The Legend Of The Fabulous Killjoys

A small interpretation of what I've seen in My Chemical Romance's videos for Na Na Na and SING. Read, enjoy, and, if the mood take you, review.

Disclaimer: I don't know the characters Party Poison, Kobra Kid, Jet Star or Fun Ghoul. The name Curly, however, completely made up. I don't know... Whatever.

"Poison!"

The fiery haired male looked up from his work on the engine of his car. Party Poison was his name. He'd long since forgotten his real one. Or, maybe it was there, locked away in the back of his mind and he just didn't wish to let it out again. As his head rose, he rolled his eyes. "What?" he asked attitude seeping from his tone.

"Ladyboy's here! He's got the stuff, we gotta go!"

Poison turned slowly, facing Fun Ghoul, running a dirty hand through his bright red hair. "Car's not done," he said. "Where's Curly?"

Ghoul looked around, guilty faced, and shrugged. "Dunno…" he murmured. He leaned on the threshold of the abandoned diner, picking at his nails.

Poison groaned. "Well, go find her. You know she can't be left alone. Let Jet figure out you left her again and he'll pound your face in."

"Fuck that," Fun Ghoul said, rolling his eyes this time. He spun on his heels, stepping through the door. The diner had been abandoned for almost ten years, ever since a couple of female outlaws had come by and poisoned the entire place. Where there were once tables and chairs set neatly, most were gone. The few that remained were covered in their things or stacked over and over again with weapons. Detonation, detonation, detonation.

Ghoul picked up a gun and held it nonchalantly in hand. He swung it on a finger and strolled through the diner, towards its kitchen. Kobra Kid and Jet Star were there, slowly preparing themselves while Ladyboy waited in the corner. He spun in delicate little circles on his roller skates, helmet always poised over his head.

Jet was pulling dusty skinny jeans up to his waist and a t-shirt over his wavy hair. He looked towards Ghoul. "Where's Curly?" he asked, slight urgency in his tone.

"Chill, I'm getting her."

Jet groaned. "When I say 'Don't let Curly out of your sight' that's exactly what the hell I mean, Ghoul!"

"Cool it, Jet! I'm going to get her!"

"She should be with you!"

Ghoul didn't reply, deciding to rather roll his eyes and slipped out the back door.

Kobra chuckled, combing his blonde hair back, his own little attempt to keep it looking above perfect. "Better watch your ass, Ghoul."

"Shut up…" The black haired male pushed through the back door and stood out in the blazing desert sun. "Curly!" he called. The desert was silent. The empty plain was broken with small, dying bushes turned tumbleweed and giant rocks here and there.

"Curly!" he called out again. Silence once again. He caught the shadow of something behind one of the large rocks. It teetered some and then sat still. Ghoul rolled his eyes. Who'd she think she was hiding from?

He stepped up to the rock quickly, wasting no time as he turned the corner to confront the girl. "Come on, kid, who do you thin-" He stopped mid sentence, confronted with a toy robot. The robot belonged to Curly and it glared up at him in the unnerving silence. The silence settled at the pit of his stomach like a landmine, waiting to be stepped on.

Ghoul stepped up to the twenty-four inch robot, the sun beating over him and kneeled in front of it. He touched the toy with the ball of his index finger. It faltered only some, as though taking a moment to decide if it was going to tip or not. "Where's Curly?" he asked.

The robot didn't answer.

"Shit…" Ghoul mumbled. Jet was going to murder him.

"Okay, okay…" he whispered to himself. "Curly is gone. I can probably deal. Kobra and Poison can probably deal. What are we gonna tell Jet?"

"Freeze, vampire!"

Ghoul almost jumped out his skin, spinning on his toes. He tipped over and landed flat on the toy. It poked into his back hard enough to make a grown man whimper, and he did.

The young girl stood over him; hands pressed together, index fingers pointing down at him. "Bow," the frizzy haired girl said. She lifted a finger to her lips and blew. "Target acquired."

She grabbed at the long, tight winds of hair, encircling her small face. "No vampire is a match for me," she said, big eyes wide, a silly smile playing at her lips.

Fun Ghoul wanted to scream, but he couldn't. She was just too cute. He grinned, his heart rate slowing. "Whoa, now. Don't do that, girl!" He stood to his feet and took a breath. "If you hada disappeared, I woulda been dead."

Ghoul ruffled the girl's hair and shoved her lightly. "Go ahead inside," he said.

She smiled and turned, skipping into the diner. Ghoul chuckled. Such a carefree kid to be in the situation she was in. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, and lit it, following behind her. She had no idea…

They were all there now, preparing to leave. Poison was staring intently into the sink, washing oil from his face and hands. He wouldn't be getting into his beloved car with dirty hands and neither would the rest of these mother fuckers if he had anything to say about it. "Ladyboy, turn on the radio."

Ladyboy, sitting at a tall counter against the wall with Curly, still masked and forever silent, came to his feet and rolled gracefully across the kitchen floor. He caressed Kobra Kid's cheek and flicked on the old boom box beside him.

"Don't touch me," Kobra said, defensively.

"Yeah, only person allowed to touch Kobra is Kobra," Ghoul said, and Jet chuckled catching his underlying joke.

"Not like he'll ever get anyone else to do it," the other added.

"Shut up," Kobra said. He pulled his comb through his hair again and stepped away from the radio. It came on in loud static sounds and then evened itself out into the smooth voice of their very own Dr. Death Defying.

"Look alive, sunshine…"

Jet looked across the room and pointed. "Curly," he said. "Get the stuff ready. The blue one for me."

Curly nodded, trotting off towards the front of the diner.

"Be careful!" Jet called out, and the voice went on.

"One-oh-nine in the sky, but the pigs won't quit! You're here with me, Dr. Death Defy. I'll be your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter!"

Party Poison pulled on a fresh pair of jeans, just as dusty as the last pair, and his jacket. Dead Pegasus was stitched across the front pocket. He glanced at the others around him, a shake of his head. "Hurry up," he said. "You've got about a minute and a half before I leave you."

Curly shuffled back into the kitchen with a blue gun in her hands. She held it carefully, by the front.

"Pumping out the slaughtermatic sounds to keep you alive! A system failure for the masses, anti-matter for the master plan!"

Fun Ghoul leaned against the wall, taking a drag from his cigarette. "I'm ready," he said. "Jet and Curly are the weak links here."

Jet rolled his eyes, holding his hand out to Curly. "Gun, please," he said.

Curly sat the gun in his hands, big brown eyes wide and the silly smile of hers dancing on her lips. Jet set the gun in the holster attached to his side and pulled a jacket up over his shoulders. Dusty like everything else they owned, the back was decorated elegantly with an American flag.

"Louder than God's revolver and twice as shiny! This is for all you rock n' rollers! All you crash queens and motor babies! The future is bulletproof! The aftermath is secondary!"

"Let's go!" Poison pressed.

The gang started for the door, Poison first, handing a record to Ladyboy. "Thanks," he said. "We'll meet you at the next checkpoint."

Ghoul followed behind him first, holstering his randomly chosen gun and inhaling on his cigarette once again. Kobra went soon after, pulling a glove onto his right hand and quickly grabbing a rolled up magazine.

Jet was last, followed by Curly, the last to get ready. An aviator's helmet pulled over her curls and her toy robot stuffed into the backpack on her back, she grabbed the radio and scuttled closely behind Jet.

"It's time to do it now and do it loud!"

Together, they all grouped into the car and Poison revved the engine. "Killjoys, make some noise!"

Curly yawned. She liked the little jobs they gave her. She never got many. They thought she was too young do to do most things. She was in charge of gathering their things, the weapons, piling them into suit cases, putting them into the trunk of the car.

She was also in charge of the radio. This job was very important to her, just about her favorite thing to do. She felt pride in the fact that she could always find Dr. D's station when they went slightly out of range and it went a bit fuzzy. She loved that no matter what song she chose, the guys loved it. They'd sing and dance and they'd have a good time in that little car.

But the job was tedious… Carrying the small boom box in her lap for long car rides stifled her movement. It made her tired, not being able to move around and, like most nine year olds; she did not like to sleep. She would often find herself waking from a dream in the middle of their long car rides, angry at herself for being so childish.

Curly yawned again and rubbed her eyes. She looked to her left. Kobra sat there, passed out cold, despite the loud music blaring beside him. To her right sat Jet, staring idly out the window. The continuous dialogue that had started early in the car ride had died out now. Everyone went about doing their own thing. Curly stared at the magazine thrown across Kobra's lap, her curiosity taking the best of her. The girl took it in her thumb and finger, moving slowly as to not wake the male beside her. She looked at the cover, as if criticizing a literary piece. Written in red letters on the front cover was

Murder

and in small white text below it was the slogan:

Their bodies will kill you.

Across the front was a woman on her side, half clothed. Her hair was long, blonde and waving past her shoulders. She wore a tight, white shirt that barely covered her large breasts. Something about it seemed appealingly foreign and terribly wrong to the young girl.

To flip open the cover was no better. Inside, there was no discretion, no attempts to hide anything. Kobra had been reading a nudie magazine and Curly did not approve.

Before she could completely comprehend what it was she was doing, Curly was climbing over Kobra and slipping the thing out the open window.

"Hey, Whoa!"

Curly jumped, falling quickly back into her seat at the sound of Kobra's loud voice.

"The fuck are you doing, kid!"

"I was just…"

"Why do you have to be so stupid!"

Without warning, just like the child she was, Curly began to cry. She cried quietly though. Only lone whimpers were audible. She turned away from Kobra and snuggled into Jet Star's arm.

"Don't call Curly stupid," Jet said, rolling his eyes, gaze never leaving the view out the window.

Kobra rolled his eyes in stubborn defiance and shook his head. "She threw my skin mag out the window!"

"Well, you shouldn't be reading them anyway!" Jet snapped. "She's nine and she obviously knows better than you!"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean!"

"It means you don't got no common sense, Kobra!"

Curly looked ahead, wiping tears from her eyes to clear her vision. She was holding onto Jet Star's arm, squeezing it lightly. When others yelled, it was okay. But when Jet Star yelled, it was scary.

She watched as Poison's grip tightened on the steering wheel. He was getting angry, obvious in the dark look Curly caught in his eyes from the rear-view mirror. Ghoul was looking at him too, out the side of his eye. He stayed quiet, tying a bandana around his neck. He knew what was coming just as well as Curly did. They'd just wait for it to happen.

"You two shut up!" Poison roared, his voice full with authority and anger. "It's done! Okay? The magazine is long gone! It's over! Shut the fuck up!"

The car went quiet. The only sound, the rev of the engine and the muffled music coming from the radio, now on the floor.

"You shouldn't be reading those anyways," Ghoul said, breaking the silence. "You'll have erectile dysfunction before you're, like… thirty."

Curly didn't know what that meant, but she went on and giggled anyway, because Ghoul had.