#like if you put the tablet in a wax museum with still-alive celebrities what would happen?? what if you built a figurine of yourself? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

celestialvinyl · 5 years

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like real people do [ brian may ]

concept: Y/N is an Art exhibitor at the fictional London Museum of Art. When a certain tablet (on loan) in the Egyptian Section awakens everyone and everything inside -- Y/N finds themselves in a world they’d never expected. That includes staring at the Guitarist of Queen, who’s come alive, and wondering how exactly you can allow yourself to have feelings for a wax figurine.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: makybe a little swearing, inanimate figures coming to life and contemplating existence and all that jazz?

a/n: alrighty, so -- this is a little different. i guess i took the title a little too literally. as a part of @yourealegendfred ‘s writing challenge, i was inspired by the song “like real people do”, but i don’t know if this is the direction i should have gone in? but i have this thesis i could write about how night at the museum is a true american classic, and why it should me immortalized. but, this will have to do. it’s kind of a lot? i don’t think i explain it all well enough, but there are three movies to do that for you.

also, congrats on 3000 and more, amanda!

Being an Exhibitor in an art museum was possibly one of the weirdest jobs on your resume. When you got your degree, you hadn’t thought you would end up at one of the most mix-matched museums around. The London Museum of Art teetered on the edge of a cliff of prestige, always dangerously close to loosing that title. Thanks to a curator in the early 2000’s and a lot of funding, you were working in a museum with serious artwork and craftsmanship. And then there were the wax figurines.

As that curator had described it, they wanted to pay tribute to some of the best musicians that had impacted British contemporary music. You guessed the funders hadn’t thought that would involve wax figurines of Queen or the Beatles. Or Elton or Bowie.

But a job was a job, and you were happy to accept the offer they proposed when you sent your resume in. A steady job, surrounded by art and history — two things you adored. How could you not?.

Then, there was the offer. The Museum of Natural History in New York came as somewhat of a shock to you when it showed up on your desk. Reading over the brief, you couldn’t believe they wanted to offer up one of their most prized possessions. A pharaoh’s tablet and the pharaoh himself? It took everything in you not to slam the concept down on your curator’s desk. But she found it eventually, and quickly called up the institution to agree to their terms.

That’s how you ended up, months down the road, sneaking into the very museum you worked at.

The exhibit had been open for a little over a week, with soft opening and test audiences abound in the weeks prior. Overall, the “Art of Ancients” exhibit you had poured your blood and sweat into was being met with rave reviews. It felt nice to have something to add to your C/V and to call your own. But something had been missing; you’d never been alone with the exhibit. In all your time working on it, there’d always been someone else in the room to disrupt the concept of being alone with all the hard work you’d done. There was only one option to truly be alone.

You knew you weren’t supposed to be in the museum after hours, but the notion was too exciting. Plus, the lack of security in the museum made slipping in and out easier than it should have been. With a night guard who was asleep half the time, you were already sure you would be fine as you took the familiar path back to the exhibit.

Setting your bag down in front of the glass cases, full of King Ahkmanrah’s most treasured possession, you peered at the tablet that seemed so sacred. The sun’s last beams of light were hitting it. You watched as they slowly faded away and left the dark night instead. A sense of serenity filled you, knowing you were truly allowed to relish in your work. It was a selfish process, but a process nonetheless. It wasn’t often you got to do this amount of work with a team behind you, working hard for something that the public would enjoy.

You figured you’d enjoy it now.

Pulling out a notebook from your bag, you tried to stare at the exhibit and think of the little things that needed tweaking. There were a few plaques that looked as though they weren’t giving enough relevant information. And maybe a few of the pieces should be moved around more?

“What have you got there, sweetie?”

You froze. Shit, how had you been caught so quickly? Turning and expecting the guard, you wondered how he had found you already. You thought that they were slow—

It wasn’t the security guard.

Your eyes widened more than they should have; a scream was building up in your lungs. Which the other person seemed to notice. He quickly placed a hand over your mouth, just in time to reduce the effects that your scream had. But you couldn’t breathe, and before you knew it, you were passing out in Roger Taylor’s arms.

When light finally found you once more, your head throbbed and the cold of the tile below you was making your hairs stick up on ends. Or maybe that was the group of rockstars staring at you from above, hovering like predators. They made you want to scream one more time, and you weren't sure why. Was it the fright and shock? Or what is something more unnerving?

“Oh, she’s as pale as a ghost.” One voice murmured from above. You were still trying to get your bearings about you. Unsure of which voice you could hear, you just groaned.

“I have no clue why,” someone else shot back. You were pretty sure it was from your right this time, instead of your left like the last one. “Guess she doesn’t see a rockstar everyday.”

“Oi, shut up, will you? She’s trying to get herself together.”

“Ghurs?” You didn’t wholly have complete control of your mouth and something slipped out that would have normally elicited a blush from your cheeks. (Being well-spoken was something you tried to pride yourself on.) At the moment, you could see yourself making a fool of yourself. But who in front of, exactly? A security guard, right?

Your eyes blurred less, slightly. Just enough for you to find the bright blue of something shiny on your left and a shirtless (yet vested) figure on your right. And you knew both of those outfits in such detail that as your eyes blurred even less, you thought you just might faint again. Oh, right. This was why you had blacked out in the first place. How could you forget Paul McCartney and Roger Taylor flanking either side of you, staring as though you were some wounded animal? And of course, behind them were other celebrities (some of which seemed as though they hadn’t aged a day since their heyday.

As everything started to make sense once more, you had to look at the others around you and stop yourself before you screamed. Because this made no logical sense.

This had to be a prank, right?

But nobody knew you were coming?

Are these just a bunch of security guards in costume, or a part, or…?

They couldn’t be though. Just looking up at the two closest to you, you knew no one could replace either of their looks. It was odd, the two of them, staring down at you with manners that you would have fawned over in a different lifetime.

“Why don’t you let her breathe?” Another voice interjected, and the two above you turned to find the lanky figure of someone you swore had to be Brian May. He had his arms crossed over his chest and seemed exhausted. From what you weren’t sure, since he wasn’t the seventy-something old man that was just promoting a biopic about Queen. And it definitely wasn’t the actor. “She’s probably in for a shock.”

“Well, if she was trying to break in, she deserves it.” Another voice shot back. When you followed it, you found — wait. That wasn’t Elton, was it?

Brian let out a deep sigh. “No, haven’t you seen her picture around? She’s the exhibitor.”

You let your silence prevail over anything else. Just listening to these people (things?) bicker was enough for the moment. When you peered and found that the two who had flanked you earlier had moved closer to the group, you did relax slightly. But then George Harrison sat himself down right next to you, in his salmon coat and pirate hat, watching the small group quarrel. He turned, and gave you a pointless grin. “Breathe. You look like you might explode.”

His accent was spot on.

None of this made any sense.

“Wait,” you cut in on the conversation happening without you, but somehow being about you. “What is this? A prank? Did Julia tell you I was going to be here tonight?”

“Sorry, love. But who’s Julia?” Roger Taylor looked at you, a slight interest showcased in the tilt of an eyebrow. You shook your head and moved on. Alright, so maybe it wasn’t a prank brought on by that funny roommate of yours.

“Are you actors?”

A young George Michael filled in the answer on that one. “I don’t believe so. Most of us made our living in music. Bowie, didn’t you do some films?” As he turned his attention to the man, the other shrugged.

“So did Ringo.”

Freddie Mercury added, “I tried ballet, but they learned quickly I wasn’t the dancer they were looking for.”

And you swore you were going to break. This wasn’t funny anymore. You had to be going mad.

As twilight turned into an early dawn, there was still some time before the sun officially rose. You found yourself on the roof and watching the lights twinkle. There was so much swirling inside your head, but you couldn’t just abandon the place. The door clicked open behind you, and you turned to find a reserved Brian May leaning against the entry way. “Freds want to know if you’re all good?”

A scoff bubbled out of your mouth; you couldn’t stop it. “Yeah, sure. You find out that everything in the museum you work at comes alive at night, and you’re just supposed to be good.”

You tried to think back to the modge-podge group guiding you to the newest exhibit — the one you had put together — and showing you the tablet. You’d been introduced to the Pharaoh (the one who should have died hundreds of years ago) and his youthful glow didn’t escape you. He wanted to be called Ahk. As though he was cool and youthful. He was the one to explain everything to you — even if none of it seemed to make that much sense. The tablet you had thanked the Lord for was gifted with ancient powers that somehow brought everything to life.

It didn’t make much sense to you then. Brian had moved to try and explain a little further, but you gave the excuse that you needed a little air. (Was it an excuse if you really needed it?) You found yourself walking up and up flights of stairs, eventually granting you access to the roof. And even after all of the walking and time…

It still didn’t make sense.

Nor did it make much sense now, a few hours later, with Brian May standing just a little but away from you.

He actually chose to move himself a little closer, lifting himself from the position he was already in and taking a few steps closer to you and your ledge. Your feet dangled over the edge, and you felt like you were flying for a second. It was relaxing when nothing else was.

“It’s a lot, I know. But is there anything else you can really do?”

“Run for the hills?” You thought aloud. “Ask God what the hell is going on?”

He let out a little laugh. “Oh, no. This isn’t God. It’s something, just not Jesus and all that.” His eyes drifted down to the cigarette in your hand, your own eyes following his. As if silently asking, he lifted his eyes up and gave a pleading sort of look. You don’t know why you were so worried that he would melt from the heat, but he seemed to be alright as you gave the cig away. After a gentle drag and a hiss, he handed it back over. Guess it wasn’t for him. “John agrees.”

“Lennon or Deacon?”

“Lennon.”

A nod sufficed as ‘I should have known that’. Nevertheless, you peered out at the horizon in front of you, the moon beginning it’s descent for the evening. “I can’t believe there are legends downstairs, and I’m up here having a breather.” You flicked the cigerette off the building, watching it slowly fall down the tall building.

Brian jerked his head back towards the door. “You can head down if you want. We’ve still got a few hours before daylight.”

“What happens then?”

“We go back to being wax.” He stated, so innocently and truthful that you felt as though you should have known that already. Of course they do! Otherwise you wouldn’t have exhibits to stake your job on. “We wake up tomorrow night, do this all over again.” After a pause, he added as an afterthought, “As long as the tablet is still working.”

You couldn’t help but point out, “You seem to be taking this all remarkably well.”

“It was quite odd at first.” He admitted. “But Ahk managed to explain it well enough before anyone got hurt. Nobody is stupid enough to go outside. We all choose to keep each other company.”

“Yeah, how is it living with other legends?”

He chuckled, but there wasn’t much humor behind it. If there was, it wasn’t a generous humor. “They’re kind of wankers. McCartney is always fighting with John.”

“That’s kind of expected.” You sighed. “I did a paper on them once, for a music history class in uni.”

“Ever do one on Queen?”

“Nope.” You grinned like a sly cat. You could remember the stupid essay for the class, and how you had to write something on ‘musicians in turmoil and the art that came out of it’. “But one of my friends did on Hot Space. She got a C.”

“Well, that’s the absolute shit.”

“You should talk to her about it; she’s still upset!” You couldn’t help the laughter that came, starting in your stomach and bubbling up until it escaped. Brian couldn’t resist it either, because soon enough he was laughing along with you. You were pretty sure that your hand had slipped onto his shoulder a s a reason for support, the other tucked by your stomach.

As you settled down, you retracted your hand from it’s spot and looked back out to the skyline. The stars were gorgeous.

“Do you think you’ll come back?”

You had to look over to Brian to make sure that he had actually asked that. There was slight aprehension on his face as he waited for your answer.

“I dunno, probably. It’s not like I can just move on with my life now — knowing all of this.”

“I’m sure everyone would be happy if you came back.”

“What about you?” You joked.

“Of course.” He was so sincere, it hurt. You guess you didn’t know how lonely it had to be sometimes, trapped in a building with people you might not know personally. And to not be able to go outside without worry of being caught? That seemed like being damned. But then Brian smiled, so brightly, you thought that the sun was already rising. “I’d be happy to have you here any day.”

“You’re too kind. You live up to the legend.”

He opens his mouth say something, but chose instead to stay quiet. You linger for just a second, hoping he’ll say something instead of remaining sielnt. But he doesn’t. You choose to turn back towards the exit, instead. Your feet hit the concrete of the roof, and it doesn’t take long to head back to the door. Brian isn’t far behind you.

You ended up returning the next night.

Brian seemed to be relaxing by the front of the lobby, a book in hand that you recognized from the Curator’s collection in her office. As his eyes scanned through the pages, you waited for him to notice. And just as he turned the page, his eyes caught your own and he smiled. “Glad to have you back, [Y/N].”

“It’s too interesting to pass up.” You shrugged. “You want to come with me? I’m gonna go see everyone else.”

He joined you without question, but only upon marking his page with the tiniest of marks (and doing his best to burn the page number into his brain). Brian found his spot besides you. “I’m glad you feel this excited. You are excited, right?”

“You could use that word, if you wanted.”

And so he guided you towards the people you considered legends.

As the nights passed, you found more and more reasons to return. There was so much to ask these people, to know them in depth and have a candid conversation with “legends” who had lived decades before you.

Then there was the rest of the art in the museum. John Lennon walked you through an exhibit of the more political pieces and he spoke with a passion you had only wished to have seen in another life. Freddie and Elton took you through the temporary exhibit on avant-garde fashion in the 1800’s. One night, Roger rushed off with you as you showed him your favorite exhibit. He listened in a sort of wonder as you spoke about one of your many passions, and Brian listened in from somewhere a little way’s back, before excusing himself when realizing just how rude he was being by eavesdropping.

You didn’t notice the slight glint of jealousy in his eyes when you returned with Roger sometime later.

The nights continued to pass, and the moon greeted you every evening with a promise of unbridled possibilities. You found discussions of spirituality with George enriching, chats with Bowie on the most minuscule matters of literature, and then there was Brian.

Finding a reason to spend time alone with Brian wasn’t difficult. He always wanted to show you something, or have you talk for long periods about different things you wad worked on throughout the museum. Some nights, you could barely get a word in with someone else without seeing a smile on Brian’s face and a promise of a new adventure. It wasn’t hard to agree.

He always waited, though. If you needed to talk with someone about a pressing matter, he would gently stand close to you and wait. As patient and gentle as waves crashing against the sand, he was a constant that made your heart soar sometimes. Just when you were really thinking about it. About him.

But then, as quickly as it started, it halted. He stopped waiting to greet you every evening, leaving you to search him out. Roger or Freddie would always know where he was, somewhere quiet and lonely. And there would be a book in his hands, oftentimes something more academic that he could dive into. You guess he had to live up to his doctoral title somehow. You would gently say hello, and he would give you a gentle smile in return. He’d ask how you were doing; how was the weather today? Did you get enough sleep?

And you’d reply to every small-talk question that left you feeling as though he was trying to separate the two of you. When he wouldn’t try and continue, you would give up and tell him you’d find him later. He didn’t seem to mind. You tried not to either — there was so much to do.

But after a few weeks, you grew tired of the cat and mouse game he was trying to play. And you made sure he knew it.

That night you rushed in with such purpose and point that Freddie almost looked a little scared when he spotted you. That fear seemed to double when you rushed out, “Where is he?”

He pointed at the poster to your left. “Out of This World: How The Stars Create Art”, an exhibit on natural art, nebulas, and galaxies was all the way at the other end of the museum. You thanked him curtly and almost ran to get there.

But if you were out of breath, then you didn’t know what air was when you spotted Brian. He was relaxed on the ground, and as your eyes followed his, you found the glass ceiling panes above. He looked on in awe, and you felt the same when looking towards him.

Then, he noticed you. And he frowned. And you spat out the only thing you could think to say.

“I don’t think everyone likes me.”

He shot up, using a hand to prop himself up as he stared on. Perplexed was an understatement. “They’re all happy to have someone new to talk to.”

“Are you?”

You couldn’t match his eyes.

Nevertheless, you could sense his bafflement. “Of course.” Brian had never looked more confused than he did in that moment, with his eyebrows scrunched up in an almost painful movement. A frown was etched over his lips and you regretted it the moment you fully took in his expression. But it didn’t make much sense. In fact, it made about as much sense as any of these people coming to life every night. Why had he left you be for so long? “Why would you ask that?”

You made the power move. You inched yourself closer to him, as though your body knew you had been away from your friend for too long. It helped that he seemed to invite you over, giving you some space when you plopped down next to him. “I dunno. You haven’t been around the last couple of weeks, at all. Freddie couldn’t even figure out where you were the other night. And when I do find you, you’re reading some book.” With a beat, you added, “You’re more interested in it than me.”

“That’s not true.” He returned. His hand landed over yours as a comfort, but it was cold to the touch. You didn’t want to pull away, though. “I wanted to give you a little space. You’ve got quite a few personalities to meet.”

“You could have helped me with them. Do you know how difficult it is to walk up to any of these people and just try to have a nice little discussion? You’re kind of my key to this kingdom.”

He seemed even more pained, the frown becoming more and more pronounced as you continued. “I’m sorry,” he started. “I didn’t want to make you seem like you were being stifled by my company.”

“You’re good company. I don’t think that could happen.”

The sentiment managed to get the frown away, just a little. “I’m glad to hear that.” He looked down at his hand over yours, but there was pain in his gaze and you couldn’t have that.

“Hey,” you gently nudged him. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

He gave you a promising look in response. “Okay.”

As you settled back down to resume your stargazing, his arm gently guided you to lay on his chest. And he was soft and relaxing, so you couldn’t stop yourself. With your eyes fixed on the sky above, you couldn’t see his gentle looks towards you with eyes flickering between the two gorgeous views he found.

You felt a hand rake itself through your hair. Repetitious through the patterns, the feeling felt just as calming as the sight of the man doing it, and you almost thought you might fall asleep if this continued. But the best part was just being back around Brian.

You didn’t know how long you two stayed together until the alarm on your phone went off — reminding you the sun would rise soon. Brian helped you up, and the two of you chatted for a few minutes as you walked him out of the exhibit and towards his place. When you found the split in your paths, he lingered for just a moment longer than he should have. And there was that damn smile, making your heart soar. You were so close, but that soaring heart was replaced with the painful thought and memory of his cold hand. You remembered why his hand was cold.

You gave him a smile and a wave, letting him walk off.

“You should just kiss him,” a voice startled you. As you spun around, you found John watching the scene play out. Brian had already passed the last pillar of his hallway and left you to your own devices, but he didn’t seem to sense the other body as he left. How long had John been there? “Everyone sees it, [Y/N].” There was a smugness to his words, and you just wanted to punch him and that stupid smirk off his face. He did everything with good intention, but the smugness was a little too much for you at the moment.

“Well he doesn’t,” you shot back. For the life of you, you couldn’t seem to understand that man completely. Somewhere between avoidance and the moment you two had just shared, your head spun. Because he had to like you in some way? He even said he enjoyed your company. The fear that crept in when considering what he truly thought of you forced the next words out of your mouth before you could stop them. “And it’s not like I should anyways.”

Deaky’s eyebrow quirked. His amusement didn’t leave him as he asked, “Why’s that, again? Because he’s made of wax like the rest of us?”

You just continued to make word vomit as you replied. “You’re dead on it, Deacy. Hit the nail on the head.”

He rolled his eyes.

“But that doesn’t explain it. You’re just giving me some excuse.”

The fire was lit. He could see it in your eyes and how your hands curled into fists. He would be scared if he thought you would actually go into hurt him. “And how is that an excuse?” You spat. “I hate to break it to you, but you guys aren’t actually physically people. You can’t just walk out and live a normal life.”

Which was true. It was something that had hit you in a week prior when discovering you would have to go get books for Bowie. He couldn’t just walk out in the morning and grab something from the nearest bookstore or library. Going to clubs were out of the question for others. There was never going to be a sense of true normalcy between any of the people inside the building at night. Even more over, these men would never age. They’d never see another year, forever frozen and stuck in their prime. And what about you? You’d just continue to decay and live.

Yet, Deaky still continued to try. “I don’t want to sound like George—”

“Which one?”

“Either.” He shot back. One was as spiritual as they came and the other was a helpless romantic. Two very good people to have on his side. “But how would you consider any life normal? Explain me that judgement.”

“You don’t get it.” You shot back. “You literally can’t understand it.”

“Alright, fine.” He gave up. His hands went up in defeat and you found a sort of relaxation in the notion that this argument was over. “But you can’t escape liking him — you know you do.”

“Yeah, and so what? I don’t act on all of my feelings. Real people don’t do that.”

As John made his way past you, a gentle hand rested itself on your shoulder and you found him staring somewhere deep in to your soul. It was a little unnerving.

“This is going to sound cliche, but just choose not to be a real person.”

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