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Sweet tries to confront Frankie on some of his issues.


Timeline:


During the Solar Flares

Preceded by Sweet Jive




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  • Sweet “I KNOW YOU LIKE BOYS.”
  • Frankie 9_9
  • Frankie 6_6
  • Frankie …
  • Sweet “It’s ok”
  • Frankie “It ain't”
  • Sweet "Yes it is. I don't know what you're scared of, but you don't need to be. I mean have you seen like, everyone in this city."
  • Frankie “Jus cause you say so- I-I ain't scared.. an... I ain't everyone in the city, alright?”
  • Sweet “I know you're not.” Sweet touches Frankie's arm. “You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. just... admit it. You don't mind when other people are gay or bi or whatever, why can't you accept it in yourself?”
  • Frankie looks around for some kind of distraction, or an escape from this conversation- But there's nothing. "Why ya gotta pick at it?? I can't hide from you, I know, but... why do ya even care??" he practically pleads.
  • Sweet tries to catch Frankie's eye. "Because we're... some kind of friends, right? I care about you. I just... want to help. Like you help me."
  • Frankie "Friends, yea, ok. But all I done fer you was dragged ya around town the one time," he argues, trying to shift the subject.
  • Sweet raises an eyebrow. "What does that have to do with anything? Friends don't keep score of favours, Frankie."
  • Frankie fumbles and tries to regroup when Sweet sees right through him. "I- it means a lot! Why, sure, ya'd ask about that fer, say, Steven, but me?? Ya barely know me!!"
  • Sweet lowers his hand, landing it lightly on Frankie's wrist. "Like I said, I care about you. Also, I'm the only one who knows, right? If I'm not gonna talk to you about this, who is?"
  • Frankie Why would he care??... but Frankie knew Sweet. Knew he was absurdly compassionate. But he didn't know Frankie, even if he thought he did. "Yer the only one." At least the only that knew he was aware of his own despicable urges when he wasn't smashed. "...Why does it need ta be talked about? Really??"
  • Sweet frowns. "Because it's a part of you. And you keep being afraid of it and ignoring it and it's eating away at your soul. I promise you'll be happier for accepting it."
  • Frankie turns away, fuming."I AIN'T AFRAID OF NOTHIN ALL RIGHT?!" But souls- that was important- but what the hell did Simon know?! This was nothing, compared to what else ate at him... Frankie remembers what Sweet did know. He remembers sending the terrified, unwilling dancers out, during '99... "But it ain't natural," he protests weakly.
  • Sweet steps closer to Frankie. "Says who?" he asks. He knows that for the man to think this, someone must have told him so, often, and from a young age. Probably his father. He doesn't bring that up. "You feel it, don't you? If it comes from inside you, can it be anything but natural?"
  • Frankie "Says-? It's-" He can't remember... it's just something he's always known. Like.. how to breathe or something. "I dunno- it's jus- everyone knows it right??" He knows how shitty his argument is... But Sweet's next angle gives him some ground. "Shit kid, what do you know bout what comes from inside me?!" He doesn't want to share anymore. He feels like the monster he knows he is, and prays Sweet's vibe is acting weird or something again today.
  • Sweet opens his mouth to say something, but the feeling he gets from the other man knocks all the words out of his mouth. For someone to hate himself that much... He takes a big risk, and leans in close to Frankie's ear, putting his hand back on the man's wrist. "You're a good man, Frankie," he murmurs. "No matter what. I can feel it coming from your bones. You just have to believe it." He hesitates a second, but makes the decision to turn his head a little and kiss Frankie gently on the cheek.
  • Frankie recoils. He stands away from Sweet. This was all kind and good advice, he knew. For someone else. But not for Frankie. "It's very kind'a you to say. I appreciate it. It's one'a the reasons I'm so fond'a you. But what I done, what I am-" He freezes at the kiss and his voice catches. Just- just a friendly, comforting gesture. It's ok. Don't get angry again- it's building, but he won't let it out this time. "Thank you, Mister Sullivan," he says flatly, face calm.
  • Sweet stands there, confused. "Why does that make you so angry?" He runs a hand through his hair, sighs, and looks down. "If you regret your actions enough to think you're a monster, that alone makes you not a monster. And for fuck's sake, call me Simon."
  • Frankie "I am not angry," he lies uselessly. This is not fair, not at all. "And regret does not fix anything, goddamit. How can you say that??" Frankie snaps. He’s losing his footing- He hated being called out on his formality. It was all he could rely on when he didn't know what to do. He makes no comment on it.
  • Sweet frowns deep. Maybe he's getting nervous because Frankie is, or maybe he's legitimately angry about being this blatantly lied to. For Frankie to treat him like he would everyone else- it's not fair. And it hurts, a little. Frankie knows everything about him. He'd think that would warrant a certain degree of trust. "I didn't say it fixed anything. But what's done is done, and I'm not going to pretend that what you did was good- but you need to stop living in the past. Half the people on this island have done terrible things. I've done terrible things. You're not alone, you just make yourself believe you are."
  • Frankie sees Sweet's expression- he can practically feel the hurt, the anger, the feeling that it's not fair- Why did he know this man so well??? It wasn't right- they had such a casual relationship before, and suddenly- BAM- he knew everything ever about Sweet. And Sweet thought that meant they were close. It didn't. But the part of Frankie that is Simon disagrees, and he feels incredibly guilty for ignoring it. But he can't open up to Simon. He can't open up to anyone. "Mister Sullivan, if I am living in the past, you will know." This? This right here, is him, coping. How could he talk to anyone about that vulnerability??? "You are mistaken. You don't know me well enough to know if I am alone," he hisses.
  • Sweet rubs a hand in front of his eyes, and frowns deeper at every feeling he's getting from Frankie. The worst thing is that he can actually feel himself there too, a constant presence in the back of Frankie's mind, a bunch of false memories that just aren't his to remember. Something that was precious and his, and now less so because it's somebody else's, too. Confusing, to say the least. Part of him wants to take something from Frankie, as well, perhaps as a sort of revenge. But all of this was more his fault than Frankie's. It's giving him a headache. "I want to," he says softly. "You need to-" He stops himself, though, because it's not his place to tell Frankie what he needs. "I want to know you. To help you." But the man doesn't want help.
  • Frankie has no idea Sweet’s getting so much of him. He only knows the basic vibe- sensing vague emotions. If Simon tried, he could go deeper, but only with someone close. Frankie does not consider himself close. He is oblivious to Sweet for the first time since the switch. He's just angry, guarded and so unsure. "You want what? To know me?? An' what, tell yer boss the easiest way ta get ta me-" He freezes, ashamed. "Of course you don't. I am sorry. I know that is not... I am sorry Mister Sullivan." Frankie retreats deeper into his cold formality. "But there is nothing to know. I am a shameless womanizing drunk. Angry. Violent. That is the beginning and end. There is nothing you can do to help. Nothing to help. It’s what I am." His voice is clipped, almost robotic.
  • Sweet flares up with anger at the accusation-how dare he- the nerve- if Frankie hadn't interrupted himself and apologized, he'd have struck him. He calms down as the man continues, though, and feels a bit ashamed for losing control of himself like that. "Bullshit. You're a good, compassionate man. A drunk, angry and violent because your bad memories are pushing down your soul."
  • Frankie Good...? He suddenly recalls the horror he felt at his first kill- thirteen years- His victim had thought it a joke, hadn’t even put up a fight... Frankie's stomach twists. "I am a killer, Mister Sullivan. It does not matter what I feel inside. This is not theoretical. Theoretically, I'm a saint. Practically, I am a soldier, and soldiers kill people. I am quite good at it. The only thing, in fact, that I excel in. Emotions do not enter into it, though I find it endearing that you think so,” Frankie drawls, dripping condescension, sure that it would make the kid back off, or get angry, argumentative, and mercifully off topic.
  • Sweet doesn't feel angry. He just feels very, very sad. Maybe a little sick with the horror. He wish he didn't know already what it felt like to kill someone from other people. But maybe, if Frankie stopped believing he was a killer, he'd stop killing people. "Of course it matters, Frankie," he says, and looks up into his eyes. "You're human, aren't you?" he gently puts his hands on Frankie's lower arm again. "Nobody's ever just a soldier."
  • Frankie doesn't know what to do. Why is Simon so goddamn perceptive??! "Human? Maybe. Usually I run on batteries, so that is rather up for debate, I believe." He needs this to end. He does not talk about himself. Unless he knows the person... But he does.. He grows a little confused on top of the desperation. "Nope. Not just a soldier. I am a murderer too. It's nature- Even when I tried ta stop-" he says the last without meaning to, and cuts off abruptly. How had they gotten from his love life to this?? How can he change the topic??
  • Sweet perks up at this information, raising his head in curiosity. "Why couldn't you stop?" He doesn't believe murder is in anyone's nature... But maybe it could be like an addiction? He wants to understand this. Unwillingly, he thinks back to that handsome Mafia guy with the fedora. Nice as he was, he'd run a chill down his spine. Perhaps he... But that wasn't the same vibe he got with Frankie.
  • Frankie's heart nearly stops. He’d let slip... Oh god. Of all the things he could not talk about- To anyone. Ever. Don't think about it. Don't think about it- Frankie covers his mind with static. He realizes Sweet isn't a telepath, but this had always been his best defense against mental attacks, and that's what this conversation feels like. He focuses on the static in his head, almost in a trance. "It-t. Don't-t-t mat-t-ter Szzweet.." he responds distantly. He's emotionally pulling farther and farther away from Sweet again, scolds the part of his mind that is Sweet. But it lost under the buzzing.
  • Sweet's train of thought is interrupted by a strange, unpleasant tickling sensation, like a swarm of bees buzzing in his brain. "What are you- stop that-" He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of this, and retreats his Vibe from Frankie as much as he can. Which isn't actually that much. "Damnit, Frankie... You're not evil. Whatever happened. Believe me, I know. Just... wow that is uncomfortable."
  • Frankie "You.. I know it-t-'szz natt-t-ural for ya. But-t-t I won't-t-t have yaszzz in my head. N-no one'szz allowed-d-d there no more." It's working... He's safe. If he couldn't focus on his thoughts, neither could his enemies. He'd perfected it, long ago... But... Sweet's not the enemy, and he never anticipated this affecting him physically... Frankie watches Sweet from a long way off. "I szzaid it-t-t before. You don't-t-t know shit-t. "
  • Sweet is getting increasingly agitated. His vibe is being stronger than usual, again, and he can feel everything and everyone around him- it's hard to control when it's normal, but now? And the buzzing is a constant background nuisance, an extra stress on the constant stream of information going through his head. And Frankie's comment of him not knowing shit is just so untrue... He has to calm himself down. Sweet reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with shaky hands. "Don't even try to assume what I do and don't know, friend." He takes a deep, grateful inhale. "I'm not going to take anything important from you. Drop the static."
  • Frankie stares... He fights to think through the static... On the one hand, he'd gotten what he'd wanted. Sweet wasn't asking about his disgusting preferences, or... the other thing. But he does not want to hurt the man, who's clearly not dealing well with his mental shield... Despite everything, Simon had good intentions, Frankie knew... The hum dies, and his eyes refocus on Sweet. "I know a lot. Everything from before the other day... I ain't sayin nothin idle like. I ain't tryin ta threaten you or nothin. It's jus the plain old, Sunday school truth, and unless you been doin some heavy research recently, you don't know shit,” he says quietly.
  • Sweet lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and runs a hand across his face. It comes back wet, and he sighs, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it to his now bleeding nose. "Thanks. Please don't do that again," he says, and nods. He's right, now he can see and feel clearly again. "I know. I'm sorry. I just... don't know anything substantial. But you're not evil. I know that much."
  • Frankie shrinks back when Sweet bleeds. He only meant to protect himself- "I'm so sorry kiddo. I won't pull that on ya again...Just. Don't reach for that one." He pauses, then looks apologetic. "My shield ain't never done that ta sensors before." But he knows his vibe- it hurts people, whether he wants it to or not. It's a wonder he's still surprised by it. "..I know ya place a lota trust in what ya seen for yerself. But there's more ta people than that. Evil has lots'a forms, and mine don't have a particularly good disguise to begin with," he jokes darkly.
  • Sweet waves Frankie's concern away. "No, it's okay. Just get nosebleeds and headaches and stuff pretty easily. Just too much," he makes some vague hand gestures around his head, "Stuff. Information. The static kind of messed with everything. Just don't do it again, it felt really weird..." He smiles at Frankie. "The more you try to convince me you're evil, the more I'll think otherwise. You're not gonna change my mind on this..."
  • Frankie continues to feel guilty until the 'information' part. "That's kinda the point, Simon." Simon knows he's got secrets. He’s best friends with a faction leader, for God's sake. Frankie is beginning to get angry at Sweet's smug, self assured idiocy. But he knows where the guy is coming from, and that almost makes it worse. A good man, who thought everyone else was good too. It’s why Frankie liked Sweet to begin with, but now he just wants to smack the stupid out of him. "What am I 'spossed to do??” Frankie demands. “Do ya want me ta go through every feelin of hate for my 'fellow man'?? Every time I wanted the person next ta me ta die, painfully, brutally, in terror, without any hope??” He bellows and throws off showers of sparks. “That convince ya??"
  • Sweet stares at Frankie unflinchingly. He wants to duck away from the sparks and remove himself from Frankie until he's a safe distance away, but acting scared of him would only prove the man's point. He's pushing it too hard, he knows, but he wants to stick this one out. He wants to see if the feeling Frankie's talking about would be directed towards him. "No. It wouldn't. Of course it wouldn't." Do it, then, he silently challenges, but he also gets ready to run as fast as he can. He's convinced he's right, and really doesn't want to be wrong. He pushes his fear down until he needs it.
  • Frankie stares right back at Simon. But he’s puzzled. He's seen enough terror to recognize it on Sweet, but the guy isn't running... "How can you not understand?? I know you've met killers before. Sensed killers." Maybe Frankie was worse than them all. Too much to register... "You are a fool. You see a shark fin and assume it'sa dolphin, even once the thing bites ya." Frankie buzzes and crackles, but at least forces his mind clear for Sweet's sake. "What is the point of this??"
  • Sweet doesn't move and doesn't take his eyes off Frankie's, although his instincts are telling him to run. "The point is that I wanna see you bite, shark-man." He makes himself stand as tall as he possibly can. "Go on. Do it."
  • Frankie "You want me to hurt you??" His mind works, trying explain this. Sweet isn't a masochist- didn't wish the factions to go to war, didn't want Frankie murdered by Steven.... So. What. "Simon. This is pointless. I am not putting on a show to satisfy your curiosity," he tries to breath and calm himself, but more sparks fly.
  • Sweet raises an eyebrow. "Why not? You've hurt people for less. And you've been pretty frustrated with me this entire conversation. All this talk about wanting to kill people, and I haven't felt it once." Christ, what is he doing? In the small chance that Frankie was actually going to attack him, he had no chance, even if he knows he wouldn't kill him. He doesn't want to start a war. But the feeling of wanting to kill him is all he needs from this.
  • Frankie "I've hurt people who didn’t-" He stops. He does not talk about himself. That was rule one, since almost forever. Unless... you knew them. Could trust them. And even then. No. He'll just find a way around it, as usual. "I kill who I'm told. It's not even about emotions, Simon. It's about money. Ain't that noble? I end lives so I can live in a big ritzy joint and drive my big beautiful cars around town. I am the pinnacle of greed." He grins. If Sweet senses the waves of self loathing Frankie feels, Frankie’s unaware.

<Frankie> i think he needs to drink, otherwise he wont stop evading... >_> uh. yea. he's started that again <Sweet> sob noooo frankie don't drink it's bad for u

  • Frankie sobriety ain't worth it man.

<Frankie> he's seen too much~ The ghosts were the final straw

  • Sweet's face falls. Right back where they started. He sighs, and lights a cigarette. "Fine. Fine. Look, man. You wanna be locked up in the terrible little world you've made for yourself in your head where everything you do is disgusting and selfish and wrong and boo-hoo, go ahead. But all that is going to blow up in your face one day. It's not too late for you, and I just don't want you to do naught but sit on your ass and wait for that day to come."
  • Frankie’s calm shatters. He fills with rage and lightning, steadily glowing electrically. "Want?! YOU THINK I WANT THIS?! ANY OF THIS?!! THINK I WANTED TA COME TA THIS FUCKIN GODFORSAKEN ISLAND?! WANTED THE WAR?! THIS JOB?! THIS LIFE?!" Frankie's hand lashes out- It halts just as suddenly by Sweet's cheek. The accompanying power would have be the end of the man. The end of the tentative peace on the island... He breaths. "You do not know the hell I climbed out of to get where I am today. How fucking dare you tell me about sitting on my ass." He spits out static. "What you want? You want me to spill my heart ta you so you can feel good about yourself. I remember. That's all ya are. A pile'a other people's emotions. An you have the balls ta call me out?!" The lights die.

<Frankie> and this is why he doesn't have friends =w= <Sweet> yesss :3

  • Sweet feels ice stab straight through his heart and make its way right to his stomach. Oh. He remembers Frankie bringing everything up, everything that kept him up at night and makes him seek out crowded places and suspicious substances. He thought Frankie would punch him, and flinched when that was nearly the case. But he wasn't expecting this. Suddenly in the darkness, he looks down. Takes another drag and releases the smoke slowly. "Fuck you, Frankie," he says softly. Or, well, maybe not him. Someone uses his mouth for it, at least. Might as well be him. Could even be Frankie himself. "You think you climbed out of hell, huh? Seems to me you've got a long way to go yet. I don't know who dragged you down there in the first place, but they sure stuck you deep." He turns, and starts to walk away.
  • Frankie smiles with miserable satisfaction at Sweet's back. Driving people away. That was how he had to live. Even his vibe helped him with it, because he could not revisit the pain again, not for anyone. Not for Sweet. Who deserved better company than Frankie anyhow. Good. He’d go find it now. Really, he's done the man a favor. Sweet didn't need to know about the madness, the loss, failure. That was Frankie's to relive, every night. His alone. "Yessirree. Never said I was free from hell." Frankie sits, glowing- the only light in the black room aside from Sweet's quickly fading cigarette. "I hope ya enjoyed the show ya wanted," he says with his brightest stage voice. As the tiny burning cigarette disappears, Frankie mutters apologetically and nearly inaudible, "I told ya what I was. Did what ya wanted. Shark's a shark." He pulls out his flask and drains it.

End

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