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Oct. 8th, 2011 05:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesA State of Orange
The beginning of the end comes when his dad shouts his name from the ground floor. Not that Frank knows it at the time. He just scowls, logs out of his MMORPG, and shouts back ‘what’ without closing the browser. If there’s something they need to get into then it’s better he’s not distracted, he worked too long to power up his shaman to let thirty seconds of his dad asking him where the scratch on the car came from to enable someone sneaking up and slaughtering him. If it’s just ‘do the fucking dishes’, he can log back in without having to spend five minutes waiting for the disc to reload.
It’s neither. It’s “come downstairs, family meeting!”
Frank tromps down the stairs, hands in his pockets. Something is going down. There has to be something wrong, no question about it. The Ieros are not the kind of family that have group meetings. Frank can’t even remember the last time one happened. Maybe in fifth grade when Jessica Kinde convinced him because he was a halfling it was her right to feed on him. For sure nothing more recent, he’d remember it.
When he walks into the living room Frank’s already raised suspicions hit the ceiling. They’re holding hands. Maybe Dad has hemophilia.
“What’s going on?”
“We have to talk to you about something,” his dad starts.
“Yeah, no shit. What?” Padding whatever it is probably won’t make it better, so Mom might as well just tell him. Whatever it is, she’ll tell him. It’s not a control thing, even though she’s a vamp and Dad isn’t. His father is just no good at conflict. Frank would bet anything Dad’s the one that reached for a hand as he came down the stairs.
“I know you’re not going to be happy, but I want you to promise you’re not gong to do anything stupid.”
That cannot possibly mean anything good. While he considers any past reactions he’s ever had equal to the news or event preceding them, not acting stupid, the fact that she’s saying it means there’s something to get supposedly stupid about. Frank crosses his arms and waits.
“We’re moving, Frank. To New Jersey.”
“I don’t wanna go,” he replies immediately.
“It’s not a choice Frank.”
“But I don’t.” So maybe it’s not the best argument. He can hardly be expected to be working on all cylinders.
“We don’t care. We’re going and it’s not a choice.” It’s her ‘tough shit’ voice, the one he should know better than to battle against.
She’s got her tone, he’s got his. “How did this even happen!” His tone involves a lot more volume.
“At the last company briefing, my boss revealed we’re expanding again, and asked who would be willing to transfer. I volunteered.”
Frank could maybe understand if she had a prophetic dream of the apocalypse, if she wanted to be out of Virginia when the car sized hail started plummeting down. But to fucking ask to leave when any of the hundred employees could have done it? It’s a betrayal. “What the hell! Why!”
Her voice is even. She always fights his frustration and rage with vocal cement; planed flat, cold, hard. “Because outside of this house your father and my husband is considered my meal plan. I’ve done this for fifteen years, I’m done with it.”
She did that on purpose. She made it personal, so any kind of argument he’d have would be reduced to ‘don’t you love your dad?’ and it makes him want to punch both of them in the fucking face. Never mind that it would hurt his dad, never mind that his mom would barely notice, never mind that he probably actually never would. He wants to, and he can’t, so he stands and storms out of the house.
He runs. He runs because it’s not fair, because he has no fucking control and nothing he will say will make it fair. Frank’s not running with intent, but when he takes a second to curl into himself and pant and notice his surroundings he’s at the corner of Rior Street and Farstone Bay. He only thinks about it a second before turning and running down Farstone. The sidewalk he stops at is broken, each square at least three pieces, but Frank’s been visiting for a decade. He doesn’t need to look down to know where it’s safe to step, and where his sneaker will catch and he’ll faceplant.
When Mike opens the door he lunges. Mike doesn’t ask questions, just goes with it. He clamps both hands on Frank’s ass. Mike’s strong even for a vampire, Frank doesn’t hesitate for a second before bringing his legs up to curl around his back. Mike’s got him.
“My sister is upstairs. Do you wanna go to my room or just do it here?”
Frank did not come to Mike’s so he could be forced to make decisions. Instead of saying anything he bites down just under Mike’s earlobe. He’s got control of himself, his fangs stay retracted, but Mike groans like he put them in an inch deep.
“Fine. Legs down.”
It’s an order, but Frank follows it. At least with his friends if people are telling him what to do it’s something he wants to do.
Once he’s standing on his own two feet Mike pushes Frank away and with one hand on his shoulder turns him until he’s facing the stairs. Mike shoves him forward until his face hits the thick mahogany spindles, a hand on the small of his back keeping him forced in position. Mike holds him for a count of ten breaths, a odd thing to base action off of considering neither of them need to breathe. The breathing and the wait both help to get Frank focused. It’s not something he always needs, and when he doesn’t he’s got James or Matt or Mattie. But nights like these, where everything is heaving at him and he can’t stop moving out under the pressure, Mike makes him be still.
When Mike finally moves his hands it’s to rip the back of Frank’s belt apart. Frank liked that belt, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t say a word. No longer cinched, his jeans are easily tugged down his thighs.
The foyer is silent, only the faintest of noises coming from the T.V. in the living room down the hall. He can hear the rustle of fabric, and then a packet being ripped open. A second later there are two fingers pushing into his ass. The lube is lukewarm, the packet must have been sitting in Mike’s pocket a while.
It’s as much prep as he gets. He doesn’t want more, not tonight. It’s a few strokes of his fingers stretching inside him, and then Mike’s pulling them out and replacing them with his cock. Frank grabs on to the railing as Mike fucks him fast, face sweaty against a varnished spindle. He’s a halfling so the wood doesn’t splinter, but his hands are turning white from the pressure. “Fucking know you love this. Like my cock best.” Frank groans. It’s not like it’s not true.
“Always want you.” It’s not like he’s in love - and good thing he isn’t, since he’s leaving forever. But there’s a truth to it, and it’s the kind of thing that will goad Mike on.
Mike takes care of shit after they’ve both come. He pulls Frank’s ruined belt from the loops and tosses it in the garbage, then goes upstairs. He comes down with a new belt and a box of tissues, and helps Frank clean the jizz off his stomach and shirt and stairs. Then he leads him to the living room at the back of the house and disappears for three minutes. He’s got a mug in both hands when he sits down. Mike takes a sip of his immediately, but the blood is still steaming and Frank likes his more body temp so he puts his mug on the coffee table.
“So why did you pick me?”
“Your house was closest.” Frank can say it because he knows Mike knows it’s not true.
“Sure. And I had to fuck the emotion away this time because...”
“We’re fucking moving and they didn’t even ask!” It bursts out of him, but he doesn’t feel as full of rage as he did when he was running.
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, it really fucking does.”
“When?”
“I dunno. I sort of ran out of the house before they said too many details.”
Mike pauses for a second, and then inhales so he can sigh. “Well, lemme know, man.”
***
There’s not much of a group gathered around when they leave. Frank probably shouldn’t have expected it, should have realised wanting a goodbye party was only getting his hopes up. When you live on average two centuries, friendships that last less than a decade aren’t much to blog about. Still it sucks, only having Mike and James to wave at out the window as the car slowly picks up speed. And it’s not like even they will email him after he’s gone. Frank’s value system is different than everyone he knows, thanks to his father’s influence. Nostalgia isn’t a big thing for vampires.
It takes about an hour and a half to drive through Virginia. Frank keeps his headphones on, and purposely spins up the volume each time either of them try to talk to him. They can make him go, they can’t make him be happy about it. He’s not going to listen to any bullshit attempted consolation. He’s not even going to look at them, if he can help it.
That’s why he almost misses it. They’re driving through a small town. Frank’s not about to ask, but the map app he has tracking their journey says Diggum. The population can’t be more than four thousand, or at least Frank guesses. He’s not a census, but they appear to only have one main street. It should be his first clue, but all he can think about is how his new school won’t have a Mike or a James. The second is when Dad suddenly reaches to his feet to grab a helmet, complete with eye visor. Frank doesn’t really pick up on that either, though to be fair he doesn’t have much time. One minute they’re driving, the next jagged bits of glass are going everywhere.
A windshield can be made of necroglass or laminated safety glass. It can’t be made of both, the compositions are incompatible. For most people, the convenience of being able to drive at any time is a lot more relevant than the possibility of a car crash pushing in a piece of glass at the exact right angle to stake you. Besides, statistics show if a vampire gets into a car crash they’re eleven times more likely to die of sun exposure than accidental staking. As long as Frank’s been around, the family cars have had necroglass, and if he can ever afford his own car it’s what he’ll request.
Few shards make it to the back seat. Frank isn’t really worrying about the possibility of being pierced anyway. There is a guy in the front seat trying to pry off Dad’s seatbelt. Frank’s not a wuss when it comes to violence in eating scenes in movies, but this is his father. His ‘no’ is probably closer to a scream than a manly bellow. He grabs for his own seat belt, no real plan besides launching himself into the front. By the time it’s unclipped Mom is staking the man. A cloud of ash settles over everything and Frank starts to cough as his mom drops the stake back into the cup holder.
It takes Frank a minute to add up actions and come up with the truth. “You know this was going to happen!”
“Don’t sound so betrayed Frankie. We lived in a big city. We used the prison system to our advantage, we were never at a loss for food. Smaller towns don’t get murderers and rapists shipped in. They get hungry, and they smelled human. They might have even given you a go, once they were done with him.”
Dad adds “if it makes you feel better, the yellow state we have to pass through isn’t going to be much fun either.”
Frank wants to know how the fuck that’s supposed to make him feel better, but doesn’t want to be angry at his dad, who was just nearly eaten. Except for he fucking does, and he fucking is, because this wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t decided to move. In the end he just puts his headphones back on.
They stop at the next hotel in a decent sized city. It wasn’t in the original plan -at least not from what he knows, but then he wasn’t informed of his dad’s role in an imminent buffet either- but they have no choice now. They can’t keep driving without necroglass. The manager promises to set them up with a twenty-four hour car service, and commends Frank and Mrs Iero on having their own meal plan. Frank scowls and refuses to acknowledge the dick again.
Unfortunately being too pissed off at his parents to want to talk to them, and being too pissed off at the manager to ask for suggestions of town attractions leaves Frank with pretty much nothing to do. He’s so bored he goes to bed early and sleeps through half the night. The problem is he’s not really sleep deprived, and that has him waking up around dawn, sleep schedule totally fucked for the next day. His parents aren’t even asleep in the next bed. Thank fuck for small miracles, they’re not fucking, just talking. Frank scowls, grabs a hoodie and his iPod and leaves the hotel room.
He only gets as far as the lobby. As a halfling he could go outside during the day if he wanted to. It would take about eight hours of sunlight to kill him, so short of being tied to a flagpole for a school day, he’d be fine. The blisters don’t even start to crop up for about fifteen minutes, more than long enough for a cigarette or four. But there’s nothing out there that interests him. Being stuck here is the cruelest of purgatories. He just wants to get to Jersey and figure out how to deal with life in a Mixed state.
A tracklist into waiting, a woman comes down the hallway. Unlike him, she’s not in pyjama pants and a toothpaste stained hoodie. She’s actually completely dressed, knee length skirt and a blouse, hair pulled into a bun. Since it’s the middle of the day Frank could almost think she’s a human, but she gives off a proper predatory air that his dad completely lacks. She’s moving with focus, and for a lack of anything better Frank follows her.
They end up at a tiny room. There’s a coffee maker and a microwave, and a fridge with a few packets of blood, all O+. Continental breakfast, apparently. “Seriously, they don’t even have doughnuts?”
Her face is wrinkled in disgust when she turns to look at him. “They probably don’t get enough halflings to make it worth their while. And it’s not like the walking meals are paying customers.”
Frank decides this woman would be better off not talking. Gender doesn’t matter, it’s not like he wants all women to shut up. He actually wants anyone that talks shit about humans to shut up. Still she’s company, and his parents won’t be ready to leave for hours. He leans to the side, on his tiptoes, to bite her the nape of her neck. The noise she makes it a downright growl. It makes Frank grin and get hard at the same instant.
***
Frank’s only been asleep a few minutes when he’s shaken awake. Or at least that’s how he feels. When he manages to crack an eye open in the direction of the alarm clock it’s actually been four hours. “Go away.”
“It’s time to get up for school.”
With monumental effort, Frank opens an eye to check again. It still says eight am. “You’re sending me to a human school?”
“Don’t be stupid, it’s Mixed. Full features for any vampire or halfling. Necroglass, full range of blood types in the cafeteria. I’ll drive you, at least this week. Once I get a job it may or may not work.”
Frank doesn’t understand vampires that want to work or go to school during the day. Even with all the safeguards to prevent accidental but immediate death, it’s just not the natural circadian rhythm for vampires. Just like everything else in the last week though, it’s apparently not his choice.
Dad pats him on the head before he leaves. Frank scowls at the world for a minute or five before forcing himself to get up for breakfast. One of the nice things about this house is it’s all one floor. He’s done a header down the staircase back at home more than once when he’s exhausted or drunk or stoned. Heading to the kitchen here means walking into the wall a few times, but no cartwheeling down a flight of stairs. Still, he’d fall down stairs every day of his life if he could go back home.
The drive is silent. Frank doesn’t have much to say after being woken up at the best of times, and he’s still not pleased with the shitty decision making of his parents. He scrapes his tongue against the bits of bloody toast that remain on his teeth and considers brushing his teeth before leaving the house tomorrow. Not that he really cares about first impressions. If someone really doesn’t want to be his friend because he’s got blood breath, they’d probably be a crap friend anyway.
Eventually he can see the school out his window. Broadfoot doesn’t look much different than the one in Richmond. Jett Clement didn’t have any windows. This one has a few, probably to placate the humans. And it’s morning, which means he can actually see the brick colour. Three years at Jett and he can only guess what the shade was. It comes with being a halfling, he has the night vision of a human.
“Have a good day,” his dad says, coming to a stop. Easy for him to say. He’s not a halfling going to a school with humans. Frank’s not a bigot, it’s hard to think humans are vermin when the person that cooks you meals and read you stories as a kid is human. But some of his friends were. It’s the default attitude in Richmond, probably all of Virginia. And while at least he’s not a halfling going to a pure human school, it would be just naive to think all humans will accept him.
Things are pretty much as Frank expected, in that they suck. The classes suck, the students suck, the bloodbags in the cafeteria taste like they've been sitting there a week. To top it off, between fourth and fifth period he meets his first bully. Part of him had hoped it was a vampire tendency, thanks to being predatory. It was a stupid hope, when you remember that the humans he drunk every day at home were murderers and assaulters.
“A Swirled Lines shirt? You have got to be kidding me Adam.” The bigger guys throws a shoulder over the skinny guy’s shoulder, but everyone in the hall can see it’s not a friendly move. “I knew you were fucked up. But I didn’t know it was that bad. Listening to that blood sucking faggot? Now what does that make you?”
Frank doesn’t like bullies. Maybe it’s not his place to step in, but no one else is doing shit so it’ll have to be him. “Dunno. Know it makes you a whiny little bitch.”
He’s able to get two hits in before the asshole’s friends join in. It’s hard to combat six guys at once. James could probably do it, James and Mike together could take down an army. Frank alone isn’t doing extremely well. It only breaks up when a teacher comes through and gives all seven of them detention.
Afternoon classes continue to suck, culminating in Frank’s least favourite. Gym class sucks intensely. At Jett he was the lone halfling in an all vampire school. Here gym seems to be segregated, and he’s in an all human class. Frank would be relieved he doesn’t have to match weigh room stats with guys double his strength, except it means they consider him as weak as a human. When he misses four baskets in a row, he considers the administration might have a point.
Frank doesn’t particularly want to shower after class. At Jett he had to out of courtesy for sensitive senses; he sweats, his friends don’t. Here, if the short-shorts wearing man is to be believed, hygiene is a part of what they mark you on. Frank’s not failing and repeating phys. ed. because he won’t shower. So he gets it done as quickly as he can. If he was showering with a friend or at a bathhouse life would be great, right now Frank just wants to be dressed. Tomorrow he’ll bring his own soap so he smells like citrus or oatmeal instead of mold.
When he steps out of the stall and all his clothes are gone he’s hardly even surprised. One of the jocks from the hall was in his class. It’s entirely possible Frank’s shit is stashed in one of the lockers, the vast majority of which don’t even have locks. Unfortunately there’s no time to open each one. He has detention, and according to the student handbook his mom went over, skipping or arriving late to detention means a two day suspension. Not exactly the way to start a new school.
Luckily -the word drips with contempt in his head- there’s a lost and found box. There’s a shirt his size with the school logo on it that barely smells. There are also shorts with snaps up the side, no wonder someone lost them. Frank slides them on and tries not to think about what his balls are rubbing against. At least they left his backpack and shoes.
Aside from detention being, well, detention, it’s really not that bad. Ten or fifteen kids are sitting in desks scattered around the room. No one even lifts their head when he walks in, never mind mocks him for his borrowed clothes. The problem that comes next is when he leaves after the demanded hour and there are no cars in front of the school. If his dad ever was waiting, he’s long gone now. Though it’s unlikely, Frank hopes he wasn’t at all. If he was waiting and Frank didn’t show they’ll expect to hear a reason. If he can sneak inside the house without anyone inquiring on the other hand, he won’t have to say shit. His bruises will be healed by morning.
Without his dad, Frank can see two options for getting home. He can call home and beg one of them to pick him up. It goes against his not wanting to talk policy, but has the benefits of not frying in the sun. Or he can suck it up, deal with the pain, and not get bitched at for things that aren’t even his fault.
Frank jams his hand into his pocket, presses his fingers against the plastic of his cell, then sighs and pulls out his hand. He’s not in the goddamn mood for a lecture.
Walking sucks. Walking sucks with the intensity normally only known to supernovas and prostitutes. His skin is slowly turning black and it fucking hurts and it fucking smells. The emergency shelters at the end of the street mock him with their sun sheildingness. But if he waits in one he'll have to wait until six fucking thirty for the sun to go down. Fuck those assholes, he's going home and drinking. His skin will be better by the morning. Bullies aren't gonna make him miss after school cartoons. If Mixed states even have after school cartoons. If there aren’t there will be hell to pay. He will fucking bomb the network with a hundred megaton nuke.
Without any other choice, Frank's walking and swearing with each step and goddamn it he really hates this smell. It’s a good thing they moved in the fall. Dad has told him about barbecues and smelling that will no doubt bring all sorts of shitty flashbacks.
He’s only a couple of blocks away from the school when some kid walks up behind him. “You want my hoodie?”
The answer should be yes. A quick glance behind him proves it's even a Freddy Kreuger hoodie, nothing embarrassing. But Frank grates out ‘what do you want?’ because who the fuck is this kid, and why does he give a shit? Everyone else has been a dick. He doesn't want to believe in stereotypes, but eight hours of experience have taught him humans are all dicks. Even the bullied kid he rescued didn’t as much as thank him.
“Uh. To give you my hoodie?”
“You have spare pants too?”
He’s being sarcastic. The guy answers him sincerely. “No. Wish I did.”
Frank scowls. Fuck charity. They’re not looking at each other, the kid is still walking behind him. But somehow he senses the expression because his voice turns more insistent. “Just fucking take it. But drop it off in Mr Ellison's class tomorrow because my brother will punch me in the face if it's lost forever.”
Frank turns around to tell the guy to fuck off as he hears the zipper whir. The guy's wearing sunglasses, his hair is all over his face, and under the zip up he's got a long sleeved shirt. Clearly he's another halfling, so the kindness makes sense. It makes it easier to take the hoodie. The guy turns the other way at the light before Frank can ask who the hell he is.
***
Frank considers keeping it. It’s a cool hoodie. It would be compensation for the Ribcage merch shirt he’s never gonna get back. If he does though, it’s really just passing on the theft. Random guy was nice when he didn’t have to be. Fucking him over would be shitty karma. So after he gets inside he goes to the office. The secretary has poorly caked makeup on his neck bites. Frank wonders if that’s a thing here, if humans are supposed to be ashamed of being bitten. It’s probably not okay to ask though.
“Uh. Where’s Mr Ellison’s room?”
“The art room is on the first floor, take the left hall and go down to one seventeen. Though you should be able to find it without numbers, the hallway is covered in framed artwork.”
It figures the nice halfling is an art kid. Frank hitches his backpack more comfortably on his shoulders and starts the walk there. The secretary is right, by the time he’s halfway down the walls are covered in different drawings and paintings. He wonders which ones belong to his halfling, then reminds himself that’s creepy and no one is his. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name yet.
His guy. Fuck. The guy isn’t in first period. Or if he is, he doesn’t come to class early. There’s a handful of students already at their stools, and of course Mr Ellison is at his desk. He’s got a braided beard, it’s kind of epic. Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck about Frank’s existence. He asks if he’s new to Broadfoot and first period, Frank has to tell him he’s not in his class. He asks if he’s planning on taking it as an extra curricular and Frank has to admit that he’s not an artist. At that he ceases to exist, Frank can practically see the guy’s eyes glaze over. So he just drops the hoodie on his pastel covered desk and leaves.
Morning classes still suck.
Before he gets to experience the suckage that is the cafeteria food Frank has to go to his locker. They’re all in banks, a group of twenty or so broken up by a classroom door, then another group. A bank down from his yesterday’s bully douchebag is also at his locker. Frank’s not about to hide, but he takes a second to mentally cross his fingers that he’s not seen. Life would be easier if he wasn’t noticed.
When the fucking douchebag slams him into his locker it becomes pretty clear that Frank’s made an enemy. It barely hurts but that’s not the point. “You realise I’m a vampire and I could drain you in seconds, right?”
He sneers. “You realise you’d go to jail, right? They won’t care if you get sunburnt.” Frank fucking hates when assholes are right. His state treats prisoners exceptionally shittily in retrospect, hunting them for food and sport. A Mixed state probably wouldn’t do the same thing, but whatever they do will be bad. “So eat metal, halfsize.”
It’s another shove into the locker and the guy cackles before walking off. Frank doesn’t even know his fucking name to curse him out. It seems unfair, he should at least be able to think Jesse/Dustin/Anthony is a jerkoff. Fuck he hates this bullshit. He punches his locker a few times. It doesn’t crumple like it would have for his friends, but it dents a bit.
A vamp kid approaches him. At least Frank’s pretty sure, long sleeves in fall and sunglasses are a give away. “You know, it's not because you're a vampire. Jersey's integrated pretty good. Not like Michigan where they claim Mixed status but they have vamp schools and human schools.”
Frank crosses his arms. “Really.”
The guy nods. “Yeah. It's cause you're a loser.”
Great, so now even weird looking crosses between stoner and chess geek think he’s a target. “Fucking thanks for that consolation.”
“Whatever though, right? Losers have more fun. I read comic books. I fucking love comic books. You think quarterback can even look at an Uncanny X-Men without getting shit?” Frank is maybe willing to give this french pirate vampire a point.
“I’ve got some with me if you want to read and avoid the caf. You can’t eat in the library though. Bite sized bits of human food are easy to smuggle, drinking a blood bag is impossible.”
Frank shrugs. Humans need to eat more often than halflings, and halflings more often than vampires. Vampires just like to feed frequently. “Let’s go.”
It’s after a half hour of reading and snarking that Frank decides to give the guy his friendship litmus test. Friends need to be compatible for sex, for when the urges are up. According to Dad a lot of humans won’t understand that, or even the inherently bisexual thing. It’s possible being raised around humans has corrupted the guy. Frank needs to make sure it hasn’t.
“Want a blowjob? Well, I probably shouldn’t do it here. But we could find a bathroom?”
The guy plucks the comic out of his hand. “I can show you.”
Thanks to his father’s warning speech to not grope the first hot person that interested him, Frank had been worried about the possibility that no one in Jersey liked orgasms. It’s a theory proven wrong. The guy is interested enough that he’s pushing Frank to his knees before the stall door is even locked. Not that Frank minds the impatience. It’s been four days since he’s had sex, one of the longest times he’s gone without. French Pirate’s cock feels good in his mouth. Needed, like water for a human in the desert, or an emergency shelter for a vampire in the same predicament.
Frank keeps his fangs in as he’s going to town. Not every guy likes a bloody blow. They can talk about it later, whenever kinks and that sort of stuff comes up. For now it’s safer to keep it simple. That the guy keeps his too in reinforces Frank’s beliefs. Time enough for fluid exchange later.
By the time French Pirate is done, the end of lunch bell is ringing. They part ways and Frank heads off to go suffer through afternoon classes. After the last is over he pulls his hood up and slides sunglasses on, and waits outside. He wants to see if he can run into the Krueger guy again.
It takes an hour, but he does. Thankfully there’s an awning, otherwise Frank’d be crispy. He’s not even blistered. Still, if he does this tomorrow he’ll probably stay in the library until it’s around four thirty.
“Hey,” he calls out as the guy starts walking down the sidewalk in the distance. It’s the exit nearest the art class, the guy probably does the extra-curricular thing. “I’m Frank!”
The guy waits until Frank runs across the lawn to introduce himself, hand running through his greasy black hair. “Uh. Hi? I’m Gerard. I got it back, you don’t have to worry or anything, I-”
“Yeah, I gave it to the art teacher first thing. It’s a really great hoodie, I almost didn’t give it back. I love that movie.”
Gerard looks first startled, then excited by his enthusiasm. Gerard’s definitely exceeds it when he starts talking though. “The thing I love the most about Freddy is the makeup. I mean the kill you in your dreams thing is interesting, but the makeup is really cool.”
“That’s the kind of thing I want to do in college.” They’re walking slowly now, so they can look at each other. Frank can feel the skin on his hands and face starting to itch and Gerard’s surely having the same problem, but he doesn’t suggest moving faster. He wants this conversation.
“Horror makeup?”
Gerard’s look is hard to decipher, Frank hopes he’s not some gender rigid asshat. That would ruin the whole on the verge of friendship thing they have going. “Hell yeah! You can get really creative. I have a bunch of horror movies that have this great look, they’re all from the same production company. I dunno if you would have seen them though. It’s a vamp only company, I’m not sure they ship to Mixed states. Everything that team makes looks great. I’d love to work with them, but they don’t accept halflings.”
“That’s douchy.”
“Yeah, I guess. But they’re still good movies, with kick ass costuming. You wanna come watch?”
It’s a quick walk to his house. Frank kicks off his shoes and leads Gerard to his room, not concerned about how much noise he’s making. It’s only four pm, Mom won’t be up for hours yet. It’s her fault that he’s not working in her time zone any longer, so it’s too fucking bad if she wakes up.
Gerard seems to fall into a state of shock upon entering his room.“Where is everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean what do I mean? Where’s everything? There are no action figures, or posters, or colour or black or books or movies or paints or anything. Anywhere!”
“Oh. Yeah, I haven’t decorated yet.”
“I know you're a vampire, but are you a fucking robot too? How can you stand this? You want to be a make up artist, you were wearing purple shoes, I know you’re creative.”
Frank grins at the mention of the shoes. He’s got some great memories associated with those things, thank fuck the bully’s friend didn’t snatch them with his band shirt and jeans.
“You know what? This weekend we’re going to have a painting party. I'll bring my brother and my friends, and we'll make your room livable.”
Even though he's known Gerard for about half an hour Frank decides to go with it and let him invite his friends over. Gerard seems like the kind of guy that it's easier to just let them do shit than argue with it.
“I'm seriously tempted to draw on the walls just to tide you over.”
“Uh. I wouldn’t be against it, but I don't have any markers.”
“What? How can a person not own markers?”
“I dunno. You came from art club, use yours.”
“I’m not using coptics on a wall!”
“Relax, living in whiteness for three days won't kill me.”
“It will kill your soul! But we don’t really have any other choice for now, so you’ll have to close your eyes and imagine.”
Frank laughs. Gerard is a fucking crackhead. It’s awesome.
Part Two
The beginning of the end comes when his dad shouts his name from the ground floor. Not that Frank knows it at the time. He just scowls, logs out of his MMORPG, and shouts back ‘what’ without closing the browser. If there’s something they need to get into then it’s better he’s not distracted, he worked too long to power up his shaman to let thirty seconds of his dad asking him where the scratch on the car came from to enable someone sneaking up and slaughtering him. If it’s just ‘do the fucking dishes’, he can log back in without having to spend five minutes waiting for the disc to reload.
It’s neither. It’s “come downstairs, family meeting!”
Frank tromps down the stairs, hands in his pockets. Something is going down. There has to be something wrong, no question about it. The Ieros are not the kind of family that have group meetings. Frank can’t even remember the last time one happened. Maybe in fifth grade when Jessica Kinde convinced him because he was a halfling it was her right to feed on him. For sure nothing more recent, he’d remember it.
When he walks into the living room Frank’s already raised suspicions hit the ceiling. They’re holding hands. Maybe Dad has hemophilia.
“What’s going on?”
“We have to talk to you about something,” his dad starts.
“Yeah, no shit. What?” Padding whatever it is probably won’t make it better, so Mom might as well just tell him. Whatever it is, she’ll tell him. It’s not a control thing, even though she’s a vamp and Dad isn’t. His father is just no good at conflict. Frank would bet anything Dad’s the one that reached for a hand as he came down the stairs.
“I know you’re not going to be happy, but I want you to promise you’re not gong to do anything stupid.”
That cannot possibly mean anything good. While he considers any past reactions he’s ever had equal to the news or event preceding them, not acting stupid, the fact that she’s saying it means there’s something to get supposedly stupid about. Frank crosses his arms and waits.
“We’re moving, Frank. To New Jersey.”
“I don’t wanna go,” he replies immediately.
“It’s not a choice Frank.”
“But I don’t.” So maybe it’s not the best argument. He can hardly be expected to be working on all cylinders.
“We don’t care. We’re going and it’s not a choice.” It’s her ‘tough shit’ voice, the one he should know better than to battle against.
She’s got her tone, he’s got his. “How did this even happen!” His tone involves a lot more volume.
“At the last company briefing, my boss revealed we’re expanding again, and asked who would be willing to transfer. I volunteered.”
Frank could maybe understand if she had a prophetic dream of the apocalypse, if she wanted to be out of Virginia when the car sized hail started plummeting down. But to fucking ask to leave when any of the hundred employees could have done it? It’s a betrayal. “What the hell! Why!”
Her voice is even. She always fights his frustration and rage with vocal cement; planed flat, cold, hard. “Because outside of this house your father and my husband is considered my meal plan. I’ve done this for fifteen years, I’m done with it.”
She did that on purpose. She made it personal, so any kind of argument he’d have would be reduced to ‘don’t you love your dad?’ and it makes him want to punch both of them in the fucking face. Never mind that it would hurt his dad, never mind that his mom would barely notice, never mind that he probably actually never would. He wants to, and he can’t, so he stands and storms out of the house.
He runs. He runs because it’s not fair, because he has no fucking control and nothing he will say will make it fair. Frank’s not running with intent, but when he takes a second to curl into himself and pant and notice his surroundings he’s at the corner of Rior Street and Farstone Bay. He only thinks about it a second before turning and running down Farstone. The sidewalk he stops at is broken, each square at least three pieces, but Frank’s been visiting for a decade. He doesn’t need to look down to know where it’s safe to step, and where his sneaker will catch and he’ll faceplant.
When Mike opens the door he lunges. Mike doesn’t ask questions, just goes with it. He clamps both hands on Frank’s ass. Mike’s strong even for a vampire, Frank doesn’t hesitate for a second before bringing his legs up to curl around his back. Mike’s got him.
“My sister is upstairs. Do you wanna go to my room or just do it here?”
Frank did not come to Mike’s so he could be forced to make decisions. Instead of saying anything he bites down just under Mike’s earlobe. He’s got control of himself, his fangs stay retracted, but Mike groans like he put them in an inch deep.
“Fine. Legs down.”
It’s an order, but Frank follows it. At least with his friends if people are telling him what to do it’s something he wants to do.
Once he’s standing on his own two feet Mike pushes Frank away and with one hand on his shoulder turns him until he’s facing the stairs. Mike shoves him forward until his face hits the thick mahogany spindles, a hand on the small of his back keeping him forced in position. Mike holds him for a count of ten breaths, a odd thing to base action off of considering neither of them need to breathe. The breathing and the wait both help to get Frank focused. It’s not something he always needs, and when he doesn’t he’s got James or Matt or Mattie. But nights like these, where everything is heaving at him and he can’t stop moving out under the pressure, Mike makes him be still.
When Mike finally moves his hands it’s to rip the back of Frank’s belt apart. Frank liked that belt, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t say a word. No longer cinched, his jeans are easily tugged down his thighs.
The foyer is silent, only the faintest of noises coming from the T.V. in the living room down the hall. He can hear the rustle of fabric, and then a packet being ripped open. A second later there are two fingers pushing into his ass. The lube is lukewarm, the packet must have been sitting in Mike’s pocket a while.
It’s as much prep as he gets. He doesn’t want more, not tonight. It’s a few strokes of his fingers stretching inside him, and then Mike’s pulling them out and replacing them with his cock. Frank grabs on to the railing as Mike fucks him fast, face sweaty against a varnished spindle. He’s a halfling so the wood doesn’t splinter, but his hands are turning white from the pressure. “Fucking know you love this. Like my cock best.” Frank groans. It’s not like it’s not true.
“Always want you.” It’s not like he’s in love - and good thing he isn’t, since he’s leaving forever. But there’s a truth to it, and it’s the kind of thing that will goad Mike on.
Mike takes care of shit after they’ve both come. He pulls Frank’s ruined belt from the loops and tosses it in the garbage, then goes upstairs. He comes down with a new belt and a box of tissues, and helps Frank clean the jizz off his stomach and shirt and stairs. Then he leads him to the living room at the back of the house and disappears for three minutes. He’s got a mug in both hands when he sits down. Mike takes a sip of his immediately, but the blood is still steaming and Frank likes his more body temp so he puts his mug on the coffee table.
“So why did you pick me?”
“Your house was closest.” Frank can say it because he knows Mike knows it’s not true.
“Sure. And I had to fuck the emotion away this time because...”
“We’re fucking moving and they didn’t even ask!” It bursts out of him, but he doesn’t feel as full of rage as he did when he was running.
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, it really fucking does.”
“When?”
“I dunno. I sort of ran out of the house before they said too many details.”
Mike pauses for a second, and then inhales so he can sigh. “Well, lemme know, man.”
There’s not much of a group gathered around when they leave. Frank probably shouldn’t have expected it, should have realised wanting a goodbye party was only getting his hopes up. When you live on average two centuries, friendships that last less than a decade aren’t much to blog about. Still it sucks, only having Mike and James to wave at out the window as the car slowly picks up speed. And it’s not like even they will email him after he’s gone. Frank’s value system is different than everyone he knows, thanks to his father’s influence. Nostalgia isn’t a big thing for vampires.
It takes about an hour and a half to drive through Virginia. Frank keeps his headphones on, and purposely spins up the volume each time either of them try to talk to him. They can make him go, they can’t make him be happy about it. He’s not going to listen to any bullshit attempted consolation. He’s not even going to look at them, if he can help it.
That’s why he almost misses it. They’re driving through a small town. Frank’s not about to ask, but the map app he has tracking their journey says Diggum. The population can’t be more than four thousand, or at least Frank guesses. He’s not a census, but they appear to only have one main street. It should be his first clue, but all he can think about is how his new school won’t have a Mike or a James. The second is when Dad suddenly reaches to his feet to grab a helmet, complete with eye visor. Frank doesn’t really pick up on that either, though to be fair he doesn’t have much time. One minute they’re driving, the next jagged bits of glass are going everywhere.
A windshield can be made of necroglass or laminated safety glass. It can’t be made of both, the compositions are incompatible. For most people, the convenience of being able to drive at any time is a lot more relevant than the possibility of a car crash pushing in a piece of glass at the exact right angle to stake you. Besides, statistics show if a vampire gets into a car crash they’re eleven times more likely to die of sun exposure than accidental staking. As long as Frank’s been around, the family cars have had necroglass, and if he can ever afford his own car it’s what he’ll request.
Few shards make it to the back seat. Frank isn’t really worrying about the possibility of being pierced anyway. There is a guy in the front seat trying to pry off Dad’s seatbelt. Frank’s not a wuss when it comes to violence in eating scenes in movies, but this is his father. His ‘no’ is probably closer to a scream than a manly bellow. He grabs for his own seat belt, no real plan besides launching himself into the front. By the time it’s unclipped Mom is staking the man. A cloud of ash settles over everything and Frank starts to cough as his mom drops the stake back into the cup holder.
It takes Frank a minute to add up actions and come up with the truth. “You know this was going to happen!”
“Don’t sound so betrayed Frankie. We lived in a big city. We used the prison system to our advantage, we were never at a loss for food. Smaller towns don’t get murderers and rapists shipped in. They get hungry, and they smelled human. They might have even given you a go, once they were done with him.”
Dad adds “if it makes you feel better, the yellow state we have to pass through isn’t going to be much fun either.”
Frank wants to know how the fuck that’s supposed to make him feel better, but doesn’t want to be angry at his dad, who was just nearly eaten. Except for he fucking does, and he fucking is, because this wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t decided to move. In the end he just puts his headphones back on.
They stop at the next hotel in a decent sized city. It wasn’t in the original plan -at least not from what he knows, but then he wasn’t informed of his dad’s role in an imminent buffet either- but they have no choice now. They can’t keep driving without necroglass. The manager promises to set them up with a twenty-four hour car service, and commends Frank and Mrs Iero on having their own meal plan. Frank scowls and refuses to acknowledge the dick again.
Unfortunately being too pissed off at his parents to want to talk to them, and being too pissed off at the manager to ask for suggestions of town attractions leaves Frank with pretty much nothing to do. He’s so bored he goes to bed early and sleeps through half the night. The problem is he’s not really sleep deprived, and that has him waking up around dawn, sleep schedule totally fucked for the next day. His parents aren’t even asleep in the next bed. Thank fuck for small miracles, they’re not fucking, just talking. Frank scowls, grabs a hoodie and his iPod and leaves the hotel room.
He only gets as far as the lobby. As a halfling he could go outside during the day if he wanted to. It would take about eight hours of sunlight to kill him, so short of being tied to a flagpole for a school day, he’d be fine. The blisters don’t even start to crop up for about fifteen minutes, more than long enough for a cigarette or four. But there’s nothing out there that interests him. Being stuck here is the cruelest of purgatories. He just wants to get to Jersey and figure out how to deal with life in a Mixed state.
A tracklist into waiting, a woman comes down the hallway. Unlike him, she’s not in pyjama pants and a toothpaste stained hoodie. She’s actually completely dressed, knee length skirt and a blouse, hair pulled into a bun. Since it’s the middle of the day Frank could almost think she’s a human, but she gives off a proper predatory air that his dad completely lacks. She’s moving with focus, and for a lack of anything better Frank follows her.
They end up at a tiny room. There’s a coffee maker and a microwave, and a fridge with a few packets of blood, all O+. Continental breakfast, apparently. “Seriously, they don’t even have doughnuts?”
Her face is wrinkled in disgust when she turns to look at him. “They probably don’t get enough halflings to make it worth their while. And it’s not like the walking meals are paying customers.”
Frank decides this woman would be better off not talking. Gender doesn’t matter, it’s not like he wants all women to shut up. He actually wants anyone that talks shit about humans to shut up. Still she’s company, and his parents won’t be ready to leave for hours. He leans to the side, on his tiptoes, to bite her the nape of her neck. The noise she makes it a downright growl. It makes Frank grin and get hard at the same instant.
Frank’s only been asleep a few minutes when he’s shaken awake. Or at least that’s how he feels. When he manages to crack an eye open in the direction of the alarm clock it’s actually been four hours. “Go away.”
“It’s time to get up for school.”
With monumental effort, Frank opens an eye to check again. It still says eight am. “You’re sending me to a human school?”
“Don’t be stupid, it’s Mixed. Full features for any vampire or halfling. Necroglass, full range of blood types in the cafeteria. I’ll drive you, at least this week. Once I get a job it may or may not work.”
Frank doesn’t understand vampires that want to work or go to school during the day. Even with all the safeguards to prevent accidental but immediate death, it’s just not the natural circadian rhythm for vampires. Just like everything else in the last week though, it’s apparently not his choice.
Dad pats him on the head before he leaves. Frank scowls at the world for a minute or five before forcing himself to get up for breakfast. One of the nice things about this house is it’s all one floor. He’s done a header down the staircase back at home more than once when he’s exhausted or drunk or stoned. Heading to the kitchen here means walking into the wall a few times, but no cartwheeling down a flight of stairs. Still, he’d fall down stairs every day of his life if he could go back home.
The drive is silent. Frank doesn’t have much to say after being woken up at the best of times, and he’s still not pleased with the shitty decision making of his parents. He scrapes his tongue against the bits of bloody toast that remain on his teeth and considers brushing his teeth before leaving the house tomorrow. Not that he really cares about first impressions. If someone really doesn’t want to be his friend because he’s got blood breath, they’d probably be a crap friend anyway.
Eventually he can see the school out his window. Broadfoot doesn’t look much different than the one in Richmond. Jett Clement didn’t have any windows. This one has a few, probably to placate the humans. And it’s morning, which means he can actually see the brick colour. Three years at Jett and he can only guess what the shade was. It comes with being a halfling, he has the night vision of a human.
“Have a good day,” his dad says, coming to a stop. Easy for him to say. He’s not a halfling going to a school with humans. Frank’s not a bigot, it’s hard to think humans are vermin when the person that cooks you meals and read you stories as a kid is human. But some of his friends were. It’s the default attitude in Richmond, probably all of Virginia. And while at least he’s not a halfling going to a pure human school, it would be just naive to think all humans will accept him.
Things are pretty much as Frank expected, in that they suck. The classes suck, the students suck, the bloodbags in the cafeteria taste like they've been sitting there a week. To top it off, between fourth and fifth period he meets his first bully. Part of him had hoped it was a vampire tendency, thanks to being predatory. It was a stupid hope, when you remember that the humans he drunk every day at home were murderers and assaulters.
“A Swirled Lines shirt? You have got to be kidding me Adam.” The bigger guys throws a shoulder over the skinny guy’s shoulder, but everyone in the hall can see it’s not a friendly move. “I knew you were fucked up. But I didn’t know it was that bad. Listening to that blood sucking faggot? Now what does that make you?”
Frank doesn’t like bullies. Maybe it’s not his place to step in, but no one else is doing shit so it’ll have to be him. “Dunno. Know it makes you a whiny little bitch.”
He’s able to get two hits in before the asshole’s friends join in. It’s hard to combat six guys at once. James could probably do it, James and Mike together could take down an army. Frank alone isn’t doing extremely well. It only breaks up when a teacher comes through and gives all seven of them detention.
Afternoon classes continue to suck, culminating in Frank’s least favourite. Gym class sucks intensely. At Jett he was the lone halfling in an all vampire school. Here gym seems to be segregated, and he’s in an all human class. Frank would be relieved he doesn’t have to match weigh room stats with guys double his strength, except it means they consider him as weak as a human. When he misses four baskets in a row, he considers the administration might have a point.
Frank doesn’t particularly want to shower after class. At Jett he had to out of courtesy for sensitive senses; he sweats, his friends don’t. Here, if the short-shorts wearing man is to be believed, hygiene is a part of what they mark you on. Frank’s not failing and repeating phys. ed. because he won’t shower. So he gets it done as quickly as he can. If he was showering with a friend or at a bathhouse life would be great, right now Frank just wants to be dressed. Tomorrow he’ll bring his own soap so he smells like citrus or oatmeal instead of mold.
When he steps out of the stall and all his clothes are gone he’s hardly even surprised. One of the jocks from the hall was in his class. It’s entirely possible Frank’s shit is stashed in one of the lockers, the vast majority of which don’t even have locks. Unfortunately there’s no time to open each one. He has detention, and according to the student handbook his mom went over, skipping or arriving late to detention means a two day suspension. Not exactly the way to start a new school.
Luckily -the word drips with contempt in his head- there’s a lost and found box. There’s a shirt his size with the school logo on it that barely smells. There are also shorts with snaps up the side, no wonder someone lost them. Frank slides them on and tries not to think about what his balls are rubbing against. At least they left his backpack and shoes.
Aside from detention being, well, detention, it’s really not that bad. Ten or fifteen kids are sitting in desks scattered around the room. No one even lifts their head when he walks in, never mind mocks him for his borrowed clothes. The problem that comes next is when he leaves after the demanded hour and there are no cars in front of the school. If his dad ever was waiting, he’s long gone now. Though it’s unlikely, Frank hopes he wasn’t at all. If he was waiting and Frank didn’t show they’ll expect to hear a reason. If he can sneak inside the house without anyone inquiring on the other hand, he won’t have to say shit. His bruises will be healed by morning.
Without his dad, Frank can see two options for getting home. He can call home and beg one of them to pick him up. It goes against his not wanting to talk policy, but has the benefits of not frying in the sun. Or he can suck it up, deal with the pain, and not get bitched at for things that aren’t even his fault.
Frank jams his hand into his pocket, presses his fingers against the plastic of his cell, then sighs and pulls out his hand. He’s not in the goddamn mood for a lecture.
Walking sucks. Walking sucks with the intensity normally only known to supernovas and prostitutes. His skin is slowly turning black and it fucking hurts and it fucking smells. The emergency shelters at the end of the street mock him with their sun sheildingness. But if he waits in one he'll have to wait until six fucking thirty for the sun to go down. Fuck those assholes, he's going home and drinking. His skin will be better by the morning. Bullies aren't gonna make him miss after school cartoons. If Mixed states even have after school cartoons. If there aren’t there will be hell to pay. He will fucking bomb the network with a hundred megaton nuke.
Without any other choice, Frank's walking and swearing with each step and goddamn it he really hates this smell. It’s a good thing they moved in the fall. Dad has told him about barbecues and smelling that will no doubt bring all sorts of shitty flashbacks.
He’s only a couple of blocks away from the school when some kid walks up behind him. “You want my hoodie?”
The answer should be yes. A quick glance behind him proves it's even a Freddy Kreuger hoodie, nothing embarrassing. But Frank grates out ‘what do you want?’ because who the fuck is this kid, and why does he give a shit? Everyone else has been a dick. He doesn't want to believe in stereotypes, but eight hours of experience have taught him humans are all dicks. Even the bullied kid he rescued didn’t as much as thank him.
“Uh. To give you my hoodie?”
“You have spare pants too?”
He’s being sarcastic. The guy answers him sincerely. “No. Wish I did.”
Frank scowls. Fuck charity. They’re not looking at each other, the kid is still walking behind him. But somehow he senses the expression because his voice turns more insistent. “Just fucking take it. But drop it off in Mr Ellison's class tomorrow because my brother will punch me in the face if it's lost forever.”
Frank turns around to tell the guy to fuck off as he hears the zipper whir. The guy's wearing sunglasses, his hair is all over his face, and under the zip up he's got a long sleeved shirt. Clearly he's another halfling, so the kindness makes sense. It makes it easier to take the hoodie. The guy turns the other way at the light before Frank can ask who the hell he is.
Frank considers keeping it. It’s a cool hoodie. It would be compensation for the Ribcage merch shirt he’s never gonna get back. If he does though, it’s really just passing on the theft. Random guy was nice when he didn’t have to be. Fucking him over would be shitty karma. So after he gets inside he goes to the office. The secretary has poorly caked makeup on his neck bites. Frank wonders if that’s a thing here, if humans are supposed to be ashamed of being bitten. It’s probably not okay to ask though.
“Uh. Where’s Mr Ellison’s room?”
“The art room is on the first floor, take the left hall and go down to one seventeen. Though you should be able to find it without numbers, the hallway is covered in framed artwork.”
It figures the nice halfling is an art kid. Frank hitches his backpack more comfortably on his shoulders and starts the walk there. The secretary is right, by the time he’s halfway down the walls are covered in different drawings and paintings. He wonders which ones belong to his halfling, then reminds himself that’s creepy and no one is his. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name yet.
His guy. Fuck. The guy isn’t in first period. Or if he is, he doesn’t come to class early. There’s a handful of students already at their stools, and of course Mr Ellison is at his desk. He’s got a braided beard, it’s kind of epic. Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck about Frank’s existence. He asks if he’s new to Broadfoot and first period, Frank has to tell him he’s not in his class. He asks if he’s planning on taking it as an extra curricular and Frank has to admit that he’s not an artist. At that he ceases to exist, Frank can practically see the guy’s eyes glaze over. So he just drops the hoodie on his pastel covered desk and leaves.
Morning classes still suck.
Before he gets to experience the suckage that is the cafeteria food Frank has to go to his locker. They’re all in banks, a group of twenty or so broken up by a classroom door, then another group. A bank down from his yesterday’s bully douchebag is also at his locker. Frank’s not about to hide, but he takes a second to mentally cross his fingers that he’s not seen. Life would be easier if he wasn’t noticed.
When the fucking douchebag slams him into his locker it becomes pretty clear that Frank’s made an enemy. It barely hurts but that’s not the point. “You realise I’m a vampire and I could drain you in seconds, right?”
He sneers. “You realise you’d go to jail, right? They won’t care if you get sunburnt.” Frank fucking hates when assholes are right. His state treats prisoners exceptionally shittily in retrospect, hunting them for food and sport. A Mixed state probably wouldn’t do the same thing, but whatever they do will be bad. “So eat metal, halfsize.”
It’s another shove into the locker and the guy cackles before walking off. Frank doesn’t even know his fucking name to curse him out. It seems unfair, he should at least be able to think Jesse/Dustin/Anthony is a jerkoff. Fuck he hates this bullshit. He punches his locker a few times. It doesn’t crumple like it would have for his friends, but it dents a bit.
A vamp kid approaches him. At least Frank’s pretty sure, long sleeves in fall and sunglasses are a give away. “You know, it's not because you're a vampire. Jersey's integrated pretty good. Not like Michigan where they claim Mixed status but they have vamp schools and human schools.”
Frank crosses his arms. “Really.”
The guy nods. “Yeah. It's cause you're a loser.”
Great, so now even weird looking crosses between stoner and chess geek think he’s a target. “Fucking thanks for that consolation.”
“Whatever though, right? Losers have more fun. I read comic books. I fucking love comic books. You think quarterback can even look at an Uncanny X-Men without getting shit?” Frank is maybe willing to give this french pirate vampire a point.
“I’ve got some with me if you want to read and avoid the caf. You can’t eat in the library though. Bite sized bits of human food are easy to smuggle, drinking a blood bag is impossible.”
Frank shrugs. Humans need to eat more often than halflings, and halflings more often than vampires. Vampires just like to feed frequently. “Let’s go.”
It’s after a half hour of reading and snarking that Frank decides to give the guy his friendship litmus test. Friends need to be compatible for sex, for when the urges are up. According to Dad a lot of humans won’t understand that, or even the inherently bisexual thing. It’s possible being raised around humans has corrupted the guy. Frank needs to make sure it hasn’t.
“Want a blowjob? Well, I probably shouldn’t do it here. But we could find a bathroom?”
The guy plucks the comic out of his hand. “I can show you.”
Thanks to his father’s warning speech to not grope the first hot person that interested him, Frank had been worried about the possibility that no one in Jersey liked orgasms. It’s a theory proven wrong. The guy is interested enough that he’s pushing Frank to his knees before the stall door is even locked. Not that Frank minds the impatience. It’s been four days since he’s had sex, one of the longest times he’s gone without. French Pirate’s cock feels good in his mouth. Needed, like water for a human in the desert, or an emergency shelter for a vampire in the same predicament.
Frank keeps his fangs in as he’s going to town. Not every guy likes a bloody blow. They can talk about it later, whenever kinks and that sort of stuff comes up. For now it’s safer to keep it simple. That the guy keeps his too in reinforces Frank’s beliefs. Time enough for fluid exchange later.
By the time French Pirate is done, the end of lunch bell is ringing. They part ways and Frank heads off to go suffer through afternoon classes. After the last is over he pulls his hood up and slides sunglasses on, and waits outside. He wants to see if he can run into the Krueger guy again.
It takes an hour, but he does. Thankfully there’s an awning, otherwise Frank’d be crispy. He’s not even blistered. Still, if he does this tomorrow he’ll probably stay in the library until it’s around four thirty.
“Hey,” he calls out as the guy starts walking down the sidewalk in the distance. It’s the exit nearest the art class, the guy probably does the extra-curricular thing. “I’m Frank!”
The guy waits until Frank runs across the lawn to introduce himself, hand running through his greasy black hair. “Uh. Hi? I’m Gerard. I got it back, you don’t have to worry or anything, I-”
“Yeah, I gave it to the art teacher first thing. It’s a really great hoodie, I almost didn’t give it back. I love that movie.”
Gerard looks first startled, then excited by his enthusiasm. Gerard’s definitely exceeds it when he starts talking though. “The thing I love the most about Freddy is the makeup. I mean the kill you in your dreams thing is interesting, but the makeup is really cool.”
“That’s the kind of thing I want to do in college.” They’re walking slowly now, so they can look at each other. Frank can feel the skin on his hands and face starting to itch and Gerard’s surely having the same problem, but he doesn’t suggest moving faster. He wants this conversation.
“Horror makeup?”
Gerard’s look is hard to decipher, Frank hopes he’s not some gender rigid asshat. That would ruin the whole on the verge of friendship thing they have going. “Hell yeah! You can get really creative. I have a bunch of horror movies that have this great look, they’re all from the same production company. I dunno if you would have seen them though. It’s a vamp only company, I’m not sure they ship to Mixed states. Everything that team makes looks great. I’d love to work with them, but they don’t accept halflings.”
“That’s douchy.”
“Yeah, I guess. But they’re still good movies, with kick ass costuming. You wanna come watch?”
It’s a quick walk to his house. Frank kicks off his shoes and leads Gerard to his room, not concerned about how much noise he’s making. It’s only four pm, Mom won’t be up for hours yet. It’s her fault that he’s not working in her time zone any longer, so it’s too fucking bad if she wakes up.
Gerard seems to fall into a state of shock upon entering his room.“Where is everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean what do I mean? Where’s everything? There are no action figures, or posters, or colour or black or books or movies or paints or anything. Anywhere!”
“Oh. Yeah, I haven’t decorated yet.”
“I know you're a vampire, but are you a fucking robot too? How can you stand this? You want to be a make up artist, you were wearing purple shoes, I know you’re creative.”
Frank grins at the mention of the shoes. He’s got some great memories associated with those things, thank fuck the bully’s friend didn’t snatch them with his band shirt and jeans.
“You know what? This weekend we’re going to have a painting party. I'll bring my brother and my friends, and we'll make your room livable.”
Even though he's known Gerard for about half an hour Frank decides to go with it and let him invite his friends over. Gerard seems like the kind of guy that it's easier to just let them do shit than argue with it.
“I'm seriously tempted to draw on the walls just to tide you over.”
“Uh. I wouldn’t be against it, but I don't have any markers.”
“What? How can a person not own markers?”
“I dunno. You came from art club, use yours.”
“I’m not using coptics on a wall!”
“Relax, living in whiteness for three days won't kill me.”
“It will kill your soul! But we don’t really have any other choice for now, so you’ll have to close your eyes and imagine.”
Frank laughs. Gerard is a fucking crackhead. It’s awesome.
Part Two