Log:Franklyn Walk With Me

Franklyn Walk With Me
"C'mon, c'mon, I just wanna KNOW! How does it FEEL?"
Participants CB, Green, Franklyn, & Teagan.	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. Part of the In Dreams He Comes For Me plot.
Location Cat 22 Collective
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. With her normal Friday morning coffee date hiding for some reason, Green is forced to go elsewhere for coffee. Because why would one come to Cat22 but as a last resort? The little Brit walks in, almost dressed for the weather. Certainly more than Franklyn is. A little a-line skirt, buttons up the front, in gold courderoy contrasts nicely with long-sleeved black top. Beneath the skirt, she has on patterened tights. Over it all, a black peacoat. Oh, and hands? Covered in white gloves, of course. 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..." A bud headphone in one ear, their 'daytime' hoodie up over their head, Teagan isn't far in after Green, though apparently they're not arriving together. One hand pushes the massive hoodie back, letting it fall down their back, and they absently tuck both hands into their pockets, the long jacket-like thing hanging to the middle of their thighs. The headphone in their ear is tugged out, the wire tucked into the pocket with what one might presume is their phone. 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. C.B. is just coming in himself, but from the back -- so he doesn't run into the others coming in. He talks to some of the other workers for a time as he takes off his messenger bag -- no Yossarian today -- and steps over to the record player, because first things first. Needle goes down on the record, blasting into the inevitable strains of "Drive My Car" by the Beatles because yes, he's just put on Rubber Soul. 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. Seriously, Franky is totally underdressed - for both the weather and the activity. Aren't those like, practically underwear? Alright, pyjamas at best. The Mortal girl's pen scratches along as she scribbles -- anyone close enough to see? Franky keeps cross-referencing something written on a legal pad, then the page in that Chicago Manuel of Style she's got open next to her. Does she seem concerned? A little bit - her brow furrowed in concentration, but she's humming to herself and that sounds so care free.       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. Green's smile brightens when it's Teagan there to take her order. "Thank you, love," she says, as she stares at CB. "Think you'll be calling in again this week?" she asks. "Considering your condition, I'm guessing not..." she muses, as she stares at him. Then he waves to Franklyn, so Green looks that way again. Just in time to catch Franklyn waving to her. She smiles. "Good morning, love!" she chirps. 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. The neckline of Teagan's shirt, pulled up, so that the Darkling can kiss the top of Green's head through that. That's also normal. One of Teagan's arms wraps briefly around the little Brit as she leans back into Teagan. "Coffee, I suppose. Something fancy, maybe." They offer a lopsided smile to C.B., easily. "Hey, Ceebs." 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." C.B. stares over at Franky and purses his lips, looking more than a little concerned about something. But hey, he has a job to do or something, right? Right. "I don't want your money," he tells Green, looking her right in the face, and paying no mind to her comment about calling in. "Hey," he says to Teagan, unsmiling, but then again, uh...there are zero smiles on his face today. Or in his general vicinity. Maybe the Beatles will help. 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... "Good morning..." Franky sing-songs in Green's direction - and just like one of those infuriating introverts in a stunted coffeeshop AU, Franky refuses - REFUSES - to stop writing. Her eyes drift over Teagan, and C.B., and then back down onto the page, and she just =writes=. Who cares that she's covered in goose pimples from the cold, and her lips are a touch blue around the edges; Franky's not paying it any mind. 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. Green remains wholly nonplussed. CB's behavior, Teagan's behavior, Frank's behavior, all of it fits neatly into her understanding of the world. That or she just always looks nonplussed. Either way, she just smiles to CB and gives a nod. "I'll take it as a kindness," she infroms the man. Then she bumps her head backwards, into Teagan's chest, light and affectionate, before reaching forward for her coffee. With coffee in hand, she turns and starts over towards Franklyn, leaving Teagan behind to wait for their super special frilly drink. 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. Affection given and received, Teagan is more than happy to let Green go do whatever, exactly, needs doing as far as Franklyn is concerned. Though, they do lean a little over the counter and murmur, "Uh, Ceebs? You think maybe we should, like, move her upstairs?" One scarred hand comes up to scratch at their cheek, and they add, "I can't imagine she'll be thrilled if this look shows up on someone's Instagram feed. I mean maybe she will, but... " Slight glance over their shoulder, and they lean on the counter, just so. "She curates her look, and this looks ... mildly uncurated." 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. Franklyn pauses halfway through standing up -- her hazy eyed humming doesn't stop, although her head quirks to the side as she hears Green chime in with that singing voice of hers. Bing! Bright hazy smile lights up Franky's face, like spring sunshine through a bank of fog. "=Those= are the /words/?!" Franklyn's voice has a dopy quality to it, like her movement -- as she doesn't glide so much as waver over to the direction of Green, Teagan and C.B., a notebook and pen in one hand, the other empty but inky and possibly cramping, if those curled fingers are any indication. 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?" Green will leave Teagan to hypothesizing on Franklyn's condition. She's more focused on the woman, though not in a way that shows some deep concern. Rather, she might as well be watching a living work of art. A comedic one, at that. There's certainly more smirks than scowls, more amusement than worry. She stares, and then, as Franklyn wobbles, she reaches out to slide a hand around the woman's waist. No touching! At least, no skin to skin. She's making sure of that. "Love, not that I don't find this get-up painfully sexy, but-..." 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. Franklyn has a magical ability to poke directly where she proooobably ought not to poke. Thumb right in the eye, and all that. Because as she extends her hand, Teagan starts to extend theirs, that cafe-au-lait-colored thing with its calluses and the thick, ugly scars horizontal across their palm visible even in their Mask -- and then -- stops. 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. "I like this dress." Franklyn insists to Green -- not looking at her, but twisting back-and-forth at the waist as she peers at Teagan all curious like. Franky is not wearing a dress; she is wearing a droopy cardigan and a silk romper better suited for a perfectly insulated studio apartment with underfloor heating and an abundance of throw blankets. "It lets my legs move, and I can run faster when we play hide and seek later. We just gotta have a talk first..." 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?" Like wrestling an octopus! Sorta, kinda. Green trying to get Franklyn away from Teagan, Franklyn trying to get towards Teagan and all but going through Green to do it. Before Green can even really process how odd that is - Franklyn wanting to touch Teagan so badly - there's smashing and crashing and coffee and woodchips spraying. 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. There's one instinct for Teagan right now -- get out get out get out -- one that goes so far deep and so far back that it's rooted as deep as the bloodstains on their mien hands. 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. Fucking sunshine. Wrestling with Franklyn is like wrestling an octopus: she's alarmingly bendy and wriggly and can fit herself into all kinds of compromising positions. Ugh. Did she go to contortionists school or something? Wherever she spent her summers, she's limber enough that she breaks free from Green, making this warbled laughter-slash-humming noise after she hollers at Teagan. 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!" Green should have asked for telekinesis. That have been a more useful power! At least, more useful right now, as she's chasing after the two. Surely, she's less physically fit than both, and so she's lagging behind. "Franklyn!" she calls. Not so out of shape that she can't run out of a building and into an alley, but if she has to make it to the end of the block? She'll be gasping! "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. A little sexy? More like wicked hot, right?! Right... Er... "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... Frowning. "...?!" 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." "You daft-..." Green is saying, as she continues to run after Frank. Running in her heeled boots, which probably sounds a lot more like a cow clomping down the alleyway than a normally lovely little creature like Green. Running is not meant to be done, ok? And if it is, proper attire is required! 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! Running is meant to be done barefoot -- although not down dirty alleyways like Franklyn has done. Is one of her feet bleeding? That pedicure is such perfect glittery gold and green, like a beetle shell! Matches her fingernails -- although they've got green ink on them too, as Franky writes and writes and... ...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. There's a flash of discomfort edging into pain. Amanda's eyes squeeze shut tight. This is not a fun feeling. And it's doubly unfun when Green is left looking wholly confused. She keeps her hand on Frank's neck, as the woman hasn't pulled away, as she stares a moment. "Teagan..." she says. She speaks in a conversational tone, as if she's aware that Teagan didn't leave? Just a lucky guess, right? "Teag, love, can you get control?" she asks, her eyes not leaving Franklyn's face. 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. Jacket? Accepted. Franklyn doesn't seem to be bothered by either Green's discomfort or her belief that Teagan is nearby. Franklyn merely scribbles, her narration gone silent as her brow furrows. Then? Then she's pulling away from Green and padding back down the alleyway towards where Cat-22 is. "...I need to go and get my notes. I need to finish them - I'll glue them back together, it's alright..." 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." From the side of the dumpster, leaned against the wall, comes an answer from nothingness: "Yeah," comes a low, raspy voice, the threadbare version of Teagan speaking. "Yeah." It takes a few seconds, but then they shuffle upward, letting the contract drop. The hood of their hoodie's pulled up over their head as they stand, shielding their face from the afternoon sun. 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. Green watches Franklyn slide back inside, and she just gives a slow shake of her head. "Bugger," she murmurs out. She doesn't follow, not right away. Instead she's tugging back on her glove, and then holding the hand out to Teagan. "She didn't wake up this morning, love," Green murmurs, as she makes eye contact, looking on that face. "As in, she went to sleep last night and hasn't woken up," she says, to highlight this revelation. Her brows lift. "We need to get her inside, and... how do you wake up a sleepwalker?" she asks. Soon as Teagan is near enough, Green will take their hand (or not) and start inside to follow after Franky. Franky leads on! Sure, she's nowhere near as fast as she was when she was running - and yeah, she's slowed down further by her attempt to write down occasional thoughts, and the fact she's not exactly walking in a straight line. It's like she's had a little too much to drink; only when Franky is -normally- wasted, she usually gets like /super/ haughty 'look at my FANCY WALKING', where as right now? 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. "Oooookay. Well, that's new, but this is, like. All new. What happened to you isn't supposed to be able to happen, either." Teagan sucks in their lower lip, lets it pop back out audibly. Their hand slides into Green's, and they consider for a moment. "So... I'm thinking, like, first of all, probably not a good idea if I go back out there right now, because Ceebs was there, which means there were cops outside." They don't look even a little sorry about The Machete Incident, just ... practical, now, and somewhat drained. "So. I'll get her upstairs, one way or the other, or... to a car? If your car is here? And we can get her somewhere where we can sort this out without ... an audience." "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. "Well then wear a different bloody face, Teagan," Green huffs out, as if it's just so obvious! All these Changelings and all of them obviously need mortals to dictate their lives... and uses of their special powers. Green will give Teagan a minute, just in case that idea sticks, then head inside after Franklyn. 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! Hum-de-dum-de-dum-deee-dum... Franklyn only looks up when Teagan speaks directly at her, her head tilted as she looks between them and Green and back again. "...I wanted you to answer my questions." She says firmly, although those eyes are hazy and wild. Where is Franky? Franky is sleeping... 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. Blink, blink. Green is suddenly holding hands with some man she doesn't know, and she's staring at that face, and she's considering all the things one Amanda Green might consider. "Hmph," is the response that the new face draws out. Because, well. Hmph. 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. Franklyn doesn't even blink as she looks from Teagan to Green and turns back to face Talbot. Talgean? Teabot? Teabot is stared at like Franky didn't expect to see them, but there they are. S'how dream logic works, right? Right. "..." Just staring. Didn't Franky have a mission? Her pen and notepad are held up defensively and... 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..." "Whatever it is, ask later," that's what Tealbot says to Green, mildly enough. They're all out of emotions for the moment, just... tired. "Will do, lover." And Teagan -- under their usual face -- had police allies, but that pledge hasn't been re-sorted yet. And anyway, they'e not wearing that face, and Green will be better at it likely anyway. "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. Green flashes a smile to Teabot. Which is actually what Amanda comes after a night of drinking, when on autopilot bumbling through her kitchen trying ot find a proper cuppa. She then lets those two upstairs, while she pivots, to deal with... the situation. 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? The cops. Oh, fuck. The cops. What the fuck are they doing in here? Great. C.B. parts the curtain and pauses, almost ready to head straight back to the back room from whence he came. It's not so much that he's 'scared' of the pigs or something as he is wary of them, not wanting an altercation, and it would be so, so easy to come into one. 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..." "You can ask the owner if he'd like to press charges," Green offers up, with a too-sweet smile. "But I think we both know he would respond that he is not pressing charges, and also not the owner, in reverse order," she tells Officer Smith. "So... thank you, truly. But... honestly, if you want to come by off duty some time and watch these people," because let's face it. Green can't honestly pretend to be one of the Cat22 collective, "argue over beat poetry, you'll properly understand," she says. 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. C.B. keeps glowering at the cops until they're full-on out of here. "Yeah, that's right," he mutters under his breath, lightning sparking, "get the fuck out." His "hero" gets a blank, cranky sort of stare and he says, "I thought she was /your/ girlfriend. That's what people are always telling me." 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. Good think Franklyn isn't here, to overhear Green's description of whatever complicated thing the Author and the Barmy Mortal've got going on. Not that she tells anyone who listens how she's opposed to the hegemony of heteronormativity or whatever. No. S'all good. Franky can just... Be stared at by a strangers face upstairs while she write-write-writes. She found her notes super fucking important -- maybe C.B. will figure something out from the scraps downstairs... Only... Yeah that all looks like nonsense. Key word being -looks like-. "It's like when you've a child. You belong to whichever parent isn't about when the child breaks a lamp," Green says, holding her smile. "You'll never guess what your son did while you were out, David," Green says, affecting her best New England accent. She's been around long enough that she can do the voice pretty well! 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..." Yeah, C.B. actually /does/ take Green's hand, but then he's pulling her along upstairs in a most ungentle manner. "What the fuck happened while I stepped away? What the hell is /wrong/ with you people?!" His face is all red, notes tucked under the crook of his other arm as he moves along at double time. "Whose fault is this? It must be someone's fault!" C.B.'s really ready to blame someone for all this. "Why does my life suck?" 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. Where is Franklyn? Sitting on the couch, where ... whoever that is... put her. Writing, humming that maddening song, and wearing next to nothing. And where is Teagan? Well, uh. Apparently nowhere, at the moment, if one is to take visual evidence. At least, immediate visual evidence. 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. "Cor!" Green exclaims, as she tosses both hands into the air. Before she can explain whatever she's coring about, not-Teagan is talking. Green makes a gesture. "Not bloody everything is about you. Try to remember other people exist," she mutters. Then takes a breath. "As said, she's not awake right now. And despite the smashing of a table and the yelling and the jostling... she's not bloody woken up. Short of screaming at her, I'm not sure what else we do," mutters Green. Franky is indeed sitting on that sofa - in the same tiny silk romper, with a notebook and pen in her hands: scribbling away whole some hot dude attends to her feet, which are all cut up and, wow, yeah. Thanks, kind stranger, for helping Franky avoid infection and pain. Meanwhile, her expression? Dreaming or awake, this is totally what she expects should be happening: being attended to, hand and foot, after causing some bullshit she will somehow dodge responsibility for. 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? "Expressing my fucking dismay for a situation is /not/ selfishness. It is getting it off my chest so I do not fucking explode," C.B. says, grinding his teeth in the process. How did you assume that she is sleepwalking?" He's not arguing with it, but he's looking between not-Teagan and yes-Green. 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." The hand which is Teagan's takes hold of Franklyn's ankle, perhaps a little bit harder than is strictly necessary, but hard enough to make sure that Franklyn isn't pulling her foot away again and sticking it back in Franklyn's face. Rather than the blank expression that would probably be Teagan's answer, Franklyn's treated to a snarl, rather leonine, and a baring of teeth, as the foot-cleaning-and-disinfecting-and-bandaging continues. "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. Green remains standing, nearish the stares. She narrows her eyes at Ben. "Let's see if you can go two bloody minutes without using my or I in a sentence," she says. Then there's a huff. "I can see through time. She went to bed last night-... well. Something like it... and she did not wake up this morning," she says. Which apparently makes sense, right? "Anyways, it's almost surely a Gentry. Which means those notes, well... If it didn't already know where you all congregated," she mutters out. "Maybe just slap her, Teag?" she offers. "Or I will..." and she starts to walk towards Frank, and really, it looks like she's ready to slap Franklyn. "Darling..." Franklyn turns as C.B. puts his hand on her, her ink-stained hand stopping its scribbling on the notepad for a moment. Oh shit. Sleepwalker Franklyn isn't really big on the whole 'hey lets keep shit subtle and sensible' is she? Wyrd knows what a nightmare she is in her own dreams - but how she is now? Bright, toothy smile and wide, wild, hazy eyes. "I always want to talk about writing with you -- did you know, there's no feminine form of flaneur? Which is ridiculous -- I've been wandering, watching, writing..." 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. C.B. looks to not-Teagan, squinting, and then to Green. Who gets a scowl from him. "Do you know many human beings who can go two bloody minutes withut using 'my' or 'I' in a sentence? I bet you doooo-oooon't," comes his sarcasitcally sing-song tone there. "So give me a fucking break." He huffs, listening to Green explain, and says, "It's not /almost/ surely a Gentry; it's /definitely/ a Gentry. And we know which one. And /I/ know what she's writing, so how about you let me get some answers before anyone slaps the taste out of her mouth, hmmm?" He holds up a hand as if to say, stop! 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. "If Ceebs can get some answers from her, let him. I can stare at the scribbles for a while afterwards, maybe," Tealbot offers, finishing pulling the last of the gravel out. They keep on at it, wiping down the sole of that foot. One down, one to go. Even if Franklyn is struggling and ... blushing? Okay, that's weird. But there's another flash of bared teeth, almost reflexive, from the Mirroring Mirrorskin. Whoever this guy is that they're borrowing a face from? He growls a lot. His talking is basically growling formed into words. 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." Green stops, within slapping distance. She looks to CB, and maybe her need to eyeroll is enough to stop her from slapping Frank. But really, she watches, she listens, and she gives a small nod. Even if she does pout, as she looks back to Franklyn. "I've got to go soon," she pouts. Because she's a pouting pouter. Who isn't going to get a freebie full-force slap. She then looks back to Teagan, then looks to Ben. "I can likely find out, but-... you know I'm bloody worried about drawing more attention than I have," she says, with a faint sigh. She'll just stand, arms folded across her chest. "I'll also point out which of us she's calling darling..." "Hmm?" In the downtime between C.B. and Green going through the use of 'my' and 'I' phrases, and Tealbot going about their very charitable first aid on her feet, Franklyn has drifted back to scribbling down notes. Her hand is lifted and she paws at her face with the back of her knuckles, leaving a little bit of green ink across her nose and cheek. She has no idea. 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. "You could probably use a break from omening," C.B. says to Teagan, a somewhat sympathetic expression on his face. Overall, though, he's tense. Little electric crackles spark from him every few moments. He snorts at Green's last comment, then changes direction by asking her: "Why is it that Frank has these sort of experiences, but you're -- ?" He gestures to her with his hand, up and down. It isn't accusatory, but there's something a little sharp about it. Then again, he gets like this when he's inquisitive. As Green well knows. 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." Green smiles. She can't help it. Franklyn laughing is a beautiful thing, even if it's caused by... whatever we'll title this episode. She doesn't seem to take much from the words, though. She just looks back to CB. "Why was I cursed by the Gentry with sight?" Green asks, her brows lifting. "As opposed to cursed by far more nefarious elements with sight?" she adds to her question, and can't help the smirk. "Haven't the foggiest. But... If the Gentry is keeping tabs on me, and I see the Lost, then... it learns more of the Lost. Who they are, where they are..." And then Green makes a gesture to Franklyn. "More information gathering. Seems of the same vein," she decides. "Can I slap her yet?" "I probably could, but I could probably also use a break from a lot of things which aren't very practical for me to take a break from, Ben. If you want to have a hack at it, have a hack at it, otherwise, it's me." There's something almost 'don't throw me in that briar patch' about the way Tealbot says that. "Or it could be whether or not someone's breaking the hold. Is there someone who's actively doing that for Franklyn? I know there is for Green." One foot clean and bangaged, Tealbot pulls glass and a splinter and God knows what else out of the other foot, patient as the day is long, apparently. 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." There's no cigarette in her hands, but Franky lifts her fingers to her mouth as if she expects to draw in smoke -- when she senses nothing's there? She merely gnaws on one of her nails, manicure chipping a bit around the edges as she stares up at the ceiling. "...I was thinking about them as I walked; the scent of paper from my notebook, then there was a moth by the lamp, and some oil on the ground, and when I was stepping around I noticed the stitch in my dress was busted..." 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. "No, no, no, Green. Why is /she/ sleepwalking and talking like a nutcase -- and I know what they sound like, by the way," C.B. gives a grim little smirk. "-- while you are walking around without those problems? I don't know anything about how this is affecting /you/, apart from dreams. And no, you can't fucking slap her." 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... "Because, Ben, as I just said. Something happened to me. Something different to her. It's not a virus, it's a multi-pronged attack," Green says, as she stares at the man. And then she looks back to Teagan. "She's getting help," she assures. And says exactly no more than that. But then she looks back, and watches CB slap the woman. Green rolls her eyes. "Everything about Ceebee..." she mumurs. And then Green is pulling out her phone, and checking the time, and looking around. Bored with this, apparently! A wrinkle of that leonine brow, and Tealbot's head slowly shakes back and forth. They stay silent, pulling the very last of the junk out of her foot and then bandaging it up. Eventually, they offer to C.B., "Scouring the dream. That was going to be the next thing I was going to teach you, but we never got back to it." So apparently Teagan has been giving him dreaming lessons. Or one, at the least. "Seriously, though, someone needs to make sure she's got a tetanus shot. That was pretty nasty." They get back to cleaning up, picking up the bit of paper towel on which they'd put all the things they pulled out of her feet, closing up the first aid kit, and then going back to the kitchen to scrub their hands, wipe down the tweezers with alcohol, and put everything away. "It is the truth; grief and oblivion..." Franklyn is laughing though, wriggling her toes as Tealbot goes about the last little bit of first aid; opening her eyes and-- oh. Oh shit. 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?" But is it all about C.B., or does he maybe not trust Green to slap Frank in a way that won't do deeper damage? Hmm... "Lulu is scouring Frank's dream, then," C.B. tosses off to Teagan before he's turning his wide, mostly blue-at-the-moment eyes upon the girl in the nighty. He's still half-holding onto her. "You were sleepwalking," he says. "I just woke you up." 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." Green doesn't object to mention of Lulu, so it must be true, right? Or maybe she just doesn't want to reveal any of Frank's secrets. Or maybe it's because Franklyn is waking up. Green's attention is back on the other woman, and she smiles, and then leans in. In the stupor, it'll be easy to press a kiss to her cheek. Red lips on a pale, with lipstick of quality, so there's no messy red marks left behind. "Morning, love," she says. 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. Once the first aid kit is cleaned up again, and reassembled, Tealbot puts it away where they found it. They slide their hands into their pockets, then, and head over toward Green, either following her or... well, just being near her for the moment. There's no explanation to Franklyn who this person is, or why they're here at the moment; just a hand that rises and rests at the small of Green's back. Tealbot looks very, very tired. "Thanks, love," they rumble toward the tiny Brit, turning their attention down toward her, mostly. Cigarette?! Accepted on rote; Franky is leaning in, lighting up, and smoking before C.B. even finishes his sentence. Doesn't mean her hands aren't trembling a bit, and that she's looking at her outfit and surroundings with some startled embarrassment and confusion. This must be worse than the dream where ya show up to school naked, because Franky can't just wake up from this. Or could she? No. This is real for her. Right? Wait. What? "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?" "Oh, you're alive, babe," C.B. deadpans, eyes half-lidding, dropping ash right onto the floor. He's not so much ignoring the other two as -- letting them have their intimate moment without him getting involved or annoyed. That and he's a little weirded out by the Tealbot thing. "We're all fucking alive." He sighs and stands up, moving over to the bar, grabbing a mostly full bottle of whiskey and some glasses, bringing them back. Yes, he brought four glasses. Sometimes he's nice. 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?" Green waves off the drink. No, none of her. Instead, she just stands there, sliding a hand into Tealbot's. There's a soft smiel on her lips the entire time, as she watches Franklyn. Apparently, Frank, Green knows whoever this man is! That or Green's just fast like that. Who's to say? "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." "Wait, she did? What the fuck do they say?" Tealbot's guard goes back up, and there's a low, steady growl in the back of his throat. The front edge of a roar. (Fact, if a feline species can roar, it cannot purr. Whoever this person is, they do not purr.) One scarred hand reaches into a pocket, pulling out a pretty forest green vape, pushing the button, and taking a long pull from it. The resultant vapor, which they blow out the corner of their mouth away from Green, smells like strawberries and vanilla. That must be very new, that, because it doesn't look like beat-up garbage yet. "I'm good, Ben, thanks." 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. "...Did I black out?" Franklyn gives C.B. a /wary/ reply when he insists she's alive. Then green eyes dart over to Green and Tealbot. /So/ suspicious, sharp. "Was I drugged?" Stop interrupting, Franky! Listen! As C.B. moves away, Franky starts to sloooowly move - cigarette hanging from her lips as she takes the cardigan off of her shoulders; draping it over he knees and hide herself as her legs are drawn up to her chest. There. Protected. Safe. Less exposed. Safe, safe, safe comforting cardigan and-- --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. C.B. scowls at Green. "Not helping," he tells her, face scrunching up, and he starts in on her glass, since she's not drinking it! Then he nods, slowly, at Teagan, though his nose wrinkles further at the smell of the vape. No surprise, he's not a fan of 'em. "Yep, you heard me alright." 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. Green also looks to Tealbot, and while it's not a glare, she does squint at him. Is he (are they) vaping? She stares for a long moment, before she looks back to Frank. She squints again. Then she looks to CB, and he's glaring at her. "Oh, please, Ben. How the fuck did you think I knew she was sleep walking, if I didn't do exactly as I said?" she asks. She shakes her head. "You two can enjoy your delusional paranoia together. I've got to get to work," she says. Then she turns, handing sliding out of Tealbot's if they're not leaving as well. They are, and it's a shiny, new, green vape. It's almost like they went and bought themselves something because they're not quietly scraping together bits of money constantly. Hmmmm. "I can't say for sure whether they're making you do stuff, but they're definitely influencing what you do. I mean, you were sitting in Cat-22 in what you're wearing now. You chased me and demanded I 'play', talked about winning and losing games, talked about hide and seek... it's all ... game shit." Tealbot's hand drifts to the small of Green's back. "And you were digging at shit you shouldn't dig at. Unfortunately, it looks like you may have found a weakness for Them." 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. Mute. Franklyn smokes, ands stares, and drinks, and listens -- watching C.B. and Green take shots at one another with wide-eyed incomprehension. What are they ever arguing about, specifically? When Green glares and shoots back her line of commentary, Franklyn seems... Puzzled? Her brow knits, her mouth moves, but no words come out. She just watches her and Tealbot move... Tealbot... 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. She does. 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. "Jesus christ. You call /me/ selfish?!" C.B. gesticulates with his cigarette. "All you care about is working it out for yourself! As long as you're sorted, who gives a shit about anyone else, right? Have fun at work, /honey/." He poured a glass for Teagan too, right? Down the hatch. But Teagan gets a bit of a confused stare from C.B. Why are they reacting to him like that? "Uh, bye, I guess" he says, face all scrunched up. He opens his mouth again and abruptly closes it. 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. That Frankly is going to look so puzzled... and as if she hadn't just accused Green of spying on her... has the little Brit just smiling, and shaking her head. And then CB is adding on, and Green can't help the roll of her eyes. "Oh, please, Ceebee. Get over yourself. I offered to tell you what Franklyn was up to, what she'd be doing with this information. I did what I could to find out why Franklyn was in the state she was in. And you just glared at me. And so did you!" she says, to Franklyn. "So please, please, pretty please stop pretending like you're suddenly shocked and confused that I'm not keen to pursue this paranoid delusional insanity," she says, to the both of them. "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! Tealbot looks... tired. Really, really tired. Like 'run over with the exhaustion train' tired. They got hit with something they weren't expecting at a time of day that Darklings are totally shitty at being even active during, and then had to stuff that all aside to deal with a bigger problem. The cracks are starting to show. Thankfully not literally, because they still have to get out past the squad car that's undoubtedly outside still. (It always is, when Ben's here, right? Right. And Teagan knows that.) "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. People are yelling now, right? Well, if it's not straight up yelling than the emotional temperature certainly got a little hot in here - only Franky's reaction is to freeze up. Smoke. Drink. Hunch. Wait out the storm -- let everyone just, woosh, do their thing. Huh. That doesn't really feel like Franklyn, does it? 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. C.B. stops banging for a moment, eyes sparking at Green. Then he's on his feet. "Oh, really? Do you think maybe it's 'cause /your/ version of help came wrapped up in a venomous little package? I mean, really? Did you have to dump on her little boy toy?" He flicks his head in Frank's direction. "And does she seem like she's in a good place to receive /any/ information right now? WAKE UP!" One of his favorite phrases. His eyes and hands open wide; lightning crackles everywhere. "Who can trust you when you're busy stabbing them in the back at the same time?" 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. Green watches Franklyn for a moment, only to see that mask settle into place. There's a bit of pride rolling around in there somewhere, seeing the woman able to get herself on lock so very well. Good Franklyn. This might explain why she has a faint smile on her face. But then CB is launching another volley at her, and she just sucks in a breath, and then yawns, daintly covering her mouth as she does. "Mmm... sorry," she says. About the yawn. "You owe me a coffee," she says, aside, to Teagan. 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? "I do," Tealbot agrees with Green, holding on to the little Brit's hand. There's a strange fragility to that gesture, as if they're hanging on to an anchor in stormy seas. "I do owe you a coffee." Their eyes lid over half-way, and they're about to say something else in response to C.B. when the glass shatters. 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.