Disclaimer: RENT belongs to the amazing Jonathan Larson. May he rest in peace.
Plot: The first time Mimi saw Angel, she knew they'd hit it off. PreRENT, so sadly, no AC yet. Based off of Mimi's eulogy at Angel's funeral. Drabbley oneshot. Very short.
A/N: Oh wow… I never thought I'd write a RENT story that wasn't AngelCollins… but Angel's so awesome, and this sounded like a great opportunity, so here we go.
Angel pressed her nose to the window, staring longingly at the beautiful skirt just beyond the glass. A gust of air blew into the store as someone exited, causing the price tag of the tie-dye garment to spin and reveal the price to Angel, who whistled lowly. "Triple digits?!" she exclaimed, pulling back from the glass in disappointment.
She quickly shook it off, waving her hand airily. "I can make one as good as that!" she announced to no one in particular. And she could, at that. After all, her favorite floral print skirt, that she was wearing now, she'd made herself! She spun on her heel and headed off down the sidewalk again, peering into shop windows as she passed, the occasional "ooh" or "aah" slipping from her mouth when she saw something particularly beautiful.
Angel stopped dead, turning around to look at where the accusing yell had come from. A skinhead was standing about ten feet behind her, pointing dead at her with a malicious look on his face. "Faggot!" he yelled again.
Passerby stopped and looked at Angel, and she heard whispers start as people leaned together and pointed more discreetly at her. She clenched her hands so tight her fingernails dug deep into her palms, forcing herself to start walking again.
This skinhead must have been particularly persistent, not to mention uncreative, for he continued following after her, his finger still aimed at her. Every thirty seconds or so, he would yell the same single word "Faggot! Faggot!"
People gave Angel a wide berth, some looking at her with malice, some with confusion. Angel ignored them all, keeping her eyes straight forward and her mouth pressed into a thin line.
Across the street, Mimi Marquez, coming back from a restocking on her drugs, glanced over at the commotion, feeling anger spread through her as she realized what was going on.
Angel finally stopped again, and her body seemed to relax slightly. Pasting a smile on her face, she turned and walked right up to the skinhead, seeming taller than him though her heels left her a couple of inches shorter.
"I am more of a man than you'll ever be, and more of a woman than you'll ever get." she told him in a matter-of -fact tone, relishing the shocked look that spread quickly across his face. Spinning on her heel, she turned and walked off the way she'd been going before, leaving the skinhead standing there in total shock.
Mimi cheered inwardly for the drag queen, a smile coming across her face. She quickly crossed the street, catching up to Angel quickly. "I saw how you handled that jerk back there; that was priceless!" she exclaimed.
Angel smiled, blushing slightly. "You think so?" Mimi nodded. "He's /still/ standing there! And he totally deserved it. What an asshole!" She paused for a moment, then added, "I'm Mimi Marquez."
"I'm Angel. Angel Dumott Schunard."