[bandom] MCR driving drabblets
MCR driving drabblets. Posted mainly so they see the light of day. Mikey and Gerard are absent, but their stories are safely locked inside my head, so, maybe one day.
Brian hands over the map with no ceremony. "You're tapped, Bryar." And he's about to ask why he, of all people, gets to drive through the clammy, rainy European night with a van full of exhausted and pissy rock stars. And then he turns his head a quarter and looks at the aforementioned exhausted and pissy rock stars: Gerard, huddled in on himself in the drizzling rain, and Mikey kinda looking like he wants to help out, but is just to fucking tired to deal with it at the moment and unless they want to end up in a Belgian hedgerow somewhere -- especially considering how they're in the fucking Pyrenees or something -- there will be no Mikeyway driving tonight. Poor Frank's trying make like a hole in the universe, or else is trying to avoid the raindrops, some manic energy pervading everything about him but it's not exactly the thing you want behind a wheel, especially in a foreign country where man, there are a fuckload of road shaped circles.
So Bob man's up, and grips the map tighter, nods at Brian, mentally challenging the asshole to be his fucking co-pilot. He may not be God or anything, but Schechter will do in a pinch.
Frank, despite being, well, Frank, is actually a pretty responsible damned driver. He fully stops at stop signs, waits for old ladies, brakes for squirrels...all that shit. And he's absolutely the one you want driving the van at ass o'clock in the morning -- he's actually really a fan of that, secret or not, because of something about sunsets and silence and not having to listen to anyone wax fucking poetic about it all, even if Frank secretly does love that part.
But there are things about Frank. He's a manic little fuck sometimes, excitable and talking with his hands all over the place, trying to illustrate the Heisenberg principle or some shit to a half-conscious Mikey in the front seat. So while he may be stopping at every traffic sign, and maybe going near the speed limit, it still looks to the rest of the van that they're about to die a firey death while spending their last moments listening to Frank fucking Iero natter on about theoretical physics, or the Hobbit bones in Indonesia, or hell, just how disgusting marshmallows are. Or something.
And Frank's horde of mix tapes and cds -- the ones that are all awesome if totally whacked (kinda the best kind, Ray defends), but are universally labeled BEST OF QUEEN.
Bob's kind of like the dad of the group -- the one that is, say, more likely to threaten to pull off the side of the road and start knocking some heads together, or, threaten to drop them off with the gypsies (that worked a little better in Europe) until Gerard looks just a little to excited about it all and Bob gives up and pulls back on the road again.
So, if Bob's like the dad, then Ray's like the mom. He has this weird habit of whipping out snacks packs and juice boxes from thin air. He makes sure that they've got enough blankets, yeilds where he's supposed to and actually doesn't flip off law enforcement on a regular basis.
It's kinda weird, but they're all beyond glad that they've got him around.
Brian hands over the map with no ceremony. "You're tapped, Bryar." And he's about to ask why he, of all people, gets to drive through the clammy, rainy European night with a van full of exhausted and pissy rock stars. And then he turns his head a quarter and looks at the aforementioned exhausted and pissy rock stars: Gerard, huddled in on himself in the drizzling rain, and Mikey kinda looking like he wants to help out, but is just to fucking tired to deal with it at the moment and unless they want to end up in a Belgian hedgerow somewhere -- especially considering how they're in the fucking Pyrenees or something -- there will be no Mikeyway driving tonight. Poor Frank's trying make like a hole in the universe, or else is trying to avoid the raindrops, some manic energy pervading everything about him but it's not exactly the thing you want behind a wheel, especially in a foreign country where man, there are a fuckload of road shaped circles.
So Bob man's up, and grips the map tighter, nods at Brian, mentally challenging the asshole to be his fucking co-pilot. He may not be God or anything, but Schechter will do in a pinch.
Frank, despite being, well, Frank, is actually a pretty responsible damned driver. He fully stops at stop signs, waits for old ladies, brakes for squirrels...all that shit. And he's absolutely the one you want driving the van at ass o'clock in the morning -- he's actually really a fan of that, secret or not, because of something about sunsets and silence and not having to listen to anyone wax fucking poetic about it all, even if Frank secretly does love that part.
But there are things about Frank. He's a manic little fuck sometimes, excitable and talking with his hands all over the place, trying to illustrate the Heisenberg principle or some shit to a half-conscious Mikey in the front seat. So while he may be stopping at every traffic sign, and maybe going near the speed limit, it still looks to the rest of the van that they're about to die a firey death while spending their last moments listening to Frank fucking Iero natter on about theoretical physics, or the Hobbit bones in Indonesia, or hell, just how disgusting marshmallows are. Or something.
And Frank's horde of mix tapes and cds -- the ones that are all awesome if totally whacked (kinda the best kind, Ray defends), but are universally labeled BEST OF QUEEN.
Bob's kind of like the dad of the group -- the one that is, say, more likely to threaten to pull off the side of the road and start knocking some heads together, or, threaten to drop them off with the gypsies (that worked a little better in Europe) until Gerard looks just a little to excited about it all and Bob gives up and pulls back on the road again.
So, if Bob's like the dad, then Ray's like the mom. He has this weird habit of whipping out snacks packs and juice boxes from thin air. He makes sure that they've got enough blankets, yeilds where he's supposed to and actually doesn't flip off law enforcement on a regular basis.
It's kinda weird, but they're all beyond glad that they've got him around.