A Roger Taylor Collection

A Killer Queen - Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon

London, England. August 1973.

The day after the little studio fiasco, it was a bright and sunny Sunday morning as you lay on your couch. You rested on your back with one leg dangling off and circling the floorboard lazily, your eyes were starting to close a little bit at a time; Sundays being the day you never had anything going on so naturally, you were lazy and usually slept all day. what you didn't know if that would change in the near future as all the boys busied themselves with your idea.

The cigarette in your hand had a thin line of smoke coming out of its end, you had only taken one drag and it was just burning away as you closed your eyes and lowered your arm. you only drifted off for a few moments before your hand hit the floor and you realized the cigarette was no longer in between your fingers.

You lifted your torso quickly and leaned over the edge of your flower-covered sofa, "shit!" you yelled as the dart burned into your very old carpet you couldn't afford to replace. you picked it up and frowned at the burn mark littered with some ash and dirt, getting up and putting your smoke in your mouth—you ran a cloth under the sink in the kitchen and ran back over to the carpet. you got down on your knees and bent down to try and dab the stain out, not rub because that doesn't help at all; it just spreads it.

You were working at the stain when you looked under the couch for a beat and turned your attention back to the stain—but then you registered something and snapped your head back curiously. other than noting that you needed to hoover up the sofa desperately but, there was also a paper sitting face down on the floor far back. You completely disregarded the stain and tossed the rag from your hand and stretch your arm as far as you could to nab that pesky paper that was piquing your interest by the second. you never misplace things or find things out of their places so, you wondered what it could be.

You growled at the white rectangle as your battled it out of under your piece of furniture, "c'mon you little bastard..." you grunted. The frown turned into a smile as you finally picked it out of there and sat up, sitting back on your legs as you opened the horribly folded paper up.

You looked it over and read the content of the single sheet with a strangle nostalgia even though you have no memory of—wait... you could hear it. It was the riff you had stuck in your head forever ago, you wrote it down when you couldn't figure out how to turn it into a piano piece, but since then you had learned and well; what was stopping you from giving it a try.

You walked into the spare room where you kept your instruments and pulled up an old wooden stool to the second-hand piano you got and had to lug up the stairs by yourself 7 months ago.

————

Recording Studio, Yesterday Morning.

Freddie tried to get Roger and Deaky up but alas, nothing could wake those guys up to do any work for at least 12 hours. They were both still quite drunk, you being glad because Roger would not remember you having to sit on his lap to mend his face, and were in no shape to think let alone converse with anyone.

Freddie returned and sat down with Brian as your stood walk with a paper in your hand. They were on the small love-seat in the studio with you turned toward them, back to the recording booth windows. They looked up at you expectantly and waited.

You spoke soon after pondering what you were going to say and how you were going to say it, "Okay—you can relay this to the boys as soon as they aren't hanging, but for now just hear me out and listen" They glanced at each other and nodded.

"The floor is yours, Y/N" Brian commented.

Freddie jumped in soon after in his own Freddie way, "Give us all you got, darling"