Talk about Magical Mysteries

Where the realities meet

Notes: I bit my fingers so hard last night, they're still numb. Hilarious.

I had the case of the nerves, I think that affected this chapter a bit. : (

Reminder, "-o-" means the Beatles, and "-oo-" means the Wizards.

-o-

"We only performed one song, we can't call that a concert at all.." John threw his arms in the air, standing at the telephone that didn't appear in a tardis. As soon as he complained, realization hit him straight in the head that he hates performing nowadays anyways, more benefit to him. "Actually, I take that back."

"It was rather disappointing, but we don't have a lot of time to spend." Paul smiled wryly, and John shot him a glare.

"It's good that we have no time for them."

Paul was about to object with a, 'yes, but we have to repay them for buying our records', but felt spasms pass through his right arm, having him clench it with his good hand, wincing. John's gaze softened seconds after, and George whispered words of wisdom, 'easy there, take it easy'. They knew that Paul loved, adored and lived to perform. He was a true star at heart, and this strange incident is bothering him mostly for that.

He might not be able to record for a while, and that was more painful than the physical jumps. He might as well die than be unable to play music ever again.

The other three, in contrast, were content with not performing in venues other than their studio because the intimacy between the four struck closer. They only needed to perform personally to each other, and the rest could hear the finished and cleaned up version through their electronics. If they had recording devices, that's all they'd do.

Just click record without really listening and immersing themselves in the music.

Other fact, they probably couldn't even hear it. They just screamed because they saw their four idols on stage. They could be juggling for all they cared, and the people would still cheer. The three shook their heads at that. Paul just loved seeing them smile and appreciate their work, whatever it may have been.

It was hard to be on a rocky road every time. After certain comments, Press had often hounded them like if they were wild dogs that needed taming. Even Paul could get tired of playing the defenses when that time came.

Ringo slot a coin into the telephone and nudged John to call Brian. The boy snapped out of his feared trance and began dialing numbers, lifting the receiver.

"We should've stolen James Bond's utility belt." He muttered to himself as Ringo got an ice pack and handed it to Paul who thanked him with a strained smile. If they could figure out what was causing such, it would've been easier to help recover.

"James Bond?"

"No, James Paul McCartney." John rolled his eyes. "Yes, James Bond."

Paul didn't continue. He had to admit, hated to tell himself so, but sometimes, it was like walking on eggshells with John. He could never really tell when he is truly bothered or not. At this moment, he chose that unnecessary comments would only worsen things as jolts of pressure passed through all four of them. Was Brian and the ones at home alright? If they needed saving from what he and George classified as 'beings from the outside', what about them? Did they have the same protection?

John had as many thoughts as there were pipes in this Submarine. Paul didn't want to bump and burst one.

How else does one respond when help needs help as well? John may have not been on the same viewpoint as he and George, but he was on the brunt of almost getting clawed by people. Paul's commentary on being lynched affected him more than he let on, and the bassist knew that was eating at him.