(no subject)
Title: The Pre-Teresa Days
Author: drkhearted
Word Count: 530
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: The roommate is called "the boy" because I really don't know what I am going to do with his character. No, not "boy" as in 8 years old either. He will be around Frank's age, which, at the time of Frank's death, is 17. He is referred to as the boy because Frank's real age 128, and has been dead for a longer than said boy. And, yes. the Joan mentioned is Joan of Arc.
The morning smelt like burnt toast. It is not exactly uncommon for things to burn in Hell, especially in Frank’s apartment. Frank was just thankful it wasn’t the building. Frank rolled, literally, out of bed, landing on the rough carpet all fours. He wobbled a bit as he tried to become a biped once again, grabbing onto the nightstand for support. His usual, initial thought of the morning: “Hm… Pants.” After stumbling into so decent clothing, he decided to track down the source of the breakfast al flambé.
Frank’s apartment was on the high-end of the scale as far as housing in Dis goes. Seeing as Frank is the only person in that works in Satan Silhouette that actually has a regular paycheck, he is the only one who could afford the prices. His apartment wasn’t exactly luxurious, however. “Luxury” didn’t exist in Hell. The high price on the place was due mostly to the fact that it was big, and that it wasn’t run down. It wasn’t plated with gold, or the epitome of modern décor. It was rather plain, painted a depressing white with drab furniture to match. It kept with the boring/melancholy theme that existed throughout all of Hell. Frank was just happy to have a roof over his head that wasn’t liable to fall on it.
Frank finally reached the kitchen where he discovered his roommate trying to get the smoke out of the kitchen window. The fire alarm sounded.
“Fucking great!” the boy shouted.
“You really shouldn’t swear so early in the morning. My virgin ears cannot take it,” Frank leaned against the door frame, eyeing what burnt remnants of what was supposed to be breakfast.
“Oh. You’re up…” the boy sighed, “I thought I would surprise you.”
“Quite the surprise, indeed” Frank tried to take a bite of the toast, failing to mask his disgusted expression. “Just how I like my toast… burnt at the stake.”
“Hey! I heard that!” came a booming voice from the nearby vent.
“STOP EAVESDROPPING, JOAN!” The boy shouted back.
Frank chuckled and did his best to salvage the meal. Luckily enough, the boy did manage to make eggs properly. However, the coffee was already frozen solid. Frank had never managed to get the sip of the “perfect coffee” Elise had been raving about for the past week.
“Thank you for the breakfast. Or, at least, attempting to make the breakfast. Better luck next time, I guess,” Frank dabbed the corners of his mouth and placed the plates into the dishwasher. “I need to get ready for work.”
“You always work…”
“You do like living here, don’t you?”
The boy never responded. Frank kissed him on the forehead. “Don’t you have class?”
“Oh shit!” The boy jumped up, nearly knocking over the table, and promptly rushed into the bathroom.
“WAIT! I need to get ready for work!” Frank’s pleas were to no avail. Frank flopped onto the couch, the shower had turned on and he could hear the water straining its way through the piped above him. He heard the door open again. The boy poked his head out, looking rather shyly in Frank’s direction.
“You’re welcome to join…”
Author: drkhearted
Word Count: 530
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: The roommate is called "the boy" because I really don't know what I am going to do with his character. No, not "boy" as in 8 years old either. He will be around Frank's age, which, at the time of Frank's death, is 17. He is referred to as the boy because Frank's real age 128, and has been dead for a longer than said boy. And, yes. the Joan mentioned is Joan of Arc.
The morning smelt like burnt toast. It is not exactly uncommon for things to burn in Hell, especially in Frank’s apartment. Frank was just thankful it wasn’t the building. Frank rolled, literally, out of bed, landing on the rough carpet all fours. He wobbled a bit as he tried to become a biped once again, grabbing onto the nightstand for support. His usual, initial thought of the morning: “Hm… Pants.” After stumbling into so decent clothing, he decided to track down the source of the breakfast al flambé.
Frank’s apartment was on the high-end of the scale as far as housing in Dis goes. Seeing as Frank is the only person in that works in Satan Silhouette that actually has a regular paycheck, he is the only one who could afford the prices. His apartment wasn’t exactly luxurious, however. “Luxury” didn’t exist in Hell. The high price on the place was due mostly to the fact that it was big, and that it wasn’t run down. It wasn’t plated with gold, or the epitome of modern décor. It was rather plain, painted a depressing white with drab furniture to match. It kept with the boring/melancholy theme that existed throughout all of Hell. Frank was just happy to have a roof over his head that wasn’t liable to fall on it.
Frank finally reached the kitchen where he discovered his roommate trying to get the smoke out of the kitchen window. The fire alarm sounded.
“Fucking great!” the boy shouted.
“You really shouldn’t swear so early in the morning. My virgin ears cannot take it,” Frank leaned against the door frame, eyeing what burnt remnants of what was supposed to be breakfast.
“Oh. You’re up…” the boy sighed, “I thought I would surprise you.”
“Quite the surprise, indeed” Frank tried to take a bite of the toast, failing to mask his disgusted expression. “Just how I like my toast… burnt at the stake.”
“Hey! I heard that!” came a booming voice from the nearby vent.
“STOP EAVESDROPPING, JOAN!” The boy shouted back.
Frank chuckled and did his best to salvage the meal. Luckily enough, the boy did manage to make eggs properly. However, the coffee was already frozen solid. Frank had never managed to get the sip of the “perfect coffee” Elise had been raving about for the past week.
“Thank you for the breakfast. Or, at least, attempting to make the breakfast. Better luck next time, I guess,” Frank dabbed the corners of his mouth and placed the plates into the dishwasher. “I need to get ready for work.”
“You always work…”
“You do like living here, don’t you?”
The boy never responded. Frank kissed him on the forehead. “Don’t you have class?”
“Oh shit!” The boy jumped up, nearly knocking over the table, and promptly rushed into the bathroom.
“WAIT! I need to get ready for work!” Frank’s pleas were to no avail. Frank flopped onto the couch, the shower had turned on and he could hear the water straining its way through the piped above him. He heard the door open again. The boy poked his head out, looking rather shyly in Frank’s direction.
“You’re welcome to join…”