THE REVENANT

“You did?”

In spite of himself, he buried a laugh in his hand. It was so stupid. It was so… sad. Everything they’d–everything he’d worked so hard for was threatening to unravel at the seams, and here they both were thinking the other person had the pieces they were missing. If only it were that simple.

Even so, it was reassuring not to be the only person who didn’t know what the hell was going on. More reassuring still that it was Frank, who exuded such effortless calm even now–enough that Egor’s hands had stopped wringing, simply resting in one other as he watched Frank light his cigarette, his eyes drifting awkwardly between his face and the open seat next to him.

“…Yeah.” He finally sat, shifting a few times to adjust the distance between them. More, then less. Then more. Less. They had always had a hinge between them, be it Aleksis or Colt–not until now did it occur to Egor that he wasn’t sure how to interact with Frank on his own. He set his hands on his knees, fingers drumming nervously. “So… what do you think?”

Are we going to die?

“I think–I mean, it’s Colt, not some–” He made a vague twirling gesture with his hands. “–it’s Colt. He’ll listen to us, right? This doesn’t have to end in… well. It doesn’t have to end.”

Tucking the zippo back into the inside of his jacket, Frank let out a smoky sigh as he looked ahead at nothing in particular. Egor’s question was a difficult one to answer. In all honesty, Frank didn’t know what to think. He was angry, of course. Disappointed and confused, definitely. But none of it made any sense. He knew Colt—or thought he did anyways. But there was no way all that happened between them was bullshit. Frank’s had his fair share of experience of two-faced assholes trying to get all chummy with him. Colt wasn’t that. There was no way.

So why?

“…It won’t end.” Frank sniffed before hunching forward to rest his elbows on his knees, neck twisting to glance over at Egor, “Listen, I dunno exactly what the hell’s got Colt possessed right now, but there’s no way he’ll break the Loop.” The conviction was feigned perhaps, but it was said with such certainty that Frank nearly believed himself.

“Y’know, really I wanted a moat with a crocodile, too, but they said the water was too cold for it to actually survive.” He also would have needed to figure out a way to raise the waterline around the castle high enough for him to be able to actually see the crocodile, because there’s no point in having a moat with a crocodile if you can’t even see the crocodile. “I drafted up some rough designs for a robo-crocodile but it didn’t really–”

Frank suddenly stops short. Charlie, who had entirely forgotten about his seatbelt, is launched directly into the windshield, his head colliding with the glass with a solid THUNK.

“What–” He’s now wedged almost entirely on to the dashboard, crumpled like a tossed marionette with his legs in the air, his hat askew, the imprint of his face against the glass. “Help.”

He doesn’t realize he’s bleeding until he feels it trickle down to his ear. The scar - stitches still freshly removed, the gash still just barely healed, perpetually delicate now that the loop has begun before the tissue could fully settle - split open from the impact.

“Frank? Frank, help. Help me. Frank. Frank help.”

One idiot running out in front of his car already today was already more than enough. But another?? And on the same fucking drive too?? Frank couldn’t hold himself back this time.

He centered his rage on the Eternalist in front of them, so suddenly focused, he hardly registered his now crumpled passenger, since flung from his seat. Not a moment was spared between when his tires stopped and the solid click of Frank unbuckling himself and throwing the driver side door open.

Taking a deep puff from his cigarette, Frank stepped up and out from his beloved Bonneville, his eyes, furious, never leaving the Eternalist for a second. Pinching the the filter of his cigarette, Frank plucked it away from his lips and flicked it onto the asphalt like a glowing dart. Smoke shot out his his nostrils in jets as he slammed the car door shut and descended onto the unlucky idiot.

“The HELL’S your problem?” A sound, almost a gasp, cut out from the Eternalist as Frank yanked them forth by a handful of their shirt, “You that fuckin’ eager to test out what looping’s like already, pal? Huh?!*”

The blank eyes of the other’s mask stared up at him in mock indifference, yet the voice behind it slurred some bullshit out about ‘chaos.’ It was just about all Frank had the patience for before he let go of their shirt. The Eternalist managed to stumble back a single step before Frank’s fist connected to their face with a muffled crunch. They fell back with a quick, solid drop. Likely unconscious.

Frank sniffed as he looked over the now prone Eternalist, running a hand back over his well coiffed hair. Fuck, he needed that.

A motion in the corner of his eye and Frank’s gaze finally landed on Charlie, looking rough—well, rougher. His expression contorted from anger to confusion and a bit of awkward pity. Stepping around the unconscious stranger, he made his way over to the car’s passenger side and opened the door.

from this

🔥 - A song that embodies my muse’s lust or passion  &

📯 - A song featuring instruments that my muse would play

Can't Get Enough by Los Tones

🎤 - A song that my muse would sing &

😡 - A song that embodies my muse’s aggression

ALEKSIS NARROWS HIS EYES BEHIND SLANTED MASKHOLES. Like there’s something… off about Frank that he can’t quite wrap his head around. Like there’s a shadow in his eyes, a strain in the crooked lean of his smile. But that doesn’t make sense. He, Aleksis Dorsey, has arrived! So there’s no reason for anything to hold Frank back from unabashed delight, excitement, and fulfillment? Well, he does seem glad to see him, so Aleksis can quickly discard whatever suspicion had sharpened his gaze into that skeptical squint. Until—

“Is that…?” He lifts his pale, plaster snout as he catches wind of something smoky on the air. Something freshly burned with a paper crackle and chemical glaze? Aleksis turns his head toward Frank in an accusatory snap. “What’re you smokin’ without me, huh? Tch. Rude.” Like how Spicer used to slink off with Colt to do all kinds of mischief that had been so stupidly private between them. He’d always figured they were getting handsy in dark corners, but Frank could’ve at least told him about it. Or invited him along. 

Colt, though, is a sore subject right now. Even if Aleksis is less discouraged and more amused with the Captain’s shocking betrayal. It just feels like a game — a fun twist to spice things up when it had started to taste stale at the back of his throat. Bring it on, big boy. He likes dance partners who can really boogie.

But he’s distracted by a familiar arm over his shoulders and the reassuring pats across his chest. Instantly, he leans into his side with a drawn-out, dramatic sigh of relief. “Yes, yes, yes! Daddy needs ‘em, Frankie. Otherwise my head’s gonna explode! My— My whole-ass perfect alpha self will fucking splat right here, right now! And not in the sexy backstage pass of ‘58 kinda way.”

He’s already looping his own arm around the singer’s waist as they walk. Like drunken post-post-post-party wanderings in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. “I can always count on you, y'know? Fuckin— Just always.” He squeezes him tight in the crook of his arm just as the ClassPass on his hand starts prickling its unpleasant itch. “And you needed a dose of Dorsey. I can tell. Written all over you— your pretty lil’ face.”

But he stops abruptly to look him in the eye. As well as one can through the dark, fierce slits of his lupine likeness. “Did you know that some of our esteemed colleagues are talking mad SHIT about my parties?! Like, what the FUCK, right?”

Frank always appreciated a fellow rambler, especially in Aleksis’ case. Nothing worked better to get an unsavory train of thought out of the mind than the cascading bullshit of someone else’s. To Frank, it was quite endearing—hell, even a relief.

As Aleksis made his sudden stop to bitch at him, he took on a sympathetic furrow to his brow, “Now that’s just plain crossin’ the fucking line there,” Frank muttered, disappointment in his tone as he shook his head. Personally, he wasn’t exactly surprised by this news, considering how acquainted with their other fellow Visionaries he had become, but he was just as well (honestly probably more so) with Aleksis to know that an insult to his parties was like an insult to the very core of the guy’s being.

Squeezing his shoulder, Frank did his best to match the gaze that laid behind the shadowed slits of the mask’s eyes, “Don’t let any of that shit get to you though, sweetheart. The others wouldn’t be able to tell a proper party from a goddamn graveyard. Trust me.” There came another pat to Aleksis’ chest to emphasize his point before he ushered him back into motion towards the bar outside of his room.

Sometimes, up close, Frank looked older than he really was. It was something about his eyes–lines that seemed a little too deep for a man in his late 20s. He pulled it off, of course, but it served as a reminder that he’d seen far more of the world than Egor ever had–more than he’d want to. Even here, Frank and Colt had delved into dark places that Egor had respectfully avoided. Not that he couldn’t make reasonable inferences about what they were doing there; it just didn’t… fit with the vision he had for this place. Blackreef was supposed to be different. Blackreef was supposed to be better. Why did people have to keep trying to ruin it?

Why would Colt?

The sound booth was full of buttons and sliders that the tinkerer in Egor was childishly tempted to touch. As they entered, his hands lifted as if he might, for a moment, before he hastily shoved them both in his pockets. One of his feet kept restlessly tucking up and sliding against the back of his shin–there wasn’t enough room to pace like he itched to.

“So, uh–uhh…” His throat suddenly felt terribly constricted; maybe it was the topic, maybe it was the smaller space. “So, it’s just about–I was thinking–well, a-at least, I thought you might–”

While he spoke, his hands gradually lifted out of his pockets to wring anxiously in front of him. He found himself staring at them–skin that would never scab, covered up with bandaids that would never wear out–it was easier than looking at Frank.

“It’s just, Colt…” His voice lowered, softened into something sad. “It doesn’t seem right, does it? I thought maybe, if he was going to say something, it’d be to y–”

Something about it felt like admitting defeat–admitting, at least, that he’d never known Colt as well as he thought. Maybe never known him at all.

“–to, uh, to one of us,” he amended, falteringly, feeling like he was under a very intense spotlight. “But, ah, he didn’t. To me. So I thought…?”

“You thought he’d have said something that’d clue me into some kind of explanation for this little stunt of his.” There came a sigh as Frank wiped a hand over his face, “Nah I—heh—“ Another pause as he shook his head with a wry smile, “It’s funny, ya know? ‘Cos honestly, seeing you here all of a sudden…Some part of me was thinking you might’ve known something to shed some light on all this.”

While his hand slid into the inner pocket of his jack, Frank let himself collapse on the small sofa behind him. His hand returned with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter within its grip.

“…But it’s lookin’ like we’re both shit outta luck in that department.” Frank muttered while placing a stick between his lips before he cupped the end and lit the end with his zippo.

Fireworks are fine. Charlie loves a good explosive as much as the next guy, but Frank’s kind of fireworks? Those big, ostentatious, tinsel-town light shows? They’re kind of corny, kind of patriotic summer carnival hotdog bullshit. Maybe if Charlie had some actual childhood nostalgia for them, there’d be an appeal. But he really only knows fireworks like this through watching them from his bedroom window, distant booms and crackles, sparks of light just barely reaching over the treetops. The fireworks Charlie knew were homemade bottle rockets launched in his backyard. 

(Directly into the shed, which caught on fire.)

“I guess so.” 

Charlie has never been good at little white lies, but he will admit that he’d rather be watching fireworks with Frank than stuck in Updaam during Aleksis’s party. He can just see it, so vividly it almost feels more like a memory than his imagination - himself, hunched in the dark at his minicom, drafting his You are so mean to me I hate you / Please take me back I can’t live without you letter to Fia while the massive thump of party music makes the walls around him quake.

“Fucking Aleksis.” How a class act like Frank ended up being pals with a tacky moron like Aleksis Dorsey is a complete mystery. “At least I get to skip that fucking headache tonight.”

The letter, though, isn’t entirely ruled out. He keeps a notepad in the pocket of his coat for a reason, after all.

“You’re the one who decided to hole up in Updaam, man. Dunno what the hell else you expected being neighbors with Dorsey.” Frank responded casually, chin tilting up as he squinted to get a better view up ahead against the setting Sun, “But, shit, guess I can’t blame ya for wanting a bitchin’ drawbridge that bad.”

Funny how Charlie tried to call him paranoid when the guy made his own fortress as practically inaccessible as his, if not more so, at will. Though Frank could tell there had to be some understanding there considering that he helped him develop the ClassPass system in the first place. He supposed, for him at least, it seemed Charlie’s sanctimony could only go so far.

Harriet feels the weight of Frank’s arm on the couch rest behind her. He thinks he has a pretty solid veneer, but she’s gleaned on to his song-and-dance. She, too, is a performer in her own way. She knows the tricks.

Frank’s favorite defensive, more so than his temper, is his flirtation. It’s disarming. A way for him to gain solid control of any given situation.

“Silver-tongued as always, Mr. Spicer,” Harriet says, sipping her drink. She’ll let him do his flirting, if it makes him feel more at ease. If he’s more at ease, he’s more likely to talk to her.

“‘Join hands with me and sing Kumbaya, Harriet’ does feel like a slightly fundamental misunderstanding of Two-Path Divinity’s purpose, but I won’t hold it against you.” 

She smiles, tightly. “Not unless you actually do plan on singing Kumbaya with me.”

“Hmph,” Came the soft, amused sound in Frank’s throat, served with a crooked smirk to match, “I’m taking it then that that ain’t your style.”

Another sip of whiskey and Frank was leaning forth to set his glass down onto the coffee table.

“That’s alright though. Shit’s not exactly my style either,” He rubbed his middle finger over his bottom as he sat back, “Just was the first thing that came to mind considering your uh—“ Frank made a vague gesture with his hand towards her while the phrase ‘weird cult shit’ came to mind.

tagged by: @interaconteur​

tagging: @oddisms

​live fast die strong - king khan and the shrines

how does that grab you, darlin’? - nancy sinatra

raunchy - duane eddy

in one ear - cage the elephant

“S-so you see–” He paused, frowning at the glass. Frank was looking at him, but… was he fucking ignoring him? Egor bristled a little at the sheer audacity. “Excuse me? I think you’ll find that I don’t appreciate–”

Oh. Or he couldn’t hear him. To be honest, Egor wasn’t really all that savvy with sound equipment–unfortunate, given the nature of his current project. As Frank stepped out of the both his arms were immediately tight at his sides again, and he shrunk in on himself as if just realising he had no business being taller than him. 

It was difficult to say if Frank was admiring or angry–maybe it was both? Wavering from one foot to the other, Egor craned his neck to follow his pointing hand. Then he shook his head with a wobbly smile.

“Oh–oh, no, uh, I can’t do that,” he said, swallowing hard. “It’s just, it simply wouldn’t be–wouldn’t be wise, considering, ah, present circumstances. I–s-speaking of, did you know there’s a hole in your bathroom? It’s really quite the–”

He turned as if the offending hole was still just behind him–which, obviously, it wasn’t. 

“–a-anyway, you should do something about that.” In an effort to move the conversation along, he waved his hands dismissively. “I just wanted–needed to talk to you. I thought you might be able to clear something up?”

There came a single risen brow as Egor stammered along, as if silently questioning the man if he was actually trying to test him. However, given the aforementioned events of the day so far, Frank came to understand the man’s complete disregard for his one special rule not being a move of disrespect so much as one of self-preservation fueled by heightened paranoia. Which, he’d admit, was more or less warranted.

Fucking Colt…

Frank’s brows furrowed for a moment at the thought before his gaze became almost searching over the form before him. Wait, maybe Egor had some information on Colt to enlighten him? Or—‘clear something up’—did he suspect him of defecting too? Of course Frank wouldn’t because that was fucking asinine and went completely against everything he’d been working towards, though…he supposed his attitude on the Slabs probably wasn’t looking so good right now.

Okay, so the guy’s reluctance to part with his Slab abilities was…justified.

With a long sigh, Frank’s palm ran down his face, ending with a light pinch to his bottom lip. It seemed like he was going to have to forfeit his own comfort for a bit here, but perhaps he’d find some form of understanding. Besides, it was Egor for fuck’s sake. If he tried anything—even with that Slab of his—Frank would be able to snuff him out easy.

IT’S NEARING NOON-TIME AND ALEKSIS IS ALREADY IN A VERY FOUL MOOD. Had snarled at his driver to “go back to the mansion and jerk off or whatever” while slamming his car door shut and stepping out onto the bridge to the Ramblin’ Rock. He’s got his overcoat on over his suit jacket even if the cold hasn’t settled in yet. But it’s always so frigid here compared to Updaam; all exposed against the sea and ice that Dorsey sneers at from behind pale plaster.

Once at the club’s door, his short temper makes him huff as soon as he hears Charlie’s voice remind him of the one thing he really doesn’t want to hear right now: ClassPass required. So when one of the loitering Eternalists waves over at him, trying their best to be welcoming, their manners are promptly rewarded with a hard yank of Karnesis that drags them off their feet. 

Bam, bam, bam, bam! Aleksis uses them like some kind of fleshy battering ram, slamming them over and over against the door. But they’re not wearing a pass either and can only yell in startled cries as they’re pummeled pointlessly. Aleksis eventually drops them with a sickening crunch when it’s obvious the stupid door ain’t budging. At least it was entertaining for about five seconds.

With a drawn-out groan, he reluctantly presents his hand into the machine. It’s maybe at least a little nice to hear Frank’s voice greet him, charming as ever. But as soon as he steps inside, he’s shouting at the top of his lungs for his host to come greet him.

“Frank? Fraaaaaaank? Frank?! Fuck!” He stomps upstairs as fast as possible, shoving people who aren’t wise enough to get clear. It’s once he gets to Spicer’s little sanctuary that he really pops off. “Okay! So! Everyone is pissing me off even when they know I have my epicly sexalicious party planned tonight and it’s just– Ugh! Like, why the fuck do I even bother, y’know? Fuckin’ why?!”

It doesn’t matter if anyone else is in the room. Aleksis still proceeds to ramble, pacing with the restless frustration needling under his mask. “Do the others even give a shit about me? Are– Are they talking about me behind my back? Did they forget who I fucking am?!”

He exhales a hard sigh and slumps his shoulders as he finally stops in his frantic tracks. Glances over to Frank with a pout clear in the fall of his voice when he next speaks. “I need a familiar face right now. And, like, five margaritas. And a back rub. And some ass-slappin’ beats.”

The sound of distant, muffled banging was not quite enough to pull Frank from his thoughts as his thumb lightly brushed over the small collection of polaroids in his hands. Sentimentality always seemed to know just how to grab him by the balls. Colt too.

Frank’s face twitched as a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and souring disappointment washed over him while he flipped to the next photograph. Although slightly blurred by the movement that came out of the captured moment, he could still make it out clear as day. The toothy grin he had gotten out of Colt there was one of Frank’s favorite: nose all scrunched and eyes barely able to keep open because he couldn’t even contain his bubbling laughter. It was such a great fucking laugh too…

Aleksis’ voice proceeding to echo throughout the club and approaching his room fast finally seemed to snap him out of it. Frank’s lips twitched for a second before he plucked the remaining nub of his cigarette from his lips and tossed the photographs into the metal waste bin beside him. Following a smoky sigh, Frank stood back up from where he had been sat on the side of his bed, but not before snatching his glass of whiskey and taking a quick swig.

Thank fuck for Aleksis. Frank was desperate for a distraction.

The remainder of his drink was poured over the discarded polaroids, which was then followed with the glowing stub of his cigarette. Frank didn’t even watch the flames that followed, simply walking around towards the staircase. Sure, those photographs would be back good as new the next Loop, but Frank needed some tangibility to his current coming to terms.

Setting the now empty glass atop the ClassPass dispenser, Frank began to make his way down his stairs. He brushed his hands off of one another as he descended, a crooked half smile on his face at the sight of a good (and not traitorous) friend—even if he hadn’t really caught a good chunk of whatever the hell it was Aleksis was bitching about. But a friend in need was a friend in need.

“Aleksis, my man! Caught me just in time!” Frank’s hands now clapped together as he skipped the last couple steps with a hop. He approached Aleksis with swift steps, arm soon swinging over the man’s shoulders.

How courteous. Whatever bullshit “gentleman” shit Egor Serling thinks he’s on, it’s nothing compared to Frank. Charlie leans in, cupping a hand around the flame to shield it from the wind whipping through the open window. The condensed light in his palm illuminates the zippo’s unique design. Charlie snorts. 

“Whoah, Frank.” Charlie grins, sardonically, smoke seeping through his teeth. “Nice cock.”

A bit too on-the-nose for Frank to commission for himself. A gift, Charlie guesses. Probably from Aleksis. He’d given Charlie something similarly obnoxious, similarly phallic - a tie clip, of all things. When the fuck has Charlie EVER worn a tie? Except for that one time, when he’d tried to dress up for Fia’s sister’s wedding and did the knot all wrong.

(She hadn’t even cared. She thought it was cute.)

Charlie winces, shaking his head vigorously as if the very thought of Fia is something he can physically slough off if he tries hard enough. When the last of his brain matter feels scrambled, and his neck starts to hurt, he gives up, dropping his head back against the seat. 

“Huh?” Frank’s confession takes a moment for him to absorb. Unsurprisingly, his hunch had been correct. If he had been writing Frank into one of his games, it’s the exact kind of back story he’d give him. Tragic AND ironic. But that’s the brilliance of Charlie Montague. He understands life. “Shit. That’s fucked up, Frank. You didn’t even care? Did you hate him?”

There came an almost concerned side glance directed Charlie’s way upon the sudden bout of head shaking that proceeded to happen. Had he not known him better, Frank might’ve assumed that sort of violent movement meant some kind of pest was doing a fly-by to the guy’s eardrum. Guess he was having a harder time getting his mind off of some shit than he expected.

So, of course, when Charlie seemed to finally register the bullshit he just fed him—and believed it—Frank sighed.

’Course not, dumbass’ He initially wanted to say, ’Did you have some “tragic backstory” that explains your obsession with games?? Lost your hamster in a pool table? See how fuckin’ stupid that sounds??’

But Frank refrained. For now. He was pretty adept at rolling with lies anyways.

“Nah,” Frank muttered, hand flattening as he slowly spun the steering wheel around a corner, “I loved my old man.”

Up ahead, Frank could finally see the setup for his evening show in the distance. He smirked, plucking away his cigarette for a moment to let the excess ash blow away out the window beside him.

Harriet wrinkles her nose, staring down at the device fixed to the back of her hand, still tingling from where it punctured her skin. 

It’s excessive (especially before the Loop has even begun), but she can’t entirely blame Frank for being careful. Harriet has her own barriers, her own insistences for privacy and exclusivity. She can’t understand why he would deny godhood in the palm of his hand, but she can at least understand when a person has their limits.

Cocktail in hand, she sinks down on to the couch beside the host and leans forward to take an hors d'oeuvre from the spread on the coffee table - thinly toasted bread, garnered with salmon and hagfish caviar.

“The little ClassPass recording was cute,” she says, before popping the appetizer in her mouth. Harriet dabs her mouth with a napkin. “I hope you didn’t go recording personal messages for everyone on Blackreef.”

Ice cubes lightly clunked around the glass of whiskey they resided in as Frank idly shook his drink around in slow circles. A bit lost in his own thoughts as to how he might approach his desired subject matter with his current guest, Harriet’s words manage to get him to return to the present moment with an amused huff.

“Nah.” Frank let his back relax against couch and lifted his drink, taking a small sip. The familiar burn of alcohol was a welcomed sensation. Helped take the edge off.

Colt and I were here, once.

He can’t stop thinking about it, no matter how far he walks. The whistling wind blows back snippets of conversation; his own hurried rambling, Colt’s steady tone. It seems like so long ago, and it seems only yesterday. Him and Colt tying the boat up at an unsteady dock. Walking through an empty Updaam. Unbidden, an old mantra keeps running through his mind: breathe, aim, squeeze. 

Did Colt really teach him to defend himself only to kill him later? Did he just… snap? Egor likes to think the Colt he knew would have told him what was going on–but, if he hasn’t told him, he knows who he would tell.

It’s against the LPP for sure. Plus, technically, he’s breaking and entering–he picks around the Ramblin’ Rock to find a door that doesn’t need a damn ClassPass and ends up climbing in through a passage under the men’s room. That’s… actually a huge security flaw. Does Frank know about this? Frank should know about this.

He’s not really paying attention as he goes along, blue lasers dancing through him as he passes under the security cameras. He’s coming up with a script in his head. He should keep it light. Conversational. Good day, Mr. Spicer. Too formal? Hey, man. Too casual? Hi. Okay, that sounds nice and normal. And then–

Do you know why Colt’s trying to murder us?

“Hi,” he says, standing stiffly in front of the recording booth. It suddenly occurs to him that his Slab’s still active; he appears in a shimmer of purple. Wait. Was that rude? Will Frank be mad about the Slab thing? “S-sorry, I–it, uh, it’s just, I–I know that–w-with the ClassPass, but I just couldn’t afford t–it’s–sorry. Sorry. I wanted to ask–”

Do you know why Colt’s trying to murder us?

“So… Frank…” His voice shorts out into a nervous laugh. “What’s… up?”

@ramblinfrank & egor chat about a mutual friend

It came as both a relief and a stressor to get to finishing up the Ramblin’ Frank’s Matinee show for the morning. A relief by way of a distraction as well as a means to vent some of his current frustrations. And stressful because, well—there was no telling if Colt would bust in and confirm his apparent betrayal in person. A part of Frank wanted him to. Have him hear the song he wrote for him—know his pain. Then meet him face to face, look him dead in the eye and tell him why. Just some kind of answer to make sense of it all. So then Frank could make sure Colt felt his pain and disappointment with each and every bullet he’d sink into him.

“Well folks, looks like that’s a wrap on today’s Ramblin’ Frank’s Matin—HEY—SHii—THE FUCK!” Frank began his send off only to be greeted by the sudden manifestation of none other than Egor Serling in front of the window of his recording booth.

After the initial jump scare that was AEON’s founder, Frank eased his hand away from the Constancy Automatic strapped at his hip with an exasperated sigh. His brows remained knotted together as he glared something fierce Egor’s way. However, as Frank witnessed his mouth flapping away from outside, his expression took on a bemused edge to it too. Jonny at his right proceeded to lean towards him.

“He…does realize the recording booth is soundproof, right?”

Frank snorted softly as he lightly tapped the Eternalist’s shoulder with his knuckles before leaning back towards the microphone. A quick flip of the switch and he shut off the radio broadcast, audio only coming from the club’s interior intercoms.

“Can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying, man, hold on—“ Pushing away from the mic, Frank maneuvered himself to press the button beside the door at his right, releasing the manual lock. A quick jerk of his head and the two Eternalists who accompanied him took their leave, though not without a couple over the shoulder glances back Egor’s way.