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The One Where There was Molting

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So, Frank has always been a dragon, though he didn't know it until he turned 13 and that's a different story involving the accidental destruction of his desk and bed lamp--still to his mother's dismay. But yeah. A dragon. And his band has only known like a year (because Otter made him tell, but whatever. Otter isn't here anymore and he can't be mad at the guy because being a dragon is something you should tell your best friends especially if you are going to be in a van with them.)

Anyway, aside from being on Warped and the very nature of the tour being a clusterfuck of sun and beer and the complete and total lack of privacy, Frank was molting. That's right, molting. Which, in his normal human shape translated into patches of red and flaky skin. Frank just wanted a shower. A proper shower and a pumice stone and endless hot water. He was considering giving all his precious and worldly possessions (which really came down to like two guitars and his ipod but whatever), if he could have that and just stop itching.

Frank was kind of supremely grateful that he's not had a chance to shift because he was certain he looked a mess. A dull-scaled, flaky lizardy mess in that department.

To top it all off, he was REALLY irritable because ITCHY. Frank's pretty sure that at least 75% of Warped Tour is no longer on speaking terms with him. He had even succeeded in getting on Toro's nerves and Ray was the most Zen mofo Frank has ever met. He’d be proud of himself, but he truly felt bad because Toro doesn’t deserve his ire.

Mikey reached a breaking point and tackled Frank over the seat in the van, a mess of pointy elbows and limbs and he was totally going to give the kid a sandwich because so pointy. The mother henning will be epic if Mikey will just, "Argh! GET OFF!" Frank protested all while trying to scratch his cheek on Mikey's shirt.

"No," Mikey frowned. "What's going on with you man? Is it scabies? Do we need to treat you for mange or something?"

"What the fuck do you think I am Mikey? A werewolf?" Frank deflected. "And I don't know what you're talking about. Just use your bony fingers to scratch behind my shoulders blades."

"Wait," Ray said and shit. Ray had on his light bulb face of enlightenment.

"No." Frank sighed.

"You are molting, aren't you?" Ray sounded positive.

"Maybe," Frank allowed. "I'll be fine eventually. Just like, sorry for being a dick, but I'm kind of miserable right now and just can we pretend this isn't one of the weirder conversations that I've been the topic of? Great. OFF of me." He shoved but Mikey went limp and somehow managed to pin Frank more firmly in the seat.

"Right, we're taking a detour," Gerard declared, turning on his blinker and taking the next exit.

Anyway, that's how Frank ended up on a creek bed gleefully wallowing on rocks to get the molt off.