Chapter Text
“Noel Gruber, Born March 5th, Pisces, Sign of Passion, Favorite Ride: The Ferris Wheel.”
The projector started up again, showing excerpts from Noel’s life.
When Noel and Mischa started opening up to each other they had discovered there was something that made them similar, they were outsiders, people who didn’t fit neatly into the status quo, and that’s what made them perfect for each other.
So watching the memory of Noel being suspended for reenacting a scene from one of his old movies, Mischa just wanted to laugh, because that is just so him. Knowing Noel had been like this his whole life since childhood, it felt inspiring. His love never felt the need to tone himself down despite what he was constantly told.
Mischa just wishes he could be that brave.
“I’ve seen the movie The Blue Angel about a billion and one times.” Noel began, “if there’s something better than Marlene Dietrich playing Lola Lola, the heartless booze hound harlot, I don’t even want to hear about it.”
Noel began to pick at his nails, “I tried to go as her every Halloween… but I always chickened out, and I’d always go as something like C3PO… But in my heart I was Lola Lola dressed up as C3PO, that was always my Halloween costume subtext.”
He looked at the floor, unable to meet any of the other choir member’s eyes, continuing to pick at his nail polish, “Mom tells me I’ve got to try and… reel it in, so I try really hard to… dial it back.”
Mischa couldn’t believe what he was hearing, his poet always seemed so confident in everything he did, sure he had his moments of shyness, and he knew from many late night conversations that the other’s mother told him to “tone it down,” but he always assumed that was something that Noel was openly mocking, not something that he was actively trying to do.
While he continued to think this over Noel continued with a shrug, “I had to, we lived in a town where every year on July 11th when 7/11 gives out free slurpees it’s like the major cultural event of the year.” He emphasized this point by giving some unenthusiastic jazz hands.
“I was born in the wrong town! The wrong country! The wrong ERA!” He began anew, becoming more emotive, “I wanted to feel goddammit! I wanted BAD LOVE!”
What?
“I wanted a man that would drive me to DRINK! I wanted to wake up in an alleyway in my own vomit, MISSING TEETH!”
“I wanted to drink myself on the cup of life, ‘anyone who hasn’t experienced the ecstasy of betrayal, knows nothing of ecstasy at all,’ Jean Genet”
“I was a sexual provocator and a novelist, who never wrote a novel…” Noel began, before he quickly blushed, becoming aware that he would either have to lie or reveal something personal.
Mischa felt his own face begin to heat up, he started looking around, but luckily they were both interrupted by a new projection on the screen, Noel Gruber in a Taco Bell uniform.
When they made things official, Noel told Mischa under no circumstances was he allowed to go to the Taco Bell at the Mall, at least not during his shift. But looking at the picture projected on the curtains, Mischa had no idea why. Noel was absolutely adorable in his uniform, even with his strained smile.
“What is that?” Noel asked, looking ready to kill someone.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” Karnak said.
He took a breath, “I worked at the Taco Bell at the Mega Mall just outside of Uranium City,” Noel looked down again, ashamed. “I had to work somewhere, we had no money… I was saving up to move to France.” He looked back up and smiled, wistfully.
“They named a meal after your passing, ‘The Noel Gruber Hungry Hombre Meal.’”
Noel scoffed.
“They catered your funeral for free.”
Noel looked horrified.
“They even played Christina Aguilera's ‘Beautiful’”
Noel was seething.
“On the Bagpipes.”
Noel screamed, before somewhat composing himself to say, “I only said I liked that song once, IRONICALLY!”
He buried his face in his hands, “That joke was my final song, all of those wasted hours at that horrible mall, dreaming of-”
“I feel this is a perfect occasion for a song about affordable Mexican cuisine,” Karnak interrupted. “Cue the mariachi band.”
The gentle sound of maracas began to fill the warehouse.
Noel turned towards the machine with murderous intent in his eyes, “I don’t want to sing about that!”
Ocean, thinking this would be a good time to interrupt, came forward waving an arm in the air, “OH, if he doesn’t want to sing I WILL!”
“GODDAMMIT CAN’T YOU KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS FOR ONE SECOND YOU HORRIBLE SUCCUBUS!” Noel snapped
The maracas stopped, and Ocean slowly began to back up, Mischa wanted to applaud this moment, she had finally shut up, and his poet had been the one to do it.
Noel took a moment to compose himself, “Fine, in my life, I was Noel Gruber who worked at Taco Bell in Uranium City, Saskatchewan...”
Noel grabbed a chair from a corner of the warehouse and sat it in the middle of the makeshift stage, “But in my dreams, I played a different role.”
He sat one knee on the chair, “I was Monique Gibeau, in post. . . war. . . France. . .”
And suddenly Noel Gruber had been replaced, his St Cassian’s uniform switched out for ripped fishnets and a black corset, his raven hair replaced by bright red fingerwaves, and his light eyeliner covered with heavy lashes and bright blush.
“A hooker with a heart of black charcoal”
Mischa’s jaw dropped, and he’s sure he isn’t the only one. But before Mischa could process any of this, Noel began his song, Ricky providing the instrumental with an accordion, where did he learn to do that?
“I write poems to burn by firelight
Drink champagne and guzzle gin
Good girls call me "the town bicycle"
Don't knock it 'til you've tried my life of sin”
Monique seductively leaned on the chair, commanding every ounce of attention in the room.
“Oh, Claude, my pimp knows, never mess with me
Last prick who did that faded quick to black
Oh, I have no idea where to find him, officers”
The chair was violently kicked over..
“But if you do, please mention that I'd like to have returned the pretty knife
That I stuck
Ten
Times
In
His
Back!”
She swung an arm around, clearly miming the lyrics the motion emphasized by the warehouse’s lights flashing red with each gesture. Before the chair was picked back up and she sat back down..
“For I sing songs until the break of dawn
I embrace a new man every night
My life's one never-ending carnival”
“A whirl of boozy-floozy flashing light!”
“I want to be
That fucked up girl”
Mischa suddenly found himself dressed in a three piece suit, he adjusted the lapels before approaching the vision in front of him, he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her forward
He slapped her across the face before being pulled into a heavy kiss. When she pulled away her red lipstick was smeared, and then the two began to slow dance.
Mischa is unsure how it looked to everyone else, but to him the person in front of him kept flashing between Monique, and Noel, the man he loved.
“He said, "I think I am in love with you."
I've heard that lie a million times before
Oh, tonight I give in to the fantasy
Take love when you can, when you're a whore”
He violently pushed her to the ground before taking a dollar out and dropping it, and suddenly walking away
Inside he was screaming at himself, because all Mischa could think of was the way he pushed the other away earlier.
“For I sing songs until the break of dawn
I embrace a new man every night
My life's one never-ending carnival
A whirl of boozy-floozy flashing light
I want to be that fucked up girl”
When Mischa looked back, Noel, no Monique was still on the ground, mascara stained tears running down her face.
“So now I sell my love for opium
In some rat-infested Chinese dive
At night I burn myself with cigarettes
Just to somehow prove I'm still alive”
She was crawling on the floor, reaching out a hand to anyone that could see her, but being ignored by all.
“Eight months later, I catch typhoid flu
Kicked out, I see the ugly light of day
The spotlights took on a too bright quality, causing Monique to shield her face.
Dying in an alley, a priest kneels down to me–”
Suddenly Ricky approached her, dressed as a priest, “My child, do you have any final words to the Lord you'd like to say?”
Monique laid on the ground, looking so weak, with a cough she said, “Oui. Tell Him that, like Him, I choose to burn out, rather than fade away!” Before collapsing, a lone blue spotlight shining down on her body.
Suddenly taking on new life she stood up, sensually approaching the forgotten chair.
“For I sing songs until the break of dawn
I embrace a new man every night
My life's one never-ending carnival
A whirl of boozy-floozy flashing light”
She placed one foot on the chair and began to stomp in time to the song.
“For I sing songs until the break of dawn
I embrace a new man every night
My life's one never-ending carnival
A whirl of boozy-floozy flashing light!”
Stepping up onto the chair with both feet she stood up before making her proclamation.
“I want to be that fucked up girl
I wanna be that fucked up. . .
Girl. . .”
The singing continued, the notes holding as Ocean, Constance, and Jane Doe surrounded her dressed in black and red dresses with puffed sleeves and flouncy skirts, feathers in their hair and feather fans they used as they circled the star of the show and sang the chorus.
“Broken heart, a flask of gin
Tattooed with a safety pin
Teeth all stained with nicotine
Running nylons, shattered dreams
Super crusty, holy terror
Wild eyes and black mascara
Broken heart, a flask of gin
Tattooed with a safety pin
Teeth all stained with nicotine
Running nylons, shattered dreams
Super crusty, holy terror
Wild eyes and black mascara”
Noel’s singing continued on, the held notes getting higher with each word, almost becoming a scream, each one making Mischa flinch.
“If I could have just one dream. . .”
“If he could have just one dream. . .”
“I'd be that fucked up girl!”
The lights went out on the final word.
“Hey!”
And just like that Monique was gone, and all that was left was Noel Gruber, standing on a chair in the middle of the room.
Mischa felt so many emotions in this moment, shock, concern, but also pride. Noel truly put himself out there, showing his art to a group of people. And for that he deserved all the praise in the world. So momentarily forgetting what others might think of him Mischa ran towards his love.
“That Was DOPE!” He lifted the boy into the air and set him on the ground, enthusiastically helping Noel down from the not at all high chair, something the boy jovially laughed at.
Then he quickly became aware of how the motion might come across, so he took a step back and wiped his hands off on his school vest before looking away. He needed to pivot, so seeing Ricky wheeling himself over to set down the accordion he decided to start with that, he could apologize and shower Noel in compliments after. “Yo, Ricky you play these squeeze keys? MadWickedAwesome!”
“Heightened abilities, I can play the accordion now,” He demonstrated this by playing a simple tune, “Level up.”
Huh, maybe it was his catchphrase.
Mischa turned back to his fiance, but was once again interrupted by Ocean.
“I champion Noel’s journey of sexual discovery.” She said
Mischa could see Noel cross his arms, waiting for the ‘but.’
“But he dropped the F-Bomb in the actual chorus.” She said with her smug smile.
Ah, there it is.
Luckily before she could say more Jane Doe, who was hovering over Constance, broke into song.
“Fornication
Under
Consent of the
King”
Constance slowly backed away, before sprinting up to the others, and eager to move on shared her thoughts.
“Well, I liked the part where the two boys kissed.” She said
Shit, she’s right, Mischa needed to say something here…
“What? In my country it is natural for two men to- to show affection by kissing!” He exclaimed, before rubbing the back of his head, quietly adding on, “not always in the lingerie…”
He ended up being saved by Ocean, that smug look still planted on her face, “There is a DIFFERENCE between affection and smut,” She said, crossing her arms.
By this point Noel looked vaguely upset, he had grabbed the chair and was dragging it back where he found it, he looked back at Ocean, “not in my bible baby, BONESOIR!” He emphasized his point by blowing a kiss in their general direction.
Mischa felt himself blush.
“So, is everyone’s song going to have profanity in the chorus?” Ocean said, staring directly at Mischa, her smug expression firm on her face.
He rolled his eyes, “Mine will only have profanity in chorus.” He crossed his arms.
Constance broke into a fit of giggles at that, which was abruptly cut off by Ocean glaring at her.
“No.” She said simply
Ocean looked back at him, “Why don’t you go and text your imaginary fiancé?” She asked.
Because he’s right there! He wanted to say, Instead he pulled out his phone, “I tell you before, there IS NO WIFI!”
He started to walk away, but not before throwing in one last jab, “Little Orphan A-Hole.”
But apparently she wasn’t done ranting, “Noel didn’t even talk about anything real! It was just a song about him wanting to be a sex worker in the old-fashioned days! What is even the moral in his song anyway? What does it teach you? What’s the lesson?”
“Not every story has a lesson, Ocean.” Karnak spoke.
“NOOOOOOO!” she said placing her hands on her hips, “Every story has a lesson!”
“Every story-”
A chorus of whistles began… wait she gets two songs?!? How is that fair?
“Every story's got a lesson
A simple moral to be told
Although a tale may twist and turn”
“There's always something you can learn”
“A nugget of wisdom, solid gold!”
“Solid gold!”
At least it was short, now if only he could get some alone time with Noel…
“Constance, Improv scenario number seventy-six!” Ocean said, pointing at her friend.
Huh, that’s twice today she accidentally ended up helping Mischa.
The thing about Ocean and Constance’s “Improvisations,” is that they were like watching a car crash, horrible, but impossible to look away from. Which of course means it was the perfect time for Mischa to have a conversation with Noel.
He found the boy sitting on one of the large crates in the warehouse, he approached him with a smile, casually leaning on the crate, to anyone else it would look like they were just lounging, but to Mischa this was the perfect opportunity to finally get some one on one time with the love of his life.
“You were wonderful,” Mischa began.
Noel looked at him surprised, “you really think so?” he asked.
“Of course, to see Monique taken off the page and in front of my eyes, it was truly a sight to behold.” Mischa smiled.
Now for the part of the conversation he wasn’t looking forward to.
“But I have to ask, why did she have to die?” He began.
He noticed Noel looking down at the question, once again picking at his nails.
Mischa doesn’t think he’s going to get an answer to that one, so he’s just going to ask the most troubling thing, “What you said about bad love? Is that what I give you?”
Noel looked up at that, “No, god no, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Then why-” Mischa began, before being cut off by the other.
“I just know it’s what I deserve, it was always what I was destined for, you gave me good love, which is so much more than what I could ever ask for.” Noel said, looking at him imploringly.
“How can you say that?” Mischa was shocked.
Noel looked down again, “Look, I know I’m not your first choice, I knew some day you’d get tired of me, you’d meet your Talia and move far away from here.”
Mischa shook his head, surely the boy he loved could not think this was true, “But you are my Talia-” He wanted to say more but he was cut off again.
“I never asked to be Talia.” Noel said, refusing to meet his eyes.
“But Talia was your idea.” Mischa felt frustration building
“No Talia was your idea, I’m just the person who has to play her.” Noel had completely scraped the nail polish off of one of his hands.
Mischa is sure he would have said something he’d regret, or shouted revealing the truth if it wasn’t for Ocean accidentally helping to maintain his cover for the third time that day by shouting,
“NO NO NO, STOP STOP STOP!” She waved her arms frantically, clearly trying to shut down her improv scene.
“Constance, that is not what I scripted!” She looked inconsolable.
Constance held up her hands, “Sorry, I just thought it’d be funnier if-”
“FUNNY!?!? The point of my improvisations is not to be funny, granted they are written to be humorous, but the POINT of them is to save lives!” Ocean’s fists were tightly clenched at her sides.
“Oh… you’re mad,” Constance said, looking ready to run away.
Ocean took a step back, breathed in and out a few times before plastering a smile back on her face, “I am never mad at you, I am just frequently disappointed.”
Constance continued to hold her hands up in defense, “Look, I’m still distracted, I’m still thinking about the time those two boys kissed.”
Why was she still hung up on that? Did she think Mischa had a problem with kissing the homies? Had his attempt at playing straight gone so far that it wrapped around into him looking homophobic?
“What?” He said, he needed to clear things up, he may not be out, but he’ll be damned if people thought he was a bigot. “Yo, just cause I’m all gangsta don’t automatically make a homophobe, is not cool to be homophobe in rap game!” He looked at the expressions of surprise, good, he thought. “Don’t ever try to put Mischa Bachinski in a box, he will break out of it!” He declared.
Everyone continued to stare at him.
Things suddenly felt awkward.
He didn’t know what to do, so he just said the first thing that came to mind, “Time to get this party started, make money, time to make the rain!”
And Mischa pulled the lever.