Fic: Turn Up the Fakes and Lies
Title: Turn Up the Fakes and Lies
Author: iron_fist123 and vinvy
Pairing: eventual Frank/Gerard
Rating: R (for language)
Word Count: 2953
Summary: Note to self: Don't get shot again. It sucks.
Warnings: Violence, swearing, use of absurd puns and desert imagery, UST and glorified bottle rockets.
Disclaimer: Do not eat. If oral ingestion occurs contact internet service provider immediately. Oh, and by the way, we do not own the Fabulous Killjoys, much to our dismay, nor do we claim any of this insanity actually happened.
Act 1
Scene 1: (Exterminate The Lies)
There were voices, and pain, a lot of pain. He could attribute the pain in his shoulder to being shot with the crow's flasher, and the pain in his head- who’d hit him? The voices, however, were unfamiliar and quiet. Oh, so quiet.
Note to self: Don’t get shot again. It sucks.
His eyelids didn’t want to peel apart, glued shut as they were by sleep-induced mucus, but he forced them anyway. He blinked a few times in the dim light, wishing his pupils would adjust faster. He could just barely make out a dark rectangle in a far corner that may have been a door.
Frank shifted slightly, ruffling the sheets. Sheets? He was in a bed? A real bed with a mattress? Shit, this was worse than he thought.
"So, you're awake."
There was no way for even him to predict how he was going to react. It was more instinct than logic, Frank figured out when he looked back on it later. He was out of the bed in a hot second, launching himself in the direction of the voice.
He collided with something warm, definitely not a Drac.
“Fucking hell! What do you think you’re you doing?”
Second note to self: don’t go lunging at strange people. They will start cursing at you and might shoot you. And, as you may recall, getting shot sucks.
“Not staying here,” Frank grunted and shoved himself off the person.
“Why the hell not? We showed you mercy, saving you from those Dracs. The least you could do is stay and tell us what the hell you thought you were doing. Where else can you go?”
D’s place, Frank didn’t say. He didn’t know who these people were. He wasn’t about to give up his alliances just like that. He was already contemplating leaving, breaking away from the hand that had locked his arm in a death grip. But what to do from there? A two-to-one fight was not something he was looking forward to, injured and unarmed. What he’d give for that stupid traffic cone! There was also the tiny, almost insignificant detail that he had no idea where D was at the moment that he had to consider as well.
“Could you turn a light on? It’d be nice to see who I’m talking to,” Frank sighed in defeat.
The air tensed with hesitation before a second voice, terser in tone, answered. “Sure thing.”
The rustle of clothes alerted him to movement elsewhere in the room, followed by the click and whirr of fluorescent tube lights firing up. He was nearly blinded by them and sat blinking for what seemed like forever. The right side of his head was being split open by a dull, insistent spoon. His eyelids slid shut of their own accord, his body blocking the source of his pain. Frank pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, letting a groan slip free. This wasn’t just a headache- it was a full on migraine, the kind that made his body feel like it’d been hit by an entire football team’s starting line-up.
When he finally gathered the will to open his eyes, he drank in the room before him. It was small, but crammed with all the junk imaginable. By the door- Frank could see it’s steel rivets clearly now- a table stood loaded down with pieces of machinery and tools, perhaps for building weaponry. The walls were shrines papered with pictures of musicians and actors from decades past. The Rolling Stones, Bela Lugosi, The Beatles, Boris Karloff- all of them and more stared down in living color. A desk in the corner was piled to the ceiling with what looked like old comic books and Murder magazines, things Frank hadn’t seen since the Cleansing of 2015. (It’d killed him to see all those books and films vaporized into meaningless piles of dust. Something in his chest mended just a little at the knowledge that art hadn’t been completely destroyed- it was still out in the world, piled away into musty catacombs like this one.)
The stacks weren’t the most noticeable thing in the room however- neither was the flasher-wielding, angry-looking crash queen. No, the man sitting almost directly opposite him stood out far more. That man had him fixed with a steady stare. With his vibrant mess of greasy red hair (Frank cringed at the stringy clumps- he’d never once in his life missed a daily shower- this guy was disgusting) and blue Dead Pegasus jacket the effect ought to have been comic- like a circus clown- but his utter lack of expression was unnerving. Even more so on the porcelain complexion that purveyed it.
Frank averted his gaze to the leather jacket. It was stolen, obviously. Only drones who worked at Dead Pegasus wore the jackets. It made him wonder what exactly the man had done to get it. Note to Self: These people are thieves. Do not trust them. 10-4 Rubber Duck, over and out.
“So, you wanna tell us what happened?”
“What do you think happened? I was almost dusted by a bunch of Dracs.”
The other man scoffed and Frank’s attention was drawn to him. “Well, duh. Why were they after you? That’s what we want to know. I could care less about your sorry ass. You do realize you’re damn lucky that we follow Dr. D’s orders around here?”
Frank rolled his eyes,“Don’t have a heart attack. Let me finish- who said I was done talking?” What a bitch. (He was allowed to call the guy a bitch- he was wearing a girly shirt, for Christ’s sake. What self-respecting man in his right mind would wear olive zebra stripes out in public?) “Now that this story is derailed, I want your names before I say anything else.”
The girly-man glared at him. Frank had seen that look on D’s face about a million times before and there was no loss in communication. It clearly said: Bitch, please. “How about you give us your name first or I’ll ghost you?”
Again, there was a flasher in his face. This one was bright crimson. Frank was beginning to think this guy was compensating and somehow refrained from asking the question aloud.
I should ask the red head about that later... assuming I live long enough to. Now that he was thinking about it, there were several things he could plan to ask him about. Damn it! This is counterproductive. Stay focused!
“I’m not stupid. Names don’t mean a damn thing in the desert, unless you’re using them for BLI.” Frank did his best to ignore the flasher in his face and leaned back, pillowing his still-throbbing head on his left arm (moving the right one was agony). Act like you’ve got control over the situation. The first thing D taught you when you met him. That’s the most important thing to remember in life or death situations.
“Well, Dr. D had to have called you something, nobody in his army goes without a nickname of some kind,” the distracting greasy one spoke up, leaning forward. Frank did his best to keep his focus on the situation at hand.
“You seem to know a lot about D. Care to explain why?”
He gave Frank a horribly charming grin. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
It was very difficult not to sit up and inch away from him. The spy swallowed hard in the interest of keeping his poker face in place. “Then I believe we have reached an impasse.”
“Party Poison.”
“Excuse me?” Confusion bled through Frank’s firm tone. A niggling sense of familiarity itched at Frank’s brain. That same sense made the pain at the base of his skull sharpen intensely.
“My name- it’s Party Poison. The asshole behind me is Kobra Kid. Jet Star is around here somewhere, you’ll meet him later. Who are you?” He enunciated the question slowly and Frank could almost see the letters floating from his lips.
“I’m Frank.” They were the truest words that had ever left his mouth. In a moment of absurd habit he offered his hand to the ridiculous man.
Party Poison cocked his head in a fashion that perturbed Frank, before clasping it warmly in his own and giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet ya, Frank.”
“Hate to interrupt this lovely moment, but you still haven’t answered my question.”
Frank released Poison’s hand and nodded at Kobra. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve been a spy for about two years, workin’ for Dr. D., of course. I got roped into the whole mess by accident, really. Found an old transmission in a bunker in Battery City- I mean really old, pre-2015 Burn old- telling me to get my ass out to Zone 5 if I ever decided I wanted to make my life mean something. I didn’t get it, at first- I was just kinda bored and in need of entertainment so I went.”
“You’re telling me that you escaped Battery City and made it all the way out to Zone 5 because you were bored?”
Frank bit his lip. “Yeah. That a problem? It’s not hard when you know all the right tunnels to use.”
“Oh, no, not at all. You’ll fit right in, actually.” Poison gave Frank a blinding smirk, ignoring Kobra’s seething pout and scandalized posture.
“Fit in,” Frank repeated flatly, forgetting about finishing his story. “You want me to stay here?”
Poison looked confused. “Sure, where else would you go? If you even think about setting foot inside the City you’re Crow feed. You can’t go to D’s. He’s got Show Pony with him and they never stay in one place long enough for anyone to find them. It surprises me that you ran into them with the direction of an obsolete transmission.”
Kobra stood abruptly, his expression warped with fury. “Poison I think we should talk privately. Now.”
The friendly redhead whined. “Can’t it wait? Frank isn’t finished with his story. You always used to like story time- what happened?”
“Shut the hell up and come here, asshole.” Kobra jerked Poison up by the arm and led him through the steel door. Frank had a momentary glimpse of chrome and a jukebox in the room beyond before the door slammed shut. So, he was in a diner. That was... just about the weirdest thing ever. A lock clicked into place.
“Great. Just peachy. What to do now...” Frank bit his lip.
He was locked up in a room with no windows, one door, and potential murderers just outside- it was not exactly an ideal environment for entertainment. He was going to be so bored. He contemplated beating his head against the wall but then decided that would only make his headache worse. Which reminded him- his shoulder still kind of hurt. Actually, it hurt a lot.
“Frank,” he said to the room, “make a note of this: if they decide not to kill you, get some fuckin’ pain meds!”
Silence was about the most infuriating thing at that moment... if he had to listen to his head pounding for even a second longer he’d have to get up and start kicking things to take his mind off of it!
Breaking glass made him jump. From outside the door he overhear- which one was it?- the mean one, Kobra Kid, shouting. “...what are you thinking? We can’t keep him! It’s not like he’s a fuckin’ dog, Gerard! People aren’t so easy to train.”
So Poison’s real name was Gerard. Frank filed the information away for future use, maybe blackmail. He did like blackmailing people- it always made for good fun.
“You know what? Fuck you and the horse you rode in on! I found him and I say I’m fuckin’ keepin’ him! Or are you gonna disobey me, Kobra? Huh? After all I’ve done for you?” In less than ten seconds he’d gone from an indignant bellow to a threatening murmur.
“Fuck you, G. That’s a low blow and you know it. Fine, you can keep your little project. But don’t expect me to pull your ass out of the fire when it all goes downhill and he betrays us like Cherri.”
There was the sick thump of flesh hitting metal and Frank cringed.
“Don’t you say that shit about Cherri. It wasn’t him. I told you already. And Frank won’t betray us, either. Didn’t you hear him? Loyal to Dr. D for two years! He won’t sell out. Not that easy, not after all the trouble he’s been through. D ain’t exactly the easiest guy to work for.”
“Whatever you say, G.” Kobra’s voice was filled with skeptical venom that rivaled that of his namesake. “Just remember what you said, because I know it’ll come back to bite you in the ass.”
Silence filled the diner’s back room once more. Kobra Kid thought Frank would stab them in the back. That did a lot to explain the waves of hatred radiating from him. The feeling was almost mutual. It was entirely understandable- never trust strangers, not even ones as... interesting as Party Poison.
Speak of the devil.
Poison reentered the backroom looking less chipper but relieved to be away from Kobra. There was a distinct lack of angry Kid, not that Frank had dared assume the man would return.
“So,” Poison said brightly, “Finish the story?”
It took Frank’s brain a moment or two to catch up with the present. He was feeling foggy and a nap sounded ideal. “Okay, yeah. So, you know the whole leaving the City thing- easy. Just had to crawl through the right sewer tunnels and whatnot- hoped I wouldn’t make a wrong turn and end up in the ocean. The desert was and still is miserable, but then, it wasn’t as hot, so I could search for longer periods of time.
“But you see I’m kind of prone to being distracted- it’s not just the head wound- and I forgot to bring any sort of map... not that I’d expect the BL/ ind ones to be reliable. You get the point. I wandered around for a while, bumming cigarettes and food off of zone runners and trying to get them to help me out. You know how they are though- won’t trust you as far as they can throw you... Hey, do you think you could get me something for my shoulder? It kind of really fucking hurts.”
The pain had gradually been increasing as he spoke. He also had a suspicion that there was something very wrong with his head. Did they have BL/ind miracle pills out here? He sure hoped they did, because as much as he hated those things, he would admit to their effectiveness.
“Yeah, sure. Lemme get you some nitros.” Poison disappeared through the steel door, leaving it wide open this time.
Frank made an effort to sit up now, vision swimming. After a minute of fighting back nausea, he managed to prop himself up against the tiled wall. On the bright side they hadn’t decided to kill him after all- the situation was looking up.
“Hey, you, catch!”
On reflex Frank’s hand shot up to catch the bottle flung at him. He succeeded in not dropping it but in doing so he sacrificed the near-numb state of his right shoulder. Electricity shot up an down his tricep. It was like getting shot all over again.
“Shitfuck!” He cradled his arm to his chest.
Poison giggled.
“Fucking sadist.”
“Fucking masochist,” Poison shot back, grinning, “Just be glad there’s someone here to take care you you! Take the pills and lemme see the shoulder.”
Frank glared at him. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Shut up.Let’s see it, so I can rub some salve on that shit. Or do you want it to get infected? I’m sure you’d just love all that oozing pus and the stench of rotting flesh. I know somebody who’s a pro at amputations, too.”
He sighed and tugged off his dirt-smeared and burnt BLI uniform shirt, careful to move his right arm as little as possible.
Poison let out a low whistle. “Ouch- a second degree burn. That looks fun.”
“No, really?”
“Really really.” He sat down beside Frank and twisted the lid off the glass container in his hands.
Frank didn’t bother with a reply this time. Every muscle in his body had tensed up in preparation of having his flasher wound prodded. The laser beam had just grazed the top of his shoulder and it had cauterized immediately, but that didn’t make the groove etched into his skin any less agonizing. He jumped and almost fell over when Poison placed his cold hand on his shoulder.
“Dude, chill.” He gingerly scooped some of the salve onto two fingers and massaged it into the burn.
“ You get a second degree burn and let me go pokin’ it with freezing fuckin’ fingers. Then I’ll chill. Ass.” The salve stunk of antiseptic but had a cooling effect on the burn. Frank could feel his shoulder starting to go numb again. He hoped the sensation would stay for a while.
“Listen, we’ll get you some different rags later, yeah? I know just the guy to go to,” Poison said after a minute. He sat back and surveyed his work before nodding and screwing the lid shut on the jar of salve. “Get some z’s, will ya? You’re gonna need to be super charged tomorrow. We’re taking you out running.”
Frank nodded and popped the top off the pill bottle, tipping it up and swallowing a couple capsules. If one was good more was better, right?