FicWad

A/N: This is my first MCR fanfic that I have written in YEARS. I also usually write Slash. Het fics arent usually my cup of tea. Please concrit most welcome!


Chapter One
All the world’s a stage. I think someone said that once. David Bowie or Walt Whitman, or someone really prestigious like that. I could feel it too, the thrum of my life energy as I awaited my band’s signal to step onto that stand onto the world—

“Honey, wake up, we’re here!” I groaned, snapping from my fantastic dream, and a conglomeration of huge stone buildings came into focus. At the forefront was a building called Stewart Hall, but I could see several other buildings behind it, though I could not see what they were called. I sat up and unbuckled the seatbelt that had been biting into the side of my neck, while flattening my hair with the opposite hand.

I stepped out of the small van; still groggy from the uncomfortable sleep I had, while my mother twittered away excitedly. “Oh, College! Baby I am just so excited for you!” She heaved one of his suitcases from the back hatch. “You are going to have the best time! New friends, new experiences! And of course all the parties…” I tuned her out faster than I usually do, and slouched to the back to help her pull my stuff out. It wasn’t much, three suitcases and my guitar stuff. No way in hell was I leaving without that. As I pulled it out, I could feel my mom’s eyes on me. I didn’t comment, as she had never really approved of my type of music. However, I did not expect her to be silent for long.

“Honey, I really wish you’d find a new hobby. This…Punk Rock…I don’t like it.” Her cheery disposition morphed into a disapproving frown, and I swallowed a groan of frustration.

“Mom, It’s for me to like, not you. So would you please leave it alone?”

“Oh, but…your hair! Frank, I really don’t…” She reached out to brush back the shocking pink locks and I grimaced.

“Mom, please, knock it off,” as I spoke, I jerked my head out of her reach. “This is supposed to be a ‘Yay Higher Learning!’ day, not a ‘Rag on Frank for his music and hair choices ‘day. Can you do that?” I looked at her pleadingly, while I hoisted my guitar case over my shoulder, while grabbing the small amp in one hand, and one of the smaller suitcases in the other.

As I moved forward, I heard her huff with frustration and I knew that this would not be the end of this argument. I stepped up to the front doors of the dorm building, and nudged it open with my shoulder.

Inside was absolute pandemonium. Parents and kids were running in and out of the rooms, the older students were already tipsy, clutching beer bottles or the telltale red plastic cups, there were boxes and luggage everywhere, and everything from shirts and paper airplanes to trash and toilet paper rolls. I could hear my mother a few feet behind me tittering with disapproval at everyone’s behavior, but I did not slow down, eager to see the room I would be spending the next few months in.

After about five minutes of looking I found room 218 up on the third floor of the building. I fished the key from my pocket, and unlocked the door to find the room empty and blessedly quiet. Though chaos was fun, with my nerves about college, I had begun to find it all a bit overwhelming.

Inside was a small, two-person living space, with identical beds, desks and a small kitchenette. I had seen the public bathroom in the hallway. I took note that whoever I was rooming with had already claimed the left half of the room, I dragged my stuff over to the right side and began to unpack, throwing things on the navy bedspread as I went.

“Oh, really Franklin!” I groaned, I hated it when she called me that. I looked up from what I was doing, a pair of boxers in my left hand and antiperspirant in my right, to see my mother standing in the frame of the door, my bags at her feet and her hands on her hips.

I straightened up and tossed the two items onto my bed where they tangled with body spray, books, clothes, and hair dye. I moved to the door and placed my hands gently on my mom’s shoulders. I was only a few inches taller than her—curse my genes, and looked directly in her eyes. “Mom, but you can go now. I’m fine and I don’t need you mollycoddling me.”

I let her go and went back to what I was doing, but it did not last long. “But—but—Oh, Frankie I am so happy for you, but you really should—“

“I love you, go away!” I said, cutting her off and pointing to the door. My stern look didn’t hold though, and I cracked a small grin, to which my mom chortled and began to back out of the doorframe.

“Okay, okay, I get the hint. Call me tomorrow night okay? I want to hear how your first day went!” She waved and left before I could reply. I laughed softly and got up to close the door, then returned to my unpacking.

By early evening I had finished most of my unpacking, and at least half of it was actually put away. I straightened up and looked around, a Black Flag poster on the wall next to my bed, and a small stack of my favourite books on the bedside table. I changed into a plain olive green t-shirt and jeans, and headed out.

Outside it was just as chaotic as it had been a few hours ago. Though I wanted to join in, not knowing anyone made me hesitant to ask and instead I headed out into the town.

Though I had no idea where I was going, it didn’t take me long to find the main road in this miniscule town and follow it, finding an array of restaurants, ice cream places and bars. I fingered the bills in my pocket as I walked, my stomach gurgling with hunger as I went, but also with a twist of longing, thinking of all my friends back home, in GED classes and trade schools.

Among my friends, though I certainly didn’t boast it, I was easily the most intelligent. Not honour roll stuff, but good enough to go away for school. My other friends were convinced that they would make it big, and as such had no future plans. I didn’t either, not really, but I knew how unlikely it would be for me to make it in the music industry, and here I am.

After walking for about ten minutes, I settled upon a Mom and Pop’s-style Diner, the flash back to the fifties type. Inside there was a red and white checkered tile floor, red and white booths, and barstools around the Milkshake bar in the same hue. All the waitresses were curvy and busty, with short red and white pinstriped dresses, and a small apron tied across the front, with their red nametag on the right side of their chest.

I stepped up to the hostess, who looked just as curvy and busty, but in a pair of short shorts and a junior tee, instead of a dress. She cracked her bubblegum loudly as I approached, and despite my expectations, her tone was warm and friendly. “Hey hon, just for one?” I nodded silently, and with her hips swaying I followed her to a small booth next to one of the front windows. She set down a menu and Ice Cream list, then winked at him, “A waitress will be by soon, okay?”

“Thanks,” I muttered, and she moved away, hips still swaying invitingly, despite the fact that she was at least six years older than me. “So much for a quaint little place,” I mumbled as I opened the menu. My eyes were jumping between the suggestive pin-up girl drawings decorating the pages, and the deliciously fattening menu items.

Around five minutes later, a strawberry blonde waitress stopped by my table. She was stunning, in a trashy sort of way, her breasts highly distracting, though I tried valiantly to focus on her face. “Hey hon, I’m Tracy, your waitress for the evening. Have you decided what you want yet?” Tracy spoke in a monotone, as though she had recited her greeting a hundred times already this evening.

“Um, yeah,” I answered awkwardly, “I’ll have the um, Veggie Burger, extra fries and a Chocolate Cookie shake.” She scribbled it onto her pad and grabbed his menus and took off. I frowned and sat back in my booth, expecting to get all nostalgic-depressed again, but I was snapped out of it pretty quickly by a girl about my age throwing herself into the opposite seat of the booth.

“Hey,” she said with a small grin, “I am Cristina.” I felt a little warm looking at her. To say she was hot was a massive understatement. Curvy and sexy in a well-proportioned sort of way, with cherry-red lips, dark hair and eyes, fair skin, and a white boy beater over a black bra, with tight black jeans and sandals.

“Um, hi.” I felt a little awkward, she seemed a few years older than me, but still managed to make my brain jump into lusty-wrong-feelings overdrive.

“Well, you certainly are a talkative one. Are you new in town?” I had to focus very hard on what she was saying, as she leaned forward slightly, giving me a lovely view down the front of her shirt.

“I…” I was cut off before I could start as my waitress slid my food and milkshake before me. She smiled at me and plucked a fry off my plate, waiting for me to speak. “Um, yeah. I am. Just moved into the dorms.” I quickly busied myself with taking a large bite from my overstuffed burger, while she cocked a well-groomed eyebrow.

“I see. Then you don’t know…” I swallowed too fast and nearly choked, hastening to take a sip of my heart-attack shake while one of her hands ran through her thick dark hair, her red nails the only bit of colour I could see in that mass of dark brown.

“Don’t know what?” I asked when I came up for air. She fished another fry off my plate, but I wasn’t complaining. I took another bite of my burger, chewing and swallowing more slowly this time to avoid choking in front of someone this supermegafoxyawesomehot.

“Well,” Cristina said thickly around another fry, “About the Vampires.”