𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢, 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢.

Damon had never come across Frankie outside of their usual setting despite being in Catalina for the last six months. That setting, of course, being the Catalina Vineyard, where they both played their role as customer and server. However, those lines had been ever so slightly blurred in terms of him consistently seeking her out each time he attended a tasting and the fact that their conversations were usually more personal than the usual professional interactions that came with such experiences. This was entirely different though. This time the context had changed, they were now both simply guests at an event, both conforming to the dress code and enjoying what the night had to offer. He found her response to him immediately amusing and the expression of his current emotion was clear on his features while he listened to her speak. It also hadn’t slipped his notice that she’d clearly made the most of the open bar and the endless stream of alcohol that was on offer to them all.

“You can just call me Damon tonight, Francine. After all, I’m not tipping you this evening.” He teased lowly, turning his attention to the dessert that she was raving about. He had to admit it was making his mouth water, and he didn’t hesitate in accepting the fork and dipping it into the sweet. “Crema Catalana.” The words passed his lips in a curious fashion, almost testing it on his tongue before he allowed himself to truly taste the dessert, a low sound of satisfaction escaping him. “You’re right, that is incredible.” He commented, placing the fork down on the table as he looked towards her. “Although I shouldn’t be surprised, you’ve been providing me with excellent opinions on taste for quite some time now.” For a brief moment, he allowed his gaze to take her in, trying to grow accustomed to seeing her out of the usual uniform. “Have you been back to Barcelona since then?”

Witnessing amusement (of all things) color the features of Damon’s expression, Frankie felt herself settle back in her chair, relief cottoning the most rigid pieces of her. Hearing the use of her full name, she feigned a shudder that ended in arms folded across her chest. “Please call me Frankie. Francine sounds like she models for a Depends catalog,” she muttered with the airiness of a joke. At the mention of the cash with which Damon had lined her apron countless times, she was suddenly reminded of the different positions the two of them held, the vast division between their worlds. Tangled in the distance of it all, she didn’t quite smile until he took the fork she’d offered, pleased as he followed her advice. “Isn’t it?” Tracing her gaze up from the plate between them, Frankie paused when she met with Damon’s lingering eyes. “I am starting to think you’ve always known what you wanted, though. Damon.” Bolstered by the champagne that emboldened through her bloodstream, she let her words hang like the moon above their heads for a few moments. She then cooled, setting her focus back onto the couple across the table. “No, never been back. You don’t tip me enough to afford a plane ticket,” she tacked on, her teasing much more overt now – perhaps in an attempt to tame her previous admission. “Have you ever been?” Frankie posed, tucking back the few strands that had freed themselves from her braided curls. “What’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen?” she added, feeling like Damon had lived worlds past what she had experienced, discovering a draw to learn about each of them. 

TIME: 10:30PM LOCATION: Founder’s Day Ball TAGGED: @catalinastarter​

If Damon had been famished before the food had been brought out, he was anything but now. The multiple courses had been delicious, and slowly the guests were beginning to move from their tables, some mingling with friends and guests around the room, and others migrating back towards the dance floor to continue with what they’d started prior to the meal. With mild curiosity, he began to wander around the room, wine glass in hand as he kept a keen eye out for a familiar face or someone who seemed in need of a conversation. It was then that his gaze paused on a guest still seated at their table, just them opposite a couple whose heads were close together in eager conversation. It seemed like a private moment, but they’d picked a strange place to carry it out. Without hesitation he took a seat beside the other person, setting his glass down on the table. “Are you feeling trapped at your table or are you waiting for something in particular?” He questioned calmly, allowing his gaze to flicker to the couple opposite them. “Or is this encounter too much like a telenovela to ignore?”

tagging | @catalinastarter​

“I swear to God, if you move even a muscle!” Lourdes threatened her friend as she dragged them into what she considered to be the perfect lighting spot, asking the photographer to wait for a bit while she adjusted herself and her friend into the pose. “Now smize and make Tyra Banks proud!” 

Frankie plucked a champagne flute from a nearby waiter’s tray. She propped an elbow on the arm across her chest, surveying her surroundings under through the glistening slits of her mask. She had barely taken a sip – the bubbles like a galaxied night, sparkling and bright, against her tongue, when Lourdes tugged her towards the camera. The pose requested was easily delivered. Frankie could not quantify the amount of times the best friends had posed for photos together, enough to fill a photo album one hundred times over, most likely. “I’m so glad you found me. I’m much too sober.” Frankie downed the rest of her glass, depositing it on the table nearby before she slipped the velvet clutch out from under her arm. Clicking it open, she turned its contents so Lourdes could see the tiny, candy resembling MDMA pills sealed in a tiny Ziploc.

The night seemed to glisten, same as Frankie’s dress under club’s pulsating lights. She was on fire - this was her element as she twirled and jumped with the strangers of the beach. In the whispers of her mind, she knew she didn’t entirely belong. LA seemed to pour through this Catalina hotspot, the circle of angels through which she’d never been able to break. This was her first time at Descanso. Only with a best friend like Lizzie who wore the name Kennedy was she able to get in, so she shouldn’t have been surprised when a certain head of blonde hair caught her eye. 

lourdes: i heard sexy and drinking game and i'm so in! wait lemme just catch up

lourdes: oh, ugh no that sucks lizzie bear!!! this is why i told you to invest in a bullet blender, those shits are indestructible

lourdes: but also, sexy drinking games pls!

lizzie: does this mean we're due for a night out????

lizzie: OMG we should totally go to le rouge

lizzie: the bartender is so dreamy there...

frankie: we are OVERdue for a night out - i'm so bored let's go be absolute idiots

The buzz of clientele always made for something pristine. The blur of Tom Ford suits, clinking glasses, and woven, golden light transformed the vineyard into the stuff of tales, of royalty. Or at least Frankie had once seen it that way. Five years of curt businessmen, wine-stained blouses, and heavy trays stomped the property into a chore, one that she was growing weary to commit. Nevertheless, she whirred through the bar top tables with ease, promoting her trademarked grin, her black apron pockets lined with cash tips from the California elite. It was a job. One that she was quite good at. “This is the Weingut Keller Riesling Trocken. Rheinhessen. It is fermented in Germany and shipped over to lovely guests, such as yourself, Mr. Lockhart,” she charmed, expertly pouring a sample into his crystal glass. “It’s quite popular. Certainly one of my favorites.” Pleased, she watched how the bearded billionaire savored his sip before requesting, in a hearty bellow, glasses for the entire table –– all of his eleven guests. Frankie nodded in acknowledgement, disappearing into the cellar to complete his order. She poured the dozen glasses and balanced them on her tray. Perhaps, she should have made two trips, but, reaching the end of the night and feeling the years of experience pad her ego, she elected for one, starting back towards the table. 

Attention fixed on her destination, Frankie did not, at first, notice the man who had entered the tasting area. Turning to ask him if he had a reservation, Frankie collided directly into him. The sound was up thunderous, musical as twelve glasses met with the floor, shattering into crystal snowflakes and glassware stems. Stunned, the waitress looked over at the table of guests, watching how they all watched her, silently. She shrunk. Finally looking at her collider, Frankie stuttered an apology. “I am so sorry, sir. I didn’t even see–” Stopping, harshly, she made sense of her cousin. Letting her lips stay parted as she took him in. “Rory?” His clothes were doused in wine, white wine, that seemed to attack the air with its fermented scent. After the way Rory had last spoken to her, some small piece of Frankie savored his unfortunate circumstance, but she was all too painfully aware of the nightmare this thousand dollar alcohol bath placed him in. The awareness for the latter outweighed her sick revenge plot, and her stomach twisted. “I can’t believe you’re.... Look don’t move, okay? I have to get new glasses.” Frankie stressfully stole glances between the waiting table and Rory, lowering her voice to grumble, “And a fucking Swiffer Wet Jet, Jesus Christ!” she characteristically exaggerated. “Just stay right there, okay? There are clothes back there for wait staff you can wear. I’ll grab some.”

It was probably the most private thing he did these days, trekking to the particular coffee shop in Avalon.  He wasn’t exactly an anonymous figure, but he wasn’t as likely to run into people he knew, and the chance to be alone in public was kind of nice.  He loved the people in his life, the precious few he kept, but even they weren’t privy to this.  For a few hours a day, and a couple of days per week, he’d let himself get lost in an elusive world he’d been trying to create since college.  It was the world he’d built when the real one around him turned to dust.  He’d managed, thanks to Evie, to craft something real, but it was fragile.  The one from college came with space to make mistakes, because he was the only one in it.  It took him a moment to reestablish himself in reality when a stranger greeted him.  There was definitely a moment of blank staring before he shook off the vestiges of words on the Retina screen page.  It didn’t bother him that she sat down, because she was lovely and far brighter than any of the words he conjured.

“Hey.  I don’t mind.”  He bit his lip and looked at the screen again.  “I’m… it’s probably nothing.  Me being impractical.”  He shrugged.  “I think I’ve seen you here before, right?”   

Frankie moved through the world with an unmistakable sense of confidence. It propelled her. Every step taken with bold footing seemed to further conceal the piece of her that yearned for her to blend, blend, blend. Leaning back in the chair across from Ben, she tucked a few strands of latte-shaded hair behind her ear and smiled, relieved that he wasn’t put off by her interruption. Listening to the stranger dismiss his work, Frankie settled in deep understanding, recognizing the motion as one with which she was all too familiar. “I’m sure it’s not ‘nothing,’” she ventured softly. “Sometimes being impractical... it’s the best way to be.” 

“I don’t know,” Frankie lied, pretending like she hadn’t been catching glimpses of him in several trips to the coffee shop before. “I do come here a lot, so probably,” she tacked on cooly. “I’m Frankie.” Extending her hand, she offered green eyes that beamed and lips that matched. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Reaching out, he shifted the seat outwards for her to take it. “Of course.” He offers, signaling towards the bartender, as he gestured towards his sister in law. “What are you having?” And once she’d ordered, and he’d directed the man to put it on his tab, he turned his attention back towards Frankie. What was it about her that made their relationship, almost tedious. As if she wouldn’t let him get close enough to call her family, or take on the role of a protective older brother. It was strange, considering how dearly he cared for his own younger sisters. But yet the two sat just feet away, and might as well been miles. “So who are you meeting tonight? Anyone special?” A brow raised as he took a lingering sip of his beer. 

“Vodka cranberry, please,” she rattled off to the bartender before facing Jonah. “Thanks.” Frankie spun slightly in her stool, sitting up more straightly. “You know, when I imagined men buying me drinks at the bar tonight, you weren’t exactly who I had in mind,” she attempts her joke, not feeling much like laughing, but doing so anyway. At Jonah’s suggestive expression, Frankie let a genuine smile brighten her features. “Yes, two very special someones. Lizzie and Lourdes. You remember them, right? They’ve been my best friends for forever.” She tore at the napkin in front of her a little bit while she waited for her drink. “What about you? What brought you here tonight? Just catching a drink after work or something?” 

lizzie: OMG

lizzie: i just tried to make a smoothie and it exploded

lizzie: EVERYWHERE

lizzie: I JUST WANTED TO DRINK A BANANA-STRAWBERRY SMOOTHIE IN PEACE 😭😭😭😭

frankie: that's why they make those extra long metal straws lovebug! for the turtles.... and so you can sip banana-strawberry off of your body

          There was something centering about solid earth beneath feet, the rush of wind through trees, and the general absence of people that came when you were out hiking. He needed it, the rush of the holidays and of coming back home too much, his head aching for a moment of freedom and a bout of inspiration. Nature had always been a retreat, even if it was hard to come by in the sprawling metropolis of L.A. Perhaps that was partly why the city had never truly felt like a home, even if he’d been too haunted by old ghosts, too afraid of not making it, to even consider moving back to Catalina until now. It shouldn’t surprise him so much to find he’s not alone as he turns a corner towards the trailhead, although it’s the figure that meets him that truly startles him, almost as long forgotten as a ghost. Confusion mingles with a sharp sense of guilt, and lips almost part to say something before she’s barreling towards him, arms barely reaching out in time to meet her hug. There’s an unmistakable warmth of affection in his gaze as she pulls back, words at a loss before she’s suddenly punching him ( again, unexpected – but perhaps slightly less surprising. ) Lips lift in a grin, that, at least, is familiar. “Mortally wounded, I’m afraid.” He teases, not skipping a beat before he’s clutching his shoulder and letting out a groan – although his eyes give him away; dancing with humor and familiarity, attempting to ease past her obvious embarrassment and the impending awkwardness that could bring forth. “Mhm – you always had a funny way of showing it. But it’s good to see you too, Frankie.” And it is, Frankie’s bright, enthusiastic spirit one that had become sorely evident was missing after she’d left L.A., silence unnerving when she’d been in his life for so long – brimming with questions and ideas and creativity, always showing up with new films to discuss or script ideas or simply spur-of-the-moment visits. 

         The admission of just how long it’s been jolts him back to the present. He’d been half-tempted to forget the lingering regret that comes at the thought of her ( at least momentarily, ) the guilt too, although it’s hard to tell if there’s any blame towards him on her end. But perhaps that doesn’t matter because it’s still present in him. After all, he’d encouraged her talent – her dreams. Only to leave her, alone and unprotected, in a city that was far too harsh and unforgiving to be named after angels. She didn’t need protection, he reminds himself, just support. Because despite Frankie’s unwillingness to share her writings with others, he’d seen her raw, undeniable talent. Had witnessed it in her writings, words that burst with life and creativity, painted entire worlds and seemed to speak even if they were only made out of paper and ink. Far better than that of any obnoxious film student who thought he’d become the next big thing just because he’d analyzed The Godfather. But L.A. had dimmed her light, threatening to extinguish it completely, and try as he might, he knew that leaving the place was perhaps the best choice for her. Which was why he’d never urged her back when he’d come back from a project only to find that she’d left, assuming that she might have a better shot at following her dreams in Catalina. “It has… and you’ve taken up hiking now?” A quizzical expression shifts over his features. How much else had changed? “After all my failed attempts at dragging you out, it seems. Or is this an in-depth character study for your next script?” 

Frankie allowed herself to relax, slightly, watching George’s joke sparkle over his bright eyes and listening to how he, too, was happy that they had serendipitously reunited. There were sometimes those people where the cobwebs could be brushed away with one hand, where the time didn’t seem to matter. She smiled at him, swinging fisted hands at her sides, and would have sworn that George was one of them, one of those people. “Oh– hiking. Right,” she oriented herself, feeling the breeze against the back of her neck. “No, you have it all wrong. It was never the hike I said ‘no’ to. It was having to hang out with you!” she teased, grimacing slightly as she navigated how much she fun was allowed after all of their time apart. “Duh.” Frankie stole a glance at her boots, before she folded her arms over her sweatshirt (some of Parker’s merchandise). “I don’t do that so much anymore – the scripts, I mean. It’s hard to make the time, you know?” She fibbed, lightly, the words carbonated on her tongue. More often than not, Frankie relegated her free time to writing, her notebook littered with the musings of a buzzed party girl and her computer’s arms embraced tightly the six or seven screenplays she’d finished since seeing the cinephile friend who stood opposite of her. “I mean, you must be busy. You get it, right? It’s hard to carve out the time to write your own stuff...” she trailed, suddenly struck by the countless questions with which she wished to throw him. About his life, his family, the industry. All of her inquires queued behind her cherry lips which parted to firstly ask, “Would you – I totally get if you’d rather walk alone, so you can think and listen to the... birds and stuff –– but I was wondering if you would like to walk together?” Frankie suddenly held such a desire to reintroduce herself to his mind: to know what he was working on, what movies he’d seen recently that he loved, what’s made him happy. “I’d love to catch up with you.” 

Thumbing the keen edges of the bottle cap, Jonah glanced around the vacant bar. It was just late enough that people were starting to appear, which meant he’d be taking his leave soon. Nothing like an overcrowded room to get the male out of his seat, and home to an even more daunting apartment. But at least there he’d be left to his own devices, staring at walls and drinking well enough to fall asleep peacefully on the couch until Parker made her appearance or the sun rose. Whichever happened first, which lately, he could rarely predict. Not that she’d ever talk about it, and the thought alone left a weight upon his chest and he moved to finish off his beer, just as another appeared. Glancing beside him, he lifted his bottle to them in mock cheers. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here tonight.”

open starter ➤➤➤  @catalinastarter​

There was something about being in the sun. Sitting there on a bench, fresh off a long shift, there was nothing better. A saner person might of booked it home to sleep or take a shower– anything to get a day’s work off of them, but not Aaron. Instead of the obvious, he sat there in the sun, soaking it all in. “God, isn’t this nice?” He said, leaning back even more, even if it wasn’t possible, “sometimes I hate that I work inside all day– missing all of this.” 

“Yeah, it’s great,” Frankie flatlined, copying Aaron when he settled against the back of the bench. Lifting a hand to shield the wilding sun - she’d forgotten her sunglasses at their place - she reaffirmed her preference for the indoors if she were being candid. Frankie took the sandwich she was eating (a pb&j Parker had made for her) and tore it in half, offering the smaller triangle to her roommate. “How was your shift? Did you kill anyone?” she poked, devilishly, her leafed eyes soft and delicately playful when she looked over at him. “Sorry. Was that too dark? I’m just kidding. Of course.”