Lost and found - [1/1]
Mar. 30th, 2008 11:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glasspaperclipTitle: Lost and Found
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zephyrina
Pairing: Bob Bryar/Ray Toro
Rating: PG13
POV: Third
Summary: Never accept gifts from strangers.
Disclaimer: The guys aren't mine, of course.
Author Notes: Written for the Loss Challenge @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mychemicaltest [here] + #27 - OMG we forgot magic @ wtf27
Beta:sorrowful_eagle ♥
Warnings: Thighs mention, crack in its purest form.
**
**
“Guys, look at me.”
At first, they all ignore him, of course. They’ve just got offstage, they’re tired, sweaty, and in dire need to sit down and rest for a minute. Unless it’s serious – really serious, like his own impending death – then Frank would have to wait. Even Ray, who’s usually the most indulgent of them all, waves his hand at him in a ‘yeah, whatever’ gesture and doesn’t open his eyes.
“Guys. I ain’t joking, it’s important. Look at me.”
Something in Frank’s voice is out of tune, something they haven’t picked up before. It could be frustration, reflects Bob as he pushes himself up, almost into a sitting position; frustration or incredulity, or a mix of them both. At any rate, it’s a feeling that doesn’t become Frank.
The drummer opens his mouth to voice his thoughts, but then he sees him and slides down on the couch once more, too shocked to talk. Next to him, someone – Bob can’t really tell who – lets out a soft gasp.
Frank is standing in the middle of the room, shirtless and with his arms open wide.
And.
Oh God, and.
*
“Wow.”
Mikey’s the first who speaks, after a whole minute of awkward silence. He squints, then squints some more, almost grabs a nonexistent pair of glasses from his nose before recalling that no, he doesn’t wear them anymore, and gets up.
“Tell me, what did you do to your tattoos?” He asks with genuine interest, drawing near his bandmate and leaning forward to take a closer look. “Did you cover them? But how? And why? I can’t see any trace of makeup.”
“No, no. I didn’t do anything.”
Frank shakes his head and turn around. His back, just like his chest, is bare of ink. All his tattoos are gone from his skin, from the old Jack O’ Lantern to the sleeve. Even the script on his knuckles is no more, and it’s kind of unsettling to see Frank like that.
“I am… I’ve lost them. They were all there before going onstage, I know it. I saw them before putting on my jacket, and now they’re all gone. Vanished. I checked, I don’t have a single drop of ink on my body anymore.”
“Hm.”
Gerard pulls at the collar of his own uniform, a doubtful expression on his face. With the only exception of Frank, they’re all still clad in their Black Parade suits.
“Perhaps they’ve… uh, just washed off? With all the sweat and such?” He wonders, ignoring the weird glance Ray casts him, “Or you’ve taken too many showers. It must be that. I told you that all that water, soap and scrubbing thing you obsess about couldn’t be healthy.”
For a moment, Frank looks like he’s about to scream – or to bite Gerard’s head off – then he raises his arms in an exasperate gesture.
“Gerard, we aren’t talking about fake tattoos. I’ve got them done the proper way, with ink and needles, they don’t ‘wash off’ like your pen-marker does.”
The singer shrugs. ‘Whatever’, that’s what his shoulders are implying.
“And you should think about taking a shower yourself rather than keeping tracks of mine. I can tell you apart just from the stink.”
“Very funny. I was going to, anyway.”
Scowling, Gerard grabs the first towel at hand and trudges off, leaving the room.
*
“Shit, shit, shit. Shit. I warned you against using those drumsticks, didn’t I? But no, you had to do it your way.”
“Shut up, you. How could I’ve known?”
“By reading the warning, maybe? I mean, come on. Don’t tell me that that ‘Magic wands, use with caution’ didn’t really ring any bell.”
“Ray, give me a break, will you? I thought it was a prank, that one of the kids got them for me, and then wrote a funny sign. A joke. I didn’t think it was for real,” replies a slightly annoyed Bob. It isn’t his fault, something he has done on purpose. It sort of… happened to him, which is unfortunate, and he’s of course very sorry for Frank’s loss, but that aside… well, it isn’t that he’s tried to stab him with a knife or something.
“It’s been an accident.”
“Explain it to Frank, not to me. And I don’t want to burst your happy bubble, but the kids are barely aware of your existence. I can’t imagine them buying gifts specifically for you.”
“Piss off, Toro. You wouldn’t fare any better if you had regular sized thighs.”
While Ray groans and rolls his eyes, Bob gives the drumsticks a suspicious glance. They don’t resemble magic wands at all. They look like any other drumstick he’s owned in his life: long, thin, made of wood, and totally harmless; there’s even a smiling face on one, for Christ’s sake. A tiny, smiling face: three dots and a curved line. How can anything with a smiley drawn on be dangerous?
He picks it up, using two fingers and causing Ray to jump backward.
“Put that motherfucker down before you accidentally turn someone into a frog!”
Bob winces, but doesn’t let the drumstick go, not so soon. He wants to inspect it a bit further, and Ray’s high-pitched tone hasn’t reached emergency level yet. Right now, it’s only a bit uncomfortable for his ears, something he’s well used to.
He sighs.
“I didn’t know I was dating a wimp. Calm down, I’m just looking at it.”
“I don’t give a shit about what you’re doing, put it down already. You don’t know what enables its powers, what if it’s your mere presence? What if you’re a wizard in disguise? Think about what could happen. You wiped Frank’s tattoos off by playing the end of Parade, perhaps if you stare at that wand long enough, you could make him vanish. Or yourself. Or turn Gerard into a piece of cake. Mikey into a classic ballerina.”
“What’s about you into a tongueless being? That’d be useful.”
Turning the drumstick – or as Ray keeps on calling it, the magic wand – around, Bob can see the smiley. He can also feel Ray’s hand on his arm, Ray’s hair tickling his neck, and Ray’s nervousness, too. The guitarist has come closer, and now he’s peeking at it from over his shoulder.
“Alright, alright,” says Bob with a small nod, “I’m putting it down, okay? I just wonder…”
“What?”
“Where the fuck Frank’s tattoos have gone. I mean, I doubt that they’ve really vanished, they must be around somewhere. But where? ”
In that moment, a horrified scream interrupts Bob’s musings. It comes from the showers area, and it’s unmistakably from Gerard.
The two exchange a weird look, then the drummer shrugs. “On second thoughts, I think we know already.”
Author:
zephyrinaPairing: Bob Bryar/Ray Toro
Rating: PG13
POV: Third
Summary: Never accept gifts from strangers.
Disclaimer: The guys aren't mine, of course.
Author Notes: Written for the Loss Challenge @
mychemicaltest [here] + #27 - OMG we forgot magic @ wtf27Beta:
sorrowful_eagle ♥Warnings: Thighs mention, crack in its purest form.
**
**
“Guys, look at me.”
At first, they all ignore him, of course. They’ve just got offstage, they’re tired, sweaty, and in dire need to sit down and rest for a minute. Unless it’s serious – really serious, like his own impending death – then Frank would have to wait. Even Ray, who’s usually the most indulgent of them all, waves his hand at him in a ‘yeah, whatever’ gesture and doesn’t open his eyes.
“Guys. I ain’t joking, it’s important. Look at me.”
Something in Frank’s voice is out of tune, something they haven’t picked up before. It could be frustration, reflects Bob as he pushes himself up, almost into a sitting position; frustration or incredulity, or a mix of them both. At any rate, it’s a feeling that doesn’t become Frank.
The drummer opens his mouth to voice his thoughts, but then he sees him and slides down on the couch once more, too shocked to talk. Next to him, someone – Bob can’t really tell who – lets out a soft gasp.
Frank is standing in the middle of the room, shirtless and with his arms open wide.
And.
Oh God, and.
*
“Wow.”
Mikey’s the first who speaks, after a whole minute of awkward silence. He squints, then squints some more, almost grabs a nonexistent pair of glasses from his nose before recalling that no, he doesn’t wear them anymore, and gets up.
“Tell me, what did you do to your tattoos?” He asks with genuine interest, drawing near his bandmate and leaning forward to take a closer look. “Did you cover them? But how? And why? I can’t see any trace of makeup.”
“No, no. I didn’t do anything.”
Frank shakes his head and turn around. His back, just like his chest, is bare of ink. All his tattoos are gone from his skin, from the old Jack O’ Lantern to the sleeve. Even the script on his knuckles is no more, and it’s kind of unsettling to see Frank like that.
“I am… I’ve lost them. They were all there before going onstage, I know it. I saw them before putting on my jacket, and now they’re all gone. Vanished. I checked, I don’t have a single drop of ink on my body anymore.”
“Hm.”
Gerard pulls at the collar of his own uniform, a doubtful expression on his face. With the only exception of Frank, they’re all still clad in their Black Parade suits.
“Perhaps they’ve… uh, just washed off? With all the sweat and such?” He wonders, ignoring the weird glance Ray casts him, “Or you’ve taken too many showers. It must be that. I told you that all that water, soap and scrubbing thing you obsess about couldn’t be healthy.”
For a moment, Frank looks like he’s about to scream – or to bite Gerard’s head off – then he raises his arms in an exasperate gesture.
“Gerard, we aren’t talking about fake tattoos. I’ve got them done the proper way, with ink and needles, they don’t ‘wash off’ like your pen-marker does.”
The singer shrugs. ‘Whatever’, that’s what his shoulders are implying.
“And you should think about taking a shower yourself rather than keeping tracks of mine. I can tell you apart just from the stink.”
“Very funny. I was going to, anyway.”
Scowling, Gerard grabs the first towel at hand and trudges off, leaving the room.
*
“Shit, shit, shit. Shit. I warned you against using those drumsticks, didn’t I? But no, you had to do it your way.”
“Shut up, you. How could I’ve known?”
“By reading the warning, maybe? I mean, come on. Don’t tell me that that ‘Magic wands, use with caution’ didn’t really ring any bell.”
“Ray, give me a break, will you? I thought it was a prank, that one of the kids got them for me, and then wrote a funny sign. A joke. I didn’t think it was for real,” replies a slightly annoyed Bob. It isn’t his fault, something he has done on purpose. It sort of… happened to him, which is unfortunate, and he’s of course very sorry for Frank’s loss, but that aside… well, it isn’t that he’s tried to stab him with a knife or something.
“It’s been an accident.”
“Explain it to Frank, not to me. And I don’t want to burst your happy bubble, but the kids are barely aware of your existence. I can’t imagine them buying gifts specifically for you.”
“Piss off, Toro. You wouldn’t fare any better if you had regular sized thighs.”
While Ray groans and rolls his eyes, Bob gives the drumsticks a suspicious glance. They don’t resemble magic wands at all. They look like any other drumstick he’s owned in his life: long, thin, made of wood, and totally harmless; there’s even a smiling face on one, for Christ’s sake. A tiny, smiling face: three dots and a curved line. How can anything with a smiley drawn on be dangerous?
He picks it up, using two fingers and causing Ray to jump backward.
“Put that motherfucker down before you accidentally turn someone into a frog!”
Bob winces, but doesn’t let the drumstick go, not so soon. He wants to inspect it a bit further, and Ray’s high-pitched tone hasn’t reached emergency level yet. Right now, it’s only a bit uncomfortable for his ears, something he’s well used to.
He sighs.
“I didn’t know I was dating a wimp. Calm down, I’m just looking at it.”
“I don’t give a shit about what you’re doing, put it down already. You don’t know what enables its powers, what if it’s your mere presence? What if you’re a wizard in disguise? Think about what could happen. You wiped Frank’s tattoos off by playing the end of Parade, perhaps if you stare at that wand long enough, you could make him vanish. Or yourself. Or turn Gerard into a piece of cake. Mikey into a classic ballerina.”
“What’s about you into a tongueless being? That’d be useful.”
Turning the drumstick – or as Ray keeps on calling it, the magic wand – around, Bob can see the smiley. He can also feel Ray’s hand on his arm, Ray’s hair tickling his neck, and Ray’s nervousness, too. The guitarist has come closer, and now he’s peeking at it from over his shoulder.
“Alright, alright,” says Bob with a small nod, “I’m putting it down, okay? I just wonder…”
“What?”
“Where the fuck Frank’s tattoos have gone. I mean, I doubt that they’ve really vanished, they must be around somewhere. But where? ”
In that moment, a horrified scream interrupts Bob’s musings. It comes from the showers area, and it’s unmistakably from Gerard.
The two exchange a weird look, then the drummer shrugs. “On second thoughts, I think we know already.”
