Brring brring. A call from an unknown number...
Franklyn picks up - voice? Airy, distracted. "Mmm-huuullo?"
This actually sounds like it's coming from a cell phone somewhere kinda remote...it's all crackly. The voice sounds familiar, and he is kinda shouting into the phone, you know, the way your grandma does because she doesn't understand how cell phones work. "He -- hello? Franky? Can you hear me? Hello?"
"Oh shit!" Franklyn starts to laugh, and there's a shuffling sound -- maybe she's moving the phone from ear to ear. "/Ceebabes/? Is that you -- no fucking way, hahaha, why are you---" Somebody hasn't been keeping up with the news. Somebody's been too busy at work and magic and self-absorption. Somebody's suddenly sounding concerned though, because WTF is C.B. doing on a cellphone... "What's going on?"
Crackle crackle crackle... "Listen...uh...Franky, you didn't hear what happened?" There's this pervasive note of alarm in his voice that's hard not to notice. "Um...well, long story short, I kinda...kinda molotov'd a police station, yeah, um...they arrested me but they didn't read my Miranda rights so I was probably gonna get out, but then someone sprung me...and...and John is around again and he keeps threatening to bring all the others so..." There's a long pause. Like he's trying hard not to sob. "...I don't know what to do...."
There is a long ... silence after C.B. speaks -- then a gentle noise, like Franky was clearing her throat. "Okay babe. Okay -- you are really great, having called me, yeah? It's really... Brave of you." One beat. Two beat. Franklyn is swallowing hard and... Fuck knows what she's thinking. There is a sudden clatter in the background, then something that sounds like... Tapping? Typing? Her voice, when she speaks again, is very... Controlled. "Are you in any, like, immediate da-- are you saf--" Work it out, Frank! "Are you physically hurt in any way?"
C.B. sniffs, then lets out a deep breath. "No. I'm okay. Not hurt -- anymore, and someone brought me to safety. Actually, she wants to...magic all the shit away," he has to laugh "but, uh...anyway. I don't know. It's not just that. It's John, he threatened to...I mean, sometimes he's on my side, but he threatened to tell my old man..." He just trails off. Poor guy.
Franklyn pauses again -- and there's this... Sound. It is her grumbling, while clenching her teeth. Magic. Magic is great - magic is also... Not so great. It begets more magic. There can be a snowball effect. This? Franklyn is starting to know: but it is only expressed as that simple intone of Franky's Discontent. Then? Calm voice. Steady, sure, sympathetic. "Hey babe, that sound really... Really fucking tough, yeah? Okay - so - can you, tell me who you're with? Are they with you now? If you're, like, scared and can't speak, just tell me not to go on about bananas, alright?" Oh look, she's trying to add some levity to the conversation. Bless. "And, like, you're old hat at this now, right? You've got all the tools you need -- but, do you want to talk me through them? What do you want to happen next?"
"I'm with...Etsy, uh, she's the one who got me out. She's still here." Etsy? Didn't he kinda say that chick didn't like him? "No bananas, right. Um. Tools. Tools. It's been awhile since this has happened but I thought it would happen eventually, I even warned Mina...I tried, I really did." There's a sound, like he's drinking from a bottle. He gasps back, "I'm...I'm afraid, okay? Because the last time John was around for this long they put me away. I -- I don't want to be put away again, they try to make me take stupid pills and I hate them...I know you understand..." His tone says: you're the only one who does.
"Oh, Ceebabes..." Hear that - that is the sound of pain: painful, painful, painful sympathy. Franklyn takes in a deep breath, then speaks very softly, clearly, but quickly: "Etsy - is she like, using your types of magic? What did she say her next step was?" Franklyn wants an -answer-, damnit. Then she's trying to steer C.B. along, "I do understand - I understand; but let's go back a step: last time, what tools did you use to, like, coax John back to being quiet, eh? Because I /know/ you can be sensible, C.B: let's focus on what you can do in this -moment-, yeah? Not think about before. Let's think about right now. What do you want to happen next?"
There's another beat before he says, "Yeah, uh, she's like me. You know. She thinks we can...fix it all, using more magic. All the legal shit...I dunno. She's not wrong, but..." Crackle crackle crackle. He's moving the phone around. "Okay." He's trying to settle down, to be quiet. "I...sometimes...it helps if I listen to one of his records. You know. Um. Right now, he likes the Ss-Sergent Pepper l-look...s-sometimes he is very good to me, Franky, I don't know why he's being so mean." He sounds on-the-verge-of-tearful again, but he's clearly trying to get a hold of himself. "I mean. I self-medicate a lot, I know I do, it's part of why I've been drinking so much lately, but it only goes so far...so, I mean...maybe the record...maybe the record will help."
There is a pause, once C.B. explains Etsy's plan: "Okay." Really, that's all she's gonna say? Not quote. "I'm sensing a tone of doubt in your voice. Do you want to share what you dunno about?... Because... I'm not sure if like, more magic is the best idea -- if you're feeling like you are, right now?" Franky is flying blind - but oh, oh how she tries. On to the John issue: "I know babes, it's not your fault - sometimes things are mean, and it's just something we need to like, power on through. Okay. Where are you, is there a record player? Can you like... Tell me where you are, maybe?" A beat. "If there's not a record player, if you're using a proper smartphone, I can talk you through how to get the record to play, okay? But you need to tell me where you are; or arrange a place to meet, okay?"
More crackling. Is C.B. staring at the phone, convinced the cellular waves are atrophying his brain as they speak? "She's not /wrong/, and she makes convincing arguments as to why not only it could work, to use more magic, but why it makes sense but...I have these philosophical issues with...our, um..." Now he's clearly dragging on a cigarette. He suddenly whispers, "Should I even be saying the word over the phone? She says this phone is a prepaid phone, or something, but..." Oh, that paranoia. He tries to breathe. "No, there's no record player here..." He sounds really upset about this. Possibly even devastated. He's become used to being surrounded by all his books and records like a fortress... "Yeah. Um. It's a smartphone. I think." C.B. still being C.B., he has to ask, "What does a dumbphone look like? Like the ones I use?" At least some of the snark is back in his voice. That might be a good thing. "Yes, um. Yes. I want to do that. We can arrange a place near here, yes. But, I mean...I'm way out here in the wilderness right now, Franky, I don't know if you'd wanna trek out here..."
"Give me your coordinates." Ah yes -- there's that Director-tone of hers, all serious and sharp and oh-so-Franklyn. Is she going to discuss the philosophical conundrum of magics? NEWP. She's trying to -focus up-. "You're in a little house, yeah? I... I don't now if I can get out there - or if I should..." Guess who sounds paranoid now, eh. "...I need you to tell me if you can get to... The place we were? Remember? When I send you there? I had written you that note-- I was wearing your shirt when you arrived." Yeah. Bitch ain't saying where. "I can't get there now, but if you tell me an hour? When? We can meet there together, you come by yourself, yeah?" A beat. "You /can/ come by yourself, right?" A serious pause, then she ahems. "...I'm going to text you something, one second, I'm still listening, just got my headphones in..."
// a link comes through: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=guiNy0jSKkI&list=PL8sgZs101EMDTTsu6cqJcXOhtqyWM143Y //
"I don't know how to do that!" There's that shrill little note in his voice, but he calms down again. Crackle, crackle. "Okay. Um, yes. I think I can get out there...I don't have my car, but I'll try. By myself. Yeah. I'll try." There's a pause and he makes a sound of alarm as the text comes up. "What is this...?" Total wonder. The guy has probably seen /other/ people with cell phones before, but being on one himself, for this long? That's another story altogether. In fact, there's a startled sound of mildly delighted laughter as he opens the link. "Wow. Oh...wow. It's so /tiny/." Does he mean the sound?
C.B. can't share his coordinates? "...Have Etsy help you out." Oh. My. God. Know how Franklyn's got that whole 'stage school/highly trained vocal impression' thing going on? Well she's just utilised it to say those five words in the iciest way possible. Seriously. Like a fucking Siberian labour camp couldn't be chillier than her tone there. Thankfully? It is brief. A deep breath, and her next words are, ahem, warmer. "Can you send me a message when you can be there? I have to... I have to go do something first. I just got back from a hike. I'm feeling very..." FRANKY. This isn't /about/ you. Deep breath. C.B. is laughing, and Franklyn? Bless her, she's making a tiny chirp of amusement, in spite of herself. "Isn't it? Tiny delights, man. Okay." Serious tone again. "If you click on the white rectangle to the left of the tiny magnifying glass, you can search for... Any song you need. Almost. Just don't click on the adds." Yeah. Franky's already going too fast. A beat. "You're safe, right?"
"It's alright. Yeah. I'll try and meet you there. I'll try and use this thing." The phone. Yep. He'll try and use it without being completely freaked out that it's giving his location away to the Man. "You alright?" Maybe this isn't about her, but that doesn't mean C.B. doesn't care. "Tell me when I get there. I will...I will listen to the music as I go." He makes a small chuckle, like this idea is so amusing to him. "I'm...safe, yeah. For the time being." A beat. "Don't worry. I'll be alright."
"Don't try. Do." What is this, fucking Jedi training? Franklyn is oblivious to that. Franklyn is trying to be all like, not freaking out. Because ya girl? Ya girl has been getting progressively more paranoid since... Well for a while now. daYS. Weeks. Months? It may be coming to a head. Who knows. "I'm cool -- how the fuck could I be anything else?" Her eye-roll is practically audible, then Franky clears her throat. "Good. Listen to the music; and turn the brightness down on the screen, the battery will last longer." Again. That's intermediate smartphone use, Franky -- C.B's at Baby Boomer Beginner, if even. "Don't tell me what to do. I'll see you when I see you -- I..." A beat. "Good luck." And then a pause as if for a reply, and then... Frank's done. Click.
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