The Mistake
Discussion
Sunday, December 16th
"Thank you for coming, guys. Now, the first meeting of the Brain Trust--"
"You're ripping off Scrubs again."
"--can commence!"
Frank stood on his bed (still not reaching the ceiling) and beamed down at his friends. Bob was looking particularly unimpressed today while Ray just looked fucking confused. Of course, Ray's 'fro looked as happy as ever.
That is, if hair can look happy.
Who're we kidding, of course hair can look happy!
"What do you want, Frank?" Bob groaned, rubbing his beard tiredly. His friend never slept, what with his little dog barking at everything she saw. Fucking Yorkie. Fucking small dogs in general.
The tattooed boy shuffled his feet on the comforter sheepishly, trying to gather his words. But then he decided on something else, just as effective: word vomit. "Well, Mom had to go to a therapist-- actually, two. Anyway, we got to their house; you know the Way house, right? That giant one like twenty minutes from here? We got let in by the French maid--"
"Dude, was she hot?"
"Did she have hairy pits?"
"--and Mrs.Way sent me off to explore, as long as I stayed out of the basement. So, of course, I went to the basement first. The door was big and extremely heavy, and when I put my whole body weight--"
"Which isn't much."
"--on it, it barely budged! And when I got in, I found some kid, our age, I think, sitting in there. He was there for fourteen years, guys! And guess who it was? Gerard Way, supposedly dead Way son." He turned his laptop towards the guys, showing an article from fourteen years ago, narrating the death of a young boy, by the name of Gerard Way, who was hit by a drunk driver at the age of three. An obituary was below it, praising and confirming the small boy's death.
Ray and Bob shared a glance. "You do realize what you are insinuating, right? This is a big deal, if it's true," muttered the 'fro while Ray nodded along. Wait, maybe it was the other way around...? Eh, this recount is not completely accurate anyway. I'm just the messenger here.
"It is true! I saw him, I talked to him, he hugged me! Even asked me to come back, which I intend to do," Frank defended, looking surprisingly serious for such a friendly guy.
Bob looked somewhat concerned and Ray seemed downright terrified. His hair even deflated slightly. You know what, let's just call his hair "Fro" and get it over with. "You. Are. Crazy," stated Bob flatly. "What if this guy isn't Gerard Way? What if he's some kind of psychopath murderer who wants your skin to make a briefcase?"
"Enough with the 'what-if's, Bob. I know it's him. You haven't seen him; he has his parent's -- if they can even be called that at this point -- hair! Only, his looks better. He just looks better in general," Frank mused, scratching his imaginary beard thoughtfully. His hand drifted to his scorpion tattoo, which he traced light, a habit he had picked up a week after he got it. After it stopped being irritated and painful.
Ray and Bob shared another glance, Fro bouncing questioningly. "When do we get to meet him?"
Frank snorted loudly. "Just a minute ago, you guys were telling me not to go, but now you want to meet him? What changed?" he wondered, tapping his chin skeptically.
"You seem so passionate; we want to see who it is that brings such a sparkle to your eyes," stated Fro-- I mean Ray.
The shortest boy raised an eyebrow at his friends. "We'll go tomorrow night; sneak in through the window, alright?"
"Should we bring anything special?"
Frank stopped for a moment, before nodding. "Skittles, one of those mini coffeemakers, cigarettes, and a few bottles of boos."
"What are we going to do?" Ray asked, Bob looking just as confused as he did.
Frank grinned happily. "We're going to introduce Gerard to the world of teenagers."
And Fro jiggled in amusement.
"Thank you for coming, guys. Now, the first meeting of the Brain Trust--"
"You're ripping off Scrubs again."
"--can commence!"
Frank stood on his bed (still not reaching the ceiling) and beamed down at his friends. Bob was looking particularly unimpressed today while Ray just looked fucking confused. Of course, Ray's 'fro looked as happy as ever.
That is, if hair can look happy.
Who're we kidding, of course hair can look happy!
"What do you want, Frank?" Bob groaned, rubbing his beard tiredly. His friend never slept, what with his little dog barking at everything she saw. Fucking Yorkie. Fucking small dogs in general.
The tattooed boy shuffled his feet on the comforter sheepishly, trying to gather his words. But then he decided on something else, just as effective: word vomit. "Well, Mom had to go to a therapist-- actually, two. Anyway, we got to their house; you know the Way house, right? That giant one like twenty minutes from here? We got let in by the French maid--"
"Dude, was she hot?"
"Did she have hairy pits?"
"--and Mrs.Way sent me off to explore, as long as I stayed out of the basement. So, of course, I went to the basement first. The door was big and extremely heavy, and when I put my whole body weight--"
"Which isn't much."
"--on it, it barely budged! And when I got in, I found some kid, our age, I think, sitting in there. He was there for fourteen years, guys! And guess who it was? Gerard Way, supposedly dead Way son." He turned his laptop towards the guys, showing an article from fourteen years ago, narrating the death of a young boy, by the name of Gerard Way, who was hit by a drunk driver at the age of three. An obituary was below it, praising and confirming the small boy's death.
Ray and Bob shared a glance. "You do realize what you are insinuating, right? This is a big deal, if it's true," muttered the 'fro while Ray nodded along. Wait, maybe it was the other way around...? Eh, this recount is not completely accurate anyway. I'm just the messenger here.
"It is true! I saw him, I talked to him, he hugged me! Even asked me to come back, which I intend to do," Frank defended, looking surprisingly serious for such a friendly guy.
Bob looked somewhat concerned and Ray seemed downright terrified. His hair even deflated slightly. You know what, let's just call his hair "Fro" and get it over with. "You. Are. Crazy," stated Bob flatly. "What if this guy isn't Gerard Way? What if he's some kind of psychopath murderer who wants your skin to make a briefcase?"
"Enough with the 'what-if's, Bob. I know it's him. You haven't seen him; he has his parent's -- if they can even be called that at this point -- hair! Only, his looks better. He just looks better in general," Frank mused, scratching his imaginary beard thoughtfully. His hand drifted to his scorpion tattoo, which he traced light, a habit he had picked up a week after he got it. After it stopped being irritated and painful.
Ray and Bob shared another glance, Fro bouncing questioningly. "When do we get to meet him?"
Frank snorted loudly. "Just a minute ago, you guys were telling me not to go, but now you want to meet him? What changed?" he wondered, tapping his chin skeptically.
"You seem so passionate; we want to see who it is that brings such a sparkle to your eyes," stated Fro-- I mean Ray.
The shortest boy raised an eyebrow at his friends. "We'll go tomorrow night; sneak in through the window, alright?"
"Should we bring anything special?"
Frank stopped for a moment, before nodding. "Skittles, one of those mini coffeemakers, cigarettes, and a few bottles of boos."
"What are we going to do?" Ray asked, Bob looking just as confused as he did.
Frank grinned happily. "We're going to introduce Gerard to the world of teenagers."
And Fro jiggled in amusement.
Notes
THE FOURTH WALL I'M SO SORRY
Now that that is out of the way, I'll just say that you guys are great and my head hurts. And I have adware on my computer that I can't get rid of. Shit, it's frustrating.
Thank you to those who commented and subscribed and shit. Do it again.
Weird Google of the Day: Phrase: "What can you...?"
Comment and subscribe and shit.
-Stitches
Hi there. I'm not sure if you still look at this account at all, but I just reread this fic from start to finish, for the third time, and I just want to say how much I love it...if you're there. ;)
x
6/24/16