A/N: Holy shit, the first multi-chapter fic I think I've written in yeeeeears. I started this on the fly at work, and it...well, snowballed. I enjoyed exploring the characters etc. and just playing around, so I hope you like it.
CHARACTERS: Bernadette Bassinger; Felicia Jollygoodfellow/Adam Whitely; Mitzi Del Bra/Antony 'Tick' Belrose; Bob Spart
PAIRING: Not really pairing-focused so much as a character study, but there's some Bernadette/Bob
OTHER SHIT: Post-movie
Compared to the hideous nightmare heat of Sydney in January, the hospital's well-air conditioned foyer was far from unwelcome to the posse of drag performers who had just stumbled into it. However, that was about the only pleasant thing about it; between the revolting decor; bloodied drunks herding through the doors behind them, howling curse words and being generally obnoxious; and the nose-melting too-clean hospital smell that hung in the air like an unpleasantly sterile fog, the trio felt more than a touch out-of-place.
The lot of them were all still donning full drag; metallic Spandex and leg warmers - so 80s it was practically vomit-worthy - paired with similarly ostentatious makeup and wigs. Tick stumbled along, still in heels; Bernadette - the complete reason that they were where they were, rather than parading around onstage back at the hotel - carried on his back like a child (this had taken some persuasion, but as she'd been convinced that this was safer than navigating the broken glass-riddled car park on one leg with no shoes on, she'd begrudgingly consented to it happening.) Adam trailed some five paces behind them, the obnoxious younger queen with Bernadette's shoes in one hand, the other playing around with his wig, which was somewhat askew. Tick furrowed his brow, staring somewhat longsightedly at the cryptic signs above their heads, denoting routes to x, y, and z that corresponded to multicoloured lines on the floor.
"And just how in the name of God is a person supposed to find reception in this place?" he grumbled, readjusting his shoulders, and pushing Bernadette further up his back via her thighs. The blonde squirmed, half-heartedly smacking him around the back of the head. She was sweating bullets, her makeup half-off and mascara running in black rivulets down her face. She pursed her lips, glancing herself to the bad signposting; she crossed her arms over Tick's chest, sighing through her nose. This whole thing had thus far been the most degrading, not to mention distinctly uncomfortable experience of her life to date - between an entire audience witnessing her idiotic mishap, to the horrendous hour and a half in a taxi with zero leg room - according to Adam, the fucking thing had been cheaper than an ambulance, but she very much doubted that there was much in it after the ludicrous amount of time they'd spent stuck in traffic - to now being here, with a room full of pissed-up creeps staring them down, with Tick's fingers digging into her hamstrings, and no discernible route to a reception desk.
"Search me," she scoffed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and cringing when she noticed that she had taken most of an eyebrow with it. "Felicia, get a move on," she turned her head to look at him - he was sauntering absentmindedly several meters behind them. "A bit of urgency, please?"
"Oh, calm your tits, Bernie," he rolled his eyes, before obliging and mincing his way towards them, investigating Bernadette's heels as he did so.
"You calm your tits - I'm in fucking agony here, and you're hardly helping."
"Children, please," Bernadette's packhorse cast his eyes to the heavens, exasperated. There was a time and a place where Tick would have been willing to tolerate his friends' squabbling, but this was neither. He took another glance at the sign, before deducing; "I think it's this way," he strode off down a corridor, Bernadette grumbling under her breath, and Adam trudging along behind them.
"What size shoe are you, Bernice?" Adam spoke again, unable to resist taking another poke. Winding up Bernadette seemed to be one of his favourite pastimes. "I'm taking a liking to these, and it's not like you're gonna be using 'em for a while."
Bernadette rolled her eyes so far into the back of her head that her irises virtually disappeared. "One more push, and I swear to fucking god..." she muttered into Tick's ear, eliciting a small smile from her long-time friend. "Adam, grow up," she snapped at him, to his continued amusement. This whole experience was a thing which Adam was getting more enjoyment from than he probably had any right to.
"Never," he responded with a twee smirk, before turning and giving a coy smile and wave to a staring hoard of flannel-clad smelly blokes; just the type who tended to thoroughly dislike said behaviour - it was, of course, that particular breed of straight macho man that he had almost lost his balls to in Coober Pedy. Bernadette sighed again; some people never learn. At least if he had to get the shit kicked out of him, this was the place to be.
"If he doesn't rein his neck in, he'll get himself killed one of these days," Bernadette said to her counterpart, grimacing.
"I know," Tick gave a sort of thin-lipped smile, glancing behind him to the inappropriate over-flamboyance being displayed by the youngest of the three. "He'll figure that out eventually, and if he doesn't, I guess it'll just be Darwinism," Bernadette laughed slightly, resting her chin on the top of Tick's head.
"Are we nearly there? I'm fucking exhausted."
"Damned if I know," came his response, elongated by a yawn. "How's the leg?"
"It's...well, it's not bad, but it's not necessarily good either," Bernadette looked with disdain at her outstretched legs. Even with silver tights and the most luminescent purple leg warmers the world had ever known, it was beyond obvious that her right foot was horrifyingly swollen almost beyond recognition, already bruising. "Actually, I won't lie to you - it hurts like hell."
"No shit," Tick grimaced. "Look at the fucking colour; matches your leg warmers. How much you wanna bet you've busted it?"
"How's about my life's savings?" Bernadette attempted to laugh, but it came off forced. She really wasn't in much of a mood to make light of the situation; too daunted by the prospect of the implications such an injury would have on her to see the funny side
"Still, brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'break a leg', doesn't it?"
"Mitz, not to burst your bubble, but I think that we may have walked straight past the front desk," Adam half-called to them. "Like, quite a bit ago."
"What makes you so sure?" Bernadette asked, staring at him quizzically as Tick turned round to face him. "I- have you got my shoes on, you little shit?"
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he grinned at her, voguing and posing in them. "Reckon they quite suit me, don't you?" Bernadette's eyes widened as she scowled at him. If looks cold kill, Felicia Jollygoodfellow would have most certainly been dead, staked, buried, dug back up again, and then staked a second time for good measure.
"I swear to God...I'm going to fucking lamp him, honestly," if she hadn't been so tired, and...well, crippled, there was a good chance that she'd have kicked the living shit out of him, but alas, this was not the case. Tick rolled his eyes, thankful that there was no way in hell that the brewing cat fight was going to occur.
"Adam, why do you think that we've passed reception?" Tick cut in before Bernadette could make more threats of death or other such consequences if Adam didn't stop pushing her buttons.
"I'm not sure, but I'd have thought the sign saying 'maternity ward' would've clued you in."
"Fucking hell," Bernadette cursed violently, dropping her head onto Tick's shoulder in exasperation, as he turned once more and began to stride back in the direction they'd come, now hobbling slightly, partly under her weight, and partly due to the prolonged period in heels. "This is going to be the death of me..."