#FRANK TXT. ( everybody knew you didn't give no lip to big john. )

[debtsunpaid]

ROLLIN' THROUGH WITH @thicketville ( for isaac! )

three things that you get to know well when you're always the new guy in town: rules of the road. tip for service, not for smiles. don't piss off the locals after six on a weekday. how to recognize other travelers of the night, walking in off an engine roar and a tire squeal. and hey, frank got into the rough rider shtick for the social climate, right? it wasn't all for adrenaline and the thrill of a race and the freedom of the open road . . . aw, okay, he did it for a couple things. but being social is definitely one of them!

even if, well, sometimes the newcomers don't seem so happy to be new. and aren't doing so good at following the rules of the road themselves. matter of fact, whatever shit they've been talking over by the bar seems to be getting people mighty riled, and well, if it's gonna be a fight, then he might as well know what side to swing for. so he sighs, downs his drink, and goes for recon.

" hey, look, fellas. " he's gentle about dropping his hand on the guy's shoulder; it's a big hand. cher used to say he's got mitts like a bear's paw. " it's been a real quiet night, huh? and i'm keepin' real entertained with all this hullabaloo over here and all, but it'd be a whole lot cooler if we headed out to the lot and you showed me that rip-roarin' engine i was hearing out there, yeah? i'll even pay for a round to go an' all. "

[debtsunpaid]

tag drop for FRANK NORTH from hellblazer, former member of the newcastle crew, current road warrior, and all-around chill guy who sometimes pokes around with the occult! his song is 'big bad john' by jimmy dean.

[debtsunpaid]

kinda funny how far a little kindness goes, these days. kinda funny, and kinda sad, too — too many road warriors out there who ended up learning not to overstay their welcome at the business end of a shotgun and decided to start drawing first before they could get drawn on, and the way @thicketville eases up at just a scrap of personal space, it sure seems like he's been buying more trouble than friends. but hey, that's why it pays to stand up for your fellow man every now and again, right? you never know where someone's coming from, even if their bumper stickers say where they've been.

he slaps his knee triumphantly at the correction, shaking his head at himself with just a trace of self-deprecation. " little john, that's right! shit, i used to love those stories. well hey, good taste in music, man, right on. tell you what, though, you won't catch me goin' near no mines, so i guess our pal jimmy owes me one scorcher of a sequel, don't it? that mean you're a big country rock guy? "

the waitress, looking tired as hell but all smiles — darla, her nametag says — takes both of their orders back to the kitchen, not the least bit perturbed by their part in the earlier commotion. that's a good sign: some bored-as-sin locals picking a fight aren't nearly as big of a problem as friends-with-the-owner locals. it prompts frank to relax a bit more, letting his knuckle dusters slide down to his fingertips and rolling them idly along his palm as he nods sagely in understanding. " phew! i hate to forget a face, ya know? that makes us trailblazin' buddies, 'cause i've never been out here before either — more of a route 66 kinda guy, usually. "

patience pays off, even if guessing doesn't; his grin booms out louder than the silence, and his voice only matches volume. " isaac! man, you put me outta my misery, i was never gonna guess that. only biblical shit i know by heart is, like, the water-into-wine thing. " the dusters clunk onto the tabletop as he frees up his fingers to offer a handshake, only to belatedly remember the promised 'no touchy' and switch quickly to a fist bump. " name's frank. like zappa, except way worse on guitar. so, where ya headed, isaac? you ridin' more for the journey or the destination? "

isaac will never get used to the sensation, he thinks, of hot ire melting away into nothing . one moment, he is prepared - his hair's up, his teeth are gritted, his throat is raw from ragged breathing - and the next, it's all slipped away, liquid smooth . once frank's hand is firmly off of his person, isaac can feel it going, going, gone ...

isaac stares at him, dazed and hollow, before pursuing. " yeah - yeah, sure. "

clambering into a booth with a shred of dignity is always a challenge . his crutch is slid off his wrist and chucked inside, and he lowers himself down before he falls down . his roadworn bones snap and crackle at the sensation, and he winces, but soon enough he's firmly tucked himself inside ; he hadn't realized how badly his back ached until now, hunched over the bar . " dean . robin hood was, uh, little john. i think. " fuck if he remembers.

there's temptation, then, when it comes to ordering . the little pit in his stomach says to get something hard, that he needs the booze, that he would've ordered harder if he'd been left up at the bar . the little sense in his head says that would be a shitty first impression . he can always find a liquor store and drown in it later, if need be . no rush . none at all . he orders a beer, and that's it .

isaac watches patiently as frank rambles on . he chuffs, after a moment of guessing, and shakes his head, moving to lean back and cross his arms over his chest . " no . no, just passin' through ... don't think i've ever come this way before, so, uh . you're in the clear . " the subject of names is pointedly ignored, until the silence becomes a bit too loud . "... isaac . "

[debtsunpaid]

well there's a ruffle of feathers that hardly goes unnoticed; should've guessed that an almost-rumble would leave anyone wound a little tight. frank lifts his hand right back up off the guy's shoulder, an open palm of surrender that turns into a peace sign. " hey man, it's cool. i read ya. no touchy. "

it falls when he's sure he's not gonna have to go blocking any punches, thumb hooking through a belt loop. sure is a rowdy little guy he's wound up tagging onto, that's for sure, but ain't that just the way it goes? meeting all the most interesting people in all the oddest places. life on the road in a nutshell.

" aw, thanks. i'm not probably not winnin' any contests against no tacks, but i like to think i'd land on miss congeniality, at least. " he's polite enough not to wrinkle his nose as the elbow goes up; been there, smelled that. smelled worse.

" nah, man! a little trouble keeps it interesting. " and hey, he's had worse responses to a sit-down invitation, too! he grins, slow and easy, and doffs his harley cap as he scoots past, leading the way toward the side of the bar that's got the most distance between them and the still-sulky gaggle of local antagonists. " big john, ha! that's funny. you mean it like robin hood or jimmy dean? "

the nearest empty spot isn't exactly in the corner, but it's a near thing — perfect for keeping an eye on your fellow man without fading off into the shadows. he flags down the waitress as he slides into his seat and drapes an arm along the back of the booth, putting in for a beer, the greasiest basket of fries they've got, and whatever isaac wants to drink.

" not like i'm complainin', but i gotta know where to get yours from, right? or i could try to guess your actual name, lemme see now . . . " he snaps his fingers, tongue against teeth. " . . . steve. or, nah — maybe billy? shoot, i've never been good at guessin'. you haven't been in town long, have you, 'cause i'll be real damn embarrassed if i'da met you before now. "

to that , all isaac can manage is a rattling huff of air - the kind that comes laced with restraint and longing so deep you'd think he'd been the one itching for a fight . he didn't start it , but you'd better fucking believe he'd finish it .

if he wasn't so goddamn tired . if he wasn't slways so tired .

the handful of limped paces put into his escape is stalled , quite suddenly , by yogi bear's big fucking mitt clapped against his shoulder once more . a shudder rolls down his spine at that one , unbidden , half the re-raising of his hackles and the other half cool , liquid fear . maybe this fuckwit isn't the peacekeeper he's claiming to be . maybe him and minerva hadn't split up for this one . fuck .

" yeah . yeah , you - ... you've got a point . " he grumbles , admittance dragged out of him like a snarling cat . he sniffs once , twitching his nose ; and then , in a gesture that he hopes is subtle , scratches his neck to get a noseful of himself . eugh . he'd be sorry if he hadn't been caked in leather on an 80-degree day - that's got an ounce of excusability to it . isaac properly turns his front to the man , trying to catch a glimpse of what he's working with .

trustworthy . alright .

" oh , i haven't fucked your night up enough yet ? ... sure . don't have anywhere else to be . " he hefts his meager weight over to the side , arm outstretched in a mock bow . " lead the way , big john . "

[debtsunpaid]

" whoa, hey! come on, no need for that kinda language. "

for an admonishment, it's not very stern, and the smile he posts up to the pissy local bully brigade is big, cheerful, and billboard bright. so are the knuckle dusters settling cool and hard against the back of his hand. try for peace but be ready for war, ain't that how the old saying goes? as true enough in the back of a bar as it is in a demon hunt, and frank's never minded playing pinch hitter in someone else's game.

" now listen, guys, i'm gonna take my new friend here to spin his wheels, okay? can we all be cool, drinks on me? a'right. " he's careful to only turn sideways as he tails bar-fight billy a few paces out of range; sure, he's got half a head of open air and half a hand of steel over their biggest-slash-baddest, but some guys will spring up on your back like a leapfrog when their blood's up and damn the consequences. john's like that, and you don't turn your back on john.

" look, man, whatever they're flappin' their gums about, it's not worth the clean-up. everyone's knows everyone in this town, and i'm bettin' half these good ol' boys are in the sheriff's weekly poker game. 'sides, don't take this the wrong way, pal, but uh . . . you seem like you've been ridin' hard. seems like you'd have an easier time knockin' down those guys with a whiff of armpit than a boot. " down comes the big hand again, more companionable than restraining this time. " hey, you want a beer and a booth? they're about to kick some marvin gaye on the juke, that ain't a jam to miss over a little wounded pride. "

rules of the road : never eat from under a heatlamp. don't pay for a motel room if there's a gym and a library. there's no such thing as a friendly local.

amen, etc. ad nauseum.

isaac didn't do well traveling alone, though that had never been an issue. not a big one. minerva, bless her tits, stuck to him like they were sewn together - they slept in the same bed, ate off the same plate, and, when necessary, shared the same stick of deoderant. she'd kept that with her when they parted ways a few towns back, so currently, isaac smelled thickly of musk and leather and cooling sweat. he was exhausted. he was angry. biking had lost its luster, after riding hard down some shitty little backroads that had maybe seen an inch of gravel sixteen years ago and had rattled his leg back to jello. he just wanted to plant his ass in a chair with cold drink and warm food and half a bottle of ibuprofen.

according to the dickhead to his left, isaac did not get this. instead, he got to limp to his feet and get in the face of dickhead and his prissy posse, and bark when he wanted to bite, and eventually, this got him a staggering amount of man clinging to his back. " you - ! " isaac snarls, the fire still stoked too high in his belly to settle down. the temptation to lash out was high and ripe for picking, but ... he chose breathe instead. aggressively, mind, verging on a gutteral growl, but ... it was better than swinging. "you just - fuck, keep - keep those fucking morons away from me!" he barks, already pushing his way to the other side of man mountain to put some space between him and the sneering peanut gallery. "absolute cunts!"