You Can't Push it Underground

Step Two of Brendon's Oh-So-Genius Plan

"No!" I don't want to go anywhere! I want to stay at home and watch Deal or no Deal reruns," Frank mopes as Brendon pushes him out the front door.

"Can you even hear yourself right now?" Brendon asks, "Howie Mandel can wait. His reflective bald head will be there when you get back. Right now you're going to socialize!"

"I don't wanna!" Frank complains.

"You honestly sound like a six year old arguing nap time, Frank."

"Well I'd rather have nap time than go out anywhere! I don't like people. I like my TV remote, and my giant bag of gold fish!"

"Frank," Brendon says warningly, "either you rejoin the world, or I invite your neighbors over for tea."

"You fight dirty."

"I don't like seeing you turn into a potato," Brendon says.

"Not a potato. More like a barnacle," Frank says.

"I don't care what kind of vegetation you are, I'm not going to let you sit on your ass all day moping over Gerard."

"I bet he's already back with his ex. He's with his ex, I just know it. I ruined it. I absolutely ruined it all!"

"You will have if you keep up like this. Stand up straight, Frank, and put a smile on your face."

"I'm going to do no such thing," Frank says.

"Than at least stop frowning like you're at a funeral," Brendon says.

"What do I get in return?"

"I won't smack you across the face like I sorely want to."

"No deal," Frank says.

"You really have seen too many game shows haven't you?"

"Just leave me be!" Frank groans.

"No! You're going to go out, and you are going to have a good time or I will cut you," Brendon says.

"Ow."

"Exactly," he replies. Brendon manages to coax Frank into going to their bar, which was really the goal the whole time anyway. Get Frank to the bar, and things will be taken care of. Hopefully.

Brendon discreetly sends a text while he's getting himself and Frank drinks, and then waits. Is it the best plan ever? No. But it just might work.

"Why am I here again?" Frank asks with his head buried in his arms. Brendon doesn't even know how on earth Frank knew he'd sat down because his head is completely enclosed, but he doesn't care enough to ask.

"You are such a fucking crybaby, Frank. Cheer up, you'll live. You're a dumbass, but you're not going to fucking die because of this," Brendon says.

"How do you know?"

"I know that you're quite the hypochondriac, and for good reason to, because you're never not sick, but seriously dude. People only died of heartbreak and shock in Shakespeare."

"God, Lady Montague was a fucking pansy. Who the fuck dies of a broken fucking heart? Stupid Shakespeare and his intolerably misguided understanding of the human circulatory system," Frank groans. Apparently when Frank's upset he overanalyzes Shakespearean plays. Forget about the era in which the plays were actually written where no one knew anything about the human body. Frank's an eternal cynic.

Brendon says in dialogue that is not at all stale and rehearsed, not at all, "oh look, it's my friend Mikey."

"Ugh, I don't like people. I like my pillow and fictional talking sponges," Frank says, still not looking anywhere with his head in his arms. Mikey walks over to Brendon giving Frank a onceover and he's not impressed. Maybe it's because Frank is making noises like he's about to throw up or the fact that he's literally whining like a little toddler, but Frank just isn't all that striking at the moment.