's uh...it's counterclockwise, I think you'll find, John."
"Oh, is it? Thank you, Brian. Would you like to do it? Please, feel free."
"No, no, no. You're doing a good job," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. John nodded with a sarcastic smile, going back to the tire.
"We sold out every pub and Uni in south of Glasgow, and I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere, eating a ham sandwich!" Roger griped.
"Trouble is, we're just not thinking big enough," Freddie shrugged as John halted his work on the tire, leaning against the car with his friend.
"What have you got in mind, bubs?" you asked from beside Brian.
"An album."
"We can't afford an album," John said through tired breaths.
"Oh, we'll find a way. How much do you think we can get for this van?"
Brian and Roger stared at Freddie as if he were insane, the latter voicing his shock in-between chews, "I hope you're joking."
Freddie handed the man, who we learned was named RT, a handful of cash with a proud smile as the band, and you watched the exchange. "That's three months' wages," John mumbled.
"And a perfectly good van," Roger spat out.
"Don't be so dramatic, darling," Freddie said, tapping his elbow. "You're recording an album tonight. Let's go!"
The band were listening to the trial tape for the 'Seven Seas of Rhye'. You napped on the plush, burnt orange sofa whilst Mary slept atop you, her face squashed against your arm.
"Don't you think I sound like shit?" Freddie questioned when they stopped the music.
"No, it's good," Brian defended.
"Can we try it again?"
"Sure, yeah," RT shrugged with a sigh. "Sure, it's your money."
"Literally," John muttered.
You and Mary listened to the song, in awe of Freddie's beautiful, melodic voice rising and falling with the words. You were quite disturbed with yourself for you found your gaze drifting over to Roger and the black-haired bimbo he brought along.
"Sounds a lot better," John said.
"We need to get experimental," Brian stated.
Freddie thought for a moment, before stepping forward. "Try bouncing us left and right for ah-ah-ahs." The conductor nodded, fingers dancing over the buttons and switches, changing the music accordingly to Freddie.
As the ah-ah-ahs came, Brian and Freddie pointed their fingers from side to side, as if following the sound, before the guitarist quickly imputed, "Now, dead center for the last."
"And then blast it!" Roger suddenly exclaimed, standing up from his spot and punching his fist in the air for exaggeration.
"Yes!"
Due to their excitement, the boys were a joyous mess, and you found yourself in Brian's arms as he lifted you into the air with a laugh. You laughed along with the man as he spun you for a moment, before placing you back at your feet, tossing his fists in the air.
You were oblivious to the hateful eyes of Roger that were unwavering on the guitarist's form.
You watched as the band gathered into the recording room, beginning to experiment in more audacious and crazy ways, such as swaying the sound box from a piece of string and playing into it as it glided past, or Roger using his drumming skills on a collection of pots.
"Do we have time to stack a few more?" Freddie asked as they finished the song.
"The studio opens at 8:00, so we got thirty more minutes," RT informed.
That was all they needed to rush back inside, taking your purse with them. You exclaimed in retaliation, but Freddie merely kissed your cheek and assured me it was for his musical innuendo. You rolled your eyes, observing as they opened the coin pouch of the wallet, pouring the gold and silver change onto one of the drums. Roger began drumming, the coins clinging about.
Mary joined you at the window, the pair of you gushing over the band, and admiring their unique tactics at music-making.
Both of your eyes widened however at the sight of a man in a tailored suit, and a woman with a clipboard. They watched the boys for a second, before moving into the studio. "Oi, RT, who are these kids in the box?" he asked.
"A student band doing some weird stuff," he answered tiredly.
"How about demos? You got some?"
RT sighed, "Been up all night, mate."
You made your way towards the door of Freddie's family's house, knocking on the door whilst steadily holding a tray of freshly baked sugar cookies. You were wearing a brown pattered blouse with matching boots, and a pair of flared out jeans, with a black-roped amulet.
The door opened, revealing Kashmira, whose face lit up with a sweet smile upon seeing you. "Y/N!" she exclaimed, quickly raveling her arms around your neck, cautious of the tray.
"Kashmira, how are you?" you questioned when she pulled away. She ushered you inside, informing you of school and her friends as you wandered into the kitchen, where you found her mother, Jer.
The woman turned, a grin just like her daughter's stretching across her lips. "Y/N, my dear." She came forward, taking the cookies from your arms and placing them on the table. She then reached forward, grasping your hands in hers as she inspected your face. "Still as beautiful as ever," she beamed.
"Jer!" you blushed, shaking your head as she chuckled. After a few moments of quick chatter, Jer advised you to go to the dining room where Bomi and the boys were.
You walked inside and were greeted by kind smiles from the company. Bomi stood from his seat, nodding at you as he softly kissed your cheek. "Hello, dear."
You sat down beside Roger, seeing as it was one of the only available seats, and immediately his arm travelled up towards your chair, resting atop it. You turned your head with a bored look, and he simply shrugged. "I need the support."
"Oh, was your one arm tired?" you asked sarcastically.
"As a matter of fact, yes."
Mary and her father had arrived later, and as you ate the delicious meal Jer had prepared for us, Mary spoke for her dad as he signed. "When I was a little girl, I used to run around the house and hide, and he couldn't find me," she smiled, earning a sweet chuckle from you and Brian. "Clever girl."
"Please tell your father it's nice to meet him," Freddie requested.
"I have."
"Then thank him for the lovely birthday cake."
"I have."
"Then tell him his daughter's an epic shag," he said quietly.
"Freddie, he can read lips." He looked away from her to her father, who wore a deadpan expression.
"Mary," Jer softly called. "I can't tell you how long I have waited for Farrokh to bring home a nice girl like you. Of course, Y/N has always been in the picture, but both her and Freddie were so insistent that they were nothing more than friends," she chuckled.
"Farrokh?" Mary repeated.
"Did Farrokh not tell you he was born in Zanzibar?"
"No, he did not."
"I used to know a girl who was Zanzibari," Roger recalled.
"Oh, did you now?" you asked.
"Why is everything I say not believable?"
"Maybe because it isn't true, honey," you shrugged, sipping on your water.
"But it is-."
"One minute. I thought Freddie was born in London," John spoke up.
"Oh, he was. At the age of 18," Kashmira joked.
"Shut up," he grumbled, swatting her arm.
"Our family is Indian Parsee," his mother told.
"Mum. Mum, mum-."
"Mary. Here. Have a look at these."
"Please! Please," she smiled.
"Yep. Yes."
"We need to see those."
"No stopping."
"A thousand years ago," Bomi spoke up as everyone quieted down. "The Parsees fled to India from Persia to escape Muslim persecution."
"Really? That's terrible. So, why did you leave Zanzibar?" Brian asked.
"We didn't leave. We were chased out with just the clothes on our backs."
You and Mary cooed at the pictures of young Freddie, the girl holding up a photo of him with boxing gear on. Jer nodded, "He was quite a good boxer, actually."
"He had to be," Kashmira said. "His opponents went for his teeth, always trying to punch them in."
Freddie, who was far too bored with conversation about himself, which was quite rare indeed, made his way to the piano in the living room, beginning to sing himself Happy Birthday.
"Certainly a target," Roger joked.
"So how old is he in this photo?" Brian wondered.
"I think four or three years old."
Kashmira placed her hand on her chin as Freddie finished his birthday song, speaking up at the choice of words, "Mercury?"
"No looking back," he stated, glancing at himself in the mirror. "Only forward."
"So now the family name's not good enough for you?" Bomi questioned.
"It's just a stage name," Jer tried to soothe.
"No, it's not," Freddie shot down. "I changed it legally. Got a new passport and everything."
Noticing the tension, you looked over at the book, finding a photo of the siblings. "Kash, how old are you here?"
"I don't know. It was before Freddie went off to boarding school."
"Boarding school?" Mary piped up in question.
"I sent Farrokh away to make a good Parsee boy of him. He was too wild and unruly. But what good did it do? Good thoughts, good words, good deeds," Bomi stated. As Freddie began singing again, the phone started ringing, causing Kash to get up and answer it. "You can't get anywhere pretending to be someone you're not."
"Who'd like some cake?"
"Cake is always good," you agreed with Jer.
"Hello? Just a moment," Kash said into the phone. "Freddie Mercury. Phone call."
"Quite like the sound of that," he smiled, taking the device from her.
"Freddie tells me you're some sort of a scientist," Jer said to Brian.
"Astrophysics, actually," he gently corrected.
"Oh."
"Yeah, my father would've preferred it if I continued."
"That's very clever."
"He's a dentist," John said, pointing at Roger.
"Dentist?"
"I was never a dentist," Roger amended.
You and Deacy looked at one another with shit-eating grins before repeating, "He's a dentist."
As you continued talking, Freddie wordlessly placed the phone back into its hold, the clatter causing me to look over. Freddie walked back towards the table, suddenly speaking up, "I have an announcement." You all went quiet, allowing him to continue. "One of the A&R men from EMI saw us recording. Gave our demo to John Reid. He looks after Elton John."
"Oh, my God."
"Mr. Reid wants to meet us... and possible, even manage us."
"Shut up!"
"You're joking!"
Freddie watched as his father softly patted the photo of his young self, scrawny and small with his boxing uniform on. But he didn't allow the solemness of his dad let him be upset. No, he was beyond thrilled.