𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 | JOHN LENNON

009: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥

𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭,
𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯,
7𝘱𝘮

ringo starr-or richard starkey, according to his license, was dazed. drunk. maybe drinking would bring the fame back, he supposed. the hotel bar would suffice him just enough until someone helped him, someone came and made everything better. someone always would.

his beard was outgrown, hair mangled and scraggly. mo was gone. he woke up in a strange house in liverpool with strange people and strange eyes staring at him. apparently he had a new wife named stella. he thought she was ugly, so he left and came back to london.

no one knew who he was, he wasn't famous, he wasn't known. no job, no money, no fame, no love, no children. everything was gone. he hated it. he couldn't put into words how much he missed his kids and friends.

he noticed no one knew the beatles or him, so he must've been going insane. instead of finding a way to find paul or george, he rented a hotel suite and figured they'd find him-which they did. it wasn't a horrible plan aside from all the beer and wine he ordered for nearly two weeks in a row. his money would eventually run out.

if paul, john or george didn't have a plan to find him, he didn't know what. hopefully they were fast on their way.

ritchie was slumped over on the hotel couch, chatting to the bellhop. he drunkenly told him all about the beatles and world fame and how no one remembered. he must've sounded insane.

"i think i'm goin' crazy, steve!" ritchie mumbled. "i really do, hah!"

"ritchie, maybe lay off the-" steve tried to take his beer, but ritchie slapped his hand away.

"ay! that's my beer! fuck off!" steve backed off, frowning at him. "i just want my friends with me... they gotta save me, steve. you don't have to be saved, you're safe, you're not a wacko. i need 'ta be saved, man."

___________________
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘬,
2𝘱𝘮

"alright, where do we cash this motherfucker in?"
charlie slapped johns side as we walked into the bank. his booming voice overtook anyone else's. he had a dumb grin on his face.

they had just won the million dollar lottery.

john was exactly the same apart from his attitude. he talked in a goofy proper british accent whenever the subject came up. it was thrilling. when he scratched the final five off the paper, they just sat there in shock. he muttered something about it being a prank card, or how he couldn't believe it.

they marched right back into the gas station where john grilled the clerk about fooling around with the lottery cards. the scared and confused old man explained that it was, in fact, a real winning ticket. they could cash it in anytime they'd like to.

of course, they chose the day after to get some rest. obviously the two couldn't sleep after winning the lottery. they stayed up nearly all night chatting with the other, planning, having major dance breaks in the middle of it all.

charlie unquestionably didn't expect to have a cent of it. she wanted john to have it all for his journey back into the music industry. he told her she could at least have a few thousand dollars for being there, providing him with a car, food, shelter, money, her presence.

she thanked him endlessly, giving him a sense of peace knowing she'd walk away with something other than their friendship.

"erm... right this way, sir," a lady directed john and her to a small corner with a desk and another lady behind it. "what are we cashing in? a check?"

john flopped down on the leather chair next to charlie, slamming the paper down on the desk in front of the bank teller. "we won the big one!" john exclaimed.

"y-you sure did," she reached forward, sliding it her way and carefully reading it. "i- umm... cash or check?"

___________________
𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯,
3𝘱𝘮

they were rolling in cash. the first thing charlie and john did with the money was head straight to the airport with their bags packed. they got the check, but the teller insisted they take it with caution. it wasn't exactly easy transporting one million dollars.

"we'd like two tickets to london. right away." john set his backpack down, putting most of the rest of their leftover money on the counter.

the worker smiled and only took two or three bills. "how's four pm?"

"excellent."

they took their bags back to the waiting area. the check was comfortably set in charlie's backpack along with her camera. "i've never been on a plane before," charlie stuttered as they hopped off the stairway to board the plane.

no security, just getting on and going. that's how it was in the seventies. "ye haven't?" john maneuvered his way through the line. "oh, it's lots 'o fun, believe me." she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or serious. either way, it was almost time.

it was a quarter to four, right when they would leave. just an eight hour flight, and john would be home. charlie, in a new, foreign country was understandably nervous. she didn't think anything if it. she just wanted john to be happy.