Musei e Cornetti

Drunken Elephants

For now, let it suffice to say that I do not own the Beatles.

A/N:  I know, you expected me just to start one multi-chapter fic today, not two!  But here it is, a bit of fun, John, and Ringo to counter the mood, Paul, and George of "Murder Most Discreet."  Enjoy!

With a creak, the hotel door swung open into the yellow light from the streetlamps. Fans and press alike shouted and pushed to get close to the famous man now descending the steps to the cobbled sidewalk.

"Mr. Starr!" shouted one reporter, his heavy Italian accent clouding his words. "Where are you going?"

The famous man muttered something inaudible, gripping the rusticated façade of the Florentine hotel.

"Why are you in your pajamas?" asked another reporter shrilly. "And why are your eyes closed?"

"Is this a statement against the war?" bellowed a third reporter.

"Ish a statement," mumbled the famous man, "'Gainst drunken elephants."

Silence fell over all near enough to hear the famous man's remark. The screaming of the fans too far to hear still assaulted the ears of everyone present.

"Er . . . sorry?" inquired one reporter timidly.

"See, people are making 'em drunk," explained the famous man, his eyes still closed as he gestured expansively with his hands. "The gondola drivers are giving them too much stock."

The famous man paused intelligently, swayed a little, and then turned around.

"Have a nice Tuesday, everyone," he called over his shoulder, retreating back into the hotel. His housecoat flapped behind him as the door swung shut.

"But . . . it's Saturday . . . ." said the first reporter hesitantly.

Brian Epstein bent down and turned off the television with unnecessary force.

"What were you doing?" he growled, turning to glare at the four young men seated on the faded sofa opposite.

Ringo paled and shrunk back into the cushions as far as he could. Paul winced sympathetically. John valiantly attempted to hide the giggles trying to bubble out of his mouth. George got up, mumbling something about tea.

"SIT DOWN!" yelled Brian. George raised his hands in surrender and fell back onto the couch, oozing boredom.

"Sorry?" whimpered Ringo meekly.

"They've been trying to interpret your statement," said Brian, taking a menacing step forward. "People are saying that you're siding with African poachers against intellectuals trying to raise money to save animals like the elephants."

"But I'm not!" moaned Ringo. "I don't even remember that bit you showed us on the telly!"

"Were you . . . drunk, perhaps?" asked Brian, taking another step forward.

"I think he was sleepwalking," piped in Paul. "I remember him getting up and going out in the middle of the night."

"You're going to have to make up for this somehow, you know," said Brian.

"I say he's on hotel cleanup duty for the week!" said John excitedly.

"You're already on cleanup duty for the year, Lennon, so don't distract me," snapped Brian. John blew a large bubble of his gum and popped it loudly.

"Why not just get Ringo to explain all this mess to the press and have done with it?" suggested George.

In the kitchen behind them, a shrill whistle pierced the air.

"I really have to get that tea," muttered George, leaping up and running out of the room.

"Actually," mused Brian, "This mess has caused me a lot of pointless trouble. So I think I'm going to cause you some pointless trouble in return."

Ringo gulped. Paul squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"I'm giving you a Florence-wide scavenger hunt," announced Brian smugly. "You may choose one friend to help you complete the challenge. If you do not choose to accept, I assure you I can find another equally tedious and annoying task, such as vacuuming all the ceilings in an apartment building, or making an alphabetical list of all the city streets in England, or – "

"I'll take the scavenger hunt!" interrupted Ringo hurriedly.

"Whom do you chose to help you decipher clues?" inquired Brian.

"John," said Ringo immediately. "He's smartest."

John stuck out his tongue at Paul.

"So much for having each other's backs, Ringo," sniffed Paul, storming out of the room to join George in the kitchen.

Brian rubbed his hands together happily.

"Your first task," said the manager, "is to locate the painting 'Young Girl with a Candle' by Gottfried Schalcken. You have four hours to complete your assignment."

"Can we bring along a guidebook?" asked John quickly. "As we're not familiar with Florence, or even Italy for that matter."

"You may bring a map only," answered Brian loftily. "Good luck."

He strode out of the hotel room, letting the door swing shut behind him. Ringo and John glanced at each other, the former terrified, the latter elated.

"Let's go!" beamed John.

A/N:  Reviews are much appreciated :0)