Because I love you more than my heart can bear...
Drunkenness is beckoning to Frank.
It was half past eleven, and all of the guest were present and dancing joyously on the dance-floor.
Rosey, whom could never handle her drink, was already being supported by her beloved Gerard, as he was talking to her Mother.
Bob was dancing, waving his drumsticks in the air fanatically and Mikey was gazing longingly at Rosalie - though no one seemed to notice. All eyes were turned to the arm-wrestling match proceeding on the stage - which was intended to be used as a performance, or speech-making platform.
Frank was pitched against a much bulkier man. And although Frank didn't seem like much, he was the muscliest man in the band, and no one - with any common sense - wanted to throw fists with him. Or arm-wrestle.
This man didn't have a brain - let alone common sense.
This was the fifth wrestling match that had gone on between them since half an hour into the party. The man, named aptly Butch, was in line for some Punch - when Frank pushed past him, he blew his top and began ranting about how he could 'kick his arse' and how 'a pipsqueek like you [Frank] should be a little more respectful to people who were bigger and more macho then them.' Frank replied simply with 'bring it on.' The only reason why it didn't break into an all-out brawl was because of Rosey's Mother suggesting an aarm-wrestle to sort out their problems. Not to fight like primitive mammals.
Butch kept insisting for a rematch, for some reason. Frank obliged and always won anyway. Then Bob came along.
'I think we could make this sooooooo much more interesting.' He said, placing his hand on thier shoulders. 'After each bout of wrestling, the winner must take a drink of my specialised spirits here, to lessen the odds on the opponent. That way it's fair!'
'No it's not.' Rosalie said as her and the others crowded round the table. Then she realised that the whole point of the party was to get Frank drunk so he would tell her why he disliked her so much. Since Frank was garenteed to win every time, this way was the fastest and the most efficient way of getting him drunk. Rosey thought that Bob's idea wasn't half bad. In fact - it was excellent.
'But what does that matter!' She said brightly as she amended her earlier statement. 'Bring the drinks and let the arm-wrestling begin!'
The drinks were bought and, indeed, the arm-wrestling did begin. But Frank being drunk, and spurting out his inner-most secrets was not something Rosalie would want to hear. The truth is sometimes much more harder to stomach, then the evedential dislike of a fellow room-mate.
Rosey, whom could never handle her drink, was already being supported by her beloved Gerard, as he was talking to her Mother.
Bob was dancing, waving his drumsticks in the air fanatically and Mikey was gazing longingly at Rosalie - though no one seemed to notice. All eyes were turned to the arm-wrestling match proceeding on the stage - which was intended to be used as a performance, or speech-making platform.
Frank was pitched against a much bulkier man. And although Frank didn't seem like much, he was the muscliest man in the band, and no one - with any common sense - wanted to throw fists with him. Or arm-wrestle.
This man didn't have a brain - let alone common sense.
This was the fifth wrestling match that had gone on between them since half an hour into the party. The man, named aptly Butch, was in line for some Punch - when Frank pushed past him, he blew his top and began ranting about how he could 'kick his arse' and how 'a pipsqueek like you [Frank] should be a little more respectful to people who were bigger and more macho then them.' Frank replied simply with 'bring it on.' The only reason why it didn't break into an all-out brawl was because of Rosey's Mother suggesting an aarm-wrestle to sort out their problems. Not to fight like primitive mammals.
Butch kept insisting for a rematch, for some reason. Frank obliged and always won anyway. Then Bob came along.
'I think we could make this sooooooo much more interesting.' He said, placing his hand on thier shoulders. 'After each bout of wrestling, the winner must take a drink of my specialised spirits here, to lessen the odds on the opponent. That way it's fair!'
'No it's not.' Rosalie said as her and the others crowded round the table. Then she realised that the whole point of the party was to get Frank drunk so he would tell her why he disliked her so much. Since Frank was garenteed to win every time, this way was the fastest and the most efficient way of getting him drunk. Rosey thought that Bob's idea wasn't half bad. In fact - it was excellent.
'But what does that matter!' She said brightly as she amended her earlier statement. 'Bring the drinks and let the arm-wrestling begin!'
The drinks were bought and, indeed, the arm-wrestling did begin. But Frank being drunk, and spurting out his inner-most secrets was not something Rosalie would want to hear. The truth is sometimes much more harder to stomach, then the evedential dislike of a fellow room-mate.