mwestbelle | monopoly and moar boys

Current Mood: geeky
Current Music: Sweeney Todd

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monopoly and moar boys

Last night was the most INTENSE Monopoly game of my ENTIRE LIFE. FIVE HOURS. SHOUTING, SUICIDE, STRIPPERS AND TROPHY ~~BOYS~~ WIVES. It was awesome. A++, would play again.

Unfortunately, I was sitting half on a matress on the floor, so my lower back and tailbone are KILLING ME NOW, plus I had ballroom dance this morning, with rumba and HIP ACTION OW. But now I'm back in my room, and it's time for...more picspam! (Very Gerard-heavy)

Great start, Gerard! Love the...tinsel?

Hat over the eyes always makes me drool.

YES. This is my NUMBER ONE VERY FAVORITE picture of Patrick EVER. I need dom!Patrick.

Look at all of their little faces

I'm happy when you're happy!

HAT. And SHIRT. And FACE.

I really dig the composition of this, as well as Ryan's slinky hips.

Another super-duper fave. I dig dead!Brendon, what can I say? (Oh god, Zombiesex plotbunnies!)

I know it's part of the stageshow and all, but I just heart how he's all "Agh! GIRLPARTS! DO NOT WANT!"

I want glasses like this. (His hairline looks really receded here)

FACE. (I said it was a recurring theme)

He's just such an adorable puppy!

Caressing! And rosevest! So cute!

Not cute. Hot.

Dorkasses!

Sleepy snugglings! ~~Gryffindor scarf!~~

Oh Ryan, face.

Happy Ryan!face!

I covet that coat (not to mention what's in it...)

Hey look! When he's not busy being a dorkass, hotass, or fondling Frank, sometimes Gerard sings (just, you know, once in a while)!

Serious!face. I really like that blue with his skintone (wear more color, Gerard!)

I...I don't even know.

ROCKGOD. I'm really into TBP uniforms, I dunno.

GERARD WILL KILL YOU...

...WITH CUTE <3

~~DON'T EVER~~ GET NEW PANTS, GERARD!

EEHEE, GERARD!

LITTLE FINGERS!

This is my favorite hair, I think.

MOUTH! But I actually really liked the white, too (in the minority, I know).

Just look at the curve of his jaw! (I AM RUNNING OUT OF THINGS TO SAY ABOUT YOU, GERARD, STOP BEING SO AWESOME)

Rocky Horror shirt! (I'M KIDDING GERARD, NEVER STOP!)

NEVER EVER.

EVER.

*flail*

Oh god. The hair in the eyes just MAKES IT.

This looks rather manip-ish, but it's pretty, so I don't care.

BOYFRIENDS.

ANGSTY HOMELESS BOYFRIENDS.

Everytime I think he can't be any more adorable...

*DIES*

You can tell he's serious! He's got his interview!hands!

I...erm...I really like that vest.

...

Yay for ties?

More interview!hands.

Oh hai there, priest!kink, how've you been?

Yeah, I'm good too.

SO MANY HEARTS.

C'mon boys, we may accept eyefuckery from Brendon and Ryan, but we know you can do better.

Oh hush, Gerard.

That's right, go cry to your ~~sister~~ Mikeyway.

This one isn't great for Mikeyway, because adorable as he is, Gerard is just ETHEREALLY PRETTY in this shot.

Tambourine! (Gerard + Spencer + Tambourines?? Y/Y???)

Look! Skintone! STUBBLE!!

This pic was actually my very first introduction to Gerard outside of music vids, back when I was trolling around on Green Day message boards ~~I AM NOT ASHAMED, STOP JUDGING ME!~~ I was all "Wow, the scary guy with the droopy hair looks kinda sweet" Ah, younger self, you had so much to learn.

Pretteh!

Oh no, the SUNGLASSES!

I'm normally not a huge fan of screencaps, but...CUTE.

JON WALKER HAS CRAZY SEX ~~WITH GERARD~~ HAIR. Also, MORE LIPBITING PLZ!

Thank you, Patrick. (I secretly love him best when he's more red-heady.)

Just kidding! I love him best when he's a lounge singer who's ~~taking me~~ going to prom!

LOVE THIS PIC. Just, his EYES, and his HAIR, and somehow both SO PRETTY and REAL BOY.

Semi-creepy awkward smile time!

This is like, an almost-gangsta face. Nice try, Gerard, go ask Gabe for help.

...forget I said anything. You're very good at what you do, honey.

I agree with that shirt.

A tiny part of my brain is going "NOM PETE," but most of it is going "PUPPY!!" Less than three, Hemmy.

Cool.

Mmm...guitarhotness and FIRE. I like FIRE.

MORE ~~COWBELL~~ TAMBOURINE! (Shit, I made that joke last time. Ah well, too bad.)

I don't know who that guy is, but Spencer could power the Eastern Seaboard with that smile.

What is it with bandboys and dorkass sunglasses? There should be a study done. FOR SCIENCE.

Never stops being funny and adorkable.

I love that everyone is Goth Model-y and sexiful in their BP uniforms, and Bob's all "O HAI, I HAS TERRIBLE INFECTIONS TRYIN' TO EAT MAH BRAINZ" (And you know Gerard's all "BRAINZ?!" And Mikey and Frankie have to be like "NOT FOR YOU, GERARD! BOB NEEDS HIS BRAINZ!" And then there's pouting. ~~I DON'T EVEN KNOW~~)

Agh, so much angsty!pretty

I think Bob is awesome, but he doesn't usually make me go "GUH." ... *point point point* GUH.

REAL SUBTLE, BRENDON.

I approve of: Spencer's jacket (even the weird feathery thing), Ryan and Brendon's jackets, Brendon's FACE
I do not approve of: Jon Walker's Pimpstache (Just, no.)

Mmmmmm.

I want Mikeyway's coat, gloves, glasses. He looks so sweet with his ~~not!~~boyfriend.

This looked RAWKED majorly for Frank.

I cannot take seriousy anyone who talks to me about guitarsex without mentioning Frank. BENDY.

How so pretty? No, really, HOW?

Look, priest!kink is back! And he brought friends!

*WAVES*

FRECKLES. And god, his eyes are SO GORGEOUS.

OTP, in blue. (Where is the bandom Smurfs AU? Who's Smurfette? We'd have to have a Survivor for the various bandom bicycles.)

I'm so sorry I don't have more pictures of you, Mikeyway! I do love you! I promise!

Frank latches onto Gerard! Gerard grabs for Mikey! OT3!

I love how Gerard looks like he just has EXPANSES of pale flesh exposed, since everyone else is covered practically ankle to chin.

I haven't seen this hair very much, but I like it a lot.

HIS HANDS, THEY DO THINGS TO ME.

If someone asked me to compile a list of pictures you'd have to look at to "get Gerard," this would be pretty high up.

WE LIKE TREES ~~No really, it's not like we lurk in basements or anything!~~

Gerard, why so feline? Ray, why so...er....

THERE IS NO INCEST IN BANDOM! NOTHING TO SEE HERE, MOVE ALONG!

Seriously, Gerard, do you wear pants until they ROT OFF? (Bet he does.)

Painfully pretty! Great colors.

NOM.

SO MUCH SHINY HAIR

Haven't seen you for a while, JWalk. Lookin' sharp.

I lied, I totally want these glasses.

Pouty face! TUMMY!

Don't smirk at me, Jon Walker! ~~It makes me melty~~

Their FACES are just CLASSIC. And I cannot stop staring at how TINY Ryan is, in his entire self.

Okay, my fingers kinda hurt from capslocking, and I still have real writing to do...so, the last installment of bandspam will be forthcoming. Hope this brings a smile <3

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Bryar looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding. "Yeah," he says, and he looks a little annoyed but nowhere near as tense as in the room with Wentz. "I'll get the files," and he starts for them but stops, turning around.

"Can you get me something without mustard this time? I don't really care what, but... yeah." And with that he turns to go pick up the case file, fingers drumming on his leg as he walk.s

Toro checks around the station to see if anyone else is planning for lunch before surrendering and running down to the deli at the end of the street himself.

When he gets back to Bryar's desk, the files are already spread out, grisly photos and all. Not great lunch fare, but he's (mostly) used to it. He drops a wrapped sandwich in front of Bryar (turkey) and unwraps his own tuna salad. "Any new thoughts?"

"Well," Bryar says thoughtfully, unwrapping and sniffing his turkey sandwich speculatively, "It's Way's work, but it feels a little different. Maybe..." He breaks off, taking a bite of his sandwich and there's a long moment before he continues, "more rushed? I--hmm."

Toro bites into his sandwich and leans over, looking at the photos. He's become so used to eating while looking at case files (working around the clock, mostly); it almost disturbs him, sometimes.

"It's sloppier, definitely." Toro sticks out his finger to keep a glob of mayonnaise and celery from landing on a glossy photo and sucks it off speculatively. "Maybe rushed. Maybe angry?"

Bryar leans in, tracing the knife wounds with a finger and nodding. "I see that. He's always been neat, clean cuts. This is a little closer to the hackjob we usually get from these types."

"There is a big gap between this one and the one before it," Toro points out, taking another bite. It's not a big one, but it makes his words a little indistinct. "Pent-up anger, maybe? Couldn't kill because he doesn't want to leave a trail while he's on the run, and then here's an opportunity." He's talking it out--it's an old habit, back from when he was working on one of his first cases. It made things easier to think, easier to understand.

"Why would he take it quickly? If he's going to do it why wouldn't he take his time?" Bryar shuffles through the files, trying to piece things together, and maybe it's a little detail but it seems strange to him.

"Fear of capture, maybe? Wanted to get out of town fast?" But that doesn't make sense, if he was really afraid of getting caught he wouldn't have killed at all. "Maybe he's slipping. All that time without killing, and now it's a frenzy." It's a scary thought, but seems a likely one.

Bryar nods a little absentmindedly, still frowning. "Why Wilson? Out of all the people in Chicago, Way just happens to go for the one who just killed another kid?"

Toro hesitates for a moment, because he's just had a thought, but it's impossible. At least, he's pretty sure it is.

"What if..." He frowns. "What if Way knew that Wilson had killed the other kid--Ross? What if that was..." And he knows he sounds crazy at this point but he's past caring. "What if that was the point?"

Bryar gives him a skeptical look. "What?"

"You're right, it can't be coincidence." Toro drums his fingers against the desk. "He had to have known."

"It doesn't make sense," Bryar counters. "He spends years slaughtering random clubbers then, what? He gets into vengeance? Doesn't fit. People like him don't care about anyone else."

"Something has to fit. There's no way this was random."

Bryar is silent for a long moment, because Toro does have a fair point--the odds of it happening randomly are slim to none. And... "And he wasn't a clubber," Bryar points out. It's obvious, but it bears repeating--it isn't quite how Way operates in a lot of ways, it seems. "You might have something, I don't know."

"It's not self-defense and it's not random. So... where did he find out about Ross's death from? What's the connection there?" Toro frowns.

"Wentz? He knew about both Ross and Wilson, a lot more than he was telling us." Both of their sandwiches lie forgotten on the desk while they immerse themselves in the files.

"So, what?" Bryar picks up one of the reports from the scene and flips through, scanning for anything they might have missed. "Way shows up, Wentz cries about what happened to his little boyfriend, and Way decides to go after the Wilson kid? Like, a favor? Or some kind of twisted morality?"

"It's possible," Toro murmurs, still flipping through files. "As a favor for Way's brother or for Wentz, though?" Not that it particularly matters, in the end, but he wants to get the subtleties of the case down before he starts moving into the uncertain ground of actually trying to find Way again.

Bryar leans back in his chair, head tipping back, and his fingers drum on the desk. It's his default thinking pose, and Toro would find it funny if it didn't seem to help so much.

"Both, maybe? It's pretty much proven that Wentz was at least aware of Way last time he was in Chicago, right?"

Toro nods, because he remembers squeezing past dumpsters, half-deranged giggles coming from somewhere in the dark, and staying out all night. It's not a pleasant memory, and he didn't even get, jesus, set on fire. Much as he respected Bryar as a cop up to that point, it was then that he really respected him. This was a man who didn't quit.

"So say Wentz helped him out. He repaid the favor by killing Wentz's... problem?" Toro's not entirely sure he's comfortable thinking of Way in this sense--he's not the most depraved man Toro's ever had to track down, but he certainly wouldn't be welcome at Toro's grandmother's, either, and after seeing the crime scene photos it's hard to imagine any sense of fairness about him.

"And this is still bothering me--look at this." Toro hands Bryar a few photos--pictures of the outside of the house that Wilson was found in. "It's totally abandoned and so are the houses around it. He wouldn't have needed to worry about getting caught and he still hurried." He's got an idea of what it could mean, but he wants Bryar's confirmation before he says anything out loud. Maybe it's false hope, but Way could have been hurrying because he had someone (a hostage) to get back to.

Bryar frowns, studying the photo. "That's a good point. Paranoia, maybe? Or he might not get the satisfaction he's looking for if he doesn't feel it's his own kill. Who knows how he picks his victims--doing somebody else's revenge isn't what he's looking for."

Toro doesn't say anything, just toys with the edge of one of the discarded sandwich wrappers, obviously not getting what he's looking for. Bryar studies him for a few seconds, trying to figure out what he's not saying, and his eyes widen. "The roommate? Iero?"

Toro nods, looking thoughtful. "If he was still with Iero then it could be why he was hurrying," he points out. He's trying not to let his hopes up; he's been sure Iero is dead and dumped in some woods for almost a month, but this gives the possibility of him being alive. And maybe he is a little excited about that.

Bryar huffs out a sigh at his expression. "Don't get your hopes up."

"I'm not." He sounds a little defensive, because, well, he is getting his hopes up. "I just...I think we would have found Iero by now if Way killed him. He's never been that careful with the bodies."

That's true, and Bryar nods his acknowledgement, but still. "Only we'll know for sure is if we find Way. Much as I hate to say it, right now it doesn't really matter if Iero is alive or not, not for our investigation."

"Yeah, I know," Toro says, resigned, and starts going through the files again. He's not so much looking for something at this point as just trying to find something to do with his hands. "So we know Way was here--" He fumbles around with the papers, frustrated, because in his nervous shuffling he's gotten them completely out of order. "What did it say for the time of death on Wilson? I can't find..." He stops and sighs, leaning against the desk with his head in his hands. It hasn't exactly been a good morning for him, so far.

"Hey." Bryar pauses, considering for a second, then claps Toro on the shoulder. "We'll figure it out. We just got a huge break, Way will be behind bars before you know it." It's about half honest hope and half convincing himself, but Toro smiles when he looks up, if a little weakly.

"Right. We'll work through it." Bryar nods and pulls another stack of papers into his lap.

Meanwhile...on a Greyhound bus moving across Iowa, Frank and Gerard are getting dirty looks.

They aren't doing anything in particular--anymore, that is, because a half hour previous they were arguing in hushed tones about something (either a movie or a comic book, neither can remember) and then the hushed tones became significantly less hushed, and then Frank celebrated winning it by kissing Gerard.

To be honest, the dirty looks are only coming from a few people; these people are, in particular, an elderly couple sitting across the row from them. While the wife managed to placate her husband (who Frank and Gerard suspect can't see very well) by claiming Gerard was a girl, the responding dirty look from Gerard didn't help any of their cases.

But regardless, they're on their way to Brian's, and if they can make it there Gerard, at least, is confident they can be safe.

((Iowa? Where are we making Brian live?))

"God, my legs are sore." Frank complains, stretching a little. Gerard snorts.

"Yeah, because you have so much leg." Frank is probably one of the people best equipped to ride in cramped bus seats. Frank makes a face at him.

"Don't be an ass. I've been sitting still as long as everyone else."

((Oops, I meant Indiana...a general NJ-ish direction? I don't know. If we make him live in Jersey there could be motel sex :D ))

"The bus is stopping soon, okay," Gerard says, rolling his eyes a little. He's a little anxious for the bus to stop, too. "God, I need a smoke." He's been trying not to think about it, but it's not working, and at this rate he's going to look as restless as Frank.

((I support this proposition! :D Indiana it is. Ooh, if they go through Ohio (which one would, on the way to Jersey) I could do proper commentary on my boring neighboring towns. Woo.))

"For fuck's sake, how boring can you be?" Frank demands of the landscape rolling past the window--flat and blank and dull. Gerard rolls his eyes a little, and thinks a little treacherously that the general public would probably be less terrified and awed by Frank if they knew what a whiny little bitch he could be. Then he winces, because he's not sure if he can make jokes about this, even inside his head.

He glances over at Frank, just in case he's read his mind, but no, Frank is still tapping irritatedly at the glass of the window, gaining many glares from passengers in the surrounding seats.

((Do it! I'm going to bed (ah, Mondays. No hearts.) and will expect thrilling Ohio-ness \o/))

"Frank," Gerard says, sighing, and when Frank turns, he mimes tapping the window. "Seriously."

"Not tonight dear," Frank prompts, and it's slipping into one of their old routines that they had back at the apartment. It was never "You're annoying the fuck out of me", it was, well--

"I have a headache," Gerard finishes, rolling his eyes and grinning despite himself. They're almost out of Indiana, now, and as the bus pulls to a stop to get more gas someone passes on that the next stop is Cleveland. Gerard looks at Frank questioningly. "It's in Ohio," Frank says, shrugging. "Come on, I thought you needed to go smoke?" He's ready to be off the bus and they've got a ten minute break before they have to get back on the road again.

((Good night! Soon there will be epic Ohioness. It shall be grand. But thrilling? Doubt it. It's Ohio.))

"Yeah, I guess." Gerard gets up and waits for a pair of college-age girls to pass (they giggle, and Gerard realizes with a sinking feeling that he and Frank are going to become part of a roadtripping story forever) before sliding out of the seat with Frank close behind.

It's drizzling a little outside and it's a good thing Gerard is practically a professional at this--it only takes him one try to light his cigarette, even with the oppressive damp.

Other passengers file into the gas station, buying junk food and magazines, but Frank figures that the bus itself is enough of a risk--he and Gerard don't need to go parading around in as many public places as possible.

"You want one?" Gerard asks, watching the others file past into the station. Frank nods, and it takes Gerard a few tries to light Frank's; the wind's picking up a little, but in some ways that's to their advantage. The cold and rainy weather gives them an excuse to bundle up, hoods up, and it's harder to tell who anyone is because of it.

They stand and smoke in silence, not wanting to draw too much attention to themselves, and when the call that break is over comes they're the first to be back on.

"Cleveland's the next stop," Gerard says, absentmindedly, and elbows Frank when he asks if there'll be cows there.

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