Oneshot. In the car with a bored Frank, an agitated Ray, a depressed Mikey, an over-optimistic Gerard and a manager with no regard for road safety.
Well not quite.
So yeah. Pretty random I guess. Which is gooooooood. Random is my middle name! Party Pooper Random!
...Wait...what? Party Random Pooper. That's better. Enjoy.
So it was a Saturday. And it was grey.
So grey it was if the world had been whitewashed into the chalky dullness of the cloud smothered sky; so thick it was a wonder if it anyone remembered what the sun looked like. The barren scrap of countryside underneath it was also as gloriously depressing it seemed there was nowhere to look for comforting sun rays or ocean blue skies.
"Describing this place," Frank decided, "is like dancing to no music."
"Poetic," snapped Ray, rolling his eyes.
"I thought so too." Frank beamed proudly, ignoring the sighs from his friends around him.
Mikey stared out of the rain splattered window and sighed. "Why couldn't we just stay in LA to finish the recording?"
The others shrugged. Frank pulled his knees up to his chest and sunk deeper into the hood of his sweater. Gerard sighed in exasperation.
"Think of it as a vacation," he encouraged optimistically. "A chance to get away? Plus we have shows here anyway, so it's all the less travelling! Right?"
He turned in his seat to see the change of attitude on his bandmates' faces. Nothing. Gerard scowled and turned back to face the front. "Dancing to no music," he grumbled, fingering the glass of the window. "Should use that sometime."
"I know, right?" Frank grinned. The others groaned and returned to their individual dampened moods and absent-mided activities to pass the time.
"Bugslug!" Frank exclaimed suddenly, punching Ray's shoulder hard.
"The fuck?!" Ray yelped in reply. "There wasn't a truck anywhere."
"I'm using subliminal messages," Frank explained in a manner one uses when communicating with a remedial. "I read about it on the internet. Gets inside people's heads and shiz." He wrinkled his nose. "But you're a toughy."
"You can't play Bugslug when you're the only one on the road."
"But I'm bored."
"Then find yourself a dildo."
"Can't. Brian's not finished with mine yet."
"Don't you children bring me into this," Brian called from the front seat, eyes not leaving the map he was poring over. No one pretended they didn't notice how, despite their blaitant vulnerability to danger by doing so, his eyes spent most of the time on that map instead of the actual road.
"You want me to take that?" Gerard asked for the near tenth time.
Brian held out his hand in declination. "Let a mananger do his duty."
"I wanna go home," Mikey whined. "Why are we here?"
"Frank, for the hundredth time-"
"Whatever happened to...all of our sunbeams?" Mikey sang sadly to the tune of Strangler's 'Heroes'. "No more sunbeams anymore..."
"Man, I will knock you out-"
"No, I swear I saw a truck over there!"
"That was a cow, fuckwad!"
"Really? A cow? That means there should be an aquarium somewhere, right?"
"You are so fucking stupid."
"Jesus W Christ-"
And so they were. Wherever 'here' was.
There. You like? You review. And maybe a little rate. It gives me a sense of purpose in my life :).
Thanks for reading. I'm gonna go cry over how they grow up so fast :'(