The tiny, angry guy who still hasn't introduced himself doesn't take Frank to a hotel room. He takes him to a big shiny bus parked outside a rock venue Frank's never set foot in. The guy punches a code into the bus door and pulls it open for Frank, who hesitates just a moment before heading up the stairs. It's fine, he's partied in worse places. He may as well get this done.
He's not two steps inside when someone shrieks his name and suddenly he's being hugged. Not the back-patting casual kind of hug either, the hanging-on-and-clinging-like-you-can't-let-go kind. "Frank, thank god," the guy sighs into Frank's hoodie, not letting go even though Frank's not hugging back. The only impression he has of the guy is a whole lot of black and a nest of messy hair.
Frank's accumulated a lot of weird client stories over the years, but tonight is shaping up to be one of the weirdest.
"Are you Bob?" he asks, because the other guy mentioned a Bob, right?
"What?" The guy says, easing back but still not really letting go. Frank can see now that he's young, with soft, pretty face and a mane of black hair that looks like it could use a wash. "Frank, don't be weird."
"Look, I don't know you," he tells the guy, trying to keep his patience, but for fuck's sake the first rule of roleplay is if you want a fucking scene you should outline it first.
The guy just stares at him, his eyes huge and uncomprehending. He's looks so sad and confused that Frank bites back the snarky sentence he had lined up to say. "Don't fuck with me Frank, you were gone for ages. We've been going out of our minds. What-"
The tiny angry guy jumps in, "He's acting weird. I don't know. " He turns his frown on Frank, "Frank, if this is a prank it's not funny and you really need to cut this shit out."
"Stop talking to me like you know me!" Frank half-shouts, because he's really starting to get the shits with all this now. All the wide-eyed concern is getting under his skin and he just came to do a fucking job and get out.
His raised voice must gain him some attention, because soon there's three more random guys staring at him from what looks like a living room (seriously, what kind of fancy bus has a lounge in it?) One of them has a fro the size of Texas, and the other two are blonde - one thin and bendy, the other stocky with a beard.
"Frank?" the one with the fro says, all concern, and jesus it's not fair all these people calling him by name when he can't put a name to any of them. Frank glares at the guy.
"How do you all know my name?" he asks, trying to place them, any of them. Maybe they really know him? Maybe he's met them and forgotten them? He scans their faces in turn, looking for any recogniseable signs, but there's nothing until - wait. The skinny blond. Frank squints at him, mentally comparing him to a half-remembered scene kid from years back. "Did you ever wear glasses?"
"Yeah, you know that, though. Frank…?" he stares at Frank, brow furrowed.
Frank overlays thick specs on the kid's face some crazy fucked-up hair and yeah, okay, it could be him. That kid from Eyeball who used to go to all the gigs, "I know you," he says, trying to remember something - anything about him except that he was a scene kid. "You were… your brother died, right?"
Definitely not the right thing to say. The room goes fucking silent and the kid reels back like Frank slapped him. He looks like he's going to cry.
"Don't you say that," he says, his voice cracking a little on the words, "Don't you fucking say that, Frank."
"I'm sorry, what?" Frank utters, and jesus this is definitely the weirdest. What's this Jersey kid doing out here anyway and what the fuck, it's not like it's Frank's fault the guy never got over his brother's death.
"What's wrong with you?" the tiny angry guy yells at Frank and okay, he's really living up to his nickname now. They all start talking at once, barking questions and babbling nonsense and fuck, Frank's just got to get the hell out of there, already.
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He's not two steps inside when someone shrieks his name and suddenly he's being hugged. Not the back-patting casual kind of hug either, the hanging-on-and-clinging-like-you-can't-let-go kind. "Frank, thank god," the guy sighs into Frank's hoodie, not letting go even though Frank's not hugging back. The only impression he has of the guy is a whole lot of black and a nest of messy hair.
Frank's accumulated a lot of weird client stories over the years, but tonight is shaping up to be one of the weirdest.
"Are you Bob?" he asks, because the other guy mentioned a Bob, right?
"What?" The guy says, easing back but still not really letting go. Frank can see now that he's young, with soft, pretty face and a mane of black hair that looks like it could use a wash. "Frank, don't be weird."
"Look, I don't know you," he tells the guy, trying to keep his patience, but for fuck's sake the first rule of roleplay is if you want a fucking scene you should outline it first.
The guy just stares at him, his eyes huge and uncomprehending. He's looks so sad and confused that Frank bites back the snarky sentence he had lined up to say. "Don't fuck with me Frank, you were gone for ages. We've been going out of our minds. What-"
The tiny angry guy jumps in, "He's acting weird. I don't know. " He turns his frown on Frank, "Frank, if this is a prank it's not funny and you really need to cut this shit out."
"Stop talking to me like you know me!" Frank half-shouts, because he's really starting to get the shits with all this now. All the wide-eyed concern is getting under his skin and he just came to do a fucking job and get out.
His raised voice must gain him some attention, because soon there's three more random guys staring at him from what looks like a living room (seriously, what kind of fancy bus has a lounge in it?) One of them has a fro the size of Texas, and the other two are blonde - one thin and bendy, the other stocky with a beard.
"Frank?" the one with the fro says, all concern, and jesus it's not fair all these people calling him by name when he can't put a name to any of them. Frank glares at the guy.
"How do you all know my name?" he asks, trying to place them, any of them. Maybe they really know him? Maybe he's met them and forgotten them? He scans their faces in turn, looking for any recogniseable signs, but there's nothing until - wait. The skinny blond. Frank squints at him, mentally comparing him to a half-remembered scene kid from years back. "Did you ever wear glasses?"
"Yeah, you know that, though. Frank…?" he stares at Frank, brow furrowed.
Frank overlays thick specs on the kid's face some crazy fucked-up hair and yeah, okay, it could be him. That kid from Eyeball who used to go to all the gigs, "I know you," he says, trying to remember something - anything about him except that he was a scene kid. "You were… your brother died, right?"
Definitely not the right thing to say. The room goes fucking silent and the kid reels back like Frank slapped him. He looks like he's going to cry.
"Don't you say that," he says, his voice cracking a little on the words, "Don't you fucking say that, Frank."
"I'm sorry, what?" Frank utters, and jesus this is definitely the weirdest. What's this Jersey kid doing out here anyway and what the fuck, it's not like it's Frank's fault the guy never got over his brother's death.
"What's wrong with you?" the tiny angry guy yells at Frank and okay, he's really living up to his nickname now. They all start talking at once, barking questions and babbling nonsense and fuck, Frank's just got to get the hell out of there, already.
(CONT)