Ficlet: Serial [Bandom, MCR]
Title: Serial
Fandom: Bandom- My Chemical Romance
Character/s: Frank Iero, Mikey Way
Disclaimer: While I'm writing about actual people, this isn't true.
A/N: Written for the Music is my Boyfriend meme. themoononastickgave me the promptMikey & Frank, endless, itunes gave me the following:
Song: Ten by Ten -Bluebrains
Additional track: Rhythmic Improvisation - Sounds of Egypt
And this ended up being from my Steakpunk AU.
~~~
Frank can’t watch much of the city from his favorite seat behind the Sunset. The alley cutting along side the diner frames a narrow slice of the street out front, and he can’t see much over the roof, past the Sunset’s neon. That’s one of the reasons he likes this spot. It reminds Frank of before - before the diner, when he was living in the balcony at the Regal, spending his nights hopped up on cherry coke and artificial butter, immersing in one pretend life after another. His life now is better, but he savors the memory.
A group of students pause outside the Sunset, deep in conversation. Scarves dangling forgotten from half-zipped coats, it takes them several minutes of distracted fumbling to get the door open. All Frank catches of the conversation are Descartes and Chuck Norris.
Man, he loves hanging around college towns.
There's always so much feeling in the air. It builds up in the corners of the classrooms and echoes down hallways, pulling ghosts of long-dead or grown students into broken auditorium chairs. When the moon's high and he's out scoping the local trods, Frank always walks through the center of campus. On particularly potent moons, Frank can see all the castoff pieces gleaming between concrete and sidewalk slates, where they had been pushed into the cracks by the passage of countless feet. A different type of repetition, humans working their own trods and making the mortar of their lives more solid. Frank loves those nights. He feels so connected then, to all those people he'll never know, never meet in flesh. But he basks in their concerns and feels like he's part of it all.
There’s so much determination and passion wound up in the energy, Frank's learned it's the best place to build trods for himself. The energy there ties him down, pins his memories more firmly into place than any other location he's tried. Well, there's been a library or two and a couple of museums that have helped. Generally though, museums aren't good for order; they hold tons of memory, but even the best curated museum is about collecting more than it’s about remembering. The energy's just better at colleges. Ray would probably say something about compatibility and make analogies to electricity or music, if Frank bought this up to him. Bob would just smirk and call Frank a perpetual freshman. Whatever. The dude's several hundred years old and is spending his time washing dishes and working the grill. He's got no room to mock other people's life choices.
Out on the street a truck horn blares. The sound echoes against the brick walls surrounding him. Frank grins, and bangs his heels against the rung of the fire escape's ladder in reply. The steel rings in the chilly air, a low tone that draws up a memory of France and watching the bells being hung in a cathedral tower. It's a good memory, one with staying power.
Frank had been perched in a tree then, cloaked by homespun and the smallest glamours he could manage. It was risky, sitting there with even that small protection. The Church always had hunters in its employ and their noses were keen, especially that close to their own territory But Frank had watched the bells being cast, and tagged along to see their journey finished. And besides, he refused to be afraid of the Church. The trick was having a little caution. Unfortunately, caution is one of the first things to slip the traces when he spends too much time around mortals and their iron. He’d barely gotten away from the hunters in one piece that time. It's still a good memory.
Frank kicks his heels against the rung again and fumbles one of the cigarettes he'd swiped from Gee out from behind his ear. Feeling contrary, he lights it with a word and snap of his fingers. A couple of nearby shadows retreat, curling dim tendrils away from the small flare of light. Hambone glances up from the nest he's building out of cardboard and egg crates, his eyes catching and reflecting the light from the diner's back door. He rumbles a question up at Frank, puffs of smoke curling up from his nostrils. Frank sighs and tosses his other stolen cigarette down into the dumpster. Hambone is on it in a flash, chewing the tobacco with happy noises. Frank shakes his head and smokes. Each inhale leaves the taste of oranges on his tongue. Looks like Gerard is gate-hopping through freezer cars again. Frank's grasp of the calender year is shaky on the best of days, but it seems like this the right time of year. Gee tends to get antsy in early December, starts talking about trains and refrigerator cars and hobos so much even Mikey rolls his eyes. Not that Mikey comments; he just makes a face and lets his brother ramble. Frank can get behind that - Gerard's rambling is always entertaining. But after the holidays Mikey will get Frank to help him track down Gee's latest bolt hole. The two of them will swap the current stash of old movies and Steinbeck novels for zombie movies and new comics. Frank's seen this cycle three times now. He laughs as he realizes how clear that memory is.
Frank's discovered that there are people who act like the trods do, pinning him into the world. There's Ray and Bob of course, with their long memories and the deep nocturnal pooling power that's contained between them. So many of his fixed memories are tied to them - which, well duh. Frank's known them for centuries. But they aren't enough. Or maybe it's more that they are too much. Those two, with their perfect recall, hold onto the pieces of Frank he'd prefer to forget. Like that stupid prank in Cairo with the starch and the jugglers. Okay, yeah that was a fucking stupid idea and how was he to know that the monkey was allergic to dates? Bob still brings it up, in gleeful detail. But that shit had happened in the 19th century! Fucker.
There are other things Frank wishes Ray and Bob could forget, for their own sakes. Frank has seen how Ray watches the Ways sometimes, old grief glittering in his eyes. He's seen how both Bob and Ray hug Mikey, holding on longer than current social etiquette allows; how Bob follows Gerard when he re-surfaces after one of his longer disappearances. Frank knows this isn't the first time he's known the Ways. But he doesn't remember much from their shared past. Every once and a while his brain tosses fragments of memory out for him to marvel over, laughing at the hilarious fashion choices of his friends. But he's glad he only gets pieces.
~~~~~~~
Fandom: Bandom- My Chemical Romance
Character/s: Frank Iero, Mikey Way
Disclaimer: While I'm writing about actual people, this isn't true.
A/N: Written for the Music is my Boyfriend meme. themoononastickgave me the promptMikey & Frank, endless, itunes gave me the following:
Song: Ten by Ten -Bluebrains
Additional track: Rhythmic Improvisation - Sounds of Egypt
And this ended up being from my Steakpunk AU.
~~~
Frank can’t watch much of the city from his favorite seat behind the Sunset. The alley cutting along side the diner frames a narrow slice of the street out front, and he can’t see much over the roof, past the Sunset’s neon. That’s one of the reasons he likes this spot. It reminds Frank of before - before the diner, when he was living in the balcony at the Regal, spending his nights hopped up on cherry coke and artificial butter, immersing in one pretend life after another. His life now is better, but he savors the memory.
A group of students pause outside the Sunset, deep in conversation. Scarves dangling forgotten from half-zipped coats, it takes them several minutes of distracted fumbling to get the door open. All Frank catches of the conversation are Descartes and Chuck Norris.
Man, he loves hanging around college towns.
There's always so much feeling in the air. It builds up in the corners of the classrooms and echoes down hallways, pulling ghosts of long-dead or grown students into broken auditorium chairs. When the moon's high and he's out scoping the local trods, Frank always walks through the center of campus. On particularly potent moons, Frank can see all the castoff pieces gleaming between concrete and sidewalk slates, where they had been pushed into the cracks by the passage of countless feet. A different type of repetition, humans working their own trods and making the mortar of their lives more solid. Frank loves those nights. He feels so connected then, to all those people he'll never know, never meet in flesh. But he basks in their concerns and feels like he's part of it all.
There’s so much determination and passion wound up in the energy, Frank's learned it's the best place to build trods for himself. The energy there ties him down, pins his memories more firmly into place than any other location he's tried. Well, there's been a library or two and a couple of museums that have helped. Generally though, museums aren't good for order; they hold tons of memory, but even the best curated museum is about collecting more than it’s about remembering. The energy's just better at colleges. Ray would probably say something about compatibility and make analogies to electricity or music, if Frank bought this up to him. Bob would just smirk and call Frank a perpetual freshman. Whatever. The dude's several hundred years old and is spending his time washing dishes and working the grill. He's got no room to mock other people's life choices.
Out on the street a truck horn blares. The sound echoes against the brick walls surrounding him. Frank grins, and bangs his heels against the rung of the fire escape's ladder in reply. The steel rings in the chilly air, a low tone that draws up a memory of France and watching the bells being hung in a cathedral tower. It's a good memory, one with staying power.
Frank had been perched in a tree then, cloaked by homespun and the smallest glamours he could manage. It was risky, sitting there with even that small protection. The Church always had hunters in its employ and their noses were keen, especially that close to their own territory But Frank had watched the bells being cast, and tagged along to see their journey finished. And besides, he refused to be afraid of the Church. The trick was having a little caution. Unfortunately, caution is one of the first things to slip the traces when he spends too much time around mortals and their iron. He’d barely gotten away from the hunters in one piece that time. It's still a good memory.
Frank kicks his heels against the rung again and fumbles one of the cigarettes he'd swiped from Gee out from behind his ear. Feeling contrary, he lights it with a word and snap of his fingers. A couple of nearby shadows retreat, curling dim tendrils away from the small flare of light. Hambone glances up from the nest he's building out of cardboard and egg crates, his eyes catching and reflecting the light from the diner's back door. He rumbles a question up at Frank, puffs of smoke curling up from his nostrils. Frank sighs and tosses his other stolen cigarette down into the dumpster. Hambone is on it in a flash, chewing the tobacco with happy noises. Frank shakes his head and smokes. Each inhale leaves the taste of oranges on his tongue. Looks like Gerard is gate-hopping through freezer cars again. Frank's grasp of the calender year is shaky on the best of days, but it seems like this the right time of year. Gee tends to get antsy in early December, starts talking about trains and refrigerator cars and hobos so much even Mikey rolls his eyes. Not that Mikey comments; he just makes a face and lets his brother ramble. Frank can get behind that - Gerard's rambling is always entertaining. But after the holidays Mikey will get Frank to help him track down Gee's latest bolt hole. The two of them will swap the current stash of old movies and Steinbeck novels for zombie movies and new comics. Frank's seen this cycle three times now. He laughs as he realizes how clear that memory is.
Frank's discovered that there are people who act like the trods do, pinning him into the world. There's Ray and Bob of course, with their long memories and the deep nocturnal pooling power that's contained between them. So many of his fixed memories are tied to them - which, well duh. Frank's known them for centuries. But they aren't enough. Or maybe it's more that they are too much. Those two, with their perfect recall, hold onto the pieces of Frank he'd prefer to forget. Like that stupid prank in Cairo with the starch and the jugglers. Okay, yeah that was a fucking stupid idea and how was he to know that the monkey was allergic to dates? Bob still brings it up, in gleeful detail. But that shit had happened in the 19th century! Fucker.
There are other things Frank wishes Ray and Bob could forget, for their own sakes. Frank has seen how Ray watches the Ways sometimes, old grief glittering in his eyes. He's seen how both Bob and Ray hug Mikey, holding on longer than current social etiquette allows; how Bob follows Gerard when he re-surfaces after one of his longer disappearances. Frank knows this isn't the first time he's known the Ways. But he doesn't remember much from their shared past. Every once and a while his brain tosses fragments of memory out for him to marvel over, laughing at the hilarious fashion choices of his friends. But he's glad he only gets pieces.
~~~~~~~