neon moon.

Jamie cocked his head at Frenchie’s giggling, uncertain of what to think of it when he’d only ever seen her poised and haughty. Girls like Frenchie didn’t often partake in joyous laughter while he was around. He couldn’t decide if he enjoyed it or became more skeptical of her sincerity but the glow on her cheeks said that it was better if he just took it at face value because it was unlikely to come again.

‘What better people than to get clues from?’ Jamie wrote after scrubbing her writing away. He looked dubious at her fluctuating finger, deciding to round up a couple more for good measure. If Jamie knew anything about alcoholics (and he did), it was that they weren’t very good at remembering things. The concern that she was wandering around, wasted without a voice to scream for help rose but he squashed it in favor of taking full advantage of the situation.

He bobbed his head noncommittally, vaguely indicating that he’d had some (he didn’t) before jotting a, ‘So, Frenchie, are you a virgin?’ onto her board with a little smiley face in case she thought he was being forward and aggressive. After a beat, he added, ‘Asking for a friend.’

got anything good yet? she asked, curiosity piqued by the idea of further investigation. Anything and everything pageant related was enough to garner her interest — for purely selfish reasons. It was the same old song and dance.

She blinked at him, slow and disbelieving, as if to communicate solely through a stare: are you fucking with me? With his lack of response after a few beats, she could only assume the answer was no. we need to work on ur small talk skills, she wrote first, shooting him a look to punctuate the point before moving on. i mean it, she added for good measure, underlining the statement twice.

T̀ń̮̻̲̣u̜̙̳̼̥͙̮͠l̵͉͉̗l̪̺̼a̲̫͓͙͙̻f̻̲̳̺̦̖̬ ̦̹̩͟a͎̟͜i͈͍l̟a҉̯t͉̞ro̵͖̙͎̲̬̝m͕̭͎͓̼̀ ͎͓͈̮̟̻̼͡m̹͕áu̸̲̟̰̭q͖̠̞̳͚̟͔͘mu͓̬n̡ ̨̖͍̙̱̜̰s̹̘̹̦̫̲o̝͈̯̩̭ḛ̸d̰̻̭̝̠͝ ̩̥̱̲͚̭̮͡a̩͉̥̰͖͝t̰͈̩̗̖̜́ͅc̟a̩̤̫

The whispers came soft at first, so Kaz barely noticed them. Adrenaline was still coursing through him, keeping him hyperaware of the situation at hand. He nodded to Frenchie. His arm was bleeding where Tommy had slashed at it, but it wasn’t gushing pints, which made it not their top priority. He could carry Tommy despite the wound and worry about the rest later. One step at a time. That was all they had to do.

“If we see anyone,” Kaz said, “he’s hammered. Got a little too lit at his own function so we’re being good friends and dragging his ass somewhere to sleep it off.” It felt like they were covering up a murder, even though Tommy was very much breathing (a fact Kaz was all too aware of). He lifted the boy with some effort - he almost wanted to ask what the fuck Tommy had been eating lately, but he didn’t want to think about the answer.

T͇̰̭̭͚̪̮ͭ́ͥ̌̎ͤ̍͐ͮn͈̳̼͓͉͙͉̬̅̐͗̆̑̈́̓̂ǘ̜̝̭͚̰͓͗l̖͌̽̈́̆̔ͫ̈l̲̲̲̦̭̦̺͓̍̈ḁ̞̭̳̅̌͑̚f͖̬̳̬͚͓͇̀̈ ͇̹̺ͨ͊ͨ͌ͬ̀͛ͅå͈̦̪͎̜͖ͅi̞̮̰̝̩̦͚ͪ̍̎ͬ̽ͧ̍l̫͋̽â̩̖̌͑̽̓̄ͮț̼͕̰̘̙͊͐ͧ̈r͎̠͙͉͉͚̬̃̿ͣͪ͆ͬo̫̗͎̖͐͑ͪ̽ͭ̾ͯ̄m̺͙̙̒̂͛̊ ̣̲͌̃ͯ̒̊ͪ̈m̱̣͖̻̂ͥͪ͌̄ͅa̬͕̭̫͚̱̜ͩ̆͂ṳ̩̥̻ͤͣ̍̈́͒͋͂ͩͅq͙̥̯̀̋̍̄ͣm̲͓̻͎̝̭̭͍ͩ̊u̻͓̪̫̥͕͆̏̍̂͊ͨn̮̫̻̠̗̘ͩ̋̑̽͛̓ ̟͕̘̣̈́͂̓ͣ̓͂̽s̩͚͓͇̓̄ͅỏ̞̬̤̳̭̘̊̓͆͑̍̋̓e̖͍̪͎̺̤͖ͨ̊ͬ̄̓͋d̤̜̃͒͐͑ͪͯ͑̔̂ ͈̫̤̰̘͒ͤ̍a̺͇͚̠̙͆͋ͪͅt͇͎͓̳̽̈c̯̙̹̱ͨ̊̓ͮ͑ä̻̙͓̹̠̗̙͉́̆ͯͅ

The whispers started to grow louder as they trudged through the woods, Kaz following Frenchie’s lead. The voices sounded like a choir of Tommys, singing and hissing and spitting inside his head. All repeating the same strange phrase.

T̸̳͇̔̓͂̏ͮ̀͌̆̃͡͠n̮̙͙̆̎͊̀̚u͑͏͏̙͉͍l͙͉̦ͪ̾ͯͧ̍͒l̴̨̟̃̌̐̀ă̰͖̥̹̦̺̼ͪͯf̯ͨ̏ ̨̨̝̮̭͈̦̬̠͕̾ͦ̑ͪͨ̀ä̵̰̼̩̮̘̖̠́ͭ̊̐ͧ͞ͅi̮̖̅͂͂̔ͣ͐̓͞l̖̬̯͈ͫ̏̓̄̈a̛̹͉̱̳͂̆̒̉͊̓̐t̞͎͛͂ͭ͒ͭ̄͝͝͞r̨̭̜̼̻̲̫̰̼̩ͨ̎͐͆̈́͒ͮͥơ̫̥̽̉ͬͮm̡̧͔͉̮͙͎̺̲̝̓͑͂ͩ̊̎ ̱̥̫̳͖̟̯͋ͫ̉ͭ̚͜m̤̲̻͕͛ͥͪͣ̃ͨͫͨ̔̀͠a͍̜̟̲͊͂̊ų̙͎͖̰̜͖ͦͯ̍͆͗͒ͨ̒̀q̆ͮ̐ͥͯͭͧͮ͏̵͖͎͚̪̪͔̺̯m̤̣̥͎̮̈͑̑ͭ̈̿ư̭̻̝͓̟̞͚̈ͪͫ́n͇̖̗̪ͪ͋̾͐ͯͬ̓ͭ̌͘ ̨̰̳͉̜̟̩̻̮͍͑̄ͭͤ̑͒̀ͣ͝͡s̡̘̤͈̗̘̱̹͙̾̄͐̽ͥ̊̊̿o̸̔͋͆͏̱̠͍͎͕͓ͅͅe̛̮̬̓̊́̂̍ͣḑ̸̳̟̬̹͍̳̜̹ͤ͑̀̉ͅ ̇ͭ̋ͬ̑̓͌̉҉̪͖a̰͇͙̟͚ͦͦ̚t̶̷̖̯̜̠͚͙̣̅̆͋ͧ͌͂͒c̋ͥͣ́ͧ̋ͩ̄̄҉̢̮̬̼̙͔̞̻̪͢ȁ̗͕̣̩͉͋̓͂̔ͧ͠

T̶̰̫̬̮̣̙̝n̕҉̸̱̭̺͓͡u̷̶̶̶̡͓̳̱͕̞̲̘̟̳̱̘l̸̠̬̼͇̬̫͖͖̣͕̞̟͎̟̪͔͔͟͡ͅļ̞̠̱͓̼͢a̷̘̙̯̟͇̟͚͠͡f҉̸҉̛̦̯̹͍̤̗͖̦͔͖̣ ̛͔̤̲̪͉̰͎̲̲̯̻̀͝͝͠a͜҉̸̜̳̙̞̥͖̟̹͔̳̙̫͈̪̤̖i̶̛̗̞̫̭̼̘̬͢͞ĺ̨̟̖̻̬̜̗̣̪͇̖͔͎̙̬͞ą̀҉̨̱̮͎̻͍͓̹̲̭t̵̷̨̛͎͚͓͜r̷͘͏͍̩̫̬o̸͓̞̥̭̺̳̝͉͈͘͡m̴̡̧̳̙̟̱͢ ̵̵͇̻̩̞̭̟ḿ͕͔̣͖̹̟͙̮̙̙͕̙͖̹̕͢ͅͅa̸̛͔͖̩͓̦̪̯̘̹̭̘̪̲̜̼ù̢̺̠̪͓ͅq̴̲̼̦̣̰͓͙͔̹͉͓̩̼̞͢m̡̮̲̻̺̘̥̞̖̞̹̰̳̠͢͢͞u͜͏̥͎͕̣͉̥̲̮̮̹͙͎n̼̺̣̲͙̱̘̳̘̭̳̤̬͓̣͞ͅ ̡̛̫͉̜͍̝͓̼̘̜͉̜̦͓̝̺̲͔̭̼́́s͟͏̢̹̲̙̞͈̹̘͓̜̺̫͎̪̻̼̜̭͇̞̀o̶͚̮͉͖̙ę̸͉̗̩̳̘̲̼͙̯̞̺d̸̨̖̱̼͔̠̘̘̼̙̣̯̝̗͢͞ ̴̷͕̖͈̩͟a͏̶̨̜̣̰̤̣̠̫͔̺͖̪͟t͏͏̡̢̤̤̰͙͕̣̳̬̠̫̜c̴̪͙͖̞̦̦̺̮̲̀͟͜͠a̢̡̹̲̝̬̰

Tnullaf ailatrom mauqmun soed atca.

Kaz stumbled at the cacophony of sound that he knew Frenchie could not hear. His breathing was getting more ragged by the second, but he quickened his pace. He walked past Frenchie even though she was directing him, on a one man mission to get the hell out of the woods.

It didn’t take too long, thankfully. As soon as his feet crossed the barrier between the woods and the rest of Normal, the voices stopped.

He muttered a quick ‘sorry’ to the girl before giving her back the lead. "By the way, I know there’s a lot to talk about and figure out, but… might wanna take a shower first. I wouldn’t hold it against you. I dunno if you’ve noticed yet, but all that glow-in-the-dark paint everyone was playing with all night was five bodies worth of blood.”

Frenchie didn’t know what had gotten into Kaz, but she didn’t voice any complaints — metaphorically speaking — as he picked up the pace on the journey out of the forest. She followed along behind him in now-characteristic silence, offering him a small, understanding smile once they emerged from the trees. 

Her mouth hung open in an O for a long moment, gaze unblinking as she stared at Kaz in disbelief. She wasn’t anywhere near Edwina’s level when it came to germs and blood and that sort of thing, but — but this was five bodies’ worth of blood? She took deep breaths in and out, nice and slow, wishing not for the first time tonight that she could let less a scream every once in a while. Like now, for instance. 

Frowning deeply and resisting the urge to wipe all the caked-on paint — blood — off of her, Frenchie gave him a tight nod, looking straight ahead instead of down at her soaked tank top. “We can take turns in my bathroom, if you want,” she signed. “I could get you some of Theo’s sweatpants.”

Vi really didn’t know Frenchie all that well. They had interacted occasionally in the past, but (as per usual for Violet) had never really progressed beyond that point. So when, upon spotting the girl, Vi noticed the fact that her board was proudly proclaiming Violet’s name with two exclamation marks, the girl was a little taken aback. In a good way, though. There were no bad surprises four freezies in.

Quickly moving towards the girl with a smile, Violet greeted her with a quick “hey” before answering her question. “Assuming that my dad can be convinced, which he probably can be if someone nice asks him. Do you think I’m supposed to be playing to win? Because if so… some tips would be appreciated.”

do u want me to ask him? i can ask him! i’m a hit w/parents, she offered with a bright, hazy smile. Frenchie’s poise and eloquence had always won her brownie points with most parents — now, of course, it was a little harder to be eloquent when she couldn’t speak, but it still translated decently well. Plus, of course, her tipsy confidence made her believe that absolutely anything was possible. 

—      KAZ .

Just when Kaz thought he was about to get stabbed in the kidney, Tommy turned from him. There Frenchie was, in all her 5′3 glory, with a bright pink canister of pepper spray. She was his dainty, girly, totally wicked awesome hero. 

As Tommy struggled with the spray in his eyes, Kaz rifled through his pockets for something, anything. His hand clutched the knife, but he knew he couldn’t. He took it out and tossed it far, settling for a nearby branch instead. It wasn’t as thick as a bat but it was thick enough to do the job. He was used to being cool and collected during a game, but that night his heart was racing impossibly fast. He was angry and scared and he really didn’t want to kill Tommy Richter at his own party.

He swung for Tommy’s temple. A loud crack sounded with the impact and Kaz’s blood momentarily froze in his veins. Had he whacked Tommy’s head off? No, no, the branch just broke. Tommy was down though and Kaz got on top of him. He grabbed the second knife, peeling it from Tommy’s grip and chucking it through the woods the same way he’d done the first. 

“Help me hold him still,” he asked Frenchie. He whipped his shirt off, using the cloth to tie Tommy’s hands behind his back. They pinned him there, in the woods between the party and his house. “Water polo sucks, Tommy,” Kaz spit into his ear, tasting copper around his words and hoping the blood was his own. 

“What do we do now?” he asked Frenchie. He didn’t watch horror movies; he didn’t know what the next step was. All he could think was that Jamie needed to see this, and handing Tommy over to the hackjob they called a Sheriff was the last thing he wanted to do. 

“Does your house have a basement?”

Frenchie proved herself to be silent, but certainly deadly. Unbeknownst to Tommyish, the girl had taken advantage of his focus on taunting Kaz to clonk the black eyed boy in the head with a rock. Turning his head to hiss at her, he was met with a face full of lachrymatory agent. His batty laughs were now twisted into screams of agony as Tommy began to claw at his own pepper spray soaked face. His nails broke skin and the open wounds only made the mace more painful. Blood trickled down, but was hardly anything compared to Kayla from Chem’s insides coloring his chin red.

“You stupid bitch!” he spat before Kaz bashed a branch to his temple with the force of a home run baseball. Out of all the people to take him down he never thought it’d be the cheerleader. Perhaps this was his payback for telling the water polo team last year that she ‘totally gave him a handie’ behind the local Red Lobster when that definitely did not happen. 

 Dazed and running out of stamina to keep himself fighting the two, Tommy looked up to Kaz . “Tnullaf ailatrom mauqmun soed atca.” Tommy groaned before slumping over and finally KOing after a night of causing terror. He may have been done for the time being, but the rising and falling of his chest indicating life still there    and possibly the lose of life to others if they didn’t get him out of there and chained down.

At Kaz’s command, Frenchie made a face, hesitating for only a split second before dropping to help him pin Tommy down. She didn’t want to be touching him any more than was absolutely necessary — and, well, keeping him under control seemed pretty damn necessary right now. Honestly, she hadn’t thought they’d get this far. She certainly could’ve done without the sight of Tommy’s torn-up face.  

Somewhere in the tussle, she’d lost her board — no time to look for it, not now. Instead, she signed a desperate and wide-eyed “I DON’T KNOW!” at the current conundrum of a knocked-out Tommy flat on the ground between them. Frenchie’s teeth worried at her lower lip, brow drawn together in concern as she attempted to come up with some sort of idea. 

It wasn’t Abby’s first party, but so far it was her worst party.  There weren’t too many others in her history to compare it to, a handful scattered across the past few years, but there was still no contest.  Normally, she went as part of a group, the devoted designated driver who made sure everyone stayed out of trouble and vomit stayed out of hair, but, having grown distant from said group over the past months, she was here alone and, to be frank, lonely.  She’d been playing her usual part of wall flower, searching the crowd for someone she both recognized and felt comfortable talking to while internally debating whether or not to just leave or, with trepidation, actually try the alcohol for once, when Frenchie had appeared before her.

“Dying?”  Abby shouted over the music, concern twisting her features, before she saw the scrape in question.  At the grand reveal, she actually laughed, shaking her head a little at the theatrics.  “Yeah, I’ve got you!”  She quickly scanned the edges of the space for a spot where they’d be less likely to be jostled or get unwanted freezie in the injury.  Finding one, she gently grabbed Frenchie by the elbow and pulled her toward it, already twisting her grip on the purple bag to unzip it and dig out what looked like a white soft pencil-case with a blocky cross drawn in red sharpie on the side.  “So how’d you manage that?”

Frenchie was perfectly happy to let herself be guided away from the claustrophobic mass of people; she trusted Abby, after all, and the throbbing bass felt like it was about to thud right through her skull. At this point, she was drunk enough that she did little more than blink at the sight of Abby’s due diligence in patching her up — but not drunk enough to disregard her meager injury entirely. She’d always been a drama queen, and who was she to deny her companion the chance to practice her first-aid skills? 

—      KAZ .

Frenchie started heading toward him. Alone? Kaz tried to get her attention, waving wildly at his phone and letting out harsh whispers of “Frenchie! Frenchie.” that sounded more like sneezes. Then their Facetime session ended.

So now not only was he stuck behind a tree with a super powerful demon water polo player getting closer and closer by the second… but they were about to be joined by a lithe, blonde pageant queen. And he’d just lured her out there, doing Tommy’s dirty work for him. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Kaz put his phone back into his pocket, debating the knife. Could he use it? Did he have the cajones? He wasn’t sure that he did. This was Tommy Richter. They’d been friends once. Could Kaz really stab him just because his eyes went all black and he’d killed one or two or five people? 

He put the knife into his pocket, grabbing a nearby rock instead. If Frenchie was on her way, he’d have to make sure Tommy didn’t see her before it was too late. He stood up, coming out from around the tree.

“Hey Tommy?” he yelled out into the woods. “Fuck you.” 

Tommy spun  around at the sound of his name, his bewilderment quickly overcome by wicked glee as he gripped the knife tight.

“Nice insult, Sandlot. You talk like you’re fearless, but I can smell your fear.” He took a wild swipe at Kaz, doing little but spraying blood from his blade onto the other like a maniacal painter. Bob Ross’ unhinged protege. 

“You smell like a scared little boy. You’re just like Alfie right before they took him.” He lashed out again but missed with purpose, rumbling with sick delight at the way Kaz’s face rose and fell with surprise.

“You’re going to be looking for him forever, Kaz! You’re going to stay here until you die searching for him. You’re never going to leave!” Taking another stab at the air, Tommy’s knife drew closer than before, nicking the Kaz enough to make the blood bubble out from the cut. His mouth dribbled with hunger.

[ While taunting Kaz, Tommy has his back turned. He has zero idea another person is with them.

Now is your chance to do something. How do you help Kaz? ]

@frvnchies·

@kazcaldwell — Stupid. This whole plan was the dumbest thing she’d ever done, and nothing but blind, sheer bravado kept Frenchie’s feet moving swiftly across the grass. She didn’t know what on earth she’d been thinking — she should’ve found Jamie, or Holly-Eve, or anyone, Jesus Christ. But then again, those precious minutes would’ve been wasted, and who knew what would happen to Kaz in the meantime?

Swallowing thickly, Frenchie tensed at the sound of Kaz’s shout somewhere in the mid-distance. She was close. But not close enough. Picking her way through the woods, she followed the sounds of Kaz and Tommy — or, at least, what kind of sounded like Tommy. Frenchie didn’t know if it was because of the lingering effects of alcohol in her system, but something seemed... off. 

     lovable alpha bitch / the speechless / so beautiful, it’s a curse

When Frenchie lost her voice and joined the Murder Club, she and Kaz had been naturally drawn together. They were more used to being around each other than the others, having come from the same social circle. So there had been afternoons at Marie’s spent learning ASL, which always seemed a lot easier to him than writing lengthy essays or figuring out what was going on in his mother’s telenovelas.

So when she signed to him asking if he was okay, he understood. He shook his head. He set the hunting knife on his knee and held a hand up to sign back.

Tommy, he said, trying to act fast and remember the ASL alphabet at the same time. Bad. Five dead people.

She looked confused and from the sound of Tommy, he didn’t have a lot of time to convince her this was real. He grabbed the bloody knife, bringing it into her view.

Help. 

He swung the phone around then, to show her where he was, then focused it back on himself.

Help.

At the sight of the knife, she audibly gasped, then clapped a hand over her mouth as if she could contain the sound once she’d already made it. A flash of guilt ran through her like fire, and she was suddenly, intensely grateful that any scream she could’ve made was robbed from her before it could ever leave her mouth. 

It suddenly made a lot of sense as to why Kaz had called her. 

“Forest? Near Tommy’s?” she signed, only vaguely recognizing where he was. Frenchie had already begun moving away from the party, but she wanted to make sure she was heading in the right direction. “I’m coming.”

Holly was only half aware of what was going on around her. She’d reached the tipping point between just enough and one too many freezies. No doubt her tongue was a florescent shade of blue that would put a smurf’s skin to shame. But tonight she didn’t care. It felt nice to stumble through a crowd uncaring that she was bumping bodies with people she didn’t know, breathing in air that was sticky with….something undetermined.

At first, when she saw someone frantically waving, she thought the gestures were for someone else, until she recognized the bedazzled clip board in Frenchie’s hands. She looked up to see the man encroaching way too close, watching them with a drunken gaze.

“Fuck off, dude, she’s not interested,” Holly waved the guy off, taking Frenchie’s arm and helping lead her away. “You okay? He didn’t hurt you or anything right? Just invasion of personal space?”

She shot a grateful look at Holly-Eve, resting her hand delicately in the crook of the other girl’s arm as she led her away. “I’m okay,” she signed simply, then put her board to use once more. You ready to defend my honor? she wrote, an amused expression overtaking her features now that they’d moved away from her temporary tormentor. The club would probably make a terrifying tag-team on that dude. She paused, adding something. Except Edwina, maybe. She huffed out a laugh at her own projections, then turned a little more serious.

Jamie didn’t expect to run into just about everyone in the club at the party but it was just his luck. The all-black ensemble did little to spare him recognition when his brother was a party monkey, jumping from one blonde to the next like their flaxen locks were a glowing welcoming sign, inviting him to come in. It struck him that maybe Frenchie had come to him for that very reason until her confusion had him both relieved and worried. 

“It’s Jamie,” he said aloud for the umpteenth time that evening. He signed his name, the given one, with the prongs that also signaled ‘weird’ or the devil. Or whatever. He wasn’t about to assume that he knew what deaf culture was like, other than the fact that he knew that he didn’t have much of a choice on what people called him.

Jamie said something that got swallowed up in the noise before deciding to take her pen and board. I’m looking for clues, he wrote. How many freezies did you have?

She nodded enthusiastically at his signing, letting out a giggle — one that would not have been as forthcoming as it was if she were anywhere near sober — at the choice of sign he used to describe himself. It was pretty appropriate, honestly. And just the kind of confirmation she needed. 

Watching someone else write on her board for once was a weird perspective. Frenchie tilted her head and squinted at it in the low light, stealing her pen back from him to scribble out a response of her own. clues about darleen? from drunk people? she prompted, somehow managing to appear intrigued and apprehensive all at once. 

Kaz ran from that demonic version of Tommy faster than he’d ever run before. If the scouts could’ve seen him out there in that dark night, he would’ve been fielding offers from every major baseball team in the country. But it wasn’t enough. Tommy was fast too. Whatever was possessing him had given him strength he’d never normally had. The dude played water polo for fuck’s sake. Water polo was barely a sport!

He stumbled through the woods, whipping past branches and thorny shrubs that tore up his shins. When he found a particularly fat tree trunk, he slipped around to its other side to catch his breath.

He crouched, listening to Tommy’s voice taunting him. The fear was heightening his every sense, which he used to track how far away the other guy - monster? - was. He had a death grip on the hunting knife in one hand as he used the other to dig his phone from his pocket.

Who to call? Who to call? Jamie was the obvious choice, but what had happened to him after he was shoved in a closet with Edwina? Was he still locked there? Weren’t most of Kaz’s friends currently wasted at the warehouse? God forbid he call any of them and they shout drunkenly through the phone at him, attracting the attention of everything within a too-close radius.

He thought of the field, where pitchers and catchers could communicate silently so as not to alert the player at bat to their strategy. If only there was a way to do that in real life…

Oh fuck.

Frenchie.

Trying to keep his breathing quiet and under control, Kaz unlocked his phone with a swipe. His hand was shaky as he navigated the apps until he found Facetime and Frenchie’s name in his contacts. He muted his phone to block the ringing and any noise from the party, then called her. His own whispered pleas filled the silence as he waited.

“Please pick up, please pick up…”

@frvnchies·

In between the haze of freezies and cups of punch, Frenchie had made her rounds more than a few times. She’d weaved her way between the Murder Club and her typical friends, making regular laps from the bottom of the food chain to the top — but by now, she was starting to droop, poking idly at the paint that Raquel had smeared across her skin an eternity ago. She’d had enough of shoving her board at drunks in the dark, and the feeling of her phone vibrating in her pocket gave her a perfect excuse to wander away from the loudest parts of the warehouse.

“Kaz?” she signed once the call had connected, frowning at the screen and a little relieved that he had one of the shortest (and easiest) names to sign. It had been fairly simple to teach him, and she could only hope that he’d called her because he remembered some semblance of ASL. Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past him to forget the fact that she couldn’t exactly talk on the phone — but, then again, he’d had the forethought to use Facetime. Maybe all wasn’t lost.

Once she’d managed to pull herself from her own internal monologue, Frenchie’s freezie-soaked mind was able to recognize the fact that he looked scared. The very expression sent a chill down her spine.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. 

Straightening up instantly, a flurry of emotions flickered across Frenchie’s features: worry, confusion, and, well, fear. “Are you okay? Where are you?” she signed, as slowly and deliberately as she could manage, trying to keep it as basic as possible to make sure he would be able to understand. Though Kaz had taken to ASL lessons like a fish to water, there was no telling what he’d remember under duress. If he remembered anything. 

Raquel had been at the party for a while, making her way to the warehouse where the party was taking place as soon as she had heard about it. She wasn’t going to turn down some free drinks. It was also easier to sell oregano and sugar pills to dumbass meatheads when they were already sloshed, before cracking out the real stuff. If they were dumb enough not to realize it when they bought it, why should Raquel feel guilty about it? It was easy money to feed some of her own habits. She had possibly already dipped into the stash and popped a pill of her own as she played with the paint before working on others, who could blame her? It was a party, and it only made the colors seem even more bright and beautiful to look at as she swirled the paint around. 

She was just finishing up on someone when she caught Frenchie’s gaze from a few steps off. Raquel smiled brightly back at the girl when she saw her, gaze dropping down to her little, bedazzled writing board. She nodded when she read the message, wiping her hands carelessly on the person in front of her, ignoring their little outcry of ‘Hey!’ as she made her way over to the other girl. “Why Frenchie,” she said, smirking at the next thing the blonde wrote. “Are you flirting with me?” she asked. “I would have done it anyways, but if you’re going to be handing out favors,” she teased with a wink before picking up a paint brush again to start working on her. “Any requests, or do you want me to just go wild?” she asked. 

A rather unladylike snort escaped her at Raquel’s nonchalance, but she found herself uncharacteristically pleased that the action was on her behalf. She was — horrifyingly enough — starting to consider the members of this little club to be some semblance of friends. She only supposed that it felt sort of nice to have the appearance of being treated the same way in return. Counting your lucky stars already? Frenchie scribbled back, raising one eyebrow at her new companion. Don’t get your hopes up. I’m told my attentions are fickle. She added an exaggerated pout for effect, as if it were all beyond her control.

@screamqvccn — For once, Frenchie felt in her element. Recently, she’d been pulling away from her ‘traditional’ friends, placing orders at Marie’s for the likes of the Murder Club instead of the cheerleading squad. Even though she came from a higher section of the popularity bracket than most of the other members of the club (Kaz excluded), she’d felt almost like a fish out of water amongst them; but here, at this stupid party thrown by stupid Tommy, Frenchie felt more or less at ease. It was likely that this feeling was due to the fact that she’d been at parties like this a thousand times before.

@violet-matthews — Violet had always been something of a mystery; it was possible, Frenchie supposed, that that fact was entirely on purpose. Though she could pinpoint most people at their school to one or two distinct groups, the blonde had never really pigeonholed herself the way other students seemed to do. The good news? It made her a good candidate for the club’s brewing pageant plan. Being versatile was always a positive skill to have on your side. Violet!!, she wrote sloppily, smiling widely with a freezie clutched precariously between her grinning teeth. As she made quick work of downing the rest of it, it became abundantly clear that she’d had a few already. Or more than a few. ur doing the pageant right??? 

@hollys-eve — Though she’d made her way through most of the Murder Club at one point or another, Frenchie had quickly become tired of the one constant throughout the evening: a belligerently drunk basketball player, swaying and altogether much too vocal about whatever boring shit his remaining brain cells could muster up. An icy glare could usually send even the most determined suitors running for the hills, but this one seemed blindly fixated on remaining by her side (or, rather, trailing five steps behind her). All she wanted was to gorge herself on freezies and irreparably stain her shirt with neon paint in peace. Even this, it seemed, was impossible. 

@abby-rosenthal — Under any normal circumstances, clumsy was hardly the first word someone would use to describe Frenchie. Graceful, perhaps, as she glided across the pageant stage; stuck-up on a bad day, when her sneer was ever-present on her face. But there’s always a first for everything, so it seemed that today was Frenchie’s day to bear the brunt of being uncoordinated for once in her life. Desperately, she searched the crowd for any semblance of a familiar face — and as a direct answer to her prayers, none other than Abby Rosenthal herself emerged from the masses. If there was anything for certain in life, it was this: death, taxes, and the fact that Abby would inevitably have anything she could ever possibly need hidden somewhere in her ever-present backpack. As such, Frenchie made a beeline for the brunette, planting herself directly in Abby’s path to ensure there was no mistaking her intentions.

@devilsward​ — Everything at this party was so loud. Even if she could talk, it wasn’t as if anyone would be able to hear her; in a way, it was comforting. Here, everyone was in the same boat as her. Even so, she’d lost Theo about a half hour ago, and he was the only one around who’d sign with her. And so she’d been left to wander, freezies clutched in her hand until her gaze caught on pale hair and dark skin. Eyes lighting up in recognition, she followed a wobbly line toward her newest target, nearly tripping and falling over the wedges on her feet with every careless step. By the time she arrived, it was a miracle she hadn’t taken a tumble onto the sticky warehouse floor.