#frensie

the way joey understands it, frank morrison keeps them coordinated. focused. like wolves. as a group, they operate as extensions of a deadlier force; a legion of violent outlets and anger that was more than anger. worse than anger. he unleashes the legion across the quiet, oppressive suburbs of alberta, and it becomes a routine. it becomes addictive. joey smears kohl over their eyelids and cheekbones. slips their fingers into dark leather gloves. wears running shoes with velcro laces, gripped soles. a backpack weighed down by a wire cutter, a crowbar, and lighter fluid. every part of joey’s ensemble is strategic. proactive. a foreboding implication that their intentions are premeditated.

but susie is a small voice behind them, lingering by the old ormond resort’s dilapidated fences.

“frank says to split up,”  they tilt their face towards her, deadpanned, compelled to remind her of the objectives. a knee-jerk reaction. joey pauses. fingers flex around the hilt of their knife.

         ❝—Oh, isn’t he just dreamy. And soon he’ll be all mine.❞

joey gets inside their own head, sometimes. it is a low-frequency hum that clutches their mind like a combing hand; they process the collection of memories and experiences that make up their singular body, the memories and experiences of every other body they have sliced and diced and torn apart.

it makes them absentminded. it makes them more focused than ever. they roll the thoughts inside their head. they think about frank. julie. susie.

joey's only concern is surviving through and into the next nights, the next trials, with the legion; their friends are always on their mind.

and then @frensie nudges joey with an elbow. “ you dropped your knife, ” and when they look down to check, she smiles behind her mask. “ —made ya look. ”.

they look down. an instinct. a profound measure of trust.

it makes them smile, liking the curve of their mouth as it slanted on their face.

   they kept their frown of concern in place for a moment before it transitioned into contemplation, before finally nodding in nonchalant agreement. something about that statement tickled them, a soft chuckle bubbling up.

joey rolls fresh snow together, piling them on top of each other, gloved hands carving a tilting, angry figure next to a set of broken snowboards hanging from a freestanding wooden ski rack. it had a frown made of black coals. cigarettes for eyebrows. joey thinks it looks ugly. looks like shit. smells like menthol. when kids made snowmen in those seasonal cartoons joey used to watch, it always looked perfect. there was always a carrot.

joey feels childish. decides they don’t care. maybe that is the point. joey stares too long at the snowman's unkind face.

and then susie joins them, under the soft snowfall. her body pressing angels into the ice-capped ground, small and shapeless, warmed by the sun pinned across the highest point in the sky.

"only worm you'd be is a gummy worm. real sweet, but too much'll kill you eventually." their frustration melts, evaporates, chased away by susie's voice. joey’s legs bend, kneeling, fingers reaching for the flat laces of her hoodie jacket, and tightening the strings around her face.

@frensie

     Positioning yourself correctly is very important when wanting to observe people unseen. It’s fine if they catch a glimpse now and then, but no more. Keeps them on edge. Years of experience have made him a master of the delicate balance of watching while being watched for. Juggling four people at once can be a bit of a challenge, but he’s an expert.

     Even when there’s a bright pink neon sign pointing directly at him, he’s deadly efficient, completely focused, too absorbed in his little game to even take note-

;D

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ munday ! || ACCEPTING

favorite holiday(s)?

My favorite holiday is actually Christmas ! Solely because I enjoy the cold weather & winter activities. Plus, it's the only time I really see the family I enjoy being around lmao.

favorite ice cream flavor(s)?

Coffee is my ultimate fav, but I also love green tea/matcha ice cream!

any pets?

cries. I actually do not have any, since I'm allergic to most animal fur & hypoallergenic animals are pricey ;n;

what annoys you?

the violence of youth was never unfamiliar, to adam francis. kingston holds the weight of a dead revolution. dead revolutionaries. decades of western powers poisoning jamaica's neighborhoods, sowing division, sowing anger. so much anger, generations and generations of it. the poetry and essays of his late father revealed these horrors to him, like an eldritch curse. like a ghost that would follow adam, into his adulthood. adam learned to take a beating, and beat back, because he wanted to survive it. to run from it. to escape.

but there is no escaping. adam knows that, now, trembling hands touching the jacket, yoichi’s jacket, blood slipping off the water-wicked material. catching in his fists. staining his skin ― a mark more violent than his wounds.

the legion kills them with her own hands. her own knife. no claws. no hooks. no ancient god to drag their corpses into the sky, devoured. blood paints the snow like a jackson pollock painting.

here, adam can not run from the violence. he can not look away.

his eyes are rheumy, when he stares at the legion's mask, the misshapen eye-holes. adam feels like crying, like there is a dam threatening to burst in his throat. but he can not recognize the emotion that prompts it. hotter than grief. hotter than fear.