Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Midnight Troupe
The next morning, Gerard was finally feeling his injuries. His face felt like it’d been hit by a truck, a migraine-worthy headache was starting to build behind his eyes, and every surface felt like it had a bruise on it.
“Good morning, princess!” Sidney shouted, shoving Gerard out of bed. Gerard managed to break his fall with his knees and the palms of his hands.
“Ouch...." Gerard moaned.
“You’ll be able to see all your injuries in the showers. I’ve got a bruise that’s exactly the shape of Uzbekistan. Wanna see?” Sid asked excitedly, hauling up his shirt to show Gerard.
“Very cute,” Gerard responded, staggering into a stand. “Whoa! Your face!” Sid exclaimed, grabbing Gerard’s chin to see it.
“How bad is it?” Gerard asked.
“You look like you’ve been abused.”
“I have been.”
“If anyone asks, you were goofing around on halloween and fell into a ditch,” Sidney told him. A constellation of bruises were starting to form on the side of his face.
“Hah! I gave you a black eye!” Gerard crowed, feeling proud.
Sid rolled his eyes. “Listen, I have to meet up with my bro, so go shower. I’ll see you at breakfast, ‘kay?” Sid said, then paused, waiting for Gerard’s answer.
Gerard nodded. “I get it.”
“Awesome. Bump it.”
Gerard and Sid bumped knuckles, then Sid was out the door.
~*~
Gerard didn’t notice how quiet it was until he got to the mess hall. Everything seemed to be on mute.
Frankie had jumped up to wave him over to his table with Ray and Mikey, but Gerard’s eyes wandered over to Sid’s table. Sid nodded at him, then cleared a space for him.
Gerard veered off to go sit next to them.
“Hey, what gives! First he doesn’t show up for my birthday, now he won’t sit with us!” Frankie grumbled, drowning his cereal.
“What happened to his face?” Ray asked. Everybody else shrugged.
Ray narrowed his eyes when he saw that everybody else at the table also had scrapes.
Standing up from the table, he marched over to where Sidney and Gerard were sitting.
“Excuse me?”
Sid broke off mid-sentence and turned to stare at him.
“What’s up, you annoying little tyke?”
Ray ignored the insult. “Why do all of you have bruises?”
“Bruises?” a girl repeated. “Do we have bruises?” a tall boy asked, running a hand over his face.
“Yeah, you do. Where’d you get ‘em?” Ray asked indignantly.
“I’m sorry, Ray. We simply have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sid responded, leaning back to look at the younger boy.
Ray turned to Gerard. “Gee, what the heck-”
Gerard turned to Ray, eyes glazed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Gerard watched as Ray headed dejectedly back to his table. He regretted saying it, but he couldn’t sell this out, could he?
“Good job, kid,” Sid told him, slapping his shoulder. That brought Gerard back.
“So what, the new rule of Fight Club is ‘Don’t talk about Fight Club’?” the tall boy at the end of the table asked.
“No. The rule of The Midnight Troupe is ‘Don’t tell anyone about it.’ My boy Gee is a good example. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Remember that,” Sid replied, putting ketchup on his scrambled eggs.
“How many bruises do you guys have?” a blonde girl at the end of the table asked.
There were general answers, ranging from five to seventeen.
“Oh! Gerard, meet the inner circle. They all have Tarot cards, which means they can invite others in with them. Meet Sylvester, the Strength. Apple Corleone, the Empress. Izzy Crow, High Priestess. My brother ditched, but he’s the Moon. And you know me, I’m the Fool.”
The people around the table waved. Gerard recognized Izzy from last night, mostly from her blue hair. “My name’s Apollonia, Fuckass!” Apple snapped at Sid.
Sid shrugged, taking a bite of scrambled eggs. “Not anymore. ‘Sides, it’s a nickname. Deal with it.”
Apple took a bite of her muffin, then winced. “What’s up?” Sid asked.
“You should know.”
“Oh, Christ, not this game again.”
Apple sighed dramatically, then leaned past Sylvester to show Sid her lip.
“See? You owe me a new one.”
Sid sucked in air. The skin next to Apple’s lip was puckered, and slid diagonally downwards to the top of her upper lip.
“Erm. That’s very...red. What happened?” Sid asked, leaning away.
“The fuck, Sid? You did it to me!” Apple snapped, leaning forward over Sylvester to grab at the lapels of Sid’s blazer. Sylvester made a noise and pushed her back.
“I did not!” Sidney protested.
“You did! My monroe got caught on the tape on your hand! Remember?” Apple growled. “No! I don’t, because that’s bullshit! It wasn’t me, so just calm your ass down. Besides, you’re a fucking idiot for wearing all those things to Troupe anyway. At least you’re not as bad as Gee-tard.” Sid responded, taking a bite of toast.
Gerard sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked, tentatively.
In response, Izzy reached into her purse and pulled out a makeup mirror. Gerard braced himself, then looked.
The entire right side was swollen in bumps like cauliflower, and deep, angry red scratches ran in small patterns around the worst bumps. Beneath the scratches, bruises were blooming like ink, purples and reds deepening to black where Sid had slammed his face to the pavement.
“You jerk,” Gerard muttered to Sid, handing Izzy back her mirror.
“Me jerk? You idiot. I gave you a choice. You made yours, now live with it.”
Gerard scoffed. “The Midnight Troupe isn’t Fight Club, Sid.”
“Excuse me, but what are you talking about?”
Everybody at the table turned to the sound of the voice. Gerard’s heart sank. Leslie was standing next to their table, glaring at them. Leslie’s pale blue eyes flicked over all of them, lingering longest on Gerard, then finally stopping on Sid.
“Wow. You’re still here?”
“Yeah, actually. I can’t ride on my daddy’s money like some people,” Sid said lightly. Leslie’s hands tightened on his tray, then relaxed.
“We both know why you can’t rely on your daddy, right Siddy?” Les responded.
Sidney’s eyes flicked up, and Gerard saw his jaw clench.
“Say that again, you fucking bastard of a former best friend, and I will kill you.”
“Death threats, Sid? Always thought you were above that, personally.”
“That’s not a threat. That’s a goddamn promise.”
Both boys were silent. Everybody else watched the two of them glare at each other.
“Listen, Sid; You put another god damn toe out of line, and I catch you, you’re expelled from Our Father Immaculate. Guaranteed. Understand?” Les hissed.
“Nice try, Ray Charles. I’m over here,” Sid sneered, cracking his knuckles. Les flushed.
“Go ahead. I’ve got premature cataracts. I’ll still outlive you by ten years with all the cigarettes you inhale,” Les said, smirking.
“Ooh, nice try, thanks for playing. I’ve quit. Now get out of my sight,” Sid responded coolly, sure he’d won the argument.
“Check your inside blazer pocket, idiot,” Les responded, rolling his mostly-blind blue eyes and walking away.
Sid obliged, and found a carton of Marlboros. “What the fuck?” he murmured, checking the box. It was half-empty.
“I haven’t smoked in, like, three weeks...” Sid muttered, then whipped around to stare down the back of Les’s head.
“HEY, DICKHEAD!” He shouted, and Les stopped walking.
“I SLEPT WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND!”
The reaction was instantaneous. Les slammed his breakfast tray down on the nearest table. Eyes rolling madly, Les managed to lock onto Sid’s general location.
“Gentlemen, Ladies, Gerard, I must take my leave,” Sid responded, then bolted out of the mess hall.
“GUMB, YOU COWARD! GET BACK HERE!” Les bellowed, running out after him, but stopping first at Gerard’s table.
“You don’t think I know what’s going on? I know everything, you can count on it! I thought you were smarter than to get stuck with Gumb, but no. You’re just like everyone else. See you in rehearsals. Fix your face by then,” he hissed, then continued to chase after Sid.
Gerard felt panic rise up in him, but he quickly quelled it. What could Les possibly do to him that Sidney hadn't already? Les was nothing.
Gerard started eating his breakfast. He wasn't worried. Les didn't scare him. He was just a blind kid who ran a musical. Sid could take care of him.
(A.N. I feel like I should say something. Thank you for reading this far. It's fun to write, even if it doesn't really make sense. Thank you for putting up with everything and reading this far.)
“Good morning, princess!” Sidney shouted, shoving Gerard out of bed. Gerard managed to break his fall with his knees and the palms of his hands.
“Ouch...." Gerard moaned.
“You’ll be able to see all your injuries in the showers. I’ve got a bruise that’s exactly the shape of Uzbekistan. Wanna see?” Sid asked excitedly, hauling up his shirt to show Gerard.
“Very cute,” Gerard responded, staggering into a stand. “Whoa! Your face!” Sid exclaimed, grabbing Gerard’s chin to see it.
“How bad is it?” Gerard asked.
“You look like you’ve been abused.”
“I have been.”
“If anyone asks, you were goofing around on halloween and fell into a ditch,” Sidney told him. A constellation of bruises were starting to form on the side of his face.
“Hah! I gave you a black eye!” Gerard crowed, feeling proud.
Sid rolled his eyes. “Listen, I have to meet up with my bro, so go shower. I’ll see you at breakfast, ‘kay?” Sid said, then paused, waiting for Gerard’s answer.
Gerard nodded. “I get it.”
“Awesome. Bump it.”
Gerard and Sid bumped knuckles, then Sid was out the door.
~*~
Gerard didn’t notice how quiet it was until he got to the mess hall. Everything seemed to be on mute.
Frankie had jumped up to wave him over to his table with Ray and Mikey, but Gerard’s eyes wandered over to Sid’s table. Sid nodded at him, then cleared a space for him.
Gerard veered off to go sit next to them.
“Hey, what gives! First he doesn’t show up for my birthday, now he won’t sit with us!” Frankie grumbled, drowning his cereal.
“What happened to his face?” Ray asked. Everybody else shrugged.
Ray narrowed his eyes when he saw that everybody else at the table also had scrapes.
Standing up from the table, he marched over to where Sidney and Gerard were sitting.
“Excuse me?”
Sid broke off mid-sentence and turned to stare at him.
“What’s up, you annoying little tyke?”
Ray ignored the insult. “Why do all of you have bruises?”
“Bruises?” a girl repeated. “Do we have bruises?” a tall boy asked, running a hand over his face.
“Yeah, you do. Where’d you get ‘em?” Ray asked indignantly.
“I’m sorry, Ray. We simply have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sid responded, leaning back to look at the younger boy.
Ray turned to Gerard. “Gee, what the heck-”
Gerard turned to Ray, eyes glazed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Gerard watched as Ray headed dejectedly back to his table. He regretted saying it, but he couldn’t sell this out, could he?
“Good job, kid,” Sid told him, slapping his shoulder. That brought Gerard back.
“So what, the new rule of Fight Club is ‘Don’t talk about Fight Club’?” the tall boy at the end of the table asked.
“No. The rule of The Midnight Troupe is ‘Don’t tell anyone about it.’ My boy Gee is a good example. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Remember that,” Sid replied, putting ketchup on his scrambled eggs.
“How many bruises do you guys have?” a blonde girl at the end of the table asked.
There were general answers, ranging from five to seventeen.
“Oh! Gerard, meet the inner circle. They all have Tarot cards, which means they can invite others in with them. Meet Sylvester, the Strength. Apple Corleone, the Empress. Izzy Crow, High Priestess. My brother ditched, but he’s the Moon. And you know me, I’m the Fool.”
The people around the table waved. Gerard recognized Izzy from last night, mostly from her blue hair. “My name’s Apollonia, Fuckass!” Apple snapped at Sid.
Sid shrugged, taking a bite of scrambled eggs. “Not anymore. ‘Sides, it’s a nickname. Deal with it.”
Apple took a bite of her muffin, then winced. “What’s up?” Sid asked.
“You should know.”
“Oh, Christ, not this game again.”
Apple sighed dramatically, then leaned past Sylvester to show Sid her lip.
“See? You owe me a new one.”
Sid sucked in air. The skin next to Apple’s lip was puckered, and slid diagonally downwards to the top of her upper lip.
“Erm. That’s very...red. What happened?” Sid asked, leaning away.
“The fuck, Sid? You did it to me!” Apple snapped, leaning forward over Sylvester to grab at the lapels of Sid’s blazer. Sylvester made a noise and pushed her back.
“I did not!” Sidney protested.
“You did! My monroe got caught on the tape on your hand! Remember?” Apple growled. “No! I don’t, because that’s bullshit! It wasn’t me, so just calm your ass down. Besides, you’re a fucking idiot for wearing all those things to Troupe anyway. At least you’re not as bad as Gee-tard.” Sid responded, taking a bite of toast.
Gerard sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked, tentatively.
In response, Izzy reached into her purse and pulled out a makeup mirror. Gerard braced himself, then looked.
The entire right side was swollen in bumps like cauliflower, and deep, angry red scratches ran in small patterns around the worst bumps. Beneath the scratches, bruises were blooming like ink, purples and reds deepening to black where Sid had slammed his face to the pavement.
“You jerk,” Gerard muttered to Sid, handing Izzy back her mirror.
“Me jerk? You idiot. I gave you a choice. You made yours, now live with it.”
Gerard scoffed. “The Midnight Troupe isn’t Fight Club, Sid.”
“Excuse me, but what are you talking about?”
Everybody at the table turned to the sound of the voice. Gerard’s heart sank. Leslie was standing next to their table, glaring at them. Leslie’s pale blue eyes flicked over all of them, lingering longest on Gerard, then finally stopping on Sid.
“Wow. You’re still here?”
“Yeah, actually. I can’t ride on my daddy’s money like some people,” Sid said lightly. Leslie’s hands tightened on his tray, then relaxed.
“We both know why you can’t rely on your daddy, right Siddy?” Les responded.
Sidney’s eyes flicked up, and Gerard saw his jaw clench.
“Say that again, you fucking bastard of a former best friend, and I will kill you.”
“Death threats, Sid? Always thought you were above that, personally.”
“That’s not a threat. That’s a goddamn promise.”
Both boys were silent. Everybody else watched the two of them glare at each other.
“Listen, Sid; You put another god damn toe out of line, and I catch you, you’re expelled from Our Father Immaculate. Guaranteed. Understand?” Les hissed.
“Nice try, Ray Charles. I’m over here,” Sid sneered, cracking his knuckles. Les flushed.
“Go ahead. I’ve got premature cataracts. I’ll still outlive you by ten years with all the cigarettes you inhale,” Les said, smirking.
“Ooh, nice try, thanks for playing. I’ve quit. Now get out of my sight,” Sid responded coolly, sure he’d won the argument.
“Check your inside blazer pocket, idiot,” Les responded, rolling his mostly-blind blue eyes and walking away.
Sid obliged, and found a carton of Marlboros. “What the fuck?” he murmured, checking the box. It was half-empty.
“I haven’t smoked in, like, three weeks...” Sid muttered, then whipped around to stare down the back of Les’s head.
“HEY, DICKHEAD!” He shouted, and Les stopped walking.
“I SLEPT WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND!”
The reaction was instantaneous. Les slammed his breakfast tray down on the nearest table. Eyes rolling madly, Les managed to lock onto Sid’s general location.
“Gentlemen, Ladies, Gerard, I must take my leave,” Sid responded, then bolted out of the mess hall.
“GUMB, YOU COWARD! GET BACK HERE!” Les bellowed, running out after him, but stopping first at Gerard’s table.
“You don’t think I know what’s going on? I know everything, you can count on it! I thought you were smarter than to get stuck with Gumb, but no. You’re just like everyone else. See you in rehearsals. Fix your face by then,” he hissed, then continued to chase after Sid.
Gerard felt panic rise up in him, but he quickly quelled it. What could Les possibly do to him that Sidney hadn't already? Les was nothing.
Gerard started eating his breakfast. He wasn't worried. Les didn't scare him. He was just a blind kid who ran a musical. Sid could take care of him.
(A.N. I feel like I should say something. Thank you for reading this far. It's fun to write, even if it doesn't really make sense. Thank you for putting up with everything and reading this far.)
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