Frank! fantasy flavor!
rambles:
i really wanted to blend that monk-class inspiration w/ Frank's personal vibe... i like to think that i Succeeded!
i turned his tie into a sort of brooch since, yk. bowties aren't all that Fantastical. they miss the style. also i think they'd be more comfortable with something smaller since he's very active and needs a wide range of maneuverability
i bet Eddie or someone wheedled them into adding the leather shoulder pauldrons - leather to keep it a bit more flexy, and also. it just looks Cool!
figuring out what would replace his vest was tough. i didn't want them to be entirely unprotected, but i couldn't give him straight armor. though i will admit! a sort of tight-fitting crop top was Considered! but i landed on a gambeson vest as the best fit - comfortable, flexible, a Vest, while providing some level of protection! also, gambesons are quilted, which fits Frank's diamond-checkered vest!
ive already mentioned that one of my favorite outfit things is Flowy Pants Tucked Into Boots, so... that choice wasn't very character driven. except the boots are a tall ankle wrap - for that extra stability and strength! their shoes are pretty flexible and are only a few steps away from being slippers.
and the half-skirt - open skirt? - thing (still don't know what its called) is purely some self indulgence. i think Frank looks great in skirts!! also imagining him Throwing Down w/ the added flair of the skirt... damn. it'd probably help confuse enemies too - what're they gonna do next? who knows! the skirt is in the way and adding extra Movement!
i like to think that his knife is either in a sheath attached to the back of the belt, or they have it on their thigh (under the skirt) like Wally's bag. he probably never uses it... punching is the way to go for Frank methinks. it's probably reserved for cutting ropes and fruit
speaking of punching.... wrist wraps! inspired by boxing gauze! pads his knuckles, keeps his wrist compressed, its the best choice for physical combat. though the wrapped knuckles probably always have blood showing through anyway... or no yeah it's mostly other people's blood...
as for scars - Frank probably has quite the collection! i imagine that they've been picking fights since a young age, and in such a dangerous world he probably got hit a Lot until they learned how to hit back. and hit back Well. still, i wanted to give him a cool face scar with a very lame backstory - a book with a crisp, sharp spine corner fell off a high shelf and bonked them in the face at juuuust the right angle <3 he probably stays very fucking quiet about it which makes everyone think there's some intense traumatic backstory behind it. there isn't. Frank's just embarrassed.
closing note: i imagine that Frank has zero magic. literally none. cannot wield it for shit cannot utilize it. he's just like Howdy fr
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MCFLY JULY ‘24 — on the radio.
JULY 15, 1989
Marty sighs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He flexes his hands, rolling his shoulders, trying to work the kink out of his back before getting back to work. That’s pretty much the only downside of tinkering around with various unfinished projects of Doc’s; way too many hours spent hunched over.
“That was Tom Petty with ‘I Won’t Back Down’ here on KWHV 108.3 and I’m your host, Jamie Lee.” The deejay’s voice is sweet and smooth, and he remembers, warmth creeping across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, that Jamie Lee was his first crush. As if it wasn’t enough she was the coolest girl inside the halls of Hill Valley High, outside of school she was the best basketball player and had the best music taste. A triple threat for sure.
“Next up we’ve got something kinda special: a new group that’s been soaring through the charts and sent the music world spinning with their electrifying debut.”
Marty feels his heart quicken in his chest and tries to tell himself to calm down, the radio static buzzing in his head. He drops the screwdriver, which clatters to the table clumsily. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no way in hell she could be talking about–
“So, without further ado, with their lead single ‘Strangerland’ off their album 88, give it up for Hill Valley’s very own hometown boys, McFly and the Flyaways!’
His stomach drops. He’d recognize that opening riff anywhere.
“Future sight can’t help me tonight, tired of waitin’ for time to restart–”
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Holy shit!” he exclaims, leaping to his feet and not even caring that he hits his head on the way up. “Doc! DOC!”
He only feels a little bad when the door gets kicked open and his best friend bursts into the room like he’s goddamn Batman, clad in safety goggles instead of a cape and wielding a fire extinguisher instead of a Batarang.
“MARTY!” Doc cries, looking around like a man possessed, frantic in his search for some threat. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
He runs to the scientist, grasping his upper arms. His face hurts from smiling so much.
“Doc! Doc, listen!”
“—ghosts in my head, there’s a ghost in the mirror that I see instead—" comes his own voice a moment later.
Marty bows his head, grip momentarily tightening. There’s a lump in his throat and when he looks up at Doc again, his blue eyes are watery.
“My song, Doc,” he whispers. An awestruck, dumbstruck, disbelieving smile on his face makes him look all of thirteen again and he couldn’t care less. He lets out a laugh that’s a little too close to a sob for comfort. “They’re playing my song.”
The fire extinguisher falls to the ground with a thud as Doc returns the embrace, holding Marty at arm’s length so tightly he thinks he’ll wake up with bruises in the morning. If Marty thought his own smile was big and stupid, it had nothing on Doc’s.
“Do you know what this means?” he murmurs.
“You were right,” Marty replies. “All the stuff you said to me.”
“If you put your mind to it…” Doc starts, gently.
“…You can accomplish anything,” Marty finishes.
The chorus starts, crackly over the radio, but it’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard.
“Oh, I’m lost in my dreams, fallin' apart at the seams, and time is slippin' through my hand
But I got somethin' to prove, so what have I got to lose?
I'm gonna make it outta this
Strangerland!
I gotta make it outta this
Strangerland!”
“Woah,” Marty laughs, tears sliding down his face. “This is heavy.”
Doc pulls him into a bone-crushing hug which he eagerly returns, the instrumentation that took them weeks to nail blaring in the background.
“You did it, Marty. You made it.”
“I made it,” Marty repeats, as if it’ll make it feel more real. He feels lighter than air and like he’s buzzing with electricity, like he’s flying over a thundercloud. “Holy shit, I made it.” A sudden realization shocks him and his eyes widen. “I-I gotta tell the guys!”
“Go on, go on!” Doc encourages, letting him go, watching him fondly as he almost trips over his feet and the rug trying to make it to the phone in Doc and Clara’s library and study.
However, it’s already ringing when he gets there.
“Yo!” he greets, out of force of habit.
“Marty!” his dad’s warm voice responds.
“Marty, honey, turn on the radio, quick!” his mom jumps in. “They’re playing it! Your, um, your Stranger in a Strange Land song!”
“It’s your song, kiddo!” His dad sounds full to bursting with joy. “And boy, does it sound great!”
He laughs, using his thumb and forefinger in a fruitless attempt to try to stem the flow of tears.
“Thanks, guys.”
“Oh, sweetheart, we’re so happy for you. And so proud of you, too, so proud.” His mom sounds like she’s about to cry, too. “Linda’s taping it and everything and Dave has it playing at the office!”
“We love you, son,” his dad reminds him, “and you’ll be home for dinner, right?”
“Yeah, Dad. I will. Love you too.”
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