#franklycharmed

[natcliachen]

LOCATION: Hallway on the third floor, near the bedrooms DATE: Wednesday, September 7th, 2005 (Late afternoon, 4pm-ish) Closed starter for @franklycharmed

After spending a few hours practicing her piece for the Talent Show, Natalia was well spent and ready retire to her room for a bit before getting ready for the evening. Walking to her room, her head was tilted to one side, fingers pressing into the back of her neck to ease the strain that's built over her time rehearsing. Spotting Frankie along her path to her room, she slowed to a stop, approaching her.

"Ready for tonight?"

[meadelicta]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: WITHIN THE ESTATE, THE POND 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌: KAMON BOONMEE, THE TORMENTED. 𝐓𝐎: FRANKIE WESTMACOTT, THE CHARMER. [ @franklycharmed ]

kamon takes his second stroll of the day through the gardens. the soil is soft underneath his feet, and the chill of autumn air makes him cross his arms in front of him as he walks, trying to preserve some warmth. hands, tucked under his armpits, he idly walks through the same paths he has been walking for years now. it's almost like a reflex at this point. he does not think of where he wants to go, just that he wants to walk. and walk. and walk. this much solitude also brings too much time to think, and his thoughts curl around the same memory, the same guilt that never leaves. eyes looking but not seeing, he passes through some of their favorite spots in the estate, when a familiar silhouette catches his eyes. his feet, once again, bring him to the pond without much thought. once frankie enters his line of sight, he uncurls one of his hands, and raises it in a brief wave. "hey, frankie." this used to be one of richard's favorite spots. swimming in the summer, or simply looking at the expanse of water when it was colder in the year. the memory stings, as most things do. he moves to the lawn chair next to frankie, and slowly sits down on the edge of it. "even if it is quite nice, the view doesn't beat italy, i assume. do you have park nearby, where you live?

[meadelicta]

his hands clutch onto the sides of the sink. his knuckles have gone white with the strain, yet he does not realize them slowly growing numb. there's cotton in his ears, a pressure that pulses but does not go away. his head hangs between his shoulders, tears falling onto the white porcelain, chest heaving with deep breaths. the staccato of irregular breaths wreck his chest in lieu of sobs, and he clenches his eyes shut. you told richard terrible things. you left. they know, they will know, they know. and then — they'll agree with you. counting from ten is the simplest tactic he knows to calm down, but it doesn't work. knowing he has to go back only amplifies the pressure on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. the music he played still echoes in his ears, and he's transported back to a time when richard was here. instead of the wards sitting all around the room, it would be him who was listening to kamon play vivaldi again, and there'd be a smile on his face. suddenly, that smile, even in memory, twists. into disappointment, into that shock that appeared on his face once kamon had yelled at him. at the man who had saved his life- over and over again. cruel, terrible- that's how kamon was to him that night, and maybe, it was his true colors, unlike what richard thought so highly of him. that thought makes him take a deep breath, a broken noise leaving his lips, one hand going up to his mouth to press against it. to keep it quiet, so that they don't hear. then, the door is opening, and through tears, he sees blonde hair. frankie's perfume reaches his nose, and his eyes widen. jerking a few steps back, he feels like a deer caught in the headlights. hands move to his face, to hide his tears- to act as if he's alright —- even if it's too late now. "f- frankie —-" his voice is rough when he speaks, and he does not dare look, his face remains buried in his hands. "j-just - give me a moment, okay? just- a moment- then- then-- i will be fine-"

Location: The powder room on the first floor

Date: September 7, 2005

Closed starter for @meadelicta

Tip tip tip.

It was barely a knock at the door, just Frankie's nail, red from Natalia's handiwork, tapping at the hardwood. "Kamon?"

No answer, the only noise was the unintelligible sound of Reece's voice drifting down the hall from the Great Room. Something about Richard actually hating Green Day? Frankie blocked it out, pressing her ear to the bathroom door instead. Silence.

It was the silence that terrified her. Blank nothingness, no color, no warmth. Just speaking fruitlessly into a void. It had always set her on edge for reasons she had never bothered to examine. There was a difference between quiet and silence, the former peace, the latter a wall. Frankie would scrape her fingers raw trying to climb it.

She felt blindly at the back of her head, extracting a bobby pin. She had known Kamon wasn't okay but hadn't pried, opting, not for the first time, to passively solve problems.

"I'm going to let myself in, okay?" Time for a more active approach. She pried the bobby pin open with her teeth. "So if you are, you know, in the bathroom for the bathroom, put your pants on or whatever."

It took a moment to jiggle the bobby pin into the lock just right, but there was a tell-tale click and she gently pushed the door. "You there, duck?"

[angusbyrne]

LOCATION: Outside Richard's office DATE: Wednesday, September 7th (mid-morning) Closed starter for @franklycharmed

Angus thought himself in excellent shape, but a day laboring in the sun resulted in a lingering ache — particularly a stiff neck, which might've been less a negative reflection on his health and a more honest reflection of his age. It did not help the building frustration in his gut. They cleaned the greenhouse from top to bottom. With every passing hour, every wheelbarrow full of debris, every window wiped clean, Angus expected something to alleviate within him. It never did. Now all he had to show for it was a sore neck and a bandaged laceration on his palm to cap it all off.

As he exited Uncle Richard's office, he reached across himself to rub at the side of his neck and down toward his trapezius. Maybe a little coaxing would set it straight, he thought, or at least render it easier to ignore until he could grab hold of the Advil in his room. The sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner. Even better, he thought — a distraction. His chest was already raised, filled with air ready to carry a strong greeting toward whoever approached. It stuttered, minutely, when a face came into view. "Frankie. Hello," he started, turning toward the office door as he slipped the key back out of his pocket.

He glanced over his shoulder toward her as he inserted it into the keyhole, turning it with a satisfying click. "Just the woman I was hoping to see," Angus continued — not a lie, but not the whole truth. He knew he'd see her today; he had hope for something else. It was Wednesday and he thought he'd been exceedingly patient. Time was up. "I aspired to presume you had some time to chat, maybe take a quick walk around the grounds." He paused, then continued just this side of pointed: "That's if you're not in some great, vague hurry."

[woodrowhq]

"Oh, you're just in time. Come on in. I think the others are gathered in the Great Room."

Please follow:

The Charmer — Francesca “Frankie” Westmacott @franklycharmed

[meadelicta]

the answer is surprising, even if maybe it shouldn't be. as the last one who stayed behind in woodrow, he often assumes all of them found better places to be. it always got a bit too lonely in the house, even with the staff, mrs. tristan, and, of course, richard. the wards were the one who brought the estate back into life, and with them gone, kamon sometimes felt left behind. the fight and its results makes him feel all the more terrible now in that aspect, though he tries to cling on to frankie's words, her charm, and her smile. it's a good distraction. "oh, really? you would pick woodrow over italy and all of its beauties?" a part of him wants to ask why she left then, and why she came back so little. though he keeps those comments to himself, knowing they would do no good. it's good to be near her again, even if it's under terrible circumstances. the comment about skinny dipping does make him laugh, which feels foreign to his own ears. how long has it been since he laughed at something? despite the guilt that comes from that line of thought, her presence helps him push it away. the hand around his arm, the weight of her head against his shoulder. it's grounding. it feels... nice. maybe he can convince himself he deserves it. "we should tell the municipality to add better pools then. skinny-dipping is a constitutional right." an attempt at a joke, wanting to pull a laugh out of her too. for you? anything: the comment makes him more emotional than he thought it would. with blinking eyes and the traces of shock, he is glad she is looking away from him now. slowly, he lets the tension seep away, ends of his lips curling into something more genuine, and rests his head on top of hers. a thank you, a gesture to show her how much this means to him. then, she begins to talk of italy and he listens, clings to every word, imagining every scene. instead of the pond in front of them, he imagines another world, far away from them. colorful, filled with joy, away from this monochrome, all-consuming grief. a hum, he lets her words hang in the air for a bit before replying. "i wouldn't mind learning some aguilera. maybe even on the violin?" the words are quiet, and he asks the question swimming in his mind. "can i... visit you, then? after all of this is over?" his tone's hopeful. imagining anything beyond this grief, is impossible, yet he tries. "you could show me around."

There were times where they would be on the phone, the distance between them shorter than Kamon knew, and Frankie wished she could crawl down the line and give him a hug. It had occurred to her that if she was honest, about herself, her life, that wouldn't be such wishful thinking. There was a certain cruelty to holding herself at arms reach in service to a lie.

But the lie was also what made people feel good. It was a security blanket that assured the people she cared about the most that everything was as it should be. Kamon reached for it now. Which was more unkind, keeping herself away, or shattering the illusion that made people want her near, even if she couldn't be?

"Here," Frankie said without hesitation. "I'd rather live here, with you and everybody else." It was so true it ached, which only further proved that for as much as Frankie tended to embrace honesty, there was a time and place for a lie to protect a person's feelings. If he asked her what she missed they would be here until dinner time. Falling asleep in Celia's bed after they stayed up too late whispering. Your choice of five different overlapping conversations at breakfast. Long car rides to and from school, running up the minutes on Angus' phone entering radio contests. Catching only half of what Mick was saying the moment they walked in the door and listening anyway.

Frankie smiled through the phantom pain of memory and waggled her eyebrows. "There's no good place for skinny-dipping at my park."

Now, the business of a cheer-up. She curled a hand around Kamon's arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. The closeness was steadying and a reminder of what she was preserving.

Could you... tell me about it?

"For you? Anything."

She had to think back, separate Florence from Rome, Sicily from Cinque de Terre, pull out the best bits overall. She was just telling a story, she told herself. There was no harm in that. "It's almost always warm, and it looks that way too, like all the buildings are colored yellow and orange with a marker. The food is insane. I probably ate my weight in pasta and they have cheese wheels bigger than your head. They're so serious about it. It's like a law that if they didn't make the cheese you can't call it Parmesan."

"There's a dance club near one of the piazzas, so when people get tired of the music there they go out into the street and sing and dance. You could come and play your violin and I'd dance all night. You'd have to learn some Aguilera though."

[meadelicta]

there's a wide smile on her face. frankie's signature smile, one that makes her shine. kamon had always admired her quality to bring light into any room. the way he could count on her to cheer him up, to cheer anyone up with her energy and her words. he is happy that she made a life for herself out there —- even if it's far away from them, from him. he is a firm believer that she deserves the best. and as selfish as it might be for him, he wants to hear more. of her great life away from here, to remove himself from this sorrow. the smile, the one he endlessly admires, feels out of place in the woodrow residence of the day. with the funeral still too recent in their mind, with the guilt that has carved its space in kamon's chest, it feels like it's from another world. foolishly, he wants to be in that world, even for the shortest of moments. "really?" he starts, pulling his legs underneath himself, sitting with crossed legs on the lawn chair. his voice, and overall expression are quieter, detached, yet he holds on to the slivers of hope that she brings. "would you... prefer to live here or there, then?" rests an elbow on the handles of the chair, props his head on his hand, leans towards her, his gaze switches between her face, and the lake laid out in front of them. "could you... tell me about it? how it is back there? i know you- talked about it before but... i'd love to hear it again. the weather, the people- the food. anything and everything." it'll do him good to think of the world outside of this moment. or so he believes.

Frankie paced along the pond shoreline, weaving her way around geese droppings and swampy patches of grass. It was easier than navigating Kevin from HR's ire, evident even down her scratchy AT&T phone line.

"No. Yeah. 'Course. I–" A pause, Frankie's lips parted with an unfinished thought. "I didn't know I– no, totally. No, I get it. I do. It's just, he's my dad. So."

She could feel the oil from her cheek streaking the phone screen after pressing it too tightly to her ear in a desperate bid to catch a hint of grace coming from Kevin's end.

"The leave policies are important, but I thought you might just...excuse it? This one time? I called Linda and she said she would be happy to– yeah. I mean yes, I can hold."

Frankie caught a bit of loose hair at her temple in the crook of her finger, twisting it round and round. When that failed to satisfy, the ends found their way to her mouth for a nibble. Her unfocused gaze caught sight of someone approaching from middle distance, but it didn't register against the rising panic in her chest.

"Hi!" The dangly charm on her phone clattered. "Yes, hi. I'm still here. No, no it's fine." Her steps slowed, then stopped outright. "I mean, that's technically true. But, since the bank is closed on Sundays it's really like I'm missing two days less than that."

A smile was working its way across her face of its own volition, a compulsive reaction. It was too tight at the edge. "No, no, no. That's cool, yeah. We can talk once I'm back. Okay. Thanks!"

Clack.

"Shit."

The lawn chair creaked under her collapsing weight. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into the meat of her palms and knuckles pressed to the sockets of her eyes until she saw sparks behind her eyelids.

So. So no pay for a week. Maybe no job. That was fine! It was, just in a way she couldn't see yet. There was a silver lining somewhere. Okay, maybe more of a bronze one, but she would find it.

A shuddering inhale didn't help in the way Frankie had hoped it would.

Hey, Frankie.

Her head snapped up, that same overly-wide smile already in place. "Oh! Hey, you."

She followed Kamon's gaze out across the water. Everything was calm. The water was placid, the reeds still. Her favorite family of ducks was nowhere to be seen. Something about the tranquility only served to agitate her internal panic and Kamon's question about Italy, even casually meant, compounded things.

"Sure!" She had drunk a slushie at the park near the 7-Eleven a few streets over from the bank she may no longer be employed by just last month. "But you know what they say, there's no place like home."