...

     𝓕𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓴 whirls to face Joey, a frown etched deep into the creases of his mouth. His eyes are pinched at the corners, confused, hands locked tight into bloody balled fists as he regards the other with his arms raised defensively.

It takes him a moment to realize and another moment to relax, letting his fingers go lax and ignoring the familiar sting of bruised, busted knuckles. His face softens and he sighs exasperatedly, grinning and making a move to shove lightly at Jo’s shoulder.

ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ - accepting!

ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ - accepting! 

⚠  - 𝓕𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓴 has never been a careful planner. In fact- That’s exactly what landed him and his friends in the Entity’s realm in the first place- he didn’t think about killing the janitor, he just did it. It’s always been a characteristic that he’s carried with him as well; getting him thrown off the basketball team for punching a referee, and giving him several black eyes and bloody noses after smart mouthing his alcoholic foster dad.

ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ - accepting!

☺  - 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓽𝓮 his inner turmoil, Frank smiles quite often. His personality betrays his mind’s obvious want to curl in on itself and decay, and he can never stay in too bad of a mood for long.

     𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓸𝓷... His Legion. Frank scoffs without humor, occupying his focus elsewhere as he kicks mindlessly at the frozen mud beneath his shoes. “Yeah. Maybe we’re s’posed to... Well. Maybe they get along with those other freaks, but I... Y’know, I ain’t about to be buddy-buddy with no fuckin’ kiddy diddler.”

Softly, she speaks, and patiently, he listens. Now her earlier comment about entertaining him came to light, and very dumbly he began to realize that maybe it was a play on words. Very loudly, he announces his revelation.

“Oh! Yeah. It makes sense, you sound like you’d sing one of those super American songs... Country music. You a country singer, then?” He never liked country music, but being cooped up in a place like this for so long made him rethink his preferences. It wouldn’t be the worst thing ever to listen to something soothing for once, as opposed the clashing symphonies of his own mixtapes. He had half a mind to ask her to sing for him... Instead, he chooses to look past the urge for now.

     "𝖄𝖊𝖆𝖍, well, not me." His tone is bitter, matching the sour face he pulls beneath his mask. The snow does nothing to his already-chilled flesh; cold as though he'd died and been reanimated again. Maybe that's what had happened, after all. "I shouldn't even be here. None of us- My friends, I mean... We didn't do shit to get here. You know?"

He turns to face her, the bloody smirk of his visage a stark contrast to how he really feels. He was angry, sure- But he wasn't angry without reason. He wasn't a cold-blooded killer like half the psychopaths he shared his title with in this hellscape. He had feelings, fuck... He had a pet snake back at home named Elvis. Who of the others like him could say they had a damn pet snake? Dog? Cat? Do murderers like them even consider the life of an animal worth sparing?

"The big guy with the chainsaw- He eats people. He fuckin' eats 'em! The chili?!" He pauses, tone lowering. He wasn't even sure why he was being so open with this girl, but once he got going he didn't stop. "Don't trust that chili. Don't trust anything that blubberin' behemoth tries to give ya. Not the chili, not the pudding..." He was getting off track. Where was he going with this?

     𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 snakes between the Legion’s fingers like warm rivers, rivulets slipping down the slick material of of his worn leather jacket and staining it a crimson hue. He’s hunched over himself, breathing labored as he clasps a palm over the wound in his shoulder to help staunch the bleeding.

“You… stabbed me?” His tone was disbelieving; surprise evident even without his face being visible. Sure, he was a little new- But he’d never been injured before… Not by a survivor.

     “𝓢𝓲𝓽- wait. … Sit?” He asks, incredulous, expression bewildered behind the security of his mask. Why in the hell would he do that? He wants to talk!

The bizarre situation was just enough to keep Frank guessing, though, so he bites the bait and stalks over to collapse beside the blonde survivor; knife aloof in his bloodied hand. He follows her instructions and doesn’t speak; a feat harder than most for a chatterbox like him. Silence befalls them.

     “𝓢𝓸 eloquently put,” Frank sneers, blade in his hand shaking with the intensity of his adrenaline. He can feel an underlying sense of disgust at his eagerness, but it was quickly overshadowed by the Entity’s urge to kill kill kill.

     𝓕𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓴 can’t help the sharp exhale that passes through his lips, reclining further into the dilapidated couch he sat on. He crosses his arms, mouth twisting into an ugly scowl. 

   𝓦𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 air stings at Frank’s face as he regards the smaller girl carefully, lips drawn down and brows meshed together in concern. With chilly fingers he reaches out, carefully clasping one of her hands in his own.

“We’ll get out of here some day,” he says, but he’s not even sure of it himself anymore. “I promise.”

ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ's ɴᴏ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ɴᴏᴡ. ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ.