Catch Me If I Ever Fall (Part 3/?)
A/N: So it took me forever to type this up and I hope you enjoy. Hopefully the next chapters won't take so long.
Chapter 3 Anneal
Frank's P. O. V.
The car vibrated roughly, making my whole body grow numb. The tires kicked up enough dust that I was sure the desert needed.
"Um, not that I mind you guys saving me from the burning building and all, but I still don't know who you are." I had to talk loudly to be heard over the roar of the engine, but the silence that followed made me cringe back into my seat. A deep sigh came from the man with the bright red hair.
"This is Kobra Kid and Jet Star," he pointed to each in turn. "And I'm Party Poison. We're the Killjoys. We smoke, we drink, and we're the group of criminals that are highest on BL/ind's list."
Now I knew I was dreaming. What kind of names are those? And what are Killjoys? I wondered silently. The silence continued as light began to fade, but I just continued to stare out of the window. I didn't know where we were going but I didn't bother asking. That thought alone should scare me, but it didn't. I felt comfortable with them. Like I had known them my entire life.
Occasionally I would feel eyes on me, but when I turned to find the culprit, everyone was focused on the road ahead. I sighed loudly in irritation, just to make some sort of noise in the silence as I sunk down in the back seat below the window. I loathed road trips. My back ached and my knees were cramping and I just wished we were there already. Wherever there was.
I glanced up when I felt the car slow down. Out in the middle of no where was a diner. I sat up a little straighter, my nose pressing to the glass to see more, even though the building wasn't big. Most of the windows were boarded up but through the open ones I could see a few tables and even a bar. In my head I saw this as a stop for truck drivers, laughing and joking with the old wrinkly waitress.
"Where are we?" I asked, shaking the vision from my head.
"Home, for now," Party Poison grinned back at me through the rear-view mirror.
The others got out of the car and I followed their example. Almost immediately my clothes stuck to my body as my collar became wet. The humidity was horrible, closing around me like a casket making it hard to even breathe. I could see the sun fading and the heat dissipating slowly. I had always heard deserts were cold at night once the sun went down. I guess I'll find out for sure, I thought to myself before walking through the door behind Jet Star.
A tiny bell tinkled, announcing our entrance to no one. Now that I could see the room better, I noticed booths lining every wall. Most of them were broken in some way, but a few of them seemed to be usable. An old juke box sat in the corner, catching my eye. It would be a miracle if it still worked, but it still provided peace in a place like this.
Kobra and Jet went to the furthest corner, sitting across from each other. Their tones were hushed, and I couldn't hear them, but by their expressions I knew something was wrong. The way they kept glancing at me before whispering faster sat me on edge. I glanced back at Party for any instruction.
"Follow me," the red head smiled crookedly before leading me down a long hallway. Stopping outside a closed door, he took a key out of his pocket. A small click and I was following him into a darkened room.
There were only a couple of lights in the room casting a soft glow. Party had walked off to where the bed sat, reaching for something underneath. My eyes started at the wall closest to me. Music records and old band t shirts clung to the wall catching dust. There were no pictures, no photo albums or anything of the sorts. It reminded me of my room at my aunt's house. Walls were covered in posters and bands, most of them familiar.
"Is this your room?" I asked as I turned my body to look at the other walls. My eyes fell on a broken guitar and I stepped closer. The frame was white, and the neck long. Silver letters were written across the side. "Pansy." I mouthed the words as my fingers traced the lines in the guitar. My eyes fell on the break in the neck, the strings barely clinging to the wood, hanging on for dear life. A wave of sadness washed over me at just looking at this beautiful instrument. I was hurting over the death of this guitar.
My eyes burned up in tears and I bit my lip to refrain from letting the tear roll down my cheek. I didn't even own the guitar, yet, I felt like it had been one of my closest companions at one time. I moved closer, my hands examining more. I wanted to bring this guitar into my arms and weep, holding on to it as if to apologize for something out of my control.
My fingers traced the break as anger enveloped me. Whoever did this deserved to die. If the person who owned this guitar felt even a little of what I did, I know they would want revenge on the person who broke Pansy. Even I wanted revenge. My teeth gritted together, rattling my head.
"No, it's my best friends," came the calm reply as I turned around, my anger disappearing, hiding for now. Party was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite identify. He pushed some clothes into my hands before going to the door. "We'll be out here if you need us." His words were silent and I had to strain to hear him before he was gone like a whisper in the wind.
I turned back to the bundle in my arms. Most of it felt like leather, rough and frayed as if it had been worn a lot. Even so, it had to be better than the white I was wearing. At the bottom of the bundle was a pair of old black and white converse. A small sigh of happiness passed through my lips and I began to undress.
Korse's P. O. V.
I smiled to myself, congratulating myself as my footsteps clicked down the hallway. Step one had been completed. If this worked with Frank (I refused to call him by any other name) then it would surely work on the others.
The door slid open to my office, closing as soon as I was clear. Now it was just a waiting game before I could put step 2 into action.
Chapter 3 Anneal
Frank's P. O. V.
The car vibrated roughly, making my whole body grow numb. The tires kicked up enough dust that I was sure the desert needed.
"Um, not that I mind you guys saving me from the burning building and all, but I still don't know who you are." I had to talk loudly to be heard over the roar of the engine, but the silence that followed made me cringe back into my seat. A deep sigh came from the man with the bright red hair.
"This is Kobra Kid and Jet Star," he pointed to each in turn. "And I'm Party Poison. We're the Killjoys. We smoke, we drink, and we're the group of criminals that are highest on BL/ind's list."
Now I knew I was dreaming. What kind of names are those? And what are Killjoys? I wondered silently. The silence continued as light began to fade, but I just continued to stare out of the window. I didn't know where we were going but I didn't bother asking. That thought alone should scare me, but it didn't. I felt comfortable with them. Like I had known them my entire life.
Occasionally I would feel eyes on me, but when I turned to find the culprit, everyone was focused on the road ahead. I sighed loudly in irritation, just to make some sort of noise in the silence as I sunk down in the back seat below the window. I loathed road trips. My back ached and my knees were cramping and I just wished we were there already. Wherever there was.
I glanced up when I felt the car slow down. Out in the middle of no where was a diner. I sat up a little straighter, my nose pressing to the glass to see more, even though the building wasn't big. Most of the windows were boarded up but through the open ones I could see a few tables and even a bar. In my head I saw this as a stop for truck drivers, laughing and joking with the old wrinkly waitress.
"Where are we?" I asked, shaking the vision from my head.
"Home, for now," Party Poison grinned back at me through the rear-view mirror.
The others got out of the car and I followed their example. Almost immediately my clothes stuck to my body as my collar became wet. The humidity was horrible, closing around me like a casket making it hard to even breathe. I could see the sun fading and the heat dissipating slowly. I had always heard deserts were cold at night once the sun went down. I guess I'll find out for sure, I thought to myself before walking through the door behind Jet Star.
A tiny bell tinkled, announcing our entrance to no one. Now that I could see the room better, I noticed booths lining every wall. Most of them were broken in some way, but a few of them seemed to be usable. An old juke box sat in the corner, catching my eye. It would be a miracle if it still worked, but it still provided peace in a place like this.
Kobra and Jet went to the furthest corner, sitting across from each other. Their tones were hushed, and I couldn't hear them, but by their expressions I knew something was wrong. The way they kept glancing at me before whispering faster sat me on edge. I glanced back at Party for any instruction.
"Follow me," the red head smiled crookedly before leading me down a long hallway. Stopping outside a closed door, he took a key out of his pocket. A small click and I was following him into a darkened room.
There were only a couple of lights in the room casting a soft glow. Party had walked off to where the bed sat, reaching for something underneath. My eyes started at the wall closest to me. Music records and old band t shirts clung to the wall catching dust. There were no pictures, no photo albums or anything of the sorts. It reminded me of my room at my aunt's house. Walls were covered in posters and bands, most of them familiar.
"Is this your room?" I asked as I turned my body to look at the other walls. My eyes fell on a broken guitar and I stepped closer. The frame was white, and the neck long. Silver letters were written across the side. "Pansy." I mouthed the words as my fingers traced the lines in the guitar. My eyes fell on the break in the neck, the strings barely clinging to the wood, hanging on for dear life. A wave of sadness washed over me at just looking at this beautiful instrument. I was hurting over the death of this guitar.
My eyes burned up in tears and I bit my lip to refrain from letting the tear roll down my cheek. I didn't even own the guitar, yet, I felt like it had been one of my closest companions at one time. I moved closer, my hands examining more. I wanted to bring this guitar into my arms and weep, holding on to it as if to apologize for something out of my control.
My fingers traced the break as anger enveloped me. Whoever did this deserved to die. If the person who owned this guitar felt even a little of what I did, I know they would want revenge on the person who broke Pansy. Even I wanted revenge. My teeth gritted together, rattling my head.
"No, it's my best friends," came the calm reply as I turned around, my anger disappearing, hiding for now. Party was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite identify. He pushed some clothes into my hands before going to the door. "We'll be out here if you need us." His words were silent and I had to strain to hear him before he was gone like a whisper in the wind.
I turned back to the bundle in my arms. Most of it felt like leather, rough and frayed as if it had been worn a lot. Even so, it had to be better than the white I was wearing. At the bottom of the bundle was a pair of old black and white converse. A small sigh of happiness passed through my lips and I began to undress.
Korse's P. O. V.
I smiled to myself, congratulating myself as my footsteps clicked down the hallway. Step one had been completed. If this worked with Frank (I refused to call him by any other name) then it would surely work on the others.
The door slid open to my office, closing as soon as I was clear. Now it was just a waiting game before I could put step 2 into action.