}| 15 |{

[never_very_good]

[Private to Lucy Locke]

Uh... I wanted to thanks, for all that stuff... You really didn't have to do that. Especially not the stripper. But thanks.

[/Private]

All right, I know the drill on this one. Figured it was just a matter of time before you all came back. I wouldn't even post if I didn't think-- well, fuck it, I'm not getting my

Comments

1/3

[nosferotofu]

Frankie.

2/3 | all audio

[nosferotofu]

FRANKIE!

3/3 | idek what i'm doing

[nosferotofu]

Christ, is that really you?

1/2 | you are rocking my goddamn SOCKS is what you're doing

[never_very_good]

Ed? Ed!

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

Darkness doesn't pose as an obstruction for a man who's vision renders night as lucid as daylight's sight. No, the large barreling monster that had blocked his immediate path was that interference; an obstruction quickly eliminated by a swift hand and equally sharp agility. Never has he been a man of sanguinary passions, never a man to indulge in the fervor that war brings despite having been part of a republic of conquerors. A man of words, a man of rhetoric and reason as indomitable pillars, self-sufficient and strong. Or so he'd like to believe. But necessary instances require men to act out of one's character, even for this man who survives on blood--- who's existence should perch on the adjective sanguinary. And so he had brought down the larger beast with superior strength, not a drop of crimson splashed on that crisp and clean suit jacket, cut perfectly to his form

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

This passes for an early shift at the Raven; he's been in since just before sunset, he'll be out in another hour or two. In some ways he prefers it to the late shifts up at the Blue Light because here he doesn't have to close up, though these days he finds he prefers the patrons upstairs. Not that the Raven is a bad place, or unfriendly-- far from it, especially since Eric took over with a push to be more inviting and thus lots busier. Frankie's just starting to feel human again, in a way he hadn't at first, in spite of the beating of his heart. Losing one's humanity isn't something you can pinpoint; there's more to it than the physical realities, and regaining it has proven to be the same.

He raises an eyebrow at the newcomer, slightly. Not a familiar face, but this is the City; people show up every day. He doesn't yet realize how true that is today.

"The bar, or the City?"

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[middlestate]

A city, truly? He has only touched the edge of whatever there is to see, trapped in what must be either the catacombs or the literal underground
of this town. It's a fitting locale for a bar geared toward vampires, both in ambiance and necessity; if there's an overground, he knows where he'll be resting during the day.

But a sudden transition doesn't jar him out of place, it's been too long for that. Instead, he accepts it with patience, with practicality.

"This City, and the nation it belongs to. Tell me whatever you can."

for what was before is left behind, and what was not comes to be, and each moment is renewed.

[never_very_good]

"Just the City. No nation. You want a drink?"

Frankie's not usually the welcome-wagon sort but he's willing to lend a hand, if someone needs it. There are worse places to end up than the City no doubt, but that makes it no less jarring. All things considered this patron seems pretty calm, and things are... not slow, but not as busy as they could be. As they will be, matter of fact, once more visitors start finding their way down, but by that time Frankie will be happily gone.

"It's an interdimensional trash-heap. People from different worlds get stuck here from time to time. Welcome to it."