In an alternate universe, Simon never joined UG and never met Steven O'Rizzle... but he does meet Mafia dog Frankie Valentine. (AU:FM Sweet & FM Frankie)

Initial Setting:

Purple District


A few months after the War of '99

Followed by Joining the Payroll


<Sweet> i'm finally rping mafia!au Sweet (gotta do all the aus, bro)

<Frankie> 8m8 gassssp

<Sweet> And uh i kind of want it so that he works for Frankie, but like... as a valet of sorts.. personal assistant... but his main job is to, during Frankie's... 'interrogations', to say if the guy's telling the truth. So when Frankie's like, torturing someone or whatever, he just sits there. and watches. until he's called upon

  • Frankie isn't used to having an audience for that kind of thing at all... Frankie is not classy enough for FM Sweet B|
  • Sweet is not that classy :1

<Sweet> together they are a Guy Ritchie movie

<Frankie> LOL ...if he dances with Frankie, or gets exposed to his enhancing vibe a lot, (A LOT) his vibe gets perma stronger. This DOESN'T COME UP OFTEN HIPPLE AHHHH

<Sweet> hell the fuck yes i was like

  • Sweet Alright, sir. Sweet’s doomed to never be in charge in any au. Sweet’s ok with it. Sweet turns crazy if he's in charge

<Frankie> idk, if he wants to manipulate Frankie with his vibe, he'd ha ve avery simple time at it. However, he will kill you if he figures it out *u*

<Sweet> yeah lol. idk i think he wouldn't, unless it's like "you're about to make a terrible mistake so i'm gonna knock u out ok" or with permission to calm him down

<Frankie>daw.... omg... Frankie got as strong as he is cause Poppy controlled his emotions enough for him to figure shit out... he'd be really really powerful with Sweet =n=

  • Frankie vibe based on emotions that strengthens the usuall weak emotion vibes? A+

<Sweet> best team aw yeah. only sweet's a dirty traitor. being a double/triple/quadruple/snape agent for DOVE. whatever's best for him

<Frankie> oh man, Frankie would tell Sweet stories about DOVE. And then laugh at Sweet

  • Frankie kid, I thought you were smart

<Sweet> the handy thing about being the only one able to tell if someone's telling the truth is that you can lie about it, unless it's GLARINGLY OBVIOUS. "...lying" "WHAT! NO, IT'S THE TRUTH, I SWEAR, TELL HIM OH G-AUGHGHGHH"

  • Sweet casually smokes cigarette

<Frankie> best team -w- this would be the nastier Mafia au =w=

<Sweet> yup where the mafia is > more like an actual Mafia

  • Frankie was torturing people in canon too though B|

<Frankie> yeaaa

  • Sweet does stuff for Frankie idk. Sweet helps him with his coat, drives his car and that

<Frankie> helps him home when he's blackout drunk?

  • Frankie has a guy in canon for that. Trusts him more than most of his friends.
  • Sweet shoves canon guy out of the way. Im replacing u

<Frankie> Tom no ;o ; ....speaking of which, how didhe get assigned to Frankie?? WAS IT TREACHERY OR WHAAT

<Sweet> idk!

<Frankie> hmmmm... he's not used to having an assistant... a partner he doesn't get along with and nearly kills, yes..

<Sweet> hahaha his backstory is that his parents got killed by square-haters from FM or something and he spent a while on the street, learned to fight, and then he was like "woops gonna join FM". He doesn't use Sullivan as his name either so as to not arouse any suspicion.

  • Sweet Sweet Simon Sutler. Sounds alright, eh

<Sweet> so idk how he'd meet Frankie then... Maybe he comes into a spot of bother involving him and frankie then finds out he's an emotion manipulator and is like "ooh tell you what, instead of beating you up you i'll let you work for me, i've got a guy and i'm not sure if he's telling the truth" and sweet's like "omg joining the mafia? but my pareeeeents" but then he's like "hm i can totally bring down the mafia from within," but then woops he likes Frankie. he still wants to bring down the Mafia but he'll follow Frankie into the grave

<Frankie> cry whattt?? CRY

  • Frankie is an idiot violent derp what are you doing FM Sweet???

<Sweet> dumb Hufflepuff

<Frankie> SOB... Hm. Was he ever UG? :uc

<Sweet> well kind of? i mean he lived in the ug district, but he didn't really want any part in things like that

  • Frankie But he didn't fight for Dorian or anything? Frankie would not be able to reconcile that B|

<Sweet> naw

<Frankie> =w=

<Sweet> i'm sure there's little gangs of street kids that don't want to be part of the system, they just want to survive... so maybe a bit bandito? let's go with bandito, driven to live somewhere near the morris dancers where everything is dangerous and scary... Cry. Sweet was a very angry child

  • Frankie ....ok now maybe we are finding common ground...

<Sweet> omg i just have this vision of Frankie grabbing a younger Sweet angrily by the arm for idk stealing something or whatever

<Frankie> 83 vandalizing cars would do it

<Sweet> oh god

  • Frankie fucking love those things 8,U
  • Sweet keys a ca. A fancy one

Sweet> the was what, 2 years from current rp? So he’s like 19-20... aren't you a bit old to be keying cars, idiot

  • Sweet Nope lol
  • Frankie >BI
  • Sweet woops
  • Sweet BOOKS IT

<Frankie> if it was right after the war Simon get's to mean unstable as fuck Frankie

<Sweet> well not right after the war. let's allow Frankie enough time to settle into fm

  • Frankie ZAPS AFTER THE FUCKING BASTARD. Frankie's very likely drunk.
  • Frankie shrinks back??! What "What'a fuck?!" His whole body goes live, sparking explosively. "OI SSTOP FUCKIN' MY DISTRICST"
  • Sweet pulls desperately at his arm, trying to get away from the sparks, dang that's hella scary. "GET OFF ME YA FOKKIN' PSYCHO WANKER" It'd be smarter to project his fear to make the man let go, but hell if he'll admit to being scared. Sweet pulls and tugs at Frankie's mind as well as his arm.

<Sweet> so much more british

<Frankie> eeeee

  • Frankie skirts away from Simon, confused and angry. Mostly angry. "YOU FUCK, COMIN' IN HERE RUININ SHIT! FOR WHAT?! FOR WHAT?!" He demands in a scream as the air fills with uncomfortable buzzing.

<Sweet> omg is this that buzzing that messes with sweet? yes

<Frankie> not intentional, just... angry vibe spill

  • Sweet whips his arm back and makes a movement as if to run, but suddenly there's a buzzing in the air and in his head and he can't concentrate on anything. Everything is fuzzy and weird. He'd never been able to answer the question of why he did what he did, he just... did it, but now he wouldn't be able to answer anyway. "Ahhh..." he moans, staggering. "Stop th', yer maniac-"
  • Frankie snarls at the bastard. People like HIM were the reason for the war. Fighting, vandalizing, ruining EVERY FUCKING THING, PISSING PEOPLE OFF- FOR WHAT?! WHY?!! "MANIAC?! ME?! WHEN YER THE MOTHERFUCK RUININ THIS CITY?!" The street glows, nearby metal crackles a response to Frankie's power. He walks towards Simon.
  • Sweet shoots Frankie a glare, which is considerably reduced in power when his nose starts dripping blood like a faucet all over his hoodie. Shakily, he puts himself in a defensive stance, but a small wind could probably knock him over "'s juss a c-car, bruv..." he says. He knows that this time, he's messed with someone too powerful to make this end well. Oh well. Life expectancy rates weren't that high round his parts of the city, anyway. He'd been expecting something like this.

<Frankie> is he sending out any kind of emotion? <8(c

<Sweet> yes, verrryy faultily because of the buzzing.

<Frankie> it doesn't take much /u\

<Sweet> just... angry and kind of resigned, but still a bit scared. he can't really stop sending the scared in the state he's in even though he'll never admit to it

  • Frankie A tiny flicker of fear makes it through his shield. That's all it takes to overwrite his frenzied rage. He darts to the wall, still covered in protective static, but the overspill of noise internal and external, fades. He's going to die. But it's alright. He'd died a few months ago, this is just him catching up. Still, he's not /allowed/ to die. He cowers against the wall defensively, knife up.
  • Sweet gasps, and falls to his knees when the buzzing stops. He heaves a few times, but nothing comes up- his nose is not letting up, though. He palms his own knife in his pocket; not a very good one, but he spends a lot of time sharpening it. He drags himself up, wiping the blood off his face, and advances upon Frankie. He looks murderous. He wants to run. But a man who can do /that/ can't be allowed to live. "The fock wuzzat? I'll feckin' kill yer, ya lunatic-" He slashes at Frankie, eyes wide, trying to kill him out of fear.
  • Frankie feels Sweet's hatred for himself intensely. But of all the emotions he could have sent, this one doesn't affect him at all. He can't hate himself more, you see. Frankie nimbly avoids the knife- all that footwork practice wasn't just good for mamboing- and sends a massive jolt at the other man without touching him. It's his fault. Stupid goddamned fuck was to blame for ALL THIS. But though his thoughts are irrational, Sweet's vibe stops him from going into a blood frenzy.
  • Sweet "BUGger-" He gets thrown backwards from the jolt, and his entire body feels like it's on fire. He lands on his back on the pavement, hard, and it knocks all the breath out of him. There's a big, scorched hole in his hoodie and his knife fell down somewhere, he can't see it. His side hurts. The jolt hit him just under his heart, and he smells burning flesh. As a last act of rebellion, he sends the pain to the rich bloke, but he knows full well that it was a him-or-me situation, and he lost. His breathing is fast and shallow, pupils dilated, but underneath the panic there's a certain calm, slowly overtaking him. Relief, even. He doesn't want to die, but he's not going to fight it if it comes. But if he sends that calm to the other man... it might spare him for long enough to crawl to a vendy and run.
  • Frankie the scent of cooked meat chokes him- He's going to vomit- He's back in the war and everyone's dead and he can't live like this-?! His panic and horror mix with Sweet’s vibe, and Frankie collapses into a quivering ball of light. He lays there forever, lost, when something washes through him- emotion- calming him?! Poppy?! SHE'S ALIVE- HE KNEW IT- Frankie leaps to his feet, deadly vibe instantly turning to gentle enhancing. He looks around wildly, running when he doesn't see her- "Where are you???"he pleads. But by then, the calm has taken hold. She's not here. Ok. Ok. Ok. His eyes search blindly around, landing on Sweet. Ok. He walks over to him. Stares at him in silence, looking hollow and VERY calm.
  • Sweet has to gasp for air to breathe. Exhaling hurts, and he feels unconsciousness tug at him, but he fights it. He can still turn this around. Tears of pain roll down his face, and he stares up at Frankie, wide-eyed. Stares into his soul, and he's surprised at what he sees. "You- hhh-" he forces out, "You lost- hhh- so much..." He closes his eyes for just a second, making his peace, and opens them to meet his killer's gaze again. "hhhh. Do it, then... hhh... I'm ready."
  • Frankie watches Simon, almost disinterested as the knife is pulled again. Monsters needed to be stopped. That's all there is to.. it? His heart stops at Simon's words. Not figuratively- He flares with crackling, blinding light as his vibe stops him from keeling over. Frankie tries to speak- No words come. Strands of uncontrolled vibe leap out of him, all over the street. It's only chance that it doesn't hit Sweet. "Y-you fucker" he whispers. "You don't- FUCK YOU. You don't know shit." He'd kill him right there, but he can't move. He can't even remember how to force his erratic vibe to behave.
  • Sweet chokes out a rattling cough. He'd never been in this much pain and he wants it to just /end/, and to top it off Frankie's feelings are taking him back to a time he remembers too well, eight years old and hiding in a kitchen cabinet and- "hhh- I can- hhh- feel it, hhhh, I'm sorry, hhhh-" The 'please' is on the tip of his tongue, but no matter how much he wants to right now, he can't bring himself to beg for a quick death. He'd rather lay here for hours, slowly fading away. "hhh... justfuckin' kill-hhh-me-HHH-" He can't speak anymore, it hurts too much, so he just lies there and stares at Frankie.

<Hipple> Sweet's projecting resignation, less fear but still afraid that he's going to be left there like that and just do it already, and also a bit of sympathy for Frankie

  • Frankie doesn't care at all about the pathetic begging. They always begged. But as he stares down into the surprisingly young face, some tiny part of him considers mercy for the poor, angry kid... FUCK. No. Even if he wanted to spare this asshole... he's probably already done irreparable damage... that's how his vibe works, no matter how much he hates it, he needs to accept that... But if he does kill him, Francis will be alone, slowly dying of grief, thinks a strange part of his mind as the vibe overwhelms his rational thoughts... Frankie recoils back when Sweet continues speaking, voicing the thought that had accompanied him into every fight since '99. "You wanna die?" he asks with soft severity, knife still poised..
  • Sweet can't hold it in anymore- he sobs in pain, completely immobilized. After so long, he couldn't make it to a vendy himself if he tried. "Y-yes!" he cries out. "Hhhh- My life-HHhh- Is worth nothing- /hhhhHH/-" The tears run down his face. "It h-hhHHhhhurts," he chokes out. "HHHhyou can stop it, hh FOR FUCK'S SAKE JUST END IT."
  • Frankie is more than willing to help this kid with his request. This guy was absolutely right. A worthless person's only solution is death. There's no point in living. Frankie's blade slowly travels to his own throat. It hurts. Living hurts. This was the only solution... As the razor edge draws his sparking blood, the sharp pain cuts though the vibe emotions. A sharp voice interrupts his misery- FRANCIS YOU FUCKING IDIOT YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DIE. "You aren't worthless," he recites aloud, eyes glazed. "You ain't allowed ta die, cause I love you. Even if I'm not there ta tell you." Again he looks at Sweet, or maybe just through him. Hauls him up, covering him in faint gold light. "Even if you hate yourself. You can't." He carries Sweet, slow but very steady. For a heartbeat, Frankie's glow shapes into... Someone... a woman? Or maybe nothing at all...

<Sweet> does the faint gold light mean he's fixing him up?

<Frankie> na, Frankie can’t heal, it just makes other's vibes stronger, dances better, maybe a little euphoric feeling

  • Sweet is extremely, extremely confused at Frankie's confession of love. "You- hhh- what?" There's probably something else behind it, he can feel it, but he doesn't have the time to contemplate it because suddenly he's picked up and the pain is so terrible he can't even scream. Oh God. What the hell is happening? He looks at himself and he's gold. Hallucinating. The end is near. Thank God.
  • Frankie feels horrible pain emanating from Sweet- But without the accompanying physical sensation, it's all emotional. He's alone. He's so goddamn alone and it's all his fault and now this stupid fuck was gonna stab him in the back while he carried him to a vendy because Frankie’s a gullible motherfucking imbecile... Let him.... Frankie's thoughts spiral. By the time they reach the machine, he’s blind from emotional anguish. Mechanically, he sets Simon inside, turns it on, then collapses into a fetal position, crushed with agony.
  • Sweet tries not to bite off his tongue as he's set in the Vendy. He can't help but let out a scream as it's turned on. Every nerve ending around the wound turns live, bringing back the pain as if he were getting shot again. Only this time, in reverse. The pain flared up- then disappeared. Suddenly, he could breathe again, and Simon shoots a hand out to the Vendy window, gasping for delicious air. Just as soon as it started, it was over. . His nose had stopped bleeding and the pain was gone, save for a dull ache in his side. Gingerly, he touches and examines where the wound was. A fresh-looking scar had replaced it. He'd never had much money for Dr. Vendy's, and can't believe that their power runs to such an extent. He feels something niggling at his vibe, and remembers- the rich bloke! Sweet stumbles out of the Vendy, still wobbly, and sees him lying there, in pain. Oh, that's his. Gingerly, careful not to get attacked again, he crawls over and puts a gentle hand on his head for easier workings. He finds the pain that's rightfully his, isolates it, and swiftly erases it from Frankie's mind. He sits back and stares at him until he recovers, knees hugged to his chest.
  • Frankie shudders when the hand touches him, SO ready to make the final plunge. The loneliness and guilt and shame and helplessness fade back to the heart-crushing yet tolerable levels he'd been dealing with before. He's confused by the sudden let up... had he died? Frankie looks up from his tense ball. The kid. "What're ya still fuckin' doin' here?" he tries to snarl intimidatingly, but it comes out weak, almost a sob.
  • Sweet honestly doesn't know. He should be running away right now, preferably with the bloke's wallet. But he's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he isn't dead right now. "You could have killed me..." he says softly. "But you didn't." He doesn't know if he's disappointed or grateful. He looks at his feet. It's not the time to be smooth. "Why?"
  • Frankie scowls when Sweet doesn't answer him. But he's too shaken for anger. He wants to crawl in the vendy himself, to get rid of the emotional pain, the scar- but vendies didn't work like that. And he hated them, anyhow. And he deserves this pain. "Yea. I coulda." He answers cryptically. As if he's going to tell this stranger what had gone through his mind just then. "But yer too pathetic," he lies hatefully. "Scratchin cars, hardly a vibe ta speak of? Tch." Frankie stands up- stumbles up. He can barely walk. He needs a drink so bad it hurts. "Ain't worth the mess."
  • Sweet stands up with the other man, also shaking on his feet and clutching his side. Fuck, that still aches. "And you, wealthy Mafia man who has so much, while we have so little." He looks him up and down, but can't bring up the sneer he wants to. His loss... Nearly everyone on the island has suffered such loss, himself included, countless times over. Everyone he'd ever cared for had been taken from him. He shouldn't feel sympathy. "But it can't replace them, can it?" Slowly, Simon raises his hand again and places it on the side of the man's face. Closing his eyes in concentration, he pushes the man's painful memories back in his mind- he doesn't erase it, of course, just... Makes it feel like it hadn't been brought up in a while. He owes this man. "It might not be strong, but it's still good for something."

<Sweet> i imagine Sweet still having mentors and friends to help him grow up, because an eight year old can't do that shit himself. but they're all dead, now. he has a lot of anger

<Frankie> 8m8 sob

  • Frankie has so much?? After a lifetime of complete poverty, it's hard to wrap his head around... but... he did, didn't he, now that he’s finally accepted that the island was really and truly cut off forever, and everyone he'd loved and cared for was dead. His mind wanders to the club he'd been planning on buying with her, and running with his family. The intense misery, just as bad as when Sweet had given him the vibe pain, nearly sends Frankie comatose again. What was he doing out here?! Why wasn't he hiding in a bar?! HE NEEDS A DRINK OH GOD OH GOD- Frankie doesn't hear the question or notice Sweet approach him, so lost in his mind. Static doesn't even appear to protect him. He's dead inside... But suddenly Frankie's floating. In a daze, he stares at Simon, eyes empty. Without the pain, what else is there?
  • Sweet bites his lip. Okay, maybe too far back. So this guy needs the pain to function. He can understand that. He swipes his thumb against the man's forehead, bringing it forward just a smidgen, making sure Frankie was just having what he called a Good Day. "You alright, sir?"
  • Frankie shakes his head and backs away from Sweet. What had the kid done... "Yer messin with my head-?" The street remains dark and silent, but inside Frankie's mind, a deafening buzz blares as he shields it. Too late, obviously. "I'm fin-n-ne. All right-t-t. Niczee meet-tin ya. If ya wanna die szzo bad, go find-d szzome other mizzzrable baszzt-tard. I'm hit-tin'a bar." He turns away.
  • Sweet looks around himself nervously. He'd happily let Frankie go, if not for one thing, one small little doubt. Whenever he had used his vibe just now, the other man felt a spark of devastating recognition. They'd never seen each other before, so... "Did they-" He pauses, not knowing what to say. "...Have the same vibe as me? The person you lost?" He rubs the back of his neck, letting his dirty hair fall in front of his face. "I'm sorry, it's just- I've never met someone with my vibe before, never met anyone who even knew anyone- I don't know how..." he trails off. It's not the right time or person to ask, but he has to know.
  • Frankie stops. He hadn't talked about her to anyone since she died- who would have even cared to listen?? The question.. it wasn't profound or complicated... but her vibe was her soul. The words spill out before he can stop, memories of her so sharp and clear, the static shield over his thoughts stands no chance... "She was a telepath..." He looks through Simon, at something very far gone. "They thought she was jamdeaf, at first. So weak... it only worked with other people, see??” His voice wavers but he continues. “ Partner dancin'... She loved it more’n anythin'...." Frankie swallows hard. He needs to stop. He can't. "... We danced. Every day, all night, till we couldn’t even move, sometimes....” Frankie almost smiles. “It made her vibe strong... I don't- She never did emotions, exactly but... it was like, if someone tells ya they love ya..? It ain't like they're doin nothin’ magic, but you feel happy. In yer bones. In yer soul.... It was like that. But without words... and so much more, cause ya knew, she wouldn’t lie ta ya. She loved ya, no matter what ya did. Even if you were a huge fuckup, she loved ya..." his voice breaks. He's out of words.
  • Sweet gulps. He's known such love. "I'm sorry." But he shouldn't be. Neither he nor Frankie were the only ones to know this feeling and lose it. He looks down and palms his pocket, happily surprised to find that his cigarettes made it through unscathed. He lights one. "What was her name?"
  • Frankie is drained. He studies Simon calmly. How was this man going to use this information against him, to hurt him? It’s a little late for that question, though. "Yer sorry. Hah. Everyone's lost someone. Ain't no big thing," he dismisses Sweet's apology coldly, though he doesn't know where the words are coming from. It's like someone else is talking... Scratch the bar, he's gonna try that wire thing again, see if his heart can take a few more minutes this time... He resumes watching Simon, seeming calm, feeling calm, but over every calculation and idle thought, a voice in his head is repeatedly screaming her name.
  • Sweet frowns when the rich bloke tells him something he already knows. But... that's not right. Saying such a thing doesn't matter feels... insulting to him, somehow. To show him, he wrenches his eyes shut in concentration. "P...pop-py. Poppy." He opens them again and raises himself up again, glaring. "A loss like that can destroy a man. I could use it to make people hurt themselves, kill themselves." He clenches and unclenches his fists. "So don't you say it 'ain't no big thing', Mafia Man."
  • Frankie wretches as the physical pain of being punched in the gut hits him when Sweet says her name. Instantly, she appears at his side again, smiling sadly. Over the last months, he'd finaly realized that she's not real... but.... Maybe this time...? As he wrestles with the uncertainty, Simon's words sink in, the threat. Poppy's expression turns livid and Frankie's vibe goes live again. He lunges at Sweet, grabbing his shirt. The only thing stopping him from killing the boy is her insistent protests. "You will not use her," he hisses out sparks, entire body glowing beneath the skin. It was a miracle Sweet wasn't cooking. It was Poppy. "You monster, YOU WILL NOT USE HER LIKE THAT"
  • Sweet meets Frankie's gaze stoically. He realizes the man can change his mind about sparing him any second, and he won't ruin his chances of survival by panicking again. "I could," he explains, "But I wouldn't. You're right- Everyone's lost someone, sometimes more or sooner than others. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt." Without wanting to, he projects the feelings that go with his own memories- Mississippi Gene, John Hopeless, Adam... his parents. He blinks, and breathes out cigarette smoke through his nose. "It's a Big Thing because people with money and power like you have it too. And what you do, affects people like me. Emotions will always be more powerful than what you'd like to admit."
  • Frankie shut up shut up shut up- But he fails to saying it out loud, fails to drown out Sweet's words. And he's hit with the emotions- he doesn't know who they are, just fills in his own faces and memories- his dance crew. The Daily brothers. Mr. C. His little baby brothers, sisters... ma. He flings Sweet away with an anguished cry as he flares blindingly. The lights all over the districts crackle dead, canned music everywhere silences. "YOU ASSFUCKIN DUMBSHIT, I WAS LYING TO YOU. FOR AN EMOTION VIBE YOU'RE THE GODDAMNED DENSEST CUNT I EVER LAID EYES ON. YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW IT'S A BIG MOTHERFUCKING DEAL?!"

<Sweet> sob what needs to happen for Frankie to offer him a job tho hmm

<Frankie> umm..shit. maybe grab a drink with him. or look pathetic and hungry. He's gullible still here too. but talking about emotions is 99% failure rate

<Sweet> ok wait he leaves now, and a few days later frankie sees him begging on the street sitting on a street corner with a cup "got some cred, mate?"

<Frankie> I can't see him offering a job at all, honestly... but if Sweet follows him around, it can just happen <Sweet> "get a job" "give me one, then"

<Sweet> hmmmm

<Frankie> hmmm

  • Sweet stares Frankie down for another ten seconds, then raises his arm in a gesture of peace, backing off. "Right, then. I'm sorry." he says, smiling bitterly. "Look, you spared my life. Means that I owe you one. If you ever wanna collect that debt, ask for Sutler." He takes a deep bow, even barring the back of his neck to Frankie, before turning and running off. Fast, and hoping the man wouldn't send a bloody lightning bolt after him. When he returns to his camp, a rusty, broken volkswagen van in a rubbish dump on the edge of Morris territory, it's empty. He curses and looks around to find if the thieves left anything, but no. Clothes, extra cred, gone. Not that there was much there, but still. It'd been a couple of months hard work to get that together. He sighs. It's not the first time this happened.

A Week Later

  • Sweet Back to the streets, then. A week later, he's still in clothes with a massive charred hole in it, exposing his scar. He hasn't eaten in two days, and he's hungry, sitting against a Vendy in a popular FM shopping district with an empty paper cup in his hands, raised to passersby. One of these sneers at him and he gives a fake smile back. "Got some cred, mate?" He scowls when the woman with the fancy shoes walks away from him. "Yeah I didn't think so, ya cunt."
  • Frankie scowls as he strolls down the same street. Just 'lost' another business partner. Runnin through them like tissue. Motherfuck couldn't pull off a basic box step, yet had the nerve ta call Frankie a useless drunk?! He's throwing off sparks when a lovely woman catches his eye. She smiles at him. His vibe calms and he gives her an easy smile. Okay, today wasn't going to be a total loss..
  • Sweet stares forlornly at his last cigarette, contemplating whether or not he should smoke it. Oh how he wants it, yet, doesn't want it gone. A clack in his cup. "Cheers, sir," he tells the man who nods awkwardly at him. "Not even enough to buy me a bloody fag, but yeah, cheers," he mumbles to his back. He looks around for potential investors. Alas, they all looked like cocks. But wait- oh /ho/. It's Messed Up Rich Bloke. What a pleasant surprise. He decides to wait until he notices him, but does say "Got some extra cred, bruv?" a bit louder to the next arse.
  • Frankie flirts with the woman for a while. What's a pretty lady like yerself doin out in this heat? You like dancin? Ah' course ya do~... By the time he's done, he's got a phone numbers and date at a ritzy club. He whistles happily- a single note escapes- before he stops in abject terror. Did anyone hear it? No. It would be obvious if they had. He looks around cautiosly, and spots the beggar. About to shoo it away when he catches that distinct accent. FUCK.

<Sweet> hahahahaha

  • Sweet smiles cheerily at Frankie and waves. "Alright, sir?" He raises his cup. "Spare some change?" He knows he looks terrible, perhaps even worse than when he was dying on the ground. He'd washed off the blood at a water fountain, but the grime had stayed. He'd never regained his strength after the incident, so he looked thin, heavy bags under his eyes.
  • Frankie "What they fuck are you doin back in my district, kid??" He takes in the details of Sweet's appearance in a quick glare. Peers at the near empty cup, but Simon's hollow face already informs him of Sweet's luck with spare cred. "Why the hell don' ya get a vendy bar, shitface??" He hisses, ordering one from the machine immediately and tossing it at the dumbfuck that would rather look pathetic than live. He'd seen hard times, but /never/ resorted that this kinda leeching. "Get a fucking job dickface, elsewise go to another motherfucking district an sit on their filthy streets instead."

<Sweet> completely forgot about vendy bars woops. They're free, right?

<Frankie> Yea, but i think they like, kinda leave you on the cusp of malnourished... just not dead....also they taste like shit :D

  • Sweet scowls at the Vendy bar. Disgusting. He's had enough of those the past few days. He pockets it anyway, and glares up at Frankie. "How the fuck am I supposed to get a job, Mafia Man? Are you gonna give me one, looking like this?" He gestures at himself. He jerks his head at the other. "G'wan, then. Give us a job, mate."
  • Frankie growls at Sweet's reaction to the free food. "Oh, now yer some big shot, too good for Vendy bars?? I lived on those pieces'a crap my whole life, you see me complainin?" He could smack the starving motherfucker again for his pride alone. If only this weren't such a public place, and he wasn't so close to a bar... No, scratch the last part, actually. "Find somebody who don't give a shit about appearances, goddamit. There's such thing as delivery. No one fuckin cares, long as yer on time." He pulls Sweet up roughly. "I ain't got work fer ya." He drags Sweet away from the street. "It ain't like I can hire nobody anyhow, so fuckin scram."
  • Sweet snorts, and wheels his arms around for balance when he's dragged along. "Yeah well, tell that to the bloody employers, ya pillock." He smirks, as he gets an idea. "Anyhow, I know who you are, Valentine. I did some research, heard the rumours. Seems to me you're the kind of bloke what could use an assistant." Should Frankie employ him, that would be... brilliant. Straight to the top of the FM. Where he could do a lot more harm to the organization than keying cars and pick-pocketing.

<Frankie> CX Oh Simon <3

  • Frankie is on the verge of sympathy with the whole judgmental fucking employers thing when Simon relays that he's been researching Frankie. That really rubs his paranoia the wrong way. "Fuck off kid. You hang around any longer and you'll get a repeat performance of the other week. Yer clothes simply couldn't take it," he jokes darkly. But a tiny pang of guilt too. He remembered owning a single shirt.... GOD FUCK THIS GRIMEY BASTARD, GOING ON AN REMINDING HIM OF SHIT. Frankie walks off without another word, making a beeline for the bar just down the street.
  • Sweet follows Frankie quickly, reaching out to grab his shoulder with a half-gloved hand but thinking better of it. "I'm not afraid to do the dirty jobs," he offers, a smidgen of desperation tainting his voice. "I could do almost anything you ask me to. Just give me a chance, eh?" He coughs, pathetically, at exactly the right moment. He both curses and congratulates his body.
  • Frankie grows more irritated when it's clear the asshole is following him. He tries to ignore him, but it's difficult to pretend he doesn't hear the pleading in Sutler..? Sutler's tone. That's why he needs the alcohol, so he can get away from problems. This bastard kid could beg all he wanted then. "Hire you? For what?? You don' even know what it is I do." Something incredibly private, he thinks angrily as he enters the bar. A few regulars look away from Frankie after a moment of nervous recognition. The bartender hands him a drink immediately, as if worried a delay will set the man off.
  • Sweet looks around nervously. He's getting odd looks, this bar was way too fancy to allow him- not to mention that he was wearing green, as well as filth. It's only a matter of time before he gets thrown out. "Anything!" he blurts out, wincing at how loud it is. In a quieter tone, so that only Frankie would hear him, he continues. "Just... anything, okay? Drive your car, clean your dishes, sex, hurt people, hell I'll even be your bloody butler, I-" he gulps, hating himself for what he's about to do. But it's necessary. "L-look, I'm- I'm cold. Cold and hungry and in pain and tired and... If I go on like this, I won't make next week. I... I'm begging you. Please." He looks down at his worn, old shoes. He feels so stupid- of course the man wouldn't help him, saving his life two times in a row is, of course, too much to ask. He wouldn't do it to someone else. But he has to try.

<Frankie> ;o;

  • Frankie’s cold, angry heart utters a single doki
  • Frankie forgets everything at the sight of the glass in his hand. He lifts it to his mouth, savoring the smell, the color, the promise of freedom from thought- But before he can take a sip, that incessant noise behind him starts again. Frankie turns to look at Sweet and spark dance into the room. A few patron simply leave then and there. "I don't need that crap-" He crackles when Sweet offers him sex, his own filthy excitement only fueling the rage- "Shut the hell up you fuckin idiot." He hisses, ready to hit Sweet, but Sweet keeps talking- About hunger. And just.. Why can't he be left in peace?? This was his haven, and this bastard was ruining it. But it's not with lies. Anyone with eyes can see the kid was half dead... "Sit down," he orders. "Order sometin' ta fill yer belly, then get outa my sight." He sits down with his drink. The room seems to collectively release it's breath.
  • Sweet nearly sobs in gratitude. Sure, it's a bandaid solution, but it's one that buys him another day, at least. That's a day more to find a way to fix this. "Thank you," he breathes, before taking a seat and immediately ordering the burger and fries. He fidgets awkwardly, in silence, as he waits for it. It used to be so much easier, no trouble at all- he'd just pick a few pockets or sell himself to shady guys, but in this weakened state he's too slow to fool anyone and not even the shadiest of guys would look twice at him. He needs to regain strength, but he can't do that without food and rest. He can't get food or rest without cred, or something to keep him warm. He prays that something will come up. A passing rumor he'd heard again crosses his mind- but he doesn't dare bring it up until after he's had his meal, afraid that Valentine will back up on his offer if he gets offended. So he just shuts up and waits.
  • Frankie The barman disappears, and the disco music in the room changes abruptly to something old and mellow. Frankie sits, simply listening and staring worshipfully into his glass. Kid was taken care of. Good. He sips. Still getting a taste for this stuff, but after the initial burn, it was delicious. He takes a breath. His head's already spinning. He laughs softly into his glass while Sweet eats. Another slow sip. It was magic, like vibe in liquid form... By the time Frankie's reached the end of the small glass, his head is sunk low. It looks as if it'd actually be on the bar if he wasn't holding it up. As the music swells, it's just possible he's crying.
  • Sweet wolfs his burger down at top-speed, not paying any mind to the judgmental stares of well-dressed people with good table manners. After the first bite hits his stomach, he just wants to be full as fast as he can, not even tasting the food. Once he's finished, he regrets not savoring it. It might have been his last good meal in months. Or ever. But he's full, and the feeling is so alien and wonderful that he's almost drunk off it. He sighs and finally turns to Valentine to thank him again- oh. Is he crying? The hell? And he's drunk, too- or getting there. His face falls. This man is gonna destroy himself before too soon unless someone keeps an eye out for him. And he owes him his life two times over. "Let me work for you, sir. Please," he repeats. Perhaps this wasn't really going to get him there. His mind goes back to the rumour. "I've heard you do... interrogations." He makes his face as non-judgmental as he possibly can. Probably because he isn't even judging. "Just a rumour! I just thought... I can tell whether someone is lying or not. Would probably make your job easier."
  • Frankie looks at Simon blearily after a minute- took him awhile to figure out the noise was words, and after that, that they weren't in his head. He's quite drunk, yes, but it's better than a few weeks ago, when just a mouthful would knock him off his ass. "Work fer me. Work ffer me?? What the fffuck'r ya sshayin??! I caan't... hire ssssomit. I’m'a ffffunkn. Fuck. Fuck fuck. Fuckin. Lackey." He drinks again from his empty glass. The barman is paralyzed with fear, unsure if interrupting with a refill is more dangerous than allowing the man to go thirsty. Sparks answer him, and a fresh glass slides to Frankie, another plate of food is set before Sweet, just in case. Frankie sips, sputters when Sweet mentions his work. "Youssh better na be goin non.. on bou' sshi' yasss dun knowsss'abou', kid." He hisses, and the lights flicker. The last of the regulars clear out. Even the barman's vanished.
  • Sweet 's eyes widen at the second plate of food- he hasn't had a second serving since he was eight years old. He starts eating again, but stops when sparks fly everywhere and the light starts flickering. The bar's empty. He tries to stay calm, but he's scared as hell. He swallows, slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. "You-" he starts, but a lightbulb interrupts by bursting behind him. He stands up and starts backing away towards the door. "Please."
  • Frankie stares at Simon, with hatred as the kid backs away. Another bulb shatters. But Simon's backing off and keeping his nose out of Bonita's business. Good. Good. Why was it good? He can't recall, but it's fine, everything's fine, and the music was just swell. He puts his head down, cheek against the bar, turning slightly at the plea, though not enough to actually see Simon. "Hwa'..? I feddd ya. Ven’yd yass. More n'... 'nyone did ffer me whhho didn' wan’ ssumt’in’ in return... ‘cept her..." He mumbles. The lights die all along the street, but nothing horrible seems to happen.
  • Sweet's heart hammers in his chest. Sure, he's calming down, but only as a result of his backing off. He throws one last, sad look at the wasted food- briefly contemplating to take it with him, but knowing that if he takes a step forward again he's literally toast-, turns, and runs.

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