when: 01/26 where: the strip with: @sullngirl
pizza and warm beer can only do so much for a girl like frankie, who is, inarguably, a posterchild for overindulging right to the point of teeth rot. metaphorically, of course.
"please, please, please," she whispers to herself, fumbling with the handle of her locker until it springs open, revealing a bit of a mess: crumpled papers, empty fountain drinks, a forgotten denim jacket. she pushes them out of the way like they're one lump of things, then sighs with relief when she spots her little snack pile. despite popular belief, assistant managers don't get a lot of time to just hang out at their work lockers, and she couldn't remember the last time she actually checked her stash. she gathers the snacks into her arms and turns, almost screaming when she does. "fallon!" she shrieks, accusatory, like the other had planned to sneak up on her like that. maybe fallon did plan it. frankie knew everyone, but she didn't know fallon. at least not really. that could only mean one thing: fallon couldn't be trusted.
"sorry! sorry, i just didn't think anyone else was in here," she mutters. a brief pause, then she adds, "were you waiting for someone?" the brunette glances around, unable to resist the hope that she had caught the ever elusive fallon sneaking around, doing something fun. as if realizing last minute that her nosiness requires a sacrifice, frankie manages to fish out a small bag of candy. "do you like fruit gushers?"
