Frank and Billy: Rhyming Schemes! (backdated and a half!)

[x-pinnochio.livejournal.com]

Frank and Billy have a conversation over cookies and milk.

The cookies were good. The milk was better. Both, Frank ruminated as she munched his cookies, were beaten by the book. He'd not had a chance to even look at it since the day before, and he'd missed it. So here he was, missing out on sleep in exchange for some privacy, relaxation and a full collection of Roger Zelazny's chronicles of Amber. Truly, the day was ending well. He swallowed, sipped his milk, and flipped a page.

Billy tossed again, rolling over with a sigh. He glanced over to Clint's bed, not sure how his restlessness wasn't keeping the other up. He sighed again, then got out of bed, padding over to the door. He flinched at the unexpected light in the area as he opened the door, then shielded his eyes and shut it behind him, waiting for his eyes to adjust before braving to look around the room again. "Oh, hi Frank," he greeted, guessing that's who the blurry figure must be.

Frank paused, a cookie midway to his lips, and looked up. Oh, yeah. The other room-mate- what was his name? Ah. "Hey Billy," replied Frank, amiably, trying not to be annoyed. He'd wanted to read his book, but it seemed that no-one was going to let him, today. Still, best to be sociable. "What's got you up so late?" he asked, as he pushed the packet over the table and waved it invitingly at his suitemate.

Billy stood there a moment. He didn't get up expecting to have to talk to anyone. Still, best to be nice to the new guy. He finally answered with a vague "Couldn't sleep" before padding over to the table and rescuing one of the cookies from the package and starting to nibble on it. "Thanks," he offered a small smile, then was quiet a moment as he sunk into one of the chairs. His eyes wandered for something to keep polite conversation going, until they drifted to the title of the book. "Oh!" he exclaimed, suddenly animated. "That's a GREAT book," somehow stretching "great" into a three-syllable word. "So many ideas I want to try."

Frank grinned. "Damn straight, man. I'm only half-way through the second one," he added, giving Billy a mock-stern look, "so no spoilers, alright?" His mock-serious face was then ruined as he took a bite of another cookie. After a moment, he considered what Billy had actually said. "...Hang on. Ideas you want to try," he said. Then, "You do magic, right?"

"Yup," Billy nodded. He leaned back in the chair, trying to recall more specifics of the book. "Though I'm not so good at the Order part. I guarantee there'd be some chaos around here if I tried to create a whole other world. My summoning is getting better. Well, on some days."

Frank raised an eyebrow at that. "Not quite ready to lead an offensive on Amber, huh?" he asked, grinning to take the sting out of his slightly mocking tone. "Give it a year, man. We'll get you settled in." He paused, and gave Billy a considering look. "Gotta be honest, though, that magic stuff seems pretty sweet. Kinda won the genetic lottery, there, man."

Billy snorted. "You're new. Give it a few more days, and you won't be saying that." His head wobbled as he tried to figure out where to start. "It would be sweet if they worked they way I wanted them to, but most the time they don't. Ask Clint about for the potato story some time. Actually, you better not. Let's just say, they can be a lot of trouble."

Frank raised an amused eyebrow. "Come on, man. You can't say something like that and not give me the story behind it. The hell am I supposed to sleep after that? I mean, 'the potato story.' It even sounds funny." Milk was sipped, a cookie chomped on. "Come on. Spill."

Billy snagged another cookie, rolling it in between his fingers a moment, trying to figure out where to start. "Well, we'd just escaped this demon world, and Matt, Clint and I wanted some breakfast," he began. Always start with a a powerful first sentence, wasn't that the first rule of creative writing? "So poor Matt Murdock put on his kitchen frock to make us some brunch and tea. Clint said, 'I'll pass on the eggs, they remind me of slenderlegs" so the decision then passed onto me. 'Potatoes!' I said, and potatoes they came. Then for weeks and weeks later, potatoes still rained."

There was a long, long pause. "That... was intentional, right Doctor Seuss?"Frank managed eventually. "It's not some magic thing that you have to talk in rhyme?"

Billy laughed. "Yeah, intentional," he reassured Frank. "This time. You catch on quick. That's pretty much the kind of stuff that does happen around me. Like all the time."

"Oh, christ," muttered Frank, his eyes alight with amusement. "I'm gonna enjoy living with you, aren't I? There's gonna be wacky adventures(tm). Promise me not to turn me into something too embarrassing." He stopped, and considered Billy's apparent track record. "Intentionally," he amended, and sipped on his milk to hide his grin.

"I've never turned anyone into anything!" Billy mock-protested. That only lasted a moment, before it turned to a grin as he added, "Yet! My teacher has turned people into frogs before, so maybe someday. Though I hear it's a really long process to become an animagus."

"I'm sure," said Frank, wryly. "All that copyright law to wade through. And I bet JK Rowling'd charge you by the change."

"Probably. Someday, though," Billy promised, "I will get our brooms to fly, and we'll have ourselves a proper quidditch match out on the lawn."

Frank laughed at that. "Oh man," he chuckled, "You could fix our image problem in one hour, man. Everyone'd just be like 'DAMN they cool!' At least, the ones who can still speak will. The rest will be too busy being impressed by our awesomeness.!

"Well, we ARE cool," Billy grinned. "But everything is cooler with flying broomsticks. You can be one of my guinea pigs....I mean, test pilots."

"Makes sense! I'm a freaking tree. If it goes wrong, I'm crash-proofed AND raw materials rolled into a sexy little package. You should get Clint, too. Dude would make an amazing seeker."

"Oh, you really didn't want to just advertise 'crash-proofed' to me," Billy laughed. "And yeah, Clint's pretty good at finding stuff. My books tend to go missing a lot." He leaned back, contemplating his new suitemate. "So can you just po...turn into wood whenever you want?" he asked, changing his verbiage at the last moment.

Frank nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. Well," he added, considering, "maybe not whenever. I get tired if I do it too often. And I can't eat when I'm wood, so that kinda limits things. It's not so bad, though. You know. God damn tree man."

"That's pretty cool, Ent--Can I call you, Ent?" Billy laughed. "Hope you don't mind the questions. People around here get curious."

Frank shrugged easily, pasting on a smile. "Hey, screw it. All freaks here, right?" He reached down for another cookie, and his fingers touched porcelain. They'd finished the cookies, he realised mournfully. "...Aww. Ent is cookieless."

"I've been sworn to stop summoning food, or I'd offer to make some more," Billy said, sounding very apologetic. He brushed some invisible crumbs off his hands, and leaned back with a yawn. "Well, since we're out of cookies, maybe I'll try getting back to sleep. Glad we finally got a chance to talk!"

Frank nodded. "Yeah, man. Catch you later." And with that, he returned to his book.