I was chatting online with
calathea squeeing over MCR, the concert, my jealousy of
sinden and
hnix, when I told her about Ray and Frank at the Sydney show. How adorable they were. I ended up with this image in my head from it.
Frank comes down the stairs of the house they’ve rented to write the next album. The place isn’t haunted like The Paramour. It doesn’t even have all that much character. It’s pretty new with sleek lines and comfortable furniture, but it’s on the East Coast and it’s cold outside. What sold them on the house was the sound. There’s this room and the acoustics are amazing. The sound they’re making is, well, it’s different, but still them. The angst is still there, but it’s like the pain isn’t. The music is flowing in a very My Chem kind of way.
It’s starting to get light and as he reaches the bottom, Frank can hear a guitar playing. It's acoustic and mournful, just a quiet little riff - new. The sound is echoing, bouncing off the walls and wooden floor of the practice room.
He'd know Ray's playing if he were deaf. He doesn't go in because this is private, but he'll listen. Sliding down the wall, knees up, Frank lights a cigarette and lets it wash over him. Ray fumbles once or twice, just getting it down and then plays the whole piece through.
It's quiet for a while and Frank takes a drag of his cigarette. Then his riff from Monroeville comes through the door way.
Frank can't help grinning. Ray knows he’s there.