Log:Franklyn Walk With Me
|Franklyn Walk With Me
"C'mon, c'mon, I just wanna KNOW! How does it FEEL?"
6 October, 2017
Perfectly ordinary morning at Cat-22: coffee, writing, conversation, questions, machete attack, screaming, laughing, running, hiding, games, realisations, eldritch horrors, inescapable powerlessness, cops, traumatic history, first-aid, indifference, broken glass, snarky quips, terror enduced emotional dissociation, and promises to call again when the whole thing's blown over.
It's a harvest moon, ya know.
Not that it's visible. It's what, 9, 10am? Early morning in Cat-22 and somebody has already made themselves comfortable; Franklyn has set up shop on a table that might not have the most comfortable chairs, but it certain has the best view of the cafe - from there, she can see all the comings and goings of people, while enjoying a cup of coffee and writing.
And boy, is Franky writing! There's a note pads in front of her, crumpled paper as well as a Chicago Manual of Style, which she seems to keep referencing. From the looks of things, she's already gone through half a legal pad, and now she's scribbling things down in a wire bound notebook. Green fountain pen. It's dripping ink everywhere. The purple pen on the desk seems to have run out. Franky doesn't seem to care.
Not about her pens, and not about her outfit -- uhm... It's like /cold/ out, but Franky is waring an oversized knit cardigan in marled charcoal, over what is a very short silk romper with a black n' pink floral pattern. Does she look cold? Yes. But she also looks like she doesn't give a shit -- kicking her bare feet against the chair legs as she scribbles on and on and on and... The coffee next to her doesn't even have any steam rising. Must have gotten abandoned.
Apparently Franky has a lot to write about.
Soon as she's in, Green pauses, to eye Franklyn for a long moment. SHe squints... but must decide that interupting this artistic process is ill-advised, because she continues on over to the counter. "Coffee, please, love? Afraid I didn't wake up upon waking up this morning..."
Writing is a sort of madness, as far as Teagan can tell: the people they know who write are all sort of mad about it, in one way or another. So Franklyn in what appears to be her underpants, writing like a fiend in public? Just Another Day Of Writering, as far as Teagan can tell. Their fractured-mirror eyes slide over her, and up to: oh hey.
Shadows pooled at Teagan's feet spool themselves inward like some sort of impossible liquid thread being wound up, and their face closes inward like moonset, leaving behind only an androgynous Dominican, and not some weird heatwave shadowpool machete killer. The heat and the crackle of radio static that accompany Teagan disappear, too, such that when they stop behind Green and lean down to kiss her on the top of the head -- the presumption of it all -- it's just someone who looks human, even if they're not.
Moving to the counter, he finally takes a look at everyone who's here -- and he seems vaguely stunned by it. That means he might get a faceful of Green as he changes places with the person currently working. He himself is wearing a red and black quilted plaid hunter's coat (basically like one of his shirts, but insulated) over a black t-shirt, Red Sox cap on his head. He frowns and looks her over. "Coffee. Right." A hand is raised to both Teagan and Frank, should either of them see him.
Dum-dee-dum, de-dum, deeee dum...
Dumdumdum-dum... De-dum, dee-dum...
Bare feet pad along in time with the music -- it's not until Teagan and Green have stepped in that Franky looks in their direction, empty hand lifted in their direction -- but never does she stop writing. Scribble, scribble! Look at that, she's smiling hazily in their direction, watching Teagan as... Wow. Look at that: now /that's/ a quick change!
No, Franky, -listen- to that. It's the Beatles, so that means... Franky turns and searches and finds C.B. and yes, she waves. Hazy smile all bright. "Come out..." Franky humms again -- dumdumdum-de-um -- but never does she stop writing and...
...how oddly unsociable of her.
And, like, we're all in agreement that Franklyn in her undies isn't odd? Right? Good.
Green then leans backwards, as Teagan approaches. There's no look over her shoulder. Perhaps she saw them coming in? Perhaps Teagan has a smell to them? Perhaps she has extra sensory powers? "And whatever Teag is having, of course," Green says, to CB, as she digs into a pocket to fish out cash.
A slight glance over their shoulder toward the slightly-maddening sound of Franklyn's repetitive humming, and then back to the bar. Writers. Are. Crazy. (None of this really convinces Teagan that the written word is something they ought to put so much stock in, anyway.) "Mmmkay."
Coffee is procured for Green, and then he goes about making something fancy for Teagan. Yes, he's going to make them some sort of crazy mocha-choca-latte-yaya-lady-marmelade shit. Keeping busy will help him avoid whatever general weirdness is going on in here, or any other given time, for that matter. Why do you think he's always writing in here?
This is to say nothing about the perpetual squad car parked out front...
Those bare feet tap up against the chair, and she hums:
Dum-dee-dum, de-dum, deeee dum...
Dumdumdum-dum... De-dum, dee-dum...
While green ink is looped onto the page, like Franky's been sent on a super serious mission of... What? Oh yeah sure, occasionally she might be looking up and around -- is Yossy here? -- but mostly she's... Being strangely disconnected from the thrilling social fracas she could be engaging with.
Or -is- she? Because it looks like Franky might be trying to... Stand up? Trying being the key word, since she doesn't quite want to strop writing, and her underfed body sways like she's had about a fifth of vodka for breakfast. Heavy, man.
As Green goes, she starts to sing, voice faint, the words lining perfectly with Franklyn's melody.
"Girls and boys, come out to play,
The moon doth shine as bright as day;
Leave your supper, and leave your sleep,
And come with your playfellows into the street..."
Soon as she's close enough to Franklyn, she reaches a gloved hand out, to brush over her hair. Easily doable with the half-standing position Frank is in. "Whatever are you up to, love?" she asks. "I never know the rules to the games you play," she adds. And now, yes, she'll take a glance at those pages. "My grandmother used to sing it, you know," she adds.
Translation: Ben, your girlfriend looks crazier than most writers do. Right? Right.
Still, Teagan's masked face is an implacable stillness through all that, as if this is, you know, totally normal Friday why would you even ask? Which is totally why their right arm's propped on the counter but their left hand drops into the pocket of their hoodie, like Linus reaching for a security blanket. Baby is right there just in case a monster comes.
Oh man. If Franky could only hear Teagan's inner dialogue - she'd be so pissed at their assumed labels. Baby, Franky's a relationship anarchist! Titles are for monarch-monogamists, and that's no system that governs Franky's heart.
Then again, what is governing Franklyn's head at the moment? Because she's wavering bare foot up towards Green, but staring at Teagan - giving them a real once over, like it's the first time she's seen them, because... In a way it is. She's never seen their veil before. Faeries are fucking wyrd. "...Huh." Franky blinks dreamily at Teagan -- totally ignoring both Green and C.B. as he makes his exit -- and a hand is extended in greeting.
Careful, it's covered in green ink.
"So... Tell me about the first person you loved who died. What did it feel like? Were they a relative or lover? Best friend? I had a best friend once, but they-- hey, listen to me! Rambling." Franklyn pffts and rolls her eyes, then leans in close to Teagan as she chatters on, "Seriously though: what did it feel like for you?"
And she stops, because Franklyn is diving into her questions for Teagan. Green's eyes flash wide. "Oh, bloody hell," she says, and now? She's pivoting. Franklyn gets jerked (because even tiny Green can push around wobbly Frank, right?) to the side, away from Teagan, so that Green's own body is now between the spaced out mortal and the normally bloody Lost. "All right! Whatever game it is is over!" she declares. As if she has some sort of authority.
Still. And stares at Franklyn. And stares.
Faster than thought, there's a machete in Teagan's hand. And it's entirely possible that, were Green not now between Franklyn and the Mirrorskin, things might have gone slightly differently in the seconds that followed. But she is, and so the following happens instead: Baby, the beloved bloody rusty machete (whose appearance isn't in the least affected by Teagan wearing their mask), slams down into the middle of the table Franklyn was sitting at. Right across the papers, the pens, the whole of it. Once. And again. The coffee cup splashes, rolls, falls to the floor. The machete's yanked free, and -- in some sort of perhaps brief moment of sanity, or self-preservation -- Teagan turns on the balls of their feet and runs for the back door, leaving behind a mess of coffee, spilled ink, and chopped-up paper.
And all through it, Teagan doesn't make a single sound.
Big green eyes blink slowly at Teagan -- Franky still has her hand outstretched for the covert Darkling to take, her curled fingers wiggling in the air. Touch it, touch her hand, touch, touch, Franky wants to hold hands, c'mon, do it... So yeah, the Mortal girl is more than a little insistent, bouncing on the toes of her bare feet as she tries to worm out of Green's clutches and dodge her push, side-stepping and leeeeeeaning around Green and towards Teagan.
Keep in mind, this happens in like three seconds or less. Less!
Then what happens? Franky the Magical Mortal Menace has been yet again blessed by the indifferent void of the universe, to reach in to a poor unsuspecting fae's psyche and draw out the single most traumatic grain of memory they've got left, and roll it around on her tongue like it was a precious delicacy. Mmm. Tastes like trouble.
So... So... So why is Franky just =STANDING= there, as Teagan gets all hammer horror on her - C.B's - the PEOPLE'S cafe table, ruining all of her hard earned morning's writing? There is a -shudder- through her, and it's not just the cold: Franky is horrified, she is frightened, she is getting covered in coffee drips and splinters of paper and wood, she is... She is...
She is making a sound which is not approved for all audiences, and she is turning to run /after/ Teagan, pen and notebook in one hand while the other clutches at her hair. "COME BACK! No baby, please I swear I'll play nice! C'mon, c'mon, I just wanna KNOW! How does it FEEL?"
And then Franklyn pulls out of her arm to chase.
Green stares wide-eyed for a moment, before she clears her throat. "Well," she says aloud. "That's hardly ideal," she murmurs. And then she takes in a breath and starts to run after the pair, in the most prim and proper way one can run in heeled booties.
Perhaps exactly that far back.
As soon as Teagan pushes out the back door, knocking to the side the masala bowl that's simmering on the stove, stumbling past the break table, they half-step, as if they expect ... something. Anything.
Nothing happens, and that is when Teagan makes a sort of anguished sound, something animalistic and rather awful-sounding, and keeps running up the back alley.
Poor Teagan. How's it feel for a Summer, to have to run away from a half dressed barefoot Mortal who's just asking a few questions?
"You're it!" Laughter, and Franky is running along -- through the back room, dodging past that bowl, keeping up and giving chase and oh /man. This is why human beings are so fucking terrifying: they're persistence hunters. Totally cursorial or whatever. Ambitious, stubborn, hazy-eyed delirious Mortals like Franky? Literally do not know when to give up.
It's just a game...
Franky will probably regret running down a back alley later, when she's picking grim bits of who knows what out of her peticured feet, but for now? Totally oblivious. She may as well be running through a dream, for all the care she gives. "I see you! You've lost, c'mon Teagan, play FAIR!" Laugher, although it's in huffs and puffs as Franky tries to keep up, pen and notepad still in hand. "I want to know, let's just TALK! Don't be such a sore loser!"
"Franklyn, it's your turn to hide!" she calls. Because, hey, that's as sane as the rest of this, right?
And fingers crossed it works, because watching her lovers murder one another would be totes unsexy. Okay it'd be a little sexy.
"NO. No that's NOT how it /WORKS/, I -WON-. /I'm/ not going to hide, they're going to answer my questions, otherwise they're /cheating/ because they're a coward!" Franklyn hollers - equal parts fury and hilarity, flip-flopping throughout the chatter. Rapid cycling, but the petulance is always there. Man, Franky needs to grow up - wake up to the realities of the day...
Franklyn's hollering at Green does distract her, though - enough for the split second where the Darkling does their thang and... Poof! Invisible! When Franky turns back around, she is all wind swept hair and wild eyes and- and- and...
"...?!" Stunned silence, and Franky stumbles to a halt, looking this way and that and allowing Green to probably pad up to her closely now. Dreamy expression as Franklyn blinks hazily and tilts her head, then sloooowly starts to lift her notepad and lift up that green pen again.
Because yeah. Now is the time to do more writing; mumbling under her breath as Franky scribbles;
"...Vanished, unknown... Weak, when faced with questions... Love, death, family, friends, lovers... Fast runner."
But then Teagan disappears, and Franklyn stops. "Thank God for small miracles," she whispers out. But then Franklyn's writing? And talking to herself? This is too weird. And so, as Green catches up to Frank, she's already tugging off one glove. Soon as she's close enough to the other brunette, she reaches out and lays warm fingers on the woman's neck. There's a sharp gasp, and then Green's eyes go out of focus. Teagan would know that look!
...does not pay attention to Green as the woman touches her neck, although Franky does lean into it a bit as she scribbles something else down, laughing to herself. "...It was so intense, that, right? Rust and blood; like it was taken from the hull of some tanker that delivered oil to paratroopers stationed in North Africa during the war. Imagine that; the sand, the hot breeze, no relief, nowhere to hide -- wait, have you ever seen an antlion? Those are so beautiful; but they are nothing like they are - pool of shadow, malcontent, wrapped around a cold core of cowardice..."
Who is Franklyn even -speaking- to?! Maybe her pen. Scribble, scribble, scribble... Then a little shiver. Franky's lips are turning blue. It is COLD out, mang! She's dressed for bed.
Green does eventually pull her hand away, and then is working to slide off her jacket. "Imagine my disappointment that you're dreams are not all about me," she mutters out. If Franklyn stays still for long enough, Green will embrace the cold, and lay her peacoat across Franklyn's shoulders. "Franklyn, love, we need to get you back into bed, all right?" she asks, with a touch of hope in her voice.
Franky smiles hazily, nodding to herself as she moves; humming briefly before she adds, "...Just get my notes, finish writing, we can play more later. I'll find Kip, and what was that girl's name... Nathania? She's falling apart at the seams, but that's alright as well. Nothing's too broken that it can't still speak."
There's something pale and drawn about the Darkling, more so than usual, like the richness of color has been washed out of their mask, a bad Instagram filter. "Yeah, I'm here. What do you need me to do?" Empty, after a fashion, all the heat drained out for the moment, they just stuff their hands into their pockets, and mildly squint at Green.
Soon as Teagan is near enough, Green will take their hand (or not) and start inside to follow after Franky.
Right now Franklyn looks like a street urchin; mismatched clothes, awkwardly sized peacoat, dirty bare feet and this overall air of wan, worn out delirium just hovering around her. She is one basket of wildflowers flowers away from being a terrible Victorian painting on the importance of obeying your parents.
Still. It's like Franky knows how to get back to Cat-22 on rote. No interruptions? She'll just waltz in the back door like she plans on buying up the property rights and renovating it into an overpriced craft brewery and artisan coffee roasters -- who're not allowed to unionise.
"Worst comes to worst, I can pick her up like a sack of potatoes." And then Teagan squeezes Green's hand, lets go, and heads up after Green, picking up their pace. "Ey." And in the time between letting go of Green's hand and catching up with Franklyn, they paint their blank face on so carefully. "You wanted my story?" Catching a fish, use a hook. Catching a sleepwalking writer, use a story hook.
Inside to a Cat22 that's probably got cops in it, and a lot of confusion, and probably people looking for Teagan.
Which means, soon as they're inside, Green is just thinking how awful an idea this all is. "Let's get her upstairs then try to wake her," she finally decides, with a huff. Displeased! Ever so slightly, but still!
How does a person wake up a sleepwalker, again?
"...You can wear another face?" Franky is apparently lucid enough that having a conversation is acceptable, so... But still, she stumbles onwards - through the back room, pausing to try and see where her notes are... Well... She may have lost her copy of Chacago Manual of Style to a machete, but at least she has -this- notepad.
Onwards, and upwards.
"Yes, well, you sort of sprung them on me a bit without warning," Teagan answers Franklyn drily, and then tips up their chin to Green. A glance down at themselves, and then they shake their head once, answering Franklyn's question by sliding from 'androgynous Dominican' to 'hot, rugged white dude with stubble and long, stringy mane of hair.' There are a lot of them around Vermont, and neither Franklyn nor Green know Talbot, but, if they ever see him in the future, they'll know that's whose face Teagan just stole.
"Let's go on upstairs," rasps the whiskey-and-cigarettes voice that comes with the head that they just borrowed. There's a mismatch between the color of their hands and the color of their face, but, who's counting? "I'll talk to you up there. Cops will probably be all over the place, what with girls in underpants and machete murderers around."
For the time being, it's just a hand on Franklyn's back to guide her, but 'potato sack carrying' is not out of the question.
But then Green gives Teagan's hand a squeeze, and releases. "Go guide her upstairs," she murmurs out. "I'll speak with the police. They're friends, of course," she says. Because of course Green has contacts in the police! She then drifts that way... and she'll be upstairs in a few minutes.
She moves on. Walking through the collective with heavy footsteps. Eeck. Her foot is bleeding a bit, leaving smudges of blood as she goes through the space. Franky better have all her shots up to date...
"...Everyone is so sensitive." Scribble, scribble. Franky sighs as she pads along, all airy and distracted. Positively dreamy. "Such sore losers, the lot of them..."
"Alllllll right, Sleeping Beauty, let's go." Tealbot runs out of piloting patience, perhaps, or just wants to keep Franklyn from shoving whatever's stuck in their feet further in. Or maybe they're the only person around here allowed to have bloody feet. Whatever the reason, Teagan picks up Franklyn like she weighs practically nothing, slings her over their shoulder, and carries her upstairs. Just so.
And the situation is such: CB stepped away for all of five minutes? And while gone, Teagan pulled out a machette and smashed a table (And everything on it) to bits. Note how Green's pretty white gloves have some coffee splotches on it? That's for smashed coffee cups. Immediately after that incident, Teagan fled out the back door. Franklyn chased, spouting nonsense (I'm a child playing tag nonsense). After Franklyn, followed Green.
And now, just a moment ago, Franklyn walked back in looking calm and happy enouhg (if not still frantic and wobbly), with Green and... some dude. Some attractive white man. Green's whispered a few words to said man, who promptly scooped up Franklyn to haul her upstairs. Meanwhile, Green is angling towards the cops, who are currently asking some questions.
No one hurt. No one at Cat22 willing to really help the police (I assume). It makes for a frustrating time for the officers, and that's why Green is stepping over. "Officers... Officer Smith," Green says, flashing a smile to the one she knows. Because of course she knows cops. "It's fine, truly. Just... a friend of mine has a deep hatred for a certain style of poetry, and had warned... bring Jack Kerouac in here again, and I'll literally smash the beatnik wanker's work to bit... hence the baseball bat..."
Because it was a baseball bat and a fight about Kerouac. And in Cat22 is that really that strange?
But no. He wants to see what the hell is going on. So he sidles up to the counter, but doesn't come around it. Watching Green. His eyes briefly flit to the man and Teagan, but mostly, he's watching Green and the cops. The pigs? Yeah, they're watching him too, when they're not talking to Green. You bet your ass they are. They look about as happy to see him as he is to see them. Where's that cup of bourbon, anyway? Oh, here it is -- right where he left it.
And Rubber Soul is skipping, to boot. Yes, he will move to turn it over.
And John sings...
"I get high when I see you go by, (my oh my) When you sigh my inside just flies, (butterflies) Why am I so shy when I'm beside you It's only love and that is all, Why should I feel the way I do It's only love and that is all, But it's so hard loving you..."
And the cops? No. They don't want to talk to CB. And they don't want to sit in on a poetry round table. And as such, well, they'll shuffle on out.
Which leaves Green watching until the door closing, then turning to flash a wide-eyed gaze at CB. "Your girlfriend has gone bloody barmy," she says. "Properly barmy," she clarifies. Because, really, that should help explain the situation. She then points upstairs, and nods that way. As if the two of them should go. And just to make it extra clear, she holds out a gloved hand towards CB. Yes, she wants to hold his hand.
Like Isolde. And who knows who else. Maybe Franky, despite how she feels about such titles, is everyone's girlfriend! Or nobody's.
C.B. stares at the hand, but something else has gotten his attention. It's the notes, which he's squinting at from where he stand. Franky's chopped up notes, all over the floor. "One sec," he tells her, coming around the counter so he can squat down and start gathering them up. Still squatting on the floor, he takes his glasses out of his shirt pocket, puts them on, and starts reading them in earnest.
Yeah that all looks like nonsense.
Key word being -looks like-.
But he's moving for the notes, and Green nods. "Yes, smart," she agrees, and moves to follow CB. But when he's not just scooping them up, and he's reading? That's no good. "Love," she whispers to CB, who she is squatting next to. "Read them upstairs. Perhaps my preternatural calm has failed to express just how bloody dire this situation is. We need to get up there, now. And I need you to handle this because bugger if I know what to do," she says. Soon as she has her share of the papers scooped up, she rises, again, and offers a hand to CB, again. "Now, Ben..."
He finally lets go of Green's hand and starts pacing, caught up in the notes. Back and forth, back and forth. "Wait a second -- " He paces some more, and then finally tries to get hold of the situation. Where is Frank, where is Teagan? The words aren't spewing out yet, but thoughts are forming in his head. Accordingly, lightning is sparking out absolutely everywhere.
There is, however, a lanky, attractive, rough-cut dude kneeling at Franklyn's feet with a first-aid kit, cleaning her feet and picking ... God only knows what... out of the soles of them with a pair of tweezers. Talbot's been in here a few times, with Teagan and June, but never when C.B. has been here. So he probably won't immediately recognize the leonine face with its shaggy mane of hair.
There are several clues. First, there's that relatively-new hoodie with the massive hood that Teagan's taken to wearing during the daytime. The 'guy' is wearing that. Then, a closer look might betray a particularly-shaped lump along the left hip and thigh. That's deffo Baby. And then there are the hands, which are Teagan's masked hands, complete with scars and callouses.
Lastly, despite the raspy voice that isn't Teagan's that it's said in, there's: "This is so zero about you, Ben," from the kneeling figure. "Franklyn's sleepwalking. She's fucked up. Come be about this. Be about you later." The voice, along with not sounding like Teagan's, sounds ... almost empty. Hollowed-out. Tired.
Franklyn Garreau, everybody.
She snorts as she scribbles down on the notepad, eyebrow arched and dreamy eyes incredulous as she listens in to the things around her, but still keeps that far-away haziness about her. "...You're absurd." To Tealbot. "Just because you lost, doesn't mean you get to be all snide..."
Does Tealbot like foot in their face? Oh dear...
Franky doesn't even look up from her notebook as she scribbles onwards; but her head tilts towards C.B. and Green -- expression softening, almost a smile; "...What were we talking about?" Yeah. She's not all here. Hmm. Has anyone tried... How does someone wake up a semi-lucid sleepwalker, anyway?
He moves over to Franky and sits next to her, placing a hand on her thigh. "Franky? Wanna talk to me about what you're writing? Is it part of a game?" Does this mean that C.B. can interpret those crazy notes of hers? It very well might."
"Green saw," the not-Teagan explains, pulling a particularly sharp bit of gravel out of Franklyn's heel; as the blood wells up and follows it, they carefully squish at that part of the foot to be sure there are no more bits of gravel right in that spot to follow. It's almost like the Summer has some pretty decent first aid training. "Later, when she's awake, someone needs to shove her at a doctor to get a tetanus shot if she hasn't had one." The low growl that permeates those spoken words isn't Teagan's. But thus is life as a Mirrorskin. You don't just pick up a face and put it on and keep talking exactly like you.
Beetle-shell green manicured nail taps along the yellow notepad, and Franky opens her mouth to say something more to C.B. but-- oh! Tealbot is roughing up her ankle! Franky turns to scowl at them, eyes narrowed -- not scared, challenging. "/Watch/ yourself, get back to wo-- ooph! You did that on /purpose/, you cur. I said /watch it/, ugh!" Leg squirms, like Franky is gonna try and kick Tealbot this time, just a little bit. Why is she blushing? DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT.
Yeah. Yeah. If Green wants to slap her? Franky's not exactly focused enough to see it coming. She's halfway 'tween here and the Skein anyway.
Franky, though? He is nodding, listening, about to answer -- and then she's getting all squirming. He tries to hold her down with his hands. "Frank, cut it out. I'm trying to talk to you here. Let's talk about writing. So you're writing about /a lot of the Lost/. Most of them ones you don't know very well." His blue-silver eyes purposefully move over to Green and Teagan before they focus on his not-girlfriend-girlfriend again. "Why is that? What's your 'end game,' as you would say? And I know you would." He puts his arm around her, giving her a comforting little squeeze.
Lips pressed back together in a gesture that's a lot more like Teagan themselves, and then they add, "I can get better omens -- you can too, whoever ... whatever... if she says things that help."
Franky does catch the tail end of Tealbot's growling and flash of teeth. Is she scared? More like, curious and a little dismissive. Pedicured toes are wiggled in their direction, as Franky's focus flounces forward.
Odd glance from C.B. and Green, like she can't figure out what's going on, before Franky latches on to C.B's questioning. "Ooh, oh I was trying to remember... You know how important it is to document the street life, right? What you see, when you move through space, and you speak to all these... It's like Baudelaire's conversation with the bad glazier, right? 'Make life beautiful!', hah."
Such laughter! Franky rolls her head back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as she chatters on musically, with all that stage school elocution; "Though such capricious endeavours are not without peril, and one must often pay dearly for them, what does an eternity of damnation compare with an infinity of pleasure in a single second?"
So. Maybe Franky can't really answer questions all direct.
C.B. gives a fond sort of smile at Franky's Baudelaire quote. "But some of these folks aren't around right now. What compelled you to write about them? I bet they would make fun currency in a game, wouldn't they?" His smile gets a little bigger, which is a bit of an odd and maybe even scary thing on C.B. "You could barter all of that information for your own freedom, even, and it would probably all work out. Are you more Proust than Baudelaire, though?" Squint, squint. "Your life is still in bed. I'm gonna go with that."
"Can I slap her yet?"
Or just too tired, really, to get too spun up again.
One can hope.
"I'm not involved with her, I'm not voting," Tealbot responds, rather flatly. "You two figure it out. I'm still making sure she doesn't end up with an infection from chasing me."
Franky sniffs in, and looks down with a wobbly flop of her head - moving like a drunkard as she looks at Tealbot, Green and C.B. in turn. She's only picking up on parts of the conversation, it seems - who knows where the rest of her attention is focused. Still. When Tealbot talks about her dreams? If anyone's watching them? There's a hazy sort of... Hesitance? Scepticism? Lips compress together, and Franky turns her head to peer at Green and C.B.,
"...What are you guys talking about? Look, no, it's nothing -- people aren't currency, people aren't pawns, they're =people=, and every person has something amazing in them, you just have to look hard enough..." Franky laughs to herself, eyes shut. "...Sometimes it's that they're amazing assholes... Sometimes..."
Then Tealbot takes a long splinter from her foot, and Franky snarls.
"We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the full."
So Proust. Proust all the way.
He squints at Teagan. "Breaking the hold? What do you mean?" Franky, though, gets the bulk of his attention here. "Ain't that the truth, Franks. Ain't that the truth." Then he shifts posture, grabbing ahold of both of her shoulders, and begins to shake her. "Now it's time to wake up. Come on. Wake up! Wake up!" He slaps her, several times, but lightly. Like maybe he's done this before, because there's something almost routine about it. "Wake up Frank, wake up." He keeps shaking and slapping, slapping and shaking...
She's being shook? Slapped? Franklyn reflexively holds up her hands, pen and notepad dropped to the floor, and she starts shoving at C.B. -- ah yes, witness a clumsy scuffle which Franky is not quite lucid enough to deal with; bandaged foot lifted to try and get a lil' kick in and--
One of those slaps-slash-shakes must've really hit the mark.
Franklyn's eyes suddenly /open/, and she's freezes. She looks to the left, she looks to the right, and every which way she looks? Franklyn looks confused. Mouth a little agape, limbs held at awkward angles in the air from her perch on the sofa. Colour? Draining from her face, save for a lil' redness from aforementioned slaps. Looks like she's been dunked in some kind of metaphysical ice water of reality.
"..." No blinking. Just staring. There's Green. There's C.B. There's some rugged dude doing the washing up. There's the bartering table where she started a fire that one time. None of this? =None= of this is what she expects to see, and it shows. Ya girl Franky looks shook. "...What the fuck is going on?"
He hands her a cigarette, freshly plucked from his shirt pocket. One is procured for himself, but he offers her a light first. "Some other shit went down, I think, but I wasn't there for it all. You were writing notes...writing, walking, talking. You went to bed and never woke up, Frank. Green saw it." He shoots some smoke up at the ceiling. "We're just lucky you actually woke up."
Then Green takes a step back out. "You want me to stay? Or will Ben tend to you adequately?" she asks, as takes a few more steps back, towards Tealbot. "I'll remind about the tetanus shot," she says, with a glance over her shoulder.
"I'm not a sleepwalker." Franky's blinking as she replies to C.B. - tilting her head automatically as Green draws near; cheek kiss makes contact, and Franky blinks up at her now. "Amanda. What time is it? Why are you all here?" A look to the rugged dude Tealbot over yonder, "Who's that?" Then back to C.B. and Green, more blinks. "Tend to me? I don't follow?" Franky clocks something, and looks down at herself - her feet.
Her wounded feet.
Franklyn's expression clouds over with discontent. "...I don't understand." Then back up to the group. "Wait. I never woke up?" Blink. Franky's voice is oddly flat. Not much music. Only creeping wariness as she looks from C.B. to Green and then... Whoever Tealbot is. Cut squinting. "Am I dead?"
The liquor is splashed into the four glasses. Take 'em or leave 'em, he grabs one for himself, downing the contents before waiting for anyone else. "It's morning. I know you're not a sleepwalker, but apparently, you sleptwalked. And while you did, you took encoded notes about various Lost in the area." He shakes the broken pages and then drops them again. Ben is oddly matter-of-fact about all of this, like it happens every day. Like it's all very rational and has a reasonable explanation. "It's clearly the fucking Game Master. How is Lulu doing on your dreams? Have you spoken to her lately?"
"I'm rather sure you're dead, love," Green quips. "Positive the rest of us are," she adds. "But no more alive or dead then you were when you visiting... What's his name. DJ Begging On His Knees?" she asks, her smile going a touch sweeter. "Gentry induced sleep walking," she concludes. "But Ceebee slapped you out of it."
This unexplained person who knows C.B. as Ben and keeps their hand on the small of Green's back takes another slow pull of that vape instead. "You were talking garbage, and asking fucked-up shit. With the notes, boy, that's some sort of intel mission, sounds like." The look that Tealbot gives Franklyn is actually somewhat sympathetic. Being a Gentry's puppet sucks.
--explanations. Franky's hand freezes mid-way through reaching for a glass of booze that she 100% expects to be handed without having to say anything. Ugh. Don't gotta be fae to be Entitled. "So, so I walked here, I-- I-- /WHAT/?"
Good thing there's no booze in Franky's hand yet. She'd drop it.
Between C.B. and Green's explanations, Franklyn looks flabbergasted. Her eyes widen as Green speaks to her about DJ Coughcoughcough, mouth open. "Are you =spying= on me?" Uuuh... Rising pitch of anxiety. Who the fuck is that guy anyway? Tealbot is stared at as they growl, like they're to blame -- Franky girl, they patched you up! -- but Frank's having none of it.
She does want booze though. Grabby hands. She'll lean up and just steal C.B's or the one Green refused if she can reach. "=They're= spying on me? Making me, /do/ stuff? No. I didn't... I..." Cigarette is =dragged= on. She's at about a 8.3 on the Franky-freak-out-meter, and rising.
Then? Then it's like all that tension just goes plink, and Franky crumples down on the sofa like a busted marionette. Cigarette. Booze. Selective mutism. Staring off into the middle distance. That'll do.
A glass is handed to Franky, yes, of course -- well. He was about to hand it to her. Then he blinks, looking confounded, the glass finding its way to Frank eventually. He looks between her and Green, eyes starting to narrow again, and then he, too, sits down next to Frank. He smokes his own cigarette, glaring up at Green, slowly shaking his head.
Ben's scowl is answered with a vague shrug. "Okay. Well. I'm not really okay, still. So I'm going with my girlfriend now. Goodbye, Ben. I'll come see you later. Good luck, Franklyn. Definitely call Lulu."
All that said and done, Tealbot pushes hair out of their face, drops their vape back into their pocket, and follows Green out.
Franky regards their oddly mismatched form with Deeper Puzzlement. Something is Wrong, and she can't exactly figure out what -- but she's trying to be, polite or something? Because she's nodding as they speak? Looking very much so like she's accidentally swallowed some kind of hornet, and are trying to keep the stinging on the downlow. Nod, just nod to the odd person with the vape, Franky.
Then the person Franklyn doesn't know says her name, tells her to call a friend. Her nodding comes to a jerky halt, and she hides behind her cigarette and whiskey glass. Difficult feat, that. Lots of hunched shoulders. Yup, yup, good advice, that. Franky should probably, uh, follow it.
If she can find some shoes.
But first she watches the two leave, then slowly turns to look at C.B. with... Yeah. Franky's got the 'haunted waif' look on lock.
The he leans his head back against the daybed, up to where the wall is, and thumps his head against the wall several times. It's very soothing! You should try it sometime.
"If you want answers, ask me to thelp you. Trust me that I can help you. Do not accuse me of spyingon you, glare at me, and then call me selfish when I want to leave such a bloody toxic environment," she says, firing that back at the both of them. This all said whilst keeping her hand in Tealbot's, and not objecting to that title used. Since we're sensitive to titles here!
"Ben, stop it, please." The exhaustion makes the corners of the strange face squint, and Tealbot brings their hand up to their face, drawing the fingers that don't match the skin tone of that face down that face. "She's got to get to work on time, or it'll be a Thing. How many people tune into her show? People pay attention to this shit, as small as this place is. If you've got Franklyn taken care of, she should get there. And I'm. Not. Okay. Okay?" They already said that. Of course, C.B. missed why they're not okay, so it might not make sense that Teagan is acting Weirder Than Usual. Or exactly why. Or whatever.
Franky's had a pretty rough morning, tho'. Didn't she wake up like a few minutes ago?
If Tealbot looks tired, Franky looks... Like she hasn't had a steady night's sleep in about two months, give or take. Without makeup or proper clothes to mask all that weariness away, Franky just looks... Yeah. Wan is putting it nicely. Is this her eighteenth or nineteenth nervous breakdown? Somebody's probably keeping track.
Maybe that Gentry.
Franklyn says nothing as Green speaks, and the same is said for Tealbot: she just stares at the two of them like she was a haunted painting, only one that's finishing off a tumbler of whiskey and holding that glass rather... Defensively.
Then her expression? No more puzzlement. No more fear. No more anything - Franklyn has gone full on Snow Queen as the two exit; staring off in the other direction, a protective layer of practiced neutrality on her face, as thick as any snowbank in January. Iced out.
To Teagan, he stares at them with a furrowed brow. "Who's okay here, Teagan? I'm not. /She's/ not." Points to Franky. "Even /Green's/ not, as much as I want to throttle her. We're ALL FUCKED! So why don't you two go and get her to 'work' and whenever you're done, get in touch with us again, okay? Okay?" He's being loud now, pacing around in a circle, smoking still. "Christ. Jesus. FUCK!" He picks up a glass and hurls it across the room. Hey, he hasn't caused much damage in Cat-22 lately! It's only fair, since everyone else is doing it.
And then glasses are shattering, and Green doesn't blink. She just holds that soft smile on her lips. A hand comes to her lips once again, but this time she's not covering a yawn. She blows a kiss. "Good bye, loves. Do call when you're ready to stop... you know." She gives a little wave. And then she turns, and gives Tealbot's hand a little tug. "Let's get some coffee before I have to leave," she suggests. Because coffee will help Teagan's exhaustion... right?
The Darkling wearing the Beast's face goes absolutely stock-still for a moment, save their their shoulders hunch, and there's a reflexive, "Maximi-- " which they cut off, swallowing whatever else was about to sneak out from their throat. That, maybe, was enough, for someone who has context. Without any context, it's just a bunch of syllables. Half of a name, maybe, that has no meaning. In any case, that's enough for Tealbot to just say, "I will see you later, Ben," in a voice that's as wooden as a forest, and then head down the stairs without another word. If Green isn't coming now, without any more conversation? Teagan is getting out of there without her.