A Whole New World (A Queen Fanfiction)

Chapter One

"Somethin' told me it was over. . ."

Roger Taylor banged the cheap drum, following as close as he could remember from the Etta James song, singing it quietly to himself.

"When I saw you and that girl walkin' around. . ."

Again, he followed, focusing only on the music, keeping his blue eyes averted from anyone or anything else, and almost covering them with the bangs of his long, dirty-blonde hair.

He simply imagined he was playing with the rest of his band, like they did out in the streets sometimes, and everything became so easy.

"Somethin' deep down in my soul said 'Cry, girl. . .'"

The nerves in his neck jumped as he did, as the door of the shop slammed shut loudly, the bell attached to it ringing.

"Shut it, kid," the burly owner of the old music store said gruffly. He had a thick accent that no one could really place. "People ain't paying to hear covers now."

"I'm trying to get some spare cash, that's all," Roger said. "As was our agreement before. I demonstrate the equipment, you get sales, I get street cash, we split it fifty."

"I no longer need your services," the owner said simply, as if it was so obvious.

"Well, what am I supposed to do now?" Roger asked, taking a long drawl out of his cigarette.

"If you are really as desperate as you say, go to the market and make a living selling Edwardian furs," 

Roger surpressed a sigh.

"As a final goodbye, I have arranged a cab."

"Where will they be taking me?" Roger asked, hoping that maybe it would be better this way after all.

"They will be taking your kit," the owner said. "Not you. They have given me fifty dollars for it."

"You sold my drums?!" Roger said, jumping to his feet, but still being dwarfed in the stature and muscle of the owner.

"Yes," the owner said, still quite monotone, as if this was every Tuesday for the man. It probably was. "They were looking for a drum to purchase anyways. It is my final act for your sorry butt. You get the fifty, plus the last of your case earnings. Live off of that until a miracle occurs."

Roger raked a hand through his hair, sighing. "Fine. I'll meet up with the guys tonight and we'll figure something out. Thank you, sir, for all that you've done."

"Yeh," the man said, tossing Roger the fifty dollars and going back into the store with very little care or worry apparent.

Roger sighed, leaving the drum kit. He was not planning on being present when the car came to pick it up, that would make the whole ordeal just so much worse.

He should have seen it coming. The owner had their things removed from the roof the night before, but never said why, and so Roger assumed that the man just wanted to use the area for his own things again or something.

He looked around the dusty cobblestone street, framed by old, tall buildings. Some were in perfect condition, some were in shambles, and some, well, you just could not tell what was inside from the exterior. Some buildings were being used as various shops or apartments, and others were abandoned.

Roger was surprised that the street was not as busy as it usually was – usually, it was filled with street vendors of every kind, with a handful of dangerous people along the way. He made his rounds, as he needed to, but he preferred avoiding everything that went on at night as much as he could – which was not a lot.