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: 2644
Summary: "So whats with the kid?"... "When we got in the car earlier she was just curled up in the back asleep. ...I'm pretty sure they were testing something on her."
Warnings: Violence, profanity, centipedes, etc.
Disclaimer: Killjoys not included. Sold Seperately. (Because, children, we don't own them.)
Act 1
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
Act 2
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
Frank had done his best to maintain a furious silence but the itching curiosity was getting the best of him. “So what’s with the kid?”
There was little girl in the car’s back seat with them, clinging to Jet Star as if her life depended on it. She could have been his daughter, with the curly hair she was sporting. Her white BLI uniform was caked with grime and dried blood, something that was unseen in the City.
“You remember those kids I told you about? The ones that BLI took off the streets or whatever?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s one of ‘em. See, she’s got this little ID number tattooed on her arm. I recognize her eyes, but her hair’s gotten longer,” Jet mused, “When we got in the car earlier she was just curled up in the back asleep.”
“Does she talk?”
The little girl, looking all of ten years old, stared at the world with wide blue eyes.
“I don’t know if she still can. I’m pretty sure they were testing something on her. If it was the Zone Virus, she’s still got the fever but she doesn’t look contagious any more.” He pointed to some patches of scabs on her arm, “See those? If they were still open sores she’d be contagious, but she’s past that point now. I think she might die. Most of them do- hallucinations are the next stage.” The man looked remorseful about his brutal honesty when the girl buried her face in his shoulder, trembling. He patted her back and made soothing noises.
“Oh,” was all Frank could think of to say. That... well that just sucked. The poor little kid.
The break in conversation melted back into silence. They were in Zone 2, about thirty minutes outside of the City, showing no signs of slowing. With the way Poison drove, that wasn’t surprising.
A flare of anger rose at the thought of the man, sending Frank spiraling down into a pit of brooding once more. “Stupid Poison,” he muttered. “Stupid Kobra and Jet Star and their stupid little group.”
“Shut up, you ghoul,” Kobra commanded, sending him a sharp look.
Ghoul? What the hell was that, some stupid nickname to spite me? It sounds more like an insult. Asshole.
“Ghoul,” Poison repeated. “I like it. How about we call him... Fun Ghoul?” He nodded his approval.
Kobra stared at him incredulously. “Fun? Ha, he’s anything but fun, Ger- Poison.”
“He’s Fun Ghoul now,” Poison insisted glaring at the man next to him.
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Frank complained.
“Shut the fuck up, Ghoul.”
Frank shook head and crossed his arms over his chest, glowering out the window. The desert got more and more hostile each time he saw it.
In front of him Kobra made a displeased sound. His eyes were trained on the side-view mirror. “Hey, we got some company comin’ up fast.”
There was a collective sigh, like being hunted was tedious to them. Of course, Frank knew he ought to expect nothing less.
The whine of a flasher reached his ears just before it struck the side of the Trans Am, denting and burning the door. Poison swerved off the road, cursing in languages that had been dead for decades. He shifted the car out of the low gear they’d been cruising in and accelerated.
Kobra caught sight of a bald head glinting in the desert sun. “Fucking Korse,” he hissed, sliding his flasher out of the holster. He rolled his window down and stuck his head out into the air, pumping off a few shots into at the motorcycles behind them.
Frank felt familiar panic sinking into his bones. Yeah, if they caught up with the Killjoys he was ash. Korse would be happy to have the honour of painting the dirt with his blood then burning his corpse. For all the time he’d been a digirunner for Ms. F and all the messages he’d handed over to the head of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, they’d never gotten along well.
Frank held his hand out in desperation. “Gimme a gun!”
“No fuckin’ way!” Kobra slapped his hand away and hauled himself up so most of his upper body was out the window. It was much easier to aim that way.
I’m gonna die out here with these assholes, oh shit, this is not how I wanted to go. Calm down, Frank, freaking out isn’t going to help anything, it’ll just make things so much worse.
“You take Grace!” Jet shouted, ducking his head as a flash of light entered the car and through the windshield. He pushed the little girl into Frank’s lap. She clung onto him immediately like a baby koala or something equally fluffy and small. “Keep her safe or I’ll dust you!” Jet stood in his seat, pulling his own flasher out and shooting off round after round.
Frank ducked his head and pushed the girl down into a crouch on the carpeted floor. “Keep your head down, okay?” She blinked up at him. Her eyes seemed blearier- she looked seriously ill.
The feral snarls of the Dracs were clear now, the rumble of their motorcycles surrounding the Trans Am, a thunderous roar that made Frank’s head ache. The little girl, Grace, cringed and screamed.
“Cover your ears,” he said, wrapping himself around her. Protect her? Fine. He’d be a human shield if need be- seeing a child this scared was simply not okay. She pressed her palms hard against the sides of her head. Frank patted her hair and tried to ignore the heat radiating from her- this fever was a deadly one, bio-engineered or not.
He glanced up at Jet, who was still firing shot after shot. He remembered what the man had said, that he had wicked aim, and hoped that it proved to be true. He’d heard stories about Korse following runners out into the Zones. He was the Chief Exterminator, sent out to crush everyone who was trying to survive without BLI. If they could take out his unit of Dracs, he would usually step off and head back to the City for reinforcements. He was too much of a coward to work alone. If this were really the case they could buy themselves valuable time.
It sounded quieter, like there were only a few Dracs left, but he couldn’t be sure and he wasn’t going to risk raising his head to find out. He was many things but suicidal was not one of them, no matter how bad things got or how stupid the choices he made. Jet fired off a few more rounds then let out a heavy sigh. Kobra pulled himself back into the car and holstered his flasher.
“He’s gone- he took the last few Dracs with him. I think we managed to get most of ‘em,” Jet reported to the back of Poison’s head. He sent Frank a wide grin and sat down, his legs wobbling with excess adrenaline. “Is Grace alright?”
Frank pulled himself off the floor, bringing Grace with him. She had her arms cinched around his chest. “Well, she’s still sick but I think that she’s alright. I don’t really know, actually.”
Jet accepted the lame answer with a nod.
“Hey, Poison,” Kobra said, “If D has no use for the new guy can I shoot him? Nothing life threatening- just in the foot or something for all the trouble he’s caused.”
“You’re funny, real fuckin’ funny,” Frank griped, instantly feeling guilty for swearing in front of a child.
“That sounds like a good idea, Kobra,” Poison made eye contact with Frank in the rear-view mirror and smiled, “I like the way you think.”
A violent crackle of static interrupted the relative calm of the car. “Hey, no shootin’ my spy.”
“Shit! I knew I should have turned this thing off.” Poison snatched up the microphone connected to the radio. He depressed a button on the side of it, “Hey there D! Sorry about that- Kobra’s PMSing. If you ignore him he’ll go away.”
“Don’t think I didn’t hear you too, Poison. I got ears everywhere. About my spy here- I need him. Now. He’s got something I gotta have. I’m squatting out in Zone 6 this week, be here in an hour or I’ll send Show Pony out to find you.”
“Sure thing, D,” Poison laughed sheepishly.
“One more thing, Poison- if I found out you or Kobra hurt Frank in any way, it will not go over well.” The warning sounded more like a death threat. “He’s got too many good uses.”
“See you in an hour, D, over and out,” Kobra interrupted, ending the conversation and putting the mic back on its hook.
Poison suddenly giggled. “Good uses, huh?”
“Just shut up. I don’t like you right now.” Frank glared at him.
The red head continued chuckling to himself and steered the car in the general direction of the highway.
Grace tugged on the sleeve of Frank’s shirt.
He glanced down at her. “What’s up munchkin?”
“I’m tired... and there are centipedes on your head,” she whispered.
Frank let out a yelp and jumped violently. He swatted at his skull in attempt to knock away and crush any unwanted multi-legged visitors.
“Frank? What in the hell are you doing?”
“Oh hell no! Fuckin’ bugs!” He shuddered and looked around wildly. “Where are the fuckin’ bugs?”
“Frank! There’s nothing there.” Jet was watching him with a raised eyebrow.
Grace slid away from him and leaned on Jet Star. “He’s crazy.”
“S-she said there were centipedes on my head!” Frank pointed a shaky finger at the innocent little girl.
“Yeah and she’s hallucinating, oh-brain-damaged one.” Kobra had turned back to watch Frank’s jittery convulsions and was having serious trouble speaking between bursts of laughter.
The laugh- a rather jolly sound that he hadn’t thought surly Kobra capable of- spread through the car, first hitting Poison then igniting Jet Star and Grace. The concentration of glee in that car was high enough to rot the teeth of the whole BLI Corporation and then some.
“Oh, screw you all,” Frank folded his arms over his chest and turned to the window yet again. Not right. Not fucking right!You don’t laugh at a guy for something like that. Note to self: put scorpions and/or spiders in the sleeping places of all these bastards.... well, except Grace. She’s sick and doesn’t know what she’s doing.
“Hey, you gotta admit it’s pretty funny to watch someone spazz over somethin’ that ain’t there,” Poison looked over his shoulder at him. “You know it is. We don’t mean any harm.”
He let out a heavy sigh, knowing damn well that he sounded like a pouting child. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”
Party Poison clucked his tongue. “So, who wants to hear some music?”
“Fuck yeah finally!” Kobra almost tackled the glove box, digging through the stash of CD’s stuffed in there. Excitement made his hands shake just a little as he slid the disc into the stereo. The album began playing at once. Kobra’s entire body relaxed immediately as he nodded his head to the beat, his fingers tapping out the bass line on the windowsill.
The blend of twisting guitar riffs and hoarse lyrics wormed their way right into Frank’s brain. He recognized the song, something from the ‘90s that he barely remembered but knew he’d always liked. It was good to hear music, Frank realized, after being shut off from the real thing for so long. The canned crap BLI put out was nothing compared to this- there was no real emotion in it. There was genuine anger in that noise- that loud, fast, perfect noise. He hadn’t even realized that he had missed it.
~~
Dr. Death Defying’s current residence was about as unassuming as they came. The two story house in the middle of miles of salt flats once must have looked every bit the polished Colonial home. Now it was just shelter from radiation and various bandits with peeling paint and a makeshift wheelchair ramp on one side of the porch.
Show Pony hopped down the front steps on his trademark roller-skates and glided to meet the car.
Poison threw it in park then cut the engine and stepped out. The other three followed his lead, Kobra Kid striding on into the house and skipping the socializing.
“I hear you got a slick acquaintance rolling with you,” Poison called out to the man on wheels.
“And where’d you hear that?” Show Pony replied, spinning around in front of him.
“From the static. Tells you a lot when you know what to listen for.”
The whole exchange was familiar, strikingly so, like reciting words to a well-known song.
Show Pony nodded sagely. “Words of truth. ...Hey, is that Frankie?”
Frank had been inching his way behind Jet Star who was holding Grace. He’d hoped not to get noticed. In fact he’d have sold his soul not to get noticed. Sadly, Jet made an inadequate shield as he refused to let himself be clung to by two people at once.
Show Pony skated closer and around Jet Star, smiling. Frank backed away a bit.
“Frankie, you’ve lost weight,” he complained, running a finger across the shorter man’s stomach. “Have they been feeding you?”
“Yeah, actually, Poison made me breakfast today and I had lunch at home.” Now back off!
“What?” The roller derby diva placed his hands on his polka-dot clad hips. “Poison,” he pointed at the red head, “cooked you breakfast?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
Horror etched itself across his high cheekbones and he clapped a hand across his mouth with a gasp. “Holy Motorbox! You poor thing!” Show Pony wrapped him in a crushing hug. “What the hell is wrong with you Party Poison? You tryin’ to kill him? Didn’t Dr. D warn you that we needed him?”
Frank flailed, trying to breathe.
“Piss off, Ladyboy,” Poison spat. “Let go before you break him.” He shoved Show Pony a little harder than needed, sending him sliding several feet away from Frank.
Now able to work his lungs properly, it hit him that that had been why Poison was a general ass all day long- he’d was insulted by Frank’s abhorred reaction to the food.
“His cooking wasn’t that bad, Show Pony. It sure as hell beat the burnt soupy shit you tried to feed me two years ago. I ain’t ever gonna trust you in spitting range of a kitchen again.”
Show Pony looked him up and down, sniffed indignantly and started skating away. “Come on- Dr. D is waiting.” He whipped back around suddenly. “The brat is house trained, right?”
“Shut up, she’s sleeping,” Jet Star punched him in the arm and went inside to escape the blistering sun.
Party Poison lingered for a moment, eyes fixed solely on Frank. There was a certain tilt of his chin that almost implied fondness. It was strange, to be looked at like that. The only other time he'd seen a look similar to that it'd been on the face of his first, last and only girlfriend in college before he'd told her that the nice dinner was not to propose but to come out of the closet. It hadn't gone over so well- gay men were okay as long as she wasn’t dating them. Seeing Poison look at him like that made him feel like he was welcome for the first time, instead of just the trouble-magnet and interloper he had been.
The long second passed and they mounted the porch. Poison stepped ahead and held open the ratty screen door for him. Frank trained his eyes on the wood floor under his feet and hoped that Poison didn’t notice him blushing. The barely audible self-satisfied chuckled that followed him into the house told him otherwise.
Author:iron_fist123 and vinvy
Pairing: eventual Frank/Gerard
Rating: R (for language)
Word Count: 2644
Summary: "So whats with the kid?"... "When we got in the car earlier she was just curled up in the back asleep. ...I'm pretty sure they were testing something on her."
Warnings: Violence, profanity, centipedes, etc.
Disclaimer: Killjoys not included. Sold Seperately. (Because, children, we don't own them.)
Act 1
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
Act 2
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
Frank had done his best to maintain a furious silence but the itching curiosity was getting the best of him. “So what’s with the kid?”
There was little girl in the car’s back seat with them, clinging to Jet Star as if her life depended on it. She could have been his daughter, with the curly hair she was sporting. Her white BLI uniform was caked with grime and dried blood, something that was unseen in the City.
“You remember those kids I told you about? The ones that BLI took off the streets or whatever?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s one of ‘em. See, she’s got this little ID number tattooed on her arm. I recognize her eyes, but her hair’s gotten longer,” Jet mused, “When we got in the car earlier she was just curled up in the back asleep.”
“Does she talk?”
The little girl, looking all of ten years old, stared at the world with wide blue eyes.
“I don’t know if she still can. I’m pretty sure they were testing something on her. If it was the Zone Virus, she’s still got the fever but she doesn’t look contagious any more.” He pointed to some patches of scabs on her arm, “See those? If they were still open sores she’d be contagious, but she’s past that point now. I think she might die. Most of them do- hallucinations are the next stage.” The man looked remorseful about his brutal honesty when the girl buried her face in his shoulder, trembling. He patted her back and made soothing noises.
“Oh,” was all Frank could think of to say. That... well that just sucked. The poor little kid.
The break in conversation melted back into silence. They were in Zone 2, about thirty minutes outside of the City, showing no signs of slowing. With the way Poison drove, that wasn’t surprising.
A flare of anger rose at the thought of the man, sending Frank spiraling down into a pit of brooding once more. “Stupid Poison,” he muttered. “Stupid Kobra and Jet Star and their stupid little group.”
“Shut up, you ghoul,” Kobra commanded, sending him a sharp look.
Ghoul? What the hell was that, some stupid nickname to spite me? It sounds more like an insult. Asshole.
“Ghoul,” Poison repeated. “I like it. How about we call him... Fun Ghoul?” He nodded his approval.
Kobra stared at him incredulously. “Fun? Ha, he’s anything but fun, Ger- Poison.”
“He’s Fun Ghoul now,” Poison insisted glaring at the man next to him.
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Frank complained.
“Shut the fuck up, Ghoul.”
Frank shook head and crossed his arms over his chest, glowering out the window. The desert got more and more hostile each time he saw it.
In front of him Kobra made a displeased sound. His eyes were trained on the side-view mirror. “Hey, we got some company comin’ up fast.”
There was a collective sigh, like being hunted was tedious to them. Of course, Frank knew he ought to expect nothing less.
The whine of a flasher reached his ears just before it struck the side of the Trans Am, denting and burning the door. Poison swerved off the road, cursing in languages that had been dead for decades. He shifted the car out of the low gear they’d been cruising in and accelerated.
Kobra caught sight of a bald head glinting in the desert sun. “Fucking Korse,” he hissed, sliding his flasher out of the holster. He rolled his window down and stuck his head out into the air, pumping off a few shots into at the motorcycles behind them.
Frank felt familiar panic sinking into his bones. Yeah, if they caught up with the Killjoys he was ash. Korse would be happy to have the honour of painting the dirt with his blood then burning his corpse. For all the time he’d been a digirunner for Ms. F and all the messages he’d handed over to the head of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, they’d never gotten along well.
Frank held his hand out in desperation. “Gimme a gun!”
“No fuckin’ way!” Kobra slapped his hand away and hauled himself up so most of his upper body was out the window. It was much easier to aim that way.
I’m gonna die out here with these assholes, oh shit, this is not how I wanted to go. Calm down, Frank, freaking out isn’t going to help anything, it’ll just make things so much worse.
“You take Grace!” Jet shouted, ducking his head as a flash of light entered the car and through the windshield. He pushed the little girl into Frank’s lap. She clung onto him immediately like a baby koala or something equally fluffy and small. “Keep her safe or I’ll dust you!” Jet stood in his seat, pulling his own flasher out and shooting off round after round.
Frank ducked his head and pushed the girl down into a crouch on the carpeted floor. “Keep your head down, okay?” She blinked up at him. Her eyes seemed blearier- she looked seriously ill.
The feral snarls of the Dracs were clear now, the rumble of their motorcycles surrounding the Trans Am, a thunderous roar that made Frank’s head ache. The little girl, Grace, cringed and screamed.
“Cover your ears,” he said, wrapping himself around her. Protect her? Fine. He’d be a human shield if need be- seeing a child this scared was simply not okay. She pressed her palms hard against the sides of her head. Frank patted her hair and tried to ignore the heat radiating from her- this fever was a deadly one, bio-engineered or not.
He glanced up at Jet, who was still firing shot after shot. He remembered what the man had said, that he had wicked aim, and hoped that it proved to be true. He’d heard stories about Korse following runners out into the Zones. He was the Chief Exterminator, sent out to crush everyone who was trying to survive without BLI. If they could take out his unit of Dracs, he would usually step off and head back to the City for reinforcements. He was too much of a coward to work alone. If this were really the case they could buy themselves valuable time.
It sounded quieter, like there were only a few Dracs left, but he couldn’t be sure and he wasn’t going to risk raising his head to find out. He was many things but suicidal was not one of them, no matter how bad things got or how stupid the choices he made. Jet fired off a few more rounds then let out a heavy sigh. Kobra pulled himself back into the car and holstered his flasher.
“He’s gone- he took the last few Dracs with him. I think we managed to get most of ‘em,” Jet reported to the back of Poison’s head. He sent Frank a wide grin and sat down, his legs wobbling with excess adrenaline. “Is Grace alright?”
Frank pulled himself off the floor, bringing Grace with him. She had her arms cinched around his chest. “Well, she’s still sick but I think that she’s alright. I don’t really know, actually.”
Jet accepted the lame answer with a nod.
“Hey, Poison,” Kobra said, “If D has no use for the new guy can I shoot him? Nothing life threatening- just in the foot or something for all the trouble he’s caused.”
“You’re funny, real fuckin’ funny,” Frank griped, instantly feeling guilty for swearing in front of a child.
“That sounds like a good idea, Kobra,” Poison made eye contact with Frank in the rear-view mirror and smiled, “I like the way you think.”
A violent crackle of static interrupted the relative calm of the car. “Hey, no shootin’ my spy.”
“Shit! I knew I should have turned this thing off.” Poison snatched up the microphone connected to the radio. He depressed a button on the side of it, “Hey there D! Sorry about that- Kobra’s PMSing. If you ignore him he’ll go away.”
“Don’t think I didn’t hear you too, Poison. I got ears everywhere. About my spy here- I need him. Now. He’s got something I gotta have. I’m squatting out in Zone 6 this week, be here in an hour or I’ll send Show Pony out to find you.”
“Sure thing, D,” Poison laughed sheepishly.
“One more thing, Poison- if I found out you or Kobra hurt Frank in any way, it will not go over well.” The warning sounded more like a death threat. “He’s got too many good uses.”
“See you in an hour, D, over and out,” Kobra interrupted, ending the conversation and putting the mic back on its hook.
Poison suddenly giggled. “Good uses, huh?”
“Just shut up. I don’t like you right now.” Frank glared at him.
The red head continued chuckling to himself and steered the car in the general direction of the highway.
Grace tugged on the sleeve of Frank’s shirt.
He glanced down at her. “What’s up munchkin?”
“I’m tired... and there are centipedes on your head,” she whispered.
Frank let out a yelp and jumped violently. He swatted at his skull in attempt to knock away and crush any unwanted multi-legged visitors.
“Frank? What in the hell are you doing?”
“Oh hell no! Fuckin’ bugs!” He shuddered and looked around wildly. “Where are the fuckin’ bugs?”
“Frank! There’s nothing there.” Jet was watching him with a raised eyebrow.
Grace slid away from him and leaned on Jet Star. “He’s crazy.”
“S-she said there were centipedes on my head!” Frank pointed a shaky finger at the innocent little girl.
“Yeah and she’s hallucinating, oh-brain-damaged one.” Kobra had turned back to watch Frank’s jittery convulsions and was having serious trouble speaking between bursts of laughter.
The laugh- a rather jolly sound that he hadn’t thought surly Kobra capable of- spread through the car, first hitting Poison then igniting Jet Star and Grace. The concentration of glee in that car was high enough to rot the teeth of the whole BLI Corporation and then some.
“Oh, screw you all,” Frank folded his arms over his chest and turned to the window yet again. Not right. Not fucking right!You don’t laugh at a guy for something like that. Note to self: put scorpions and/or spiders in the sleeping places of all these bastards.... well, except Grace. She’s sick and doesn’t know what she’s doing.
“Hey, you gotta admit it’s pretty funny to watch someone spazz over somethin’ that ain’t there,” Poison looked over his shoulder at him. “You know it is. We don’t mean any harm.”
He let out a heavy sigh, knowing damn well that he sounded like a pouting child. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”
Party Poison clucked his tongue. “So, who wants to hear some music?”
“Fuck yeah finally!” Kobra almost tackled the glove box, digging through the stash of CD’s stuffed in there. Excitement made his hands shake just a little as he slid the disc into the stereo. The album began playing at once. Kobra’s entire body relaxed immediately as he nodded his head to the beat, his fingers tapping out the bass line on the windowsill.
The blend of twisting guitar riffs and hoarse lyrics wormed their way right into Frank’s brain. He recognized the song, something from the ‘90s that he barely remembered but knew he’d always liked. It was good to hear music, Frank realized, after being shut off from the real thing for so long. The canned crap BLI put out was nothing compared to this- there was no real emotion in it. There was genuine anger in that noise- that loud, fast, perfect noise. He hadn’t even realized that he had missed it.
~~
Dr. Death Defying’s current residence was about as unassuming as they came. The two story house in the middle of miles of salt flats once must have looked every bit the polished Colonial home. Now it was just shelter from radiation and various bandits with peeling paint and a makeshift wheelchair ramp on one side of the porch.
Show Pony hopped down the front steps on his trademark roller-skates and glided to meet the car.
Poison threw it in park then cut the engine and stepped out. The other three followed his lead, Kobra Kid striding on into the house and skipping the socializing.
“I hear you got a slick acquaintance rolling with you,” Poison called out to the man on wheels.
“And where’d you hear that?” Show Pony replied, spinning around in front of him.
“From the static. Tells you a lot when you know what to listen for.”
The whole exchange was familiar, strikingly so, like reciting words to a well-known song.
Show Pony nodded sagely. “Words of truth. ...Hey, is that Frankie?”
Frank had been inching his way behind Jet Star who was holding Grace. He’d hoped not to get noticed. In fact he’d have sold his soul not to get noticed. Sadly, Jet made an inadequate shield as he refused to let himself be clung to by two people at once.
Show Pony skated closer and around Jet Star, smiling. Frank backed away a bit.
“Frankie, you’ve lost weight,” he complained, running a finger across the shorter man’s stomach. “Have they been feeding you?”
“Yeah, actually, Poison made me breakfast today and I had lunch at home.” Now back off!
“What?” The roller derby diva placed his hands on his polka-dot clad hips. “Poison,” he pointed at the red head, “cooked you breakfast?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
Horror etched itself across his high cheekbones and he clapped a hand across his mouth with a gasp. “Holy Motorbox! You poor thing!” Show Pony wrapped him in a crushing hug. “What the hell is wrong with you Party Poison? You tryin’ to kill him? Didn’t Dr. D warn you that we needed him?”
Frank flailed, trying to breathe.
“Piss off, Ladyboy,” Poison spat. “Let go before you break him.” He shoved Show Pony a little harder than needed, sending him sliding several feet away from Frank.
Now able to work his lungs properly, it hit him that that had been why Poison was a general ass all day long- he’d was insulted by Frank’s abhorred reaction to the food.
“His cooking wasn’t that bad, Show Pony. It sure as hell beat the burnt soupy shit you tried to feed me two years ago. I ain’t ever gonna trust you in spitting range of a kitchen again.”
Show Pony looked him up and down, sniffed indignantly and started skating away. “Come on- Dr. D is waiting.” He whipped back around suddenly. “The brat is house trained, right?”
“Shut up, she’s sleeping,” Jet Star punched him in the arm and went inside to escape the blistering sun.
Party Poison lingered for a moment, eyes fixed solely on Frank. There was a certain tilt of his chin that almost implied fondness. It was strange, to be looked at like that. The only other time he'd seen a look similar to that it'd been on the face of his first, last and only girlfriend in college before he'd told her that the nice dinner was not to propose but to come out of the closet. It hadn't gone over so well- gay men were okay as long as she wasn’t dating them. Seeing Poison look at him like that made him feel like he was welcome for the first time, instead of just the trouble-magnet and interloper he had been.
The long second passed and they mounted the porch. Poison stepped ahead and held open the ratty screen door for him. Frank trained his eyes on the wood floor under his feet and hoped that Poison didn’t notice him blushing. The barely audible self-satisfied chuckled that followed him into the house told him otherwise.