Again, with the awkward social situations. At least this time the cluster of people seemed so enormous I couldn’t possibly be noticed...or at least it should have felt that way, seeing as the conversation filled the room with a deafening affect.
But then I saw the dude...the little dude. The skinny one. With many tattoos. And unnatural looking face piercings. Who obviously loathed me.
He glared at me from across the room, as if he thought I might...I dunno, react? I thought he’d just glare at me until his boyfriend or whatever got him, but he started toward me, with an unfortunate look of purpose. For some reason it slightly amused me. Maybe more than slightly, since I burst out laughing, only to receive many frightened looks from passersby.
He froze once he’d reached within a yard of me, which was probably the closest anyone’s ever intentionally come to me. The expression he bore changed slightly from anger to annoyance; another first.
“What?” he snapped.
I tried to escape with the monster complex again and hissed at him.
“You know that face of stupidity doesn’t fool me into thinking you’re not able to speak,”
I paused for a moment and thought of a comeback that amused me. “Well your tattoos don’t fool me into thinking you’re not gay.”
He blinked in surprise and frowned. “You still didn’t answer my question.”
I gave him my attempt at a perplexed look, which I found hard since this form didn’t have any eyebrows.
“I didn’t know ‘what’ in that context was supposed to be answered,” I said, standing up.
“Not that one,” he said, seeming a little more scared now that I stood up. “The one-”
“Little dude,” I interrupted, beginning to resent Morgan’s half-threat against harming people. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That’s right. You nearly pulled my guts out before I could say anything.”
I choked back a laugh at his attitude about the event.
“You were a lonely child, weren’t you?” I asked, highly amused.
“Fucker,” he spat.
“Such hatred!” I said sarcastically.
“No shit, bitch,” he shot, attempting a menacing glare.
It may have scared me if I weren’t taller than him while I remained sitting.
“Are we done here?” I asked.
“Yeah, we’re done,” he said angrily.
Then his boyfriend came up behind him, saw me, and immediately assumed a protective position around him. Compared to the angry one, who was about half a foot shorter, he looked like he could defend himself pretty well. Looked like he could.
"Babe," Boyfriend said to the littler one. "What are you doing?"
"I...you know," he muttered.
"Come on...you're probably tired," Boyfriend said, trying to pull Little One away.
"Being an angry little queer does tend to take a lot of energy out of you," I said.
I was expecting Little One to react, but I got more response out of Boyfriend.
"Fuck you," he snapped.
"Well, why don't you fuck him?" I asked, pointing at Little One. "Or is he too willing for you?"
Before I'd thought Little One had hated me...but the look on Boyfriend's face completely surpassed Little One's apparent hatred.
"Just stay the fuck away from him," Boyfriend told me, shielding him from me.
I saw Little One slip his hand around to hold Boyfriend's hand, then poke his head to the side to look at me. It almost looked cute. But he annoyed me too much for it to really look cute.
"Glad to," I said.
For the next few days - I could only tell days were passing anymore because we still had clocks - everything remained relatively uneventful. Nearly everyday I went to the fourth floor, by far my favorite floor, and played guitar behind the lone wooden door. That room seemed kinda small - so small it almost made me feel claustrophobic. But it also somehow had room for a dozen guitars, a drum set, and a number of other random instruments.
Somehow things weren't that...stressful here. I had no idea what to think about...Miracea...anymore...but I wasn't stressed. It almost felt comfortable there, but that bothered me, because I hated the fact that I had no choice in being there. Morgan had just dragged us there.
But at least I had managed to stay away from the creatures of outside for a while. And I finally figured out at least one partial routine that happened almost every night. Nearly every night the main level put its club-like appearance into use, and put up a band to play for everyone to dance or mosh-pit-flail to.
After a while I found out that most of the bands were holograms. And not only that, any band could get up and play. Or, half a band could get up and play, and holograms could fill in the rest. The latter was what really struck me. After hearing it I couldn't help but turn to Gee and smile.
"Whaaat?" he asked suspiciously.
"You think maybe you could get your pink boa?" I asked.
I knew I'd played for an audience before; I recognized the feeling right when I walked on stage. I just didn't remember anything specific about the stages, or the rest of the band. I just remember the playing - the euphoria of the "do or die" moment, with the occasional interruption of Gerard's lips against mine and the screaming crowd's response. We hadn't just done this before...we lived to do this.
This time, when the light hit us, and the crowd murmured in confusion, a whole new kind of excitement hit me. These people didn't know what the fuck to expect. Especially since I had changed into my lightest pink tutu and put on white pantyhose. They didn't technically want to hear us play. We had to make them want to hear us play.
"Now I know...you guys are wondering...who are those crazy ass motherfuckers up there?" Gerard greeted the crowd. "Well...let me introduce us. We are My. Chemical. Romance!"
The other guitarist and I immediately started playing a little background music, and few members of the audience started cheering.
"I think that's Bob back there...on the drums...at least that's what I've been told. Apparently that's Ray over there on the lead guitar. I'm assuming that's my little brother Mikey over there on the bass. Hmm...over here...in the lovely pink tutu...is the most fucking amazing rhythm guitarist in the world...Frank Iero."
I grinned for him, the pointed to my eye, my ear, and then made an oh with my thumb and index finger to make sure they knew how to say it.
"And I...am your fucking master tonight...and my name...is Gerard Way,"
Then the holograms and I went into action, playing You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison. Pretty much half-way through the first chorus the crowd got wilder, and half of them started mosh-pit-flailing to us.
I hadn't felt this amazing in a long time. And judging by the way Gerard was jumping around, I guessed he felt the same.