Frankie has since hired the ex-vagrant Simon Sutler, who has begun to build a fearsome reputation of his own, as his personal assistant.
(AU:FM Sweet & FM Frankie)
Roughly half a year after Joining the Payroll
Followed by ---
<Sweet> so sappy
<Frankie> ahhhh yaaay...Sweet has wing tatoo yesss omg =w=
<Sweet> also yes sweet wears lady's underwear it's canon
<Sweet> and it's an awkward thing that they don't talk about once Frankie finds out
<Frankie> o... FM Sweet will know how much Frankie especially likes that kinda thing cause he's around him all the time
<Sweet> yes he does fm sweet's tattoo is much cooler than UG Sweet. Because he's not a pussy. he gets it once he's been legit working for frankie for a few months and can pay for it
<Frankie> eeeee <3 8m8
- Frankie pretends he's not thinking about Sweet's underwear
- Sweet pretends he doesn't notice Frankie pretending not to think about his underwear
- Frankie thinks that Sweet is a professional and a decent fella to boot
- Sweet thinks that Frankie's a decent enough bloke, despite everything
<Sweet> no but i had like this little daydream right of potential baws, like... frankie happening upon old newspapers for some reason and finding the "FIRST CHILD BORN ON ISLAND" newspaper clipping
<Frankie> ommmmmgggg ;m;
<Sweet> which has a picture of babby sweet with his parents
- Frankie ............. >B| fuck that's.... aghh. Frankie DRINKS. Frankie SAVES THE CLIPPING
<Sweet> and giving the clipping to him for christmas or whatever, and him being like "these people look like sweet. they are called sullivan? ... Huh. changed his name ”
- Frankie ok, yea, Sutler is pretty obviously fake, so now I know B|
<Frankie> he'll think of him as Simon Sullivan from then on sooob
<Sweet> sutler the butler heyoooo
<Sweet> but privately because sweet doesn't even think of himself like that anymore and he wouldn't respond to it <Frankie> oh course ;m;
<Sweet> i like the idea that they call each other by their last names
- Frankie will use whatever name Sweet likes
<Sweet> well sweet calls him 'sir' of course
<Frankie> yes, so professional >u<
<Sweet> but to other people it's always 'valentine', or 'my employer'. so proffesh
- Frankie ... yes good.
<Frankie> he's got a weird conflicting feeling with that... like, yes, I am a pro, call me by my last name... and show me the respect due. But... first name means we are close... I want this..
- Frankie wants to relax and dance and chill with this guy... but the professional relationship is a tolerable alternative...
- Sweet does not want to relax nor chill with anyone. Well he does but not with anyone he has more than one evening of contact with
- Frankie just misses being open and happy with people... but that type of life lead to atrocities. This is for the best. He nods curtly to Simon
- Sweet curt nods back, pours Frankie his evening drink. Sweet pours Frankie a whiskey
- Frankie drinks whiskey. good, good. "Been a long day. Pour yerself one, kid."
<Frankie> sudden headcanon- only calls Simon 'kid' in private
<Sweet> cries. forever . propels self into space with the power of her tears
<Frankie> sooob nooo
<Sweet> can't hear u i’m in space
<Frankie> ;c;/ take me with you
- QQ tear rockets into the stratosphere~
- Sweet looks as if he's about to protest- drinking with your employer is pretty against the butler's code (yes he did research), but it has been a long day. And if he refuses, Valentine'll insist anyway. So he nods curtly, says "Thank you, sir," and pours himself a whiskey. His eyes close at the first sip- Fuck, the expensive stuff is always so good.
- Frankie sighs and drinks gratefully when Simon sits. There was something depressing about doing this alone, which was unfortunate, as the whole point was to forget about all that... He watches Simon from the corner of his eye. Kid had finally put on weight. Still too thin for his liking, but... Ah. "Sso... howss the family treatn' ya sso far, boyo?"
<Sweet> oh god my first thought was "FRANKIE YOU ARE SO INSENSITIVE HE DOESN'T HAVE A FAMILY" and then I realised "oh" "mafia"
<Frankie> HIPPPLLLEEEEE WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
- Sweet MY PARENTS ARE DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDD
<Sweet> omg no i'm laughing so hard
<Sweet> okay wait how far ahead is this in their relationship? Has he started participating in interrogations yet? let's say he has
<Frankie> probably yea XD maybe like, 1/2 a year or so?
- Sweet carefully doesn't show his less-than-positive reaction to the mafia being referred to as his 'family'. He smiles, politely, and takes another sip of his drink. "Not too bad. Better than before, now that people've been spreadin' nasty rumours about me. Makes'em a lot more polite to my face..." He can't say he doesn't enjoy it, the way people whisper about him since he joined in on the interrogations. They're scared.
- Frankie had heard the rumors, sure. Seen the kid in action too. People were right to fear a professional. It was good that Simon was gettin the respect he deserved... "Youss don' think'a em as a.. fam'ly yet, do yas..." He takes another sip. "Yea..." He wants them to be... but aside from the ladies, it wasn't as if they were exactly opening their hearts to newcomers, even Frankie himself... "Ya'know what??" he swings a little too wildly, sloshing his drink as he turns to Simon. "Anyone... gonna giveya sshit? You's jus' callme, aright?? Hah. Fuck." ...As if Sweet needed protection. He spits out sparks into his glass.
- Sweet raises an eyebrow and smirks into his whiskey. Already, the alcohol is bringing a flush to his skin- he's not exactly a heavyweight. "I'll be sure to do that once I'm faced with a problem I can't handle, sir," he says, fully aware of the small possibilities of that actually happening. "Of course you can do the same, but that's pretty much my job, so..." He chuckles a little, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag before responding. "And no, not really. A lovely faction, yeah, but I ain't exactly big on the concept of 'family', if it's all the same to you, sir."
- Frankie finishes his drink and places his glass out for Simon to refill, a little surprised with himself when he noticed what he's doing. He hadn't realized he could ever get used to being waited on outside of bars, much less so damn quickly... "Hm? Yer job? Yea. I'lls gi'ya a holler ifs I needya." The kid was just so handy, he's not even sure if he's lying. He had been at first, simply humoring Simon with small useless errands for the excuse to give him cred without hurting his dignity... but one moderately important thing led to another, and Simon’d just been so damn good at everythin.... Uh- Oh crap they were still talking weren't they. "Ah, yea I knowssit prob'ly ain't whhatt's y'r usssed ta but, but, but! ya needsha fffam'ly don' ya jussh stan's ta reasss’n."
- Sweet 's polite smile turns wry. He knows Valentine can't help it, he's drunk- and he's not exactly helping with that, he thinks as he pours him and himself another drink. "Yes, sir. I suppose so." It's easier to agree with him than to argue. Besides, he knows the human mind. He knows that "Companionship is... important." Oh, he said that out loud, with his speech a little slurred. The drink is affecting him more than he thought. He had a few beers, earlier, maybe that was why.
- Frankie pulls away from Sweet, feeling condescended to. "You sssupposhe??" He scoffs, and the lights flicker. "Whatt'a ffuck kin'a rresponse...ible..? thin' iss'at??" He gulps the expensive whiskey to steady his nerves... well, the lights steady, but Frankie wobbles and leans on the table. "Canna livvesh wit'outsa ffaaam'ly, ya fcckin iddi't. Missh.. Might'ash w'll be dead," his authoritative growl at Sweet is muffled by his arms.
- Sweet ducks his head, ears flushing. Shit- he said the wrong thing again. Working for Valentine was like a minefield- you didn't know when he was going to get angry. "Of course, you're right. I'm sorry, sir." He was right, though. He might as well be dead, without someone looking out for him. But still... he'd done well, banning love from his emotional vocabulary. It'd been useful. "More whiskey, sir?"
- Frankie sits up, looking affronted by Simon's response. " Ffuckinn.. yer sssorry? Godddammit kiddo, whysa hellsyou aggreein likeesoome usselessh asssfucker?! Whhathappenedds ta tha' mouuthy bastaard I foun' ina..." he wracks his brain trying to find the word. "Fuckn... ssstreet. Gutter, ev'n??" He stands- and falls back into his seat, which starts to char. Frankie gives up on that endeavor, and his sparking hand whips out, holding his empty glass for Sweet to fill.
- Sweet frowns, getting kinda angry at Valentine. Fine, if he wants bastard, he can get bastard. "What do you want me to say, huh?" He puts out his cigarette and gulps down his own whiskey. "Psh. I don't know if you've noticed, sir, but the bastard you found in the gutter didn't have a family to bloody appreciate anymore, so excuse me if I'm not replacing one with the other as quick as you. Sir." Sweet looks Valentine dead in the eye as he refills both their glasses.
<Val> oooooo <3 <3 <3
- Frankie stares at Simon with growing fury. The music player shorts out, and Frankie's eyes glow. Replaced... quickly...? Oh. Oh, he could kill the asshole right now. Only Simon's gesture makes him pause, instead of launching electrically at him. "Fuuuuck- Theress ya go, fffeeelin sssorry fer ye’ sself. Ooo, my famiilies gone an’ diied," he whines at Simon in poor slurred mockery. "Haaffa fuckkin... ssshit- Halfffff... the... City loss’er family. Decasdeseds ago, maybe ev’n yess'erday. Donn’ meanss- Don. Mean. They'r ffuckn. Giv'n up likess, likess you." he hisses, maintaining unusually non-violent composure. Coupling the insults with drinks has thrown him.
- Sweet meets his employer's gaze calmly, but he's growing equally furious within and he's not sure if he's hiding it well. He brings the glass to his lips, wanting to down it in one go- only to realize just how expensive the bottle is. He takes a small sip, savouring the taste. "I din't say I felt sorry for meself. I don't... cry meself t'sleep at noight, I don' drink meself into a stupor," a nasty glint enters his eyes at the jibe. "I'vah... accept'd ev'rything what's happened, 'cause I know like no other that it happens t' everyone. 'Specially 'ere." Another sip. A small sigh. Running a hand across his face. "Oi jess... don't 'ave any desire fer a new family, is all."
- Frankie meets the angry eyes that, despite everything right now, he has faith. What is he doing?? Why is he so angry?? Frankie takes another long drink rather than dwell on it. Gotta calm down. And sides, the kid's talking... He's slow to register the jab, but it does make an impact eventually. He stares at Simon. Then down to his hand- fist? He's bewildered by the white hot glow of rage from his skin. When did that- He can't punch someone like this, they'll die. But... that's good, he's supposed to do that... Simon. Frankie taps a foot. The glowing recedes. He wobbles and throws a punch at Simon, sans the deadly electricity and any semblance of force or coordination.
- Sweet is surprised that Frankie would go for a punch, especially after a minute of silence, but it's a sloppy one. There's no real power behind it and the man's barely on his feet anyway. Even if he's drunk himself, he's not nearly as drunk, and he easily ducks under his boss' arm, grabs it, and locks it behind the man's back without blinking an eye. "You've 'ad a bit too moch to drink, Mr. Valentine..." Sweet isn't hurting him, of course, he wouldn't dare- but he is incapacitating him. He pats his back softly. "Time fer bed, I reckon, ser?"
- Frankie's head spins as Simon disappears and whirls around him. And then the kid's grabbed him- "Yoush gunna.... cutsss' me'yoff, kiddo?? FffReally." He laughs bitterly and struggles a little, uselessly. A vicious sparking begins as he forgets about his vibe. "Ain' gonna le’mmesss, wha' wassit... go inna a thing- a sstuper??" He takes a lunge forward to free himself, but only manages to topple half over the table. "Annwaatt' 'if I's wannna drownss mesself?? Feerget themm I loves’r dead’n gone??? PRETEN’ I'S GOTS PEOPLE WHOS CARE ABOU’ ME!???" In the brief quiet that follows the tirade, a faint descending note indicates the power’s out for good in the building, possibly even the entire district. "Ssssorry fffer wann'iin thhat. Sorrry we'scanna alll be..." He struggles to describe Sweet's apparent independence from emotional attachment, or even the desire for it. "...whaddever YOU are!"
- Sweet hisses when one of the sparks hits his hand, but maintains his grip in order to catch Frankie. "Alrigh', up ye go, ser, come on-" he grunts as he throws his boss' arm over his shoulder and supports him as he starts walking-well, dragging him towards the bedroom. "Ain't no one what's jodgin' yer f'r anyfin', 's just time fer sleep, yeh? You'n me both. Been a long day, ser."
- Frankie tries to pull away from Sweet, incredibly irritated, but the forward movement and the sideways movement and the spinning disorient him something awful. "Fucckin- GOD. Think I'm jusss g'na ssit heere an. An. be CONDESSSCEN’ED TA?!" In a fit he manages to push himself from Sweet, the momentum throwing himself into a wall, resulting in a painful thud and another shower of static "YOuss FUCK. Thiinkyerss... FUCK... Be'er th'n me??" He stares at one of the Simons. "Toll'ya when.. when?...WHEN I METSYA. YOU DON' FUCKIN KNOWSS SSSHIT" Frankie burns white hot again and the wall smokes from the heat.
- Sweet sighs, and crouches down to Frankie's level, squinting against the heat. He knows better than to try and touch him now. "I know, ser..." He's going to have to clean that wall tomorrow. Fuck. He sighs again, deeply, and he's drunk enough to decide to give up on getting Frankie to bed. He'll do it when the man passes out, like always. Calmly, he lights another cigarette. "You want another drink, Mafia Man?" Sweet mentally punches himself for calling the other that. Whatever. Not like the man'll remember it tomorrow. Subtly, so that it's hardly noticeable, he starts feeding the man his own tiredness.
<Sweet> go the fuck to sleep.mp3
- Frankie looks livid when Simon calls him 'Mafia Man'. That he did want another drink was entirely besides the point. " FUCK YOU," he screams, entirely prepared to fight the little bastard. But before he can complete the thought, unbidden, his rage at last sets off his buzzing- filling his head and the room with deafening noise. He struggles to think through the ocean of whiskey and roaring static. Up. He pushes himself/crawls up along the wall, just before a sudden wave of exhaustion hits him.
<Frankie> idk... Frankie's sleep/energy works weird with the electricity.... THIS AU KEEPS BRINGING STUFF UP THAT I NEVER BOTHERED FIGURING OUT
- Sweet watches the other man with contempt, wishing he'd just go along easy for once. God fucking d- the buzzing starts. It fills his head, shuts off his vibe almost completely and he can't think, can't even move besides falling to his knees. For a second he's back to that day, thin and scared and about to be shot with a fucking lightning bolt- "Stop," he rasps. "Fuck- stop-" His nose starts bleeding. Sweet groans deeply, even feeling the buzz in the back of his throat and in the air around and inside him and he claws desperately with his vibe, trying to get Frankie to stop.
- Frankie falls back to his knees, drifting off unwillingly to sleep- "'S Too briight" he moans as his eyes close tight, resisting every effort to open them again. This had happened before, a full charge with a target who sang lullabies. Like he would ever forget the horror of his body falling asleep while his vibe remained to consume him - The buzzing intensifies, and his flesh, muscles, bones and blood become pure energy- The transformation is about to reach his brain, but the vibe terror hits first. Frankie instantly wakes, and curls into a very solid ball. The buzz quiets as fear replaces anger. "WHO’S’AT?!"
<Sweet> ok is he alright to touch again?
<Frankie> no 6-6 but no more buzzing for sweet =n=
<Sweet> yayyy! hahaha i imagine that after a while sweet starts carrying rubber gloves everywhere for emergencies
<Frankie> butler or a high voltage electrician?
<Sweet> hmmm i don't know if this is a good choice for rp but i'm gonna go to bed after this so tell me if i should change it because frankie might fire him lol
<Frankie> sob ok /u\
- Sweet gasps when the buzzing stops, feeling as if he can finally breathe again. Thank God, thank God- He shakes his head, trying to see straight again. Once the world stops spinning, he looks over to Frankie. The man's shivering with his terror. Good. He keeps it there. Cold fury forms a stone in his stomach as he stand up and shakily walks over to the man on the floor. He regards him for a second before crouching down again. His voice is soft but dangerous when he says: "Listen here, ser, and listen good. You've go' a li'le summat what can disable me. That's alright, yer my boss and you'll need that, maybe, in the future. Ter calm me down, or knock me out. Now, I'm a reasonable man, me. I'll understand. I know me place." He raises himself up again to his full height, looking down. He looks truly frightening like this, a mad look in his eye and hands ready to wrap themselves around a fragile throat. "Bot if you ever start that bozzin' again wivvout good reason, I'll wipe 'er from yer memory. You know I can, and you know I will."
<Frankie> ...oh shit IDK IF FRANKIE WOULD BE OK WITH IT EVER BUT LET’S GO WITH IT???
<Sweet> LOL OK????
- Frankie is listening. For the sake of his life, and everyone he's ever loved, with every fiber of his being, he listens to Sweet's words. He prays, glances up at the furious man- Frankie’s electricity spikes protectively at the horrifying sight. "I- I'm sorry I'm sorry I’m-" The last threat. His anger rips through the fear like claws through bloodied meat. Mixes with it. Frank's beatin him senseless- the bat, since it’s was easier than fumbling drunkenly for his belt. Francis finds the white place where nothing matters. He transforms again, not simply a man of static. His vibe bursts from him explosively, leaving nothing but an electrical monster.
<Frankie> Sweet gets to meet '99 overload Frankie
<Sweet> ok wait i'm reading your reply. The bat? What's the bat
<Frankie> Frank was his pa. Frank was not a nice man
<Sweet> SOB NO PLS
- Sweet Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckitty fuck what the hell is this. He allows himself a moment of panic before- no, he's not going to solve this by freaking out. Stay calm. Stay calm and survive. Panic and die. He takes a deep breath, and steps the hell back, slowly, in the direction of the kitchen- there's rubber gloves there. Not that they'll do him much good.. "Valentine," he tries slowly. "It's alright, Valentine, calm down-" No reaction. Shit. Sending him his own calm is risky, because it's a volatile sort that can turn back to fear at any second, and clearly messing with Frankie's emotions can have extremely dangerous consequences. He tries it anyway- it gets through, but not enough. The ball of lightning that is Frankie is getting closer to him than he is to the kitchen. He has to think of something. Singing? It'd make his vibe a bit stronger. He hasn't sung in ages, though, he's not exactly a prodigy at it. Couldn't hurt, though. "I throw this to the wind..." he starts, a bit nervously, sending calm to Frankie in pulses as a background to the lyrics, glad to see that it gets through just an iota more. "But what if I was right?" Stay calm. Stay focused. "Well did you trust your noble dreams and gentle expectations to the mercy of the night? The night will always win... The night, has darkness on its side... I throw this to the wind..."
- Frankie looks around... with what? It doesn't have eyes, everything is just white. But they're going to take her from Francis. It will stop them. There is nothing else, no panic or anger for the calming vibe to soothe. Just that single burning thought pushing it, holding it together. It crawls at the one that was going to take her. Very slowly, searing a flaming path through the room towards Simon, but pauses at the first note, and begins swaying slightly to the tempo... It was going to take her from Francis, and there wasn't anything but this without her. The monster slowly resumes it's crackling slide, only moving forward at every down-beat.
- Sweet bites his lip. Just for a second, he closes his eyes and imagines the old group sitting around a fire and singing songs. This happened often, and there was always dancing first, but Mississippi Gene would cut in with a depressing old-timey song and it would quiet down from there. They'd just lost Marlene King to winter and everyone was quiet while Sonny Jim sang for her. He'd been sweet on her, Simon thought. Okay. Calm now. Open eyes. "I miss your stupid face... I miss your bad advice... I tried to clothe your bones with scratches, Super Eights, exaggerated stories and old tunes..." He can't even tell if it's working, but he forces himself to believe that it does. "But never by the moon. But not the state I'm in. The night will always win..."
- Frankie stops again, pulsing to the music as the second wave of emotions washes through. Most is lost, but some catches, like residue on a net. It recoils, glowing brighter as all that energy compresses down. It can’t comprehend the feelings. It's not about her, or those trying to take her. It has nothing to process this with. Frankie howls electronically as the love tries to burrow into him. Without room for even the most basic consciousness, the emotion simply courses along his body, a trillion times a millisecond, leaving incomprehensible agony. It thrashes in anguish, but as it glows brighter, the light is no longer entirely volatile electricity; The room swells with amplifying vibe, a swirling gold that leaves sparkling points on all it touches. But they were going to take her from Francis. It pushes on.
- Sweet starts to sing more soulfully as he reaches the door to the kitchen. "I throw this to the wind..." Finally. "But what if I was right..." Only, he's getting the increasingly uncomfortable feeling that the rubber gloves won't really help him- oh, but how beautiful- he still gets only one feeling from the thing. It's threatened. Protective. "Well, did you trust your noble dreams and gentle expectations to the mercy of the night? The night will always win..." He tries to send it that he doesn't mean harm. Doesn't want to hurt. Calm, safe, loved. He thinks of everyone. "The night has darkness on it's side... I throw this to the wind..."
- Frankie keens in anguish at the feelings, screaming as incompatible emotions again course through, before they burn off in sheet of blinding amplifying vibe. A golden nebula forms, filling the room, leaving it in an odd state; fueled by the vibe, the electrical fires burn like stars, but the ceiling and wood floors refuse to so much as char, instead throwing out living, growing shoots. Sweet’s own exhaustion, even his injuries, disappear, while his voice becomes angelic, his vibe godlike. But at the heart of this swirling miracle remains the instant death that is Frankie, and the single thought; Francis will lose her. Except... there’s a voice- a song??... The noise intrudes his white place. Informs him they won’t hurt her. It’s over, the sound insists. It’s done. The one instinct pushing him are immediately discarded. The thing waits unmoving but for the quivering reverberation that pulses to Simon’s song, truly mindless energy now.
- Sweet has no idea what the fuck is going on, but he keeps singing. "I miss your stupid face..." Wait, was that his voice? It sounds like it, only... better. He feels stronger, and he's relieved for it because that means his vibe is getting through better. "I miss your bad advice..." He takes a slow step forward, hands shown. Calm down. "I try to clothe your bones with scratches, super eights, exaggerated stories and old tunes..." He lets his eyes wander across the room. It is beautiful, what Frankie can do. Once it stops being terrifying. "But never by the moon. And not the state I'm in..." he takes a deep breath. It's the end of the song, if it doesn't work now... he's fucked. "The night will always win..."
- Frankie There is no emotions to calm, nothing left to even receive the human feelings…But it can still hear- feel... the music. It is music. That’s all it is, frequencies holding together a wavering soul. Barely. It could simply do what’s natural, ground itself, disappear back into the atmosphere, forever. It’s what the crackling lightning wants… but the desire isn’t as strong as Sweet’s song. His voice holds the energy together now that the single burning thought of protection has left it with nothing. The tendrils begin to spiral and twirl to the song’s refrain, a disembodied equivalent of dancing. The thing again grows brighter, but it’s simply more of the swirling, benevolent mist burning off. A vague outline of light, a man dancing, appears in the spiraling energy, but there’s still too much of the deadly voltage…
- Sweet lets out a relieved laugh- it's working! But still not enough- fuck. He's not really a singer, and he wishes he could actually reach the sound system to put something on but oh well. New song, new song... "I'm tired... so tired... of chasing the dreams..." Every time the outline of the man gets clearer, he puts more effort into singing. "With tears in my eyes, I realize that it's running away..." Sweet starts to dance too, anything to try and get through. "But with all the wrong I've done, how could love ever love me? 'Cause, I've even tried, talking to the sky about it- but there's not much to say... Not much to say~"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=go3ePLQyCJM love this song so much
<Frankie> omg this is wonderful /m\... ah, idk if it's op especially since it's so crack, but i think with this level of enhancing vibe, Sweet could do like Discworld and sing harmony/backup for himself....
<Sweet> omg yessss
- The slow, heaviness of Sweet’s new song tempo against the thing. It’s movement slows to match the dark dragging rhythm. With each weighty beat, the thing casts off branches of electricity as part of it’s instinctual choreography. The power dances across the room, as everything’s still unwilling to burn, clearly preferring to continue blooming into a miniature forest.. The freed static jumps and leaps along to Sweet’s tempo, leaving trails of gold until they finally find their place in the wall sockets. The city lights flare up brilliantly. But inside, Frankie continues to dance. With so much of the static gone, he can really hear it now. Still mostly vibe, he can feel it. More than that, it’s a part of him. . It’s the most beautiful thing… The room shimmers. The thick, enhancing gold shimmers with a myriad of colors, snippets of indescribable music that twines around Simon’s voice, concentrated scraps of feelings and thoughts, of affection, confidence, and a reassuring sense of belonging.
- Sweet chokes, for a second, on the feeling of the golden, liquid light making its way into his mouth, down his throat- it feels good. He feels so strong. "So please, please, please, give me some kind of sign~" He's surprised- it's like several people are singing. Is he... doing his own backing vocals? Cool. "I want, to be somebody, somebody- I want someone to be mine- Please, please, please~"
- Frankie's vibe burns like a star, the music it’s fuel- it's the only thing keeping this vibe going. But Frankie's power relied on emotions. That's what had sent him to this place, and without that rage and terror, it’s got nothing to work with. The music isn’t enough for this massive display, which becomes evident when the gold stops it's steady stream - He’s running out. In a single beat the gold burns the last of the static, leaving a trail of darkness that spreads throughout the room, boring holes in the blanket of vibe like paper burning. With a rushing noise, the blackout reaches Frankie, who collapses mid-step. It’s all over in a single breath
- Sweet feels like he could keep this up all night, just sing and dance until the golden light fills up all the empty space inside him and at the end he'll just burst apart- paradise. "The man~ The man in the mirro-" Suddenly, the power runs out- the note that he was singing goes from heavenly to flat. The room is suddenly pitch dark, and Valentine's- acting purely on reflex, he starts forwards and catches the man. Sweet is panting. That was one of the most surreal things that have ever happened to him, but he doesn't have the time to regroup yet. Gotta keep focused on what he was trying to do in the first place. "Y'alright, sir?" he asks, trying to find out whether his employer's unconcious or not.
- Frankie stares through Sweet with glowing eyes. He's starved, half dead. His mouth twitches to speak, but the room remains silent. The only evidence he’s alive is the fading light, and the faintest of pulses. It... he..? has to… Frankie takes a sharp intake of breath. The gold light disappears completely. “can’t take her”
- Sweet chuckles softly. "Switched places, didn't we, sir? Up you get~" He picks Frankie up, grateful that he's gained a lot more muscle these past few months, and carries him to the bedroom. "Never you worry, nobody's gonna take'er from ya. Ain't nobody got the guts for it," he promises. In his mind, though, the threat still stands. Gently, he places his boss down on the bed, and starts to work on taking his shoes and jacket off for him.
- Frankie can only keep pace with one train of thought... Without her, he'd be nothing but destruction and death. And pain. Always pain, as it was before she entered his life. The noises around him mean nothing. Sweet’s words are lost as the mafioso sinks into his mind. She’s there, waiting, just as she promised. She gives him a grin full of flirtatious evil, tugging at him, pulling at his clothes, his body, preventing his steadily slowing heart from taking it’s long deserved rest. “Ev’rthin... K’ll it... all, if’n i’ wer’n’ fer.. you.” Frankie gasps shallowly; the only think staving off the darkness is his need to talk to her. But she’d be there when he woke… His eyes tremble closed.
- Sweet is decidedly Not Listening as he clinically tugs off Frankie's belt and trousers, leaving only his underwear and shirt. Stands up straight and regards his troubled boss. Almost as an afterthought, he touches his thumb to the man's head- not to use his Vibe on him, he's learnt his lesson, but just to see if he's okay. Calmed down, but still troubled. But he doesn't think that'll ever change. What was that the man said earlier? They can't all be whatever Sweet is. He smirks, and quietly leaves the bedroom. He's got an entire apartment to fix.