Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Want *Frikey*
Hey guys I’m really really sorry I haven’t updated but I’m in shock. I’ve come to find out that my longtime boyfriend and ex-fiance is... duh duh duh a fucking homophobe!!! One of my main goals in life is for gay/lesbian/bisexual people to get equal rights. I’m devestated because otherwise hes a fantastical guy, I just couldn’t do that. My wedding was going to be on my deceased parents anneversity... So if this chapter sucks blame me if you want to. Oh and my leg still is broken. Damn ladders. R & R please! Love from the unloved Laura
Chapter 3.
MIKEYS POV
The man, Frank, was a mystery that defiantly sparked my curiosity. He just was...interesting. I don’t know what It is about him, but I find myself drawn to him. Maybe is was his formal, refined, even old fashioned way of speaking. Maybe it was the way he smiled as if he knew everything about you. Maybe it was his aura in general, his manner of being.
I sit in the plush, dusty armchair and gaze into the depths of the slowly burning fire. Its not vast and roaring, not crackly and decalesent, not enormous and in-your-damn-face, it was just there. Just patiently burning, just patiently consuming the few logs that rested in the large stone hearth. I feel like royalty, and immediately sit up straight, as though I needed to impress someone. Maybe I did. I wonder how old Frank is...
“Here’s your coffee, Michael. Careful its scalding.” Frank softly says as he carefully hands a fluorescent orange coffee mug into my still numb hands.
“Thank you, Frank. Its very kind of you to let me stay in your magnificent house” I say, not wanting for this kind-hearted stranger to feel like I’m invading their hospitality.
Frank just nodded and proceeded to sip his coffee daintily.
Not knowing what to say, I glanced around the room, soaking it all in.
Franks house was indeed magnificent. The room was old looking, but in a charming and unique way. [A/N haha WAY. ugh I’m such a fangirl] It was large, yet very cozy and the walls exhibited many pictures of what looked like an older Frank. Next to me was Frank in an armchair similar to mine. To my right I saw a beautiful stained glass picture of a dove in flight. The window nearby was huge and covered most of the wall opposite. I could not tell if it was still pouring however because the blood red lacy curtains were drawn. The room was dark, for it had no light except a regal chandelier which hung from the high ceiling. I then realized that the floor, was not wood or stone like i had expected, but rather dozens of plush looking rugs, all red also. A stain beneath my feet was harsh and looked suspiciously like blood. I traced the blotches with my eyes and discovered, to my horror, that it had dripped all the way from a closed door across the room.
I tried to shake my thoughts out of my head, It had probably happened a long time ago, even if it was actually blood. But who’s? And why?
“So, Michael tell me about yourself.” The stranger said.
“Me.? Uh.” I said stupidly. Well of course who else would he be talking to in this deserted mansion.?
For some reason, that thought made me shiver.
Once again, he just nods, however this time with a slight smirk on his face.
“Well, I’m 21 uhh I play bass ya know guitar, I wear glasses usually. I love to read and listen to music. And I had an older brother that passed five years ago, and well, I’ve never had coffee in an orange mug before..” I trailed off.. feeling even more socially awkward than usual.
His face doesn’t show sympathy like most peoples do. He nods as though he already knew that. Did he? I mean Gerard wasn’t exactly popular. He stayed inside, drawing or writing most of his days.
Silence sits between us, obvious and awkward.
“Uhh what about you, Frank...” I ask suddenly.
(FRANKS POV)
“Uhh what about you, Frank...?” Michael asks, obviously uncomfortable with silence.
I don’t know why people think silences are awkward. Maybe after living with only yourself, millions of dead sinners, and guilt for hundreds of years, you just get used to nothing.
“Well,” I need to tread carefully in these waters, “I am 25 currently, this has been my families house for 300 years, I guide people for a living, and I have never seen anyone this interested in my house.” I decide on.
Most of it is true. I am twenty-five currently. You see, every time I reach the age of 30, I commit suicide. Then I simply reincarnate myself and are borne anew from one very unlucky mother. See, I have to go through the tedious process every thirty years but I always retain the same appearance. Its a thoroughly disgusting journey, especially because I keep my developed brain so I know whats going on and can feel myself being born. Revolting. I highly recommend not going through what I go through every 30 years. I have five more years to live. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.
“Oh, well what kind of tours do you do?” He asks as he gazes longingly into his empty cup.
I have to hold back a knowing chuckle as I respond with:
“Underground, I work the graveyard shift.”
Chapter 3.
MIKEYS POV
The man, Frank, was a mystery that defiantly sparked my curiosity. He just was...interesting. I don’t know what It is about him, but I find myself drawn to him. Maybe is was his formal, refined, even old fashioned way of speaking. Maybe it was the way he smiled as if he knew everything about you. Maybe it was his aura in general, his manner of being.
I sit in the plush, dusty armchair and gaze into the depths of the slowly burning fire. Its not vast and roaring, not crackly and decalesent, not enormous and in-your-damn-face, it was just there. Just patiently burning, just patiently consuming the few logs that rested in the large stone hearth. I feel like royalty, and immediately sit up straight, as though I needed to impress someone. Maybe I did. I wonder how old Frank is...
“Here’s your coffee, Michael. Careful its scalding.” Frank softly says as he carefully hands a fluorescent orange coffee mug into my still numb hands.
“Thank you, Frank. Its very kind of you to let me stay in your magnificent house” I say, not wanting for this kind-hearted stranger to feel like I’m invading their hospitality.
Frank just nodded and proceeded to sip his coffee daintily.
Not knowing what to say, I glanced around the room, soaking it all in.
Franks house was indeed magnificent. The room was old looking, but in a charming and unique way. [A/N haha WAY. ugh I’m such a fangirl] It was large, yet very cozy and the walls exhibited many pictures of what looked like an older Frank. Next to me was Frank in an armchair similar to mine. To my right I saw a beautiful stained glass picture of a dove in flight. The window nearby was huge and covered most of the wall opposite. I could not tell if it was still pouring however because the blood red lacy curtains were drawn. The room was dark, for it had no light except a regal chandelier which hung from the high ceiling. I then realized that the floor, was not wood or stone like i had expected, but rather dozens of plush looking rugs, all red also. A stain beneath my feet was harsh and looked suspiciously like blood. I traced the blotches with my eyes and discovered, to my horror, that it had dripped all the way from a closed door across the room.
I tried to shake my thoughts out of my head, It had probably happened a long time ago, even if it was actually blood. But who’s? And why?
“So, Michael tell me about yourself.” The stranger said.
“Me.? Uh.” I said stupidly. Well of course who else would he be talking to in this deserted mansion.?
For some reason, that thought made me shiver.
Once again, he just nods, however this time with a slight smirk on his face.
“Well, I’m 21 uhh I play bass ya know guitar, I wear glasses usually. I love to read and listen to music. And I had an older brother that passed five years ago, and well, I’ve never had coffee in an orange mug before..” I trailed off.. feeling even more socially awkward than usual.
His face doesn’t show sympathy like most peoples do. He nods as though he already knew that. Did he? I mean Gerard wasn’t exactly popular. He stayed inside, drawing or writing most of his days.
Silence sits between us, obvious and awkward.
“Uhh what about you, Frank...” I ask suddenly.
(FRANKS POV)
“Uhh what about you, Frank...?” Michael asks, obviously uncomfortable with silence.
I don’t know why people think silences are awkward. Maybe after living with only yourself, millions of dead sinners, and guilt for hundreds of years, you just get used to nothing.
“Well,” I need to tread carefully in these waters, “I am 25 currently, this has been my families house for 300 years, I guide people for a living, and I have never seen anyone this interested in my house.” I decide on.
Most of it is true. I am twenty-five currently. You see, every time I reach the age of 30, I commit suicide. Then I simply reincarnate myself and are borne anew from one very unlucky mother. See, I have to go through the tedious process every thirty years but I always retain the same appearance. Its a thoroughly disgusting journey, especially because I keep my developed brain so I know whats going on and can feel myself being born. Revolting. I highly recommend not going through what I go through every 30 years. I have five more years to live. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.
“Oh, well what kind of tours do you do?” He asks as he gazes longingly into his empty cup.
I have to hold back a knowing chuckle as I respond with:
“Underground, I work the graveyard shift.”
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