Crack to the People
greenet posted a WAP thing, and, being that I'm herd-minded, I was going to post one too. For all the random shit we've sent each other, though, it was surprisingly hard to find anything, which means that I also found this crack-ish bandom AU WIP bitlet -- well, for the value of 'crack' that means 'possibly very close to reality'. Also, why do I always end up writing Patrick/Frank?
On the first of October, a month before Frank's birthday, there is an Arm Wrestling Event (Patrick doesn't really think it's an Event if there's only one round; more like a match, really, but he's supremely unsurprised to discover his opinion doesn't count) between Pete and Gabe's guys to determine who will get to plan the party.
Not between Pete and all of Gabe's guys, obviously, Gabe explains when Patrick looks at him in bewilderment. (This is probably because Joe is content to watch from the sidelines, Andy is actually sane, and nobody wants to arm wresrle Travis.) They choose a champion. In the beginning they plan to use Vicky T, who Pete is famously (and, in Patrick's opinion, unreasonably and inexplicably, because she's awesome) a bit terrified of, but in the end they go with bulk and choose Alex. Patrick would have gone with Nate, actually -- for such a little guy, he's got some serious arms -- but he keeps his opinions to himself on this one.
Ultimately, though, while all of them love Patrick and love Frank and want them to be happy, the people clustered around Alex's side of the table mostly just want an excuse to throw a really mind boggling Halloween party. And it's not that Pete doesn't, but Pete is. Pete. And frankly, while Gabe's crazy is, in a lot of ways, more contained than Pete's, Patrick will always be sort of... comfortable with Pete's brand, even while he's afraid of it. He likes to assume that this is caused by Stockholm's Syndrome.
It's a good thing, though, that this party is for Frank, who can always deal with whatever Patrick's friends throw at him a lot better (and a lot more gleefully) than Patrick himself can.
So Patrick settles himself at the kitchen counter, looking long suffering, and just at the moment before Pete's inevitable crushing defeat (it's really nearly impossible to cheat at arm wrestling), he hums a little tune to himself, as one does -- at least, as one does if one is Patrick Stump -- and when Alex recognizes it and freezes, Patrick waits until he regains mobility enough to throw him a very startled look before giving him a small smile with many, many teeth.
Patrick's known all of these people for a long time and, by dint of the fact that he's one of the few of them not prone to add more drama to any already dramatic situation just for the hell of it, he knows where a lot of the bodies are buried.
Pete wins.
**
The thing is, though, that the perils of mixing Pete and the rest of their friends with parties, birthdays and Halloween aside, it doesn't really matter on any but the pretty small scale of Patrick's ability to be mortified, which has become amazingly shrunk over the years. Frank was born with that ability removed, and more importantly, the Chicago party will only be his pre-birthday one; as tradition dictates, the day before his birthday they'll fly to New Jersey, where Frank's friends from back home will throw him a party with so many zombies and vampires and gory decorations that he'll be unable to function like an actual adult for a week from sheer glee. (Well, the booze probably has something to do with it, but Patrick doesn't lie to himself; Frank is 100% able to fail a sobriety test on nothing but the vaguely pollution-smelling fumes of being alive.)
So he doesn't really worry that much, before Pete comes up with the Plan.
Patrick senses he might have made a strategic mistake the moment Pete tells him he has a Plan. It's not that he was expecting anything different, it's just that there's something extra ominous about that P. For someone who doesn't use capital letters if he help it at all, Pete can do things to the poor fuckers that should not be done to any part of the language, ever, under any kind of law.
The Plan, apparently, involves stuffing too many people into too few cars and -- "Okay," Patrick says, blinking, "there is no way."
"Oh, come on," Pete says, not pleadingly but kind of, well, pffft-ingly, and Patrick knows his fate was sealed the moment he chose not to back the easy targets. Pete has never been easy to blackmail, because the bodies Patrick would be willing to point at are the same bodies that Pete has built up monuments to that you can see from three miles away. "It'll be awesome! A road trip, like old times."
The sad part is that this is pretty true; Patrick's high school life had a lot of Pete road trips in them, a lot as in more than anyone's life should in just three years. But those road trips, even though they had a lot of forms -- Joe riding shotgun, Joe banished to the back to blow his smoke out the open windows, Andy tagging along, any of the other thousands of people tagging along, and one memorable event where they basically drove an entire band plus instruments between three concerts because Pete was madly in love with the bassist and Patrick liked their music enough to not mind -- never included thirty people going from Chicago to New Jersey and then telling each other they'd had fun.
Frank and Patrick have actually driven from New Jersey to Chicago once, a long thirteen-hours night at breakneck speed, because they hadn't booked a flight early enough for the season (Patrick's fault; he'd gotten distracted by his new Christmas-present guitar before they'd left for Jersey) and there was work in the morning. That had not been fun.
That time, he hadn't had Gabe and Beckett competing to see who could tailgate him more closely, either. And he was only trapped in a car with a sugar-high, sleep-deprived, stir-crazy Frank, not both Frank and Pete in party mode.
Which is exactly what Pete is planning; a party on the road, in seperate cars.
"Not in the cars," Pete says, witheringly. "Where would you dance? We'll have a strict schedule. Three hours driving, two hours out."
Patrick stares. "Pete, even if that made any sense, it'd take a week."
"Two days," Pete says, dancing away. "Birthday extravaganza!"
It will not take two days, and Patrick will end up being designated driver for six cars at once, which can not work at all. He tries to explain that.
The plan of using reason to deal with Pete has a lowercase p for a reason, and it's even more doomed for failure once Mikey calls and says that the Jersey side of the equation think it's an awesome idea (Patrick doubts Mikey has ever used the word awesome in his life, but in a strange way, Pete's Mikey-to-English translations are actually pretty reliable) and of course they have room for fifty thousand people to crash.
Patrick gives up at that point, because the Pete-Mikey alliance has weirded him out since the first moment it started -- also, incidentally, a Frank birthday -- and it has this arcane quality to it that tells you forces beyond your ken are at work and you should just stay out and fear for your life. That, at least, is how Frank describes it, and it sounds like a pretty fair assessment, though he probably stole it from Gee. Patrick just thinks it gives him the willies.
Also this, which is, um, definitely crack. Prompt by Sascha:
Andy, Gerard, supervillains, the lady is a tramp, stars, cheese
Gerard never really means to become a supervillain, it just sort of happens.
He tries to explain this to Frank, but Frank just gives him a disapproving face. And what does Frank know, anyway, that's what Gerard would like to know, Frank doesn't even have any powers, if you don't count the ability to jump around for hours on end or the power to be really annoying.
Not that Gerard really has any powers, really, in the sense where they're not really his, in the sense where he stole them. But that's not the point; the point is that he's a supervillain *for justice*.
"There's no such thing as supervillains for justice," Frank says derisively. Frank's never been a proper comic book geek. "if you gave a shit about justice, you'd be a superhero."
Well. It's a little more complicated than that, because you can't really be a superhero with stolen powers. And yes, okay, maybe Gerard shouldn't have stolen them in the first place, but Tyson wasn't *doing* anything with them. Also, he's going to give them back eventually.
"Well," he says, instead. "Andy has this theory," which is only halfway true, because the theory he's about to explain only started with Andy and becomes pretty much all Gerard at about the middle point (werewolf zoos), but he's aware that Andy is somewhat more reliable as an expert on social change than he is.
Andy was the one who made the plan for making all the money disappear, anyway. Gerard just added the details, sort of *shaded it in*, like feather boas to the People and all that. He's confident that if they just work in tandem, they can reach the stars.
Frank is still giving him a face, just starting to say something cutting. Gerard Thinks some dairy-free blue cheese into his mouth.
-- And this, which I really kind of wish someone would *actually* write. What, finding things in gmail is unexpectedly difficult.
So the thing that happens is -- well, the thing that happens is actually way too complicated and Frank only remembers about half of it, but the upshot is that Frank and Spencer get married by accident and now Ryan Ross wants to kill him.
"I'm sorry," Gerard says. "You what? What about Jamia?"
The sucky part about Friends Back Home being Back Home is that you can't use their shoulders to put your head on when you say, "We broke up."
"What?" Gerard says, sounding like someone just told him an asteroid was about to hit the earth and all the alien cattle were packing up in preparation. Frank knows the feeling. "Why didn't you call me?"
"Well," Frank says, "I was busy getting married."
Gerard is silent for a long incredulous moment. Frank takes the opportunity to get back to the original reason he called. "Why the fuck did I decide to go to college in *Nevada*? This is the one state where shit like this even *happens*."
"They're the ones who gave you a scholarship," Gerard says, sounding distracted. "And I think that's only supposed to apply to Vegas tourists. Frank, you're not shitting me? You actually went and got married to some guy?"
There's a vague hum in the background that Frank expertly recognizes as a Mikey mumble. "What?" Gerard says, annoyed. "No, Mikey, I'm pretty sure he's not pregnant."
Gerard always stands up for Frank's honor -- well, sometimes he does -- even when Frank has drunk midnight Elvis weddings. Oh, god, was there an Elvis? His memory offers no clues.
My spell check just asked me if by 'supervillain' I meant 'supervision'. This is probably deeply profound in some way.
But! In the end, I did indeed find it. In another email account entirely, sure, but what of it? *hits gong* Next round to you, lj user greenet. Also, if you remember what the hell the Look of Vulnerable Sadness was about, be sure to let me know.
"Izzy," Alex says, three months later, "There are two zebras on the bus."
"Three," Izzy says, absently. He's rummaging around in his bag. "There's another one up on the roof."
"The ROOF? Isn't that a little --"
Izzy waves dismissively. "We made her a little fence, it's cool."
"Why," Alex risks asking, "are the zebras on the bus." He can just see the answer, sort of hovering in the air around Izzy. It involves something about how they couldn't get pumas, or how they could, but they're not as easy to dye green.
"It's for the video!" Izzy says, surprisingly. "You remember, for I Went on Tour With Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Nasty STD."
Alex sighs. "Izzy, for the seventh time, we're not going to call it that."
"I don't see why not," Izzy says, haughtily. "It'd be a huge hit. And besides, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what all that business with the rain clowns and the squeaky stairs was all about."
"Cassie said it was about growing as an artist and the way the world looks from a plane above Cuba," Alex says. He's very decisively not going to consider any alternatives.
"Pshh," Izzy says, and makes to walk off.
Alex grabs his hand. "Izzy."
Izzy blinks innocently.
"The zebras?"
For a second Alex thinks he's detecting a look of vulnerable sadness, but then he realizes it's just a more drawn out than usual indignation. "For the video, I already told you."
Alex looks around. There's nobody on the parking lot but them on one side, the bus on the other, and the zebra that, now that he's looking, is very clearly standing on its roof, peacefully chewing what might be a few leaves (or whatever it is zebras eat) Izzy has thoughtfully provided for her or, more likely, Cassie's satellite antenna.
He spreads his hands wide, because the other alternative is resting them on Izzy's throat, and Morric always looks very alarmed when that happens. Even when there aren't pictures. "Where's the film crew, Iz?"
"They'll be a little late," Izzy says. "They should be here in three hours or so."
Alex stares. "Then why's the zebra on the bus now?"
"The guys helped me get her up there," Izzy explains. "It'll be fine, she has water and everything."
Alex takes a deep breath. "Izzy, is there any reason why we all thought we were coming here at five to do a little preliminary shooting, and you apparently thought you needed to be here at four with three zebras? And who's 'the guys', anyway?"
"Frank and Bob," Izzy says. "They thought it was a great idea." He frowns. "Well, Bob was muttering something about maybe keeping them off the bus at first, but we explained this is a parking lot."
Alex looks around. "And Frank and Bob are where now?"
"Funny story," Izzy says, "They were going to stay and say hello, but Iero remembered he left the oven on just when we saw your car."
Alex gives him a hard look. WAP! Has a long and proud history of the game fondly known as I'm Not Possibly This Stupid, Or Wait, Am I? But sometimes he thinks Izzy is just a little too good.
"So what, exactly," he says, because he's afraid to ask anything else, "was your concept for this thing? The concept none of us heard about including Morric, I mean. Or the director. That one."
Izzy actually becomes so enthusiastic at this question that he has to take his sun glasses off.
"It's about these two zebras!" He says. "They escape from the zoo! On a tour bus! But they don't know that another zebra snuck on as a stow away, and it's planning to turn them in to the police! But then there's a touching love story." He frowns. "I still haven't worked out how it happens. I'm thinking maybe Morse Code. Anyway! It came to me in a dream last night."
Alex decides not to ask whether Frank Iero was in the room at the time. It's not actually as if Izzy needs any help. Except, apparently, when it comes to putting equines on tour buses.
"Izzy," he says, helplessly, "you know Morric already quit three times this month."
Izzy looks scornful. "Morric loves me. It's all that shit Cassie and Rick get up to that gets to him. I mean, storming a Starbucks? Seriously."
In full truth, at least one of those times (possibly two) had a lot to do with Alex's determined insistence that two minutes on one of the songs for the new album had to be replaced with nothing but the sound of marching feet and a lonely French horn. It's hard to hold himself at fault, though, given the competition.
Besides. That was art.
It's probably fortunate that, at this point, the zebra on the roof knocks one side of the fence down. The forty minutes until Trevor gets there are mostly spent on Alex forbidding Izzy to get off the roof, where he's acting as a human barrier, and Izzy going from bitching, to making friends, to deciding that the zebra is his familiar and will never leave his side.
"Trevor," Izzy says, when Trevor finally shows up, "Do you think we can get Lily to travel around with us?"
"Maybe if you nail her to the roof," Trevor says. Izzy doesn't speak to him for a whole three hours.
On the first of October, a month before Frank's birthday, there is an Arm Wrestling Event (Patrick doesn't really think it's an Event if there's only one round; more like a match, really, but he's supremely unsurprised to discover his opinion doesn't count) between Pete and Gabe's guys to determine who will get to plan the party.
Not between Pete and all of Gabe's guys, obviously, Gabe explains when Patrick looks at him in bewilderment. (This is probably because Joe is content to watch from the sidelines, Andy is actually sane, and nobody wants to arm wresrle Travis.) They choose a champion. In the beginning they plan to use Vicky T, who Pete is famously (and, in Patrick's opinion, unreasonably and inexplicably, because she's awesome) a bit terrified of, but in the end they go with bulk and choose Alex. Patrick would have gone with Nate, actually -- for such a little guy, he's got some serious arms -- but he keeps his opinions to himself on this one.
Ultimately, though, while all of them love Patrick and love Frank and want them to be happy, the people clustered around Alex's side of the table mostly just want an excuse to throw a really mind boggling Halloween party. And it's not that Pete doesn't, but Pete is. Pete. And frankly, while Gabe's crazy is, in a lot of ways, more contained than Pete's, Patrick will always be sort of... comfortable with Pete's brand, even while he's afraid of it. He likes to assume that this is caused by Stockholm's Syndrome.
It's a good thing, though, that this party is for Frank, who can always deal with whatever Patrick's friends throw at him a lot better (and a lot more gleefully) than Patrick himself can.
So Patrick settles himself at the kitchen counter, looking long suffering, and just at the moment before Pete's inevitable crushing defeat (it's really nearly impossible to cheat at arm wrestling), he hums a little tune to himself, as one does -- at least, as one does if one is Patrick Stump -- and when Alex recognizes it and freezes, Patrick waits until he regains mobility enough to throw him a very startled look before giving him a small smile with many, many teeth.
Patrick's known all of these people for a long time and, by dint of the fact that he's one of the few of them not prone to add more drama to any already dramatic situation just for the hell of it, he knows where a lot of the bodies are buried.
Pete wins.
**
The thing is, though, that the perils of mixing Pete and the rest of their friends with parties, birthdays and Halloween aside, it doesn't really matter on any but the pretty small scale of Patrick's ability to be mortified, which has become amazingly shrunk over the years. Frank was born with that ability removed, and more importantly, the Chicago party will only be his pre-birthday one; as tradition dictates, the day before his birthday they'll fly to New Jersey, where Frank's friends from back home will throw him a party with so many zombies and vampires and gory decorations that he'll be unable to function like an actual adult for a week from sheer glee. (Well, the booze probably has something to do with it, but Patrick doesn't lie to himself; Frank is 100% able to fail a sobriety test on nothing but the vaguely pollution-smelling fumes of being alive.)
So he doesn't really worry that much, before Pete comes up with the Plan.
Patrick senses he might have made a strategic mistake the moment Pete tells him he has a Plan. It's not that he was expecting anything different, it's just that there's something extra ominous about that P. For someone who doesn't use capital letters if he help it at all, Pete can do things to the poor fuckers that should not be done to any part of the language, ever, under any kind of law.
The Plan, apparently, involves stuffing too many people into too few cars and -- "Okay," Patrick says, blinking, "there is no way."
"Oh, come on," Pete says, not pleadingly but kind of, well, pffft-ingly, and Patrick knows his fate was sealed the moment he chose not to back the easy targets. Pete has never been easy to blackmail, because the bodies Patrick would be willing to point at are the same bodies that Pete has built up monuments to that you can see from three miles away. "It'll be awesome! A road trip, like old times."
The sad part is that this is pretty true; Patrick's high school life had a lot of Pete road trips in them, a lot as in more than anyone's life should in just three years. But those road trips, even though they had a lot of forms -- Joe riding shotgun, Joe banished to the back to blow his smoke out the open windows, Andy tagging along, any of the other thousands of people tagging along, and one memorable event where they basically drove an entire band plus instruments between three concerts because Pete was madly in love with the bassist and Patrick liked their music enough to not mind -- never included thirty people going from Chicago to New Jersey and then telling each other they'd had fun.
Frank and Patrick have actually driven from New Jersey to Chicago once, a long thirteen-hours night at breakneck speed, because they hadn't booked a flight early enough for the season (Patrick's fault; he'd gotten distracted by his new Christmas-present guitar before they'd left for Jersey) and there was work in the morning. That had not been fun.
That time, he hadn't had Gabe and Beckett competing to see who could tailgate him more closely, either. And he was only trapped in a car with a sugar-high, sleep-deprived, stir-crazy Frank, not both Frank and Pete in party mode.
Which is exactly what Pete is planning; a party on the road, in seperate cars.
"Not in the cars," Pete says, witheringly. "Where would you dance? We'll have a strict schedule. Three hours driving, two hours out."
Patrick stares. "Pete, even if that made any sense, it'd take a week."
"Two days," Pete says, dancing away. "Birthday extravaganza!"
It will not take two days, and Patrick will end up being designated driver for six cars at once, which can not work at all. He tries to explain that.
The plan of using reason to deal with Pete has a lowercase p for a reason, and it's even more doomed for failure once Mikey calls and says that the Jersey side of the equation think it's an awesome idea (Patrick doubts Mikey has ever used the word awesome in his life, but in a strange way, Pete's Mikey-to-English translations are actually pretty reliable) and of course they have room for fifty thousand people to crash.
Patrick gives up at that point, because the Pete-Mikey alliance has weirded him out since the first moment it started -- also, incidentally, a Frank birthday -- and it has this arcane quality to it that tells you forces beyond your ken are at work and you should just stay out and fear for your life. That, at least, is how Frank describes it, and it sounds like a pretty fair assessment, though he probably stole it from Gee. Patrick just thinks it gives him the willies.
Also this, which is, um, definitely crack. Prompt by Sascha:
Andy, Gerard, supervillains, the lady is a tramp, stars, cheese
Gerard never really means to become a supervillain, it just sort of happens.
He tries to explain this to Frank, but Frank just gives him a disapproving face. And what does Frank know, anyway, that's what Gerard would like to know, Frank doesn't even have any powers, if you don't count the ability to jump around for hours on end or the power to be really annoying.
Not that Gerard really has any powers, really, in the sense where they're not really his, in the sense where he stole them. But that's not the point; the point is that he's a supervillain *for justice*.
"There's no such thing as supervillains for justice," Frank says derisively. Frank's never been a proper comic book geek. "if you gave a shit about justice, you'd be a superhero."
Well. It's a little more complicated than that, because you can't really be a superhero with stolen powers. And yes, okay, maybe Gerard shouldn't have stolen them in the first place, but Tyson wasn't *doing* anything with them. Also, he's going to give them back eventually.
"Well," he says, instead. "Andy has this theory," which is only halfway true, because the theory he's about to explain only started with Andy and becomes pretty much all Gerard at about the middle point (werewolf zoos), but he's aware that Andy is somewhat more reliable as an expert on social change than he is.
Andy was the one who made the plan for making all the money disappear, anyway. Gerard just added the details, sort of *shaded it in*, like feather boas to the People and all that. He's confident that if they just work in tandem, they can reach the stars.
Frank is still giving him a face, just starting to say something cutting. Gerard Thinks some dairy-free blue cheese into his mouth.
-- And this, which I really kind of wish someone would *actually* write. What, finding things in gmail is unexpectedly difficult.
So the thing that happens is -- well, the thing that happens is actually way too complicated and Frank only remembers about half of it, but the upshot is that Frank and Spencer get married by accident and now Ryan Ross wants to kill him.
"I'm sorry," Gerard says. "You what? What about Jamia?"
The sucky part about Friends Back Home being Back Home is that you can't use their shoulders to put your head on when you say, "We broke up."
"What?" Gerard says, sounding like someone just told him an asteroid was about to hit the earth and all the alien cattle were packing up in preparation. Frank knows the feeling. "Why didn't you call me?"
"Well," Frank says, "I was busy getting married."
Gerard is silent for a long incredulous moment. Frank takes the opportunity to get back to the original reason he called. "Why the fuck did I decide to go to college in *Nevada*? This is the one state where shit like this even *happens*."
"They're the ones who gave you a scholarship," Gerard says, sounding distracted. "And I think that's only supposed to apply to Vegas tourists. Frank, you're not shitting me? You actually went and got married to some guy?"
There's a vague hum in the background that Frank expertly recognizes as a Mikey mumble. "What?" Gerard says, annoyed. "No, Mikey, I'm pretty sure he's not pregnant."
Gerard always stands up for Frank's honor -- well, sometimes he does -- even when Frank has drunk midnight Elvis weddings. Oh, god, was there an Elvis? His memory offers no clues.
My spell check just asked me if by 'supervillain' I meant 'supervision'. This is probably deeply profound in some way.
But! In the end, I did indeed find it. In another email account entirely, sure, but what of it? *hits gong* Next round to you, lj user greenet. Also, if you remember what the hell the Look of Vulnerable Sadness was about, be sure to let me know.
"Izzy," Alex says, three months later, "There are two zebras on the bus."
"Three," Izzy says, absently. He's rummaging around in his bag. "There's another one up on the roof."
"The ROOF? Isn't that a little --"
Izzy waves dismissively. "We made her a little fence, it's cool."
"Why," Alex risks asking, "are the zebras on the bus." He can just see the answer, sort of hovering in the air around Izzy. It involves something about how they couldn't get pumas, or how they could, but they're not as easy to dye green.
"It's for the video!" Izzy says, surprisingly. "You remember, for I Went on Tour With Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Nasty STD."
Alex sighs. "Izzy, for the seventh time, we're not going to call it that."
"I don't see why not," Izzy says, haughtily. "It'd be a huge hit. And besides, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what all that business with the rain clowns and the squeaky stairs was all about."
"Cassie said it was about growing as an artist and the way the world looks from a plane above Cuba," Alex says. He's very decisively not going to consider any alternatives.
"Pshh," Izzy says, and makes to walk off.
Alex grabs his hand. "Izzy."
Izzy blinks innocently.
"The zebras?"
For a second Alex thinks he's detecting a look of vulnerable sadness, but then he realizes it's just a more drawn out than usual indignation. "For the video, I already told you."
Alex looks around. There's nobody on the parking lot but them on one side, the bus on the other, and the zebra that, now that he's looking, is very clearly standing on its roof, peacefully chewing what might be a few leaves (or whatever it is zebras eat) Izzy has thoughtfully provided for her or, more likely, Cassie's satellite antenna.
He spreads his hands wide, because the other alternative is resting them on Izzy's throat, and Morric always looks very alarmed when that happens. Even when there aren't pictures. "Where's the film crew, Iz?"
"They'll be a little late," Izzy says. "They should be here in three hours or so."
Alex stares. "Then why's the zebra on the bus now?"
"The guys helped me get her up there," Izzy explains. "It'll be fine, she has water and everything."
Alex takes a deep breath. "Izzy, is there any reason why we all thought we were coming here at five to do a little preliminary shooting, and you apparently thought you needed to be here at four with three zebras? And who's 'the guys', anyway?"
"Frank and Bob," Izzy says. "They thought it was a great idea." He frowns. "Well, Bob was muttering something about maybe keeping them off the bus at first, but we explained this is a parking lot."
Alex looks around. "And Frank and Bob are where now?"
"Funny story," Izzy says, "They were going to stay and say hello, but Iero remembered he left the oven on just when we saw your car."
Alex gives him a hard look. WAP! Has a long and proud history of the game fondly known as I'm Not Possibly This Stupid, Or Wait, Am I? But sometimes he thinks Izzy is just a little too good.
"So what, exactly," he says, because he's afraid to ask anything else, "was your concept for this thing? The concept none of us heard about including Morric, I mean. Or the director. That one."
Izzy actually becomes so enthusiastic at this question that he has to take his sun glasses off.
"It's about these two zebras!" He says. "They escape from the zoo! On a tour bus! But they don't know that another zebra snuck on as a stow away, and it's planning to turn them in to the police! But then there's a touching love story." He frowns. "I still haven't worked out how it happens. I'm thinking maybe Morse Code. Anyway! It came to me in a dream last night."
Alex decides not to ask whether Frank Iero was in the room at the time. It's not actually as if Izzy needs any help. Except, apparently, when it comes to putting equines on tour buses.
"Izzy," he says, helplessly, "you know Morric already quit three times this month."
Izzy looks scornful. "Morric loves me. It's all that shit Cassie and Rick get up to that gets to him. I mean, storming a Starbucks? Seriously."
In full truth, at least one of those times (possibly two) had a lot to do with Alex's determined insistence that two minutes on one of the songs for the new album had to be replaced with nothing but the sound of marching feet and a lonely French horn. It's hard to hold himself at fault, though, given the competition.
Besides. That was art.
It's probably fortunate that, at this point, the zebra on the roof knocks one side of the fence down. The forty minutes until Trevor gets there are mostly spent on Alex forbidding Izzy to get off the roof, where he's acting as a human barrier, and Izzy going from bitching, to making friends, to deciding that the zebra is his familiar and will never leave his side.
"Trevor," Izzy says, when Trevor finally shows up, "Do you think we can get Lily to travel around with us?"
"Maybe if you nail her to the roof," Trevor says. Izzy doesn't speak to him for a whole three hours.