In an alternate universe, Simon never joined UG and never met Steven O'Rizzle... but he does meet Mafia dog Frankie Valentine. Though their initial meeting went poorly, they meet again when Simon is near death and Frankie is drunk. (AU:FM Sweet & FM Frankie)
Later in the evening of Mr. Valentine meets Mr. Sutler
Followed by The Threat
<Sweet> LATER THAT EVENING
<Frankie> yaaay! AFTER FRANKIE'S HOT NPC DATE
- Frankie BD... So drunk for it
- Sweet is crying. He's sitting in the gutter, and crying like a child because he just threw up, and it's such a waste and he doesn't know when he'll have another meal that isn't a Vendy bar and it's all his fault. He shouldn't have eaten the burger and fries so fast. Of course his stomach was gonna reject that much food after being so used to nothing. He cries because it's unfair. He'd been full, goddamnit, he'd bought a day or two extra. Now it's four days less. He wipes his mouth on his hoodie, supposing the garment can't get much worse. He cries because his side hurts. Heaving had clenched his muscles, and the fresh scar felt like it was being ripped open from the inside. The night is cold, and he is tired. He can't even bring up the energy to walk to a place that isn't covered in vomit, so he lies down here, carefully avoiding the puddle. He curls in on himself, pulling the gap in his hoodie shut so none of the warmth would escape, an idle hope. Another idle hope that he'll see the morning tomorrow.
<Frankie> SWEET MY BABY ;____________; NOOOO
- QQ HUGS VOMITY SWEET AND HIPPLE AND FEEEEELS
- HIPPLE SOBS AND HUGS QQ. HIPPLE DOESN'T HUG SWEET BECAUSE GROSS
- Frankie giggles as he falls into the brick wall. He'd been trying to waltz as he walked down the street towards his pent house, but though dancing came easy to him in this state, the whole walking thing had thrown him. No one's around- he hums a tiny snippet of the music from tonight- stops immediately when a rat launches itself at him. Zaps it off. "Hahafffucck yer sssself too, maaad'm." Wait... why isn't his date with him... What had happened?? He can't remember. No. Wait... oh. OH. It had been great. He mambos down the street, zigging and zagging, laughing drunkenly. Then slips, falls over a... What. Thing. Rat? No that was earlier. Person? No. Hobo. There. "Whad’r ya fffunk. Fffuckin roun' my lady fer... My dis'ric??" Same difference, he thinks as he essentially kneels on Simon.
- Sweet flinches when somebody falls over him, some drunk- but the pain isn't as bad as it should be. He's becoming numb. The drunk man's knee digs into him and it's just uncomfortable. He's so cold. He sniffs, and looks up. His vision is blurred. He can't even see the man's face. "J'ss... leave me alone, mate..." he croaks, letting his head thunk back on the pavement. He doesn't even care about wiping his eyes, letting others see his weakness.
- Frankie takes a moment for him to recognize that very obvious accent. His face lights up when he does. Literally, sparkles and everything as he gets off Sweet. "Heeeeey~ Heyy yerthat. Dumbssshit. Laayin roun' here. Fucckin." An idea occurs to him, lighting him up even brighter with happiness. "Doooya danshh, Mr. Sssutll.. sut. Sss. Slut-" he giggles at the word and give up, pulling Simon up into a waltz frame, oblivious to the smell of vomit and near-death reeking from the man.
- Sweet sobs when he's pulled up, his exhausted body not being able to handle it, and slumps bonelessly against Frankie. He tries to push at the man with his Vibe, but he can't even manage that anymore. All his energy goes into crying. "Please," he begs, "Just leave me alone..."
- Frankie is irritated by Sweet's terrible form- "Hipsh parralllul ta me, sssur-?" but the sobbing amazingly gets his drunken focus off dancing. "Whhad're.. Hey.. Hey no don’. Don’- ssttopit." He's finally floating and happy after all this misery today...everyday, and the kid goes and starts crying?? Frankie hugs him, at a loss. "Noo.. shhh is'ok. Youshhtil hungry...?? Hyere no, ssstop, isss'ok sssweetie." He rubs the filthy man consolingly, swaying slightly as he leans against/supports him.
- Sweet buries his head into Frankie's chest, soaking his shirt in his tears. By now, he's figured out who the drunk is, and it's just so unfair that the man is all he has right now. "I threw up," he says, and he hates how weak his voice sounds but he can't even bring himself to care. "I threw up my last chance and it's my fault, just let me die in peace..."
- Frankie rubs Sweet's back, clumsy but soft, slurring reassurance, kind of on autopilot. But Simon's hopeless voice breaks through the sleepy fog. A single clear thought makes it through... He was so young... "Issok, love, noo one'sh mad atdya, lessss jush... gettya home an cleanshup..." he says softly to Sweet, in the exact gentle, affectionate tone he used with his youngest brother when he'd wet the bed. "No onesh dyin, an daaddy don' got'da knowsh. Here yash are, donyou cry." he stumbles a moment and lifts the kid up in his arms, so light, that the only obstacle here is Frankie's inebriation.
<Sweet> thinks about the au where sweet is 16 here
<Sweet> cries deeplyno omg thats the worst i'm sorry sweet
<Frankie> wwwaah 8m8???
- Sweet holds on loosely to Frankie's suit, glad that he doesn't have to stand anymore. He can't remember anybody holding him like this since... "mom..." As the drunk man staggers along, he drifts in and out of consciousness, feeling his strength seeping away through every pore. He feels like he'll throw up again, only there's nothing in his stomach to come out anymore. He wills himself to pass out, dreaming of his mother's arms.
- Frankie stares blankly when the boy calls for his mother... it does wonders to focus him on his task, and he stumbles home. Tripping frequently into walls, trash cans, vendys, with each fall he protects the man in his arms fiercely from his own gracelessness, muttering curses and sweet nothings. It's miraculous that he makes it to his building- it always was. The doorman helps him to his door, sympathy replacing usual annoyance when he sees the drunk bastard was aiding someone, impossibly, in a worse state than himself for once. Frankie immediately goes to the restroom. Baths. Gotta bathe. He tries to clean Sweet up, running hot water, clumsily peeling off the grime-slick jacket. Still cooing like Sweet's his own flesh and blood.
- Sweet wakes up to the sound of running water and soft words. Well, not wakes up, exactly, but he regains enough consciousness to grasp the bare basics of what is happening. "Wh... what..." he rasps. Wasn't he dying a second ago? He still feels like he's dying, in any case. But he doesn't feel hopeless anymore. Somebody's caring for him, taking off his clothes- "Valentine..." His head drops down to his chest. It's the first time he sees himself naked since the incident. Fuck, he's thin... Nearly all of his muscles had been eaten up by his body, just so it could clutch to every last reserve of energy. The scar stands bright red against the rest of his body, which is already a network of aged marks, the largest one running over his chest and ending under his jaw. But it's going to be alright. "Thank..." he tries.
- Frankie tests the water -Good. Joe was really sensitive to heat- then brushes a warm cloth dotingly over Sweet's filthy cheek. He vaguely knows this is a starving, scarred stranger, not his baby brother, but feels the same affection as if it was... In his spinning mind, it's hard to hold both thoughts long enough to inspect them carefully, so he instead busies himself with cleaning. He kisses Sweet's greasy head when he attempts to thank him, then proceeds to swiftly peel off the ruined pants. Underwear too. Frankie’s not particularly respectful of Simon's privacy. "In yassh get." He hums, before carefully going to lift Simon towards the warm soapy water.
- Sweet hisses when he hits the water. It's hot, and it soothes him immediately. He isn't really in a state to feel embarrassed about his nudity right now. A bath. He can't believe it, he's in a bath. A small smile grows on his face. The water feels amazing against his skin, even if he can't do much more in it than soak. He can feel weeks-old grime wash off him just by lying down. He almost wants to cry again.
- Frankie starts scrubbing at Sweet with soap and cloth, going through the nightly routine he'd learned to do with his eyes closed during his childhood. Frankie's eyes are closed, he's nearly nodded off- when something’s wrong?? Each of Joe's ribs can be felt- He's starving, they all were. Oh god, he needs to go back to work, to buy food- Frankie wakes up. "WAh?!...Mr. Sssutl.S Ah. Sssorry." The world hazily reorients itself into spinning normality. "Ohh waida minnn.. Yer hungry." He disappears in a gyrating, stumbling flash, and after some long minutes of curses, thudding, and a single crash, he returns with a carton of cream. "Trried..em.. wasshit. Russsshin drink. Fffuckn... Ssssugar crap." Frankie falls/sits at the side of the tub and offers Simon the closest thing he has to food in his house.
<Sweet> wow gj frankie
<Frankie> lol wat
<Sweet> do some groceries
<Frankie> lol all he eats is alcohol
- Frankie omnomnom
<Sweet> good eatin'
- Sweet shakily takes hold of the carton and puts it to his mouth. He wants to chug it, he wants it all in his stomach immediately, but he's learned his lesson, now. Small sips. With every sip, the hunger fades slightly. Not completely, but enough. He can even feel his Vibe waking up, and he sends Frankie a brief, weak feeling of gratefulness. It's easier than talking.
- Frankie slumps against the wall, lightly batting at Sweet's skin with the cloth. "Theresha good boy... No oneshh ev'r mad atya..." He can feel the gratitude. Frankie weeps. Kid deserved so much more than stupid, useless Francis, but he still went to lengths to thank him... "M.. msorry I wassn' th'r fers yass, befffore..." He stops for a moment, dozing, but wakes with a start. "Wonnever do it ag'n... Prr'missse."
- Sweet finishes his carton of cream and turns to look at Frankie. The man looked almost as tired as he was. He couldn't count on him to get him out of the bath, so he does it himself, torturously slow. He's still incredibly weak, but at least he can move again, even if it's just at a turtle's pace. He picks up a towel and dabs himself with it a bit, until he gives up on that and just winds it loosely around his hips. Sweet puts a hand on Frankie's shoulder. "You oughtta go to bed, sir..." He pulls at him a little- it must feel about the same as having a small butterfly pull on you. "Catch some sleep."
- Frankie 's breathing slows while Sweet makes it out of the tub on his own. His eyelids flutter at the sudden hand on his shoulder. "Na..naa..." Frankie slowly flops a hand at Simon dismissively, eyelids lifting only a hairs breadth. He doesn't even notice Simon's light tug. "G'Na.. sshow'r firss.. In'a sssecon." His hand slides to his side, and he's completely still except for the rise and fall of his chest.
- Sweet panics a little. Frankie's fast asleep and practically leaving him alone again, only he has no idea where he has to go. Shuffling, and supporting himself by leaning on the walls, he goes searching for the bedroom. After about ten minutes of this, he opens his third door and... bingo. He grabs two blankets and a pillow, and makes his way back to the bathroom... slowly. He drapes one blanket over the man carefully, then turns to leave the room again. He drops the pillow on the floor in the hallway and lies down on it, wrapping his blanket around him and thanking God for carpets. He's asleep in seconds, and won't wake up for a couple of days, except to eat.