frnoialles

[frnoialles]

🔢

what’s their body count?

Over the 250 years she’s been alive for — I don’t think she remembers. Probably around 200, maybe more. She gets around.

[frnoialles]

open — for all

The ground beneath her was swaying, or was that all her? Frankie could swear, the world was spinning on its axis going a billion hours per mile, or maybe that was just her head — drunk on some random girl's taste and the finest tequila in Port Liery. She was hogging up the lounge, in one of the private rooms with a woman on her lap — bloody and messy, there for her to enjoy and then toss aside.

Someone rattled the doorknob and barged in, looking stunned and mortified. As a daydrunk suburban mom once said, "Surprise!"

The door slammed shut with the speed of a thousand fucking laser blades, and she dropped the body to the floor with a loud thump. Bored of the whole shebang already.

That was the thing with her, she needed to move, on to new, shinier things. New, shiny faces waiting for her in the mess of bodies swaying in the middle of the club. She moved closer to a group of three, all toothy grin and an accent that got only thicker, when she was high.

"Seen my sister anywhere, babe? Blonde, french, there’s a stick up her ass, that's like sticking out, not too much but you can, like — see the end of it—"

[frnoialles]

Name: Francoise "Frankie" Noialles Occupation: Manager at Soleil Age: 27 (248) Sexuality:Bi Species: Vampire (Pretorius) Hometown: Bordeaux, France Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: immature, irresponsible, vivacious, chaotic, optimistic, loyal

Biography (tw: death, illness)

For years, she had wondered if her fate had been a blessing or a curse. A baby trapped beneath the ruins, saved by a woman who she thought had stepped down from the heavens; an angel that had looked down at that infant, cradled it in her arms and in an instant — called hers.

It's the story she's been told; of tragedy and loss, second chances and new beginnings, salvation and damnation. It's the lesson she's been taught; to come out of the chaos, with her teeth bloody and her fists clenched, because in a world so cruel, a fragile thing would never survive what fate has planned for them.

Some would say she had it easy, and in a way she has always known it was the truth. She grew up fortunate, golden in comparison to many, raised in nobility at the heart of France, where so many aspired to be. But money could only buy so much. What her mother didn't know, when she took that orphan in, was that the child had a diagnosis. Frankie didn't know herself, until she started getting worse, and worse. Weaker, sicker, sadder —

She was only a child then, and Lilia found some kind of temporary aid. That hospital room became her home, which they both decorated late at night with the silliest things. Picture frames and decorative flowers on the walls, small lights over her bed. Still, some would say she had it easy — fed with a silver spoon, dressed in velvet and silk, and naivety.

If there was one thing she believed in, it was that all things must come to their natural end. Like climbing a ladder to the heavens. From the moment one was born and put tiny feet on those steps — util they reached eternity's gates. Death was only natural, anything else was not. Perhaps, death and its presence always lurking near, was why she never took interest in anything beyond creating memories to leave behind. Frankie lacked ambition, strive to become something great — an astronaut, or a doctor; anything with purpose, a future. Because a future, wasn't something she thought she'd get to have. And she was okay with that.

Her mother wasn't.

Barely twenty years old, and flatlining, Francoise parted with her human life. And woke up — choking on new breath in her lungs, even if her heart remained still in her chest. Eternity's gates wide open before her, just not the ones she was hoping to see.

She found herself a child again — learning how to walk, how to talk, how to feed, how to spell her own name all over again. It took all her effort not to falter; not to stumble, or tremble, or bow her head in defeat. The first couple of years were hard, because this was France, because it was home — and France knew she was already gone.

Something in that mother-daughter bond snapped then. Their family crumbling to pieces, with Frankie leaving for Vienna (then Rome, Berlin, Prague) and her mother staying in France. But she was still her mother's undying flame — nights where she's held her close, and looked down at her with eyes that have seen too much, and told her they would never be without the other.

Headcanons

She has a nickname for almost everyone she meets, but especially her fledglings. This started a century ago, when she started naming them off book characters like the three little piggies. Pig 1, Pig 2, Pig 3, etc.

Doesn't take anything seriously, not if her damn life depends on it. Not if her job depends on it. There's always someone else doing her job for her at the Soleil.

Gets distracted very easily.

Talks so much, she can get herself out of any situation she wants.

Wanted connections

OOPS I DID IT AGAIN / Frankie has turned many humans into her proteges over the years. So many, they wouldn't fit in Port Liery, if they all dropped at its gate. That would be just another one of them.

TOXIC / A hunter she has met through the years, that had unsuccessfully tried to get rid of her. Then she would have unsuccessfully tried to get rid of them. It's been a never ending loop, that had lasted them through several countries and several years. There could've been some hateful one night stands involved, wink wink.

CIRCUS / Frequent customers at the Soleil that hate or love her, simply because there's not in between. Co-workers that hate or love their boss because she's always an hour late, and never does anything actually useful.