•••••••••••••••••••••••Requests Open!••••••••••••••••••••••••
Will update upon receiving requests. Check chapter cleverly titled "⭐️Requests Open!⭐️" for more details (it's the 10th chapter!)
You can never have too many classic rock one shots, can y...
Muse: French Actress Olga Georges-Picot Musician: English Musician and Drummer of the Who, Keith Moon Time: Late Sixties
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She called him Loony Moonie. Not to his face, of course. Not even to her friends. Only to herself. She was surprised that no one else had come up with it yet. He was obsessed with her and it had become quite the pain in the arse. Keith Moon would stop at nothing to get Macie to like him, but it seemed he was only working against himself.
Macie was the receptionist at the front desk of the studio in which the Who regularly recorded music. She'd often get calls from Keith, who sometimes wasn't even in the building, asking to be put on the phone with himself. It was one of his favorite games, and it seemed that he was currently keen on playing it.
"Oi, Macie! Can ya transfer me to Moonie?" His staticky cackle crunched on the other line, causing Macie to pull the receiver from her ear with a roll of her eyes. Once she was certain he was done, she brought the phone back to her face to reply.
"Keith, this really isn't funny." She'd exhausted all of her witty comebacks long ago. Matching his quips only prolonged the exchange; she now knew she had to bore him to get him to hang up. She couldn't just ignore the call, though, as he'd just call and call again until she picked up the phone.
"I'm not tryin' a be funny, miss May! I need to speak to that Keith bloke this instant!" She could hear him stomp his foot through the line, her lips pursing and a breath shooting from her flared nostrils. Macie really wasn't in the mood to deal with this today, so she decided to play a little prank of her own.
With a devious smirk, the strawberry blonde transferred Keith to the receptionist located on the other side of the building. Macie worked the hidden entrance; it was out of the view of the road and heavily gated so that musicians could enter and exit hassle free. On the outside, it just looked like it led to an industrial dumpster and a small, empty parking lot.
The visible entrance, located on the building's other wing, was where droves of fans and paparazzi loitered all day, hoping to get a piece of a celebrity. The receptionist placed at that entrance was a middle-aged Frenchman with a no-tolerance attitude towards BS. He had absolutely no reservations about shouting profanities at trespassing teen girls or ruffing up mischievous paps.
He and Keith should get on swimmingly.
After a while of snickering to herself, Macie refocused on her duties. Answering calls, relaying messages, checking people in and out. The day dragged on slowly, as usual, but her lunch break was finally nearing. She impatiently checked her dainty Bulova watch, shaking her foot in an attempt to relieve the anxiety. As her simple cream flats gently knocked against the wood of the registration desk, Macie desperately hoped that Keith would let her go in peace today.
"You wanna be a drummer like me, eh?" Proclaimed an all too familiar voice. A voice that had been torturing her over the phone for weeks. Speak of the devil. "Let me tell ya, you won't get far with that 'orrible bass drum rhythm, missy!"
