frankmulloy

[frankmulloy]

chasseurdeloup​:

[pm] I mean, you’re right. We were a pretty good team. Which makes me wonder if you’re a hu– This town is pretty much always on the verge of trying to eat its citizens alive. Not a bad idea to prepare a little. But uh, is that what you’re asking for? You sure you want that? I mean it’s– Once you know about this shit, there’s no going back. Things aren’t going to get easier, that’s for sure. 

Alright. Guess I shouldn’t ask anything more about you in that case. You handled yourself pretty well considering. So was this your first time dealing with stuff like this or not? 

[pm] I just got attacked by a mime monster. Going back stopped being an option a while ago. And I have a feeling that easy ain’t gonna keep me alive so...what the fuck right?

What can I say, I grew up in a rough neighbourhood. Stuff like fighting a monster? Yeah, this would be a first. We didn’t exactly have an abundance of those where I grew up. Now that I think about it, the only place I’ve ever had to deal with any of this shit is in this fucking town. 

[frankmulloy]

carbrakes-and-stakes​:

[pm] Aw come on. What do you like doing?

Right now I’m trying to remember if you ever tried to shut me up with drinks.

You could have used another expression you know, p’tit con. Sounds like a plan I can agree to.

[pm] Tending bars.

Oh most definitely. Why do you think we make the drinks so cheap? Because we like the people we serve?

I definitely could. I just didn’t want to. And I don’t speak French so that means nothing to me.

[frankmulloy]

kadavernagh​:

[pm] I didn’t have to ask. You’ve told me about where you’re from, your family, and your job. What would you like me to ask you? Your star sign? I don’t care about that, and neither should you. Can I take a biopsy from your tongue?

Does it matter? It’s gone. 

[pm] I told you my ma’s from Boston, she ain’t a fae but my dad is, and that I’m a bartender. I don’t know what my star sign is so I couldn’t tell you even if you did ask but the point is: you don’t know shit about me. And you’re right, I don’t know shit about you neither but I ain’t the one who’s being all tight-lipped here. And I don’t just let strangers go poking around in my mouth, that’s fucking weird, so no, you’re not going anywhere near my tongue.

Yeah it does. How did it blow up?

[frankmulloy]

kadavernagh​:

[pm] And you seem to have inherited that from her. I don’t know why you’re so trusting of me, frankly. You’ve told me quite a bit about yourself, but you don’t know me in the slightest.

I only wanted to follow it before I realized that it was going to somehow become compressed into the shape of a person and start trying to kill us. I think it’s fairly clear that I blew it up.

[pm] You never asked me about myself. All your questions have been about what I am--what I have. I don’t mind telling you that stuff because, well it’s not as if there’s a bunch of other people I can tell, much less anyone else that might understand. Hell, I don’t even fucking understand. But all that ain’t got nothing to do with who I am.

How did you blow it up?

[frankmulloy]

chasseurdeloup​:

[pm] You make a fair point. The ones with the knives were much easier to deal with. Granted the one had a knife in the shape of a baguette which was just weird all around.

I didn’t know how to handle it, I made a good guess. But, uh, okay fine. I might know how to deal with other not normal things around here. I grew up around all of this shit. Not here, obviously, but same thing. So it’s normal to me. I guess. Trust me, I fucking wish it weren’t. What’s your point? 

[pm] Right...okayyy. Anyway, my point is, I didn’t grow up with all of this shit. I mean I didn’t exactly have it easy but all of this, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Frankly, I want nothing to do with this shit but apparently what I want doesn’t fucking matter. What I don’t want is to die because this town throws some monster at me again and you’re not around to save my ass. And you have to admit, we made a pretty good team back there. 

I mean don’t get me wrong, whatever you are, whatever else you do, I don’t wanna know. All I know is that you can handle yourself out there, and I don’t wanna die...so.

[frankmulloy]

kadavernagh​:

[pm] Are you saying that you were conceived in a car?

Fine. But I think you would have punched the sand. Of course I didn’t punch the sand.

[pm] What? No! I mean-- I don’t know! The point I’m trying to make is, she’s a very trusting person, that’s all.

I would not have punched the sand. I didn’t even want to be anywhere near the fucking sand. If I recall correctly, it was you that wanted to follow it. So what did you do to the sand?

[frankmulloy]

chasseurdeloup​:

[pm] You should watch out for those, too. One stabbed me once. Then I was attacked another time, threatened another. Don’t trust any mime or mime-adjacent things in this town. And yeah I fucking felt it, I know. That one was new. I’ll have to watch out for that for next time. You know. If there is.

You’re right, it’s not all I am. I’m also incredibly handsome and make a great pie. I take it you’re not a hunter, then. In this town? It does happen every other day. Every fucking day, in fact. Welcome to White Crest. 

[pm] I can’t believe I’m actually saying this  At this point I think I’d rather take a person coming at me with a knife than...whatever that was. At least one of them I know how to handle. 

See most people would be bothered by that. I am very bothered by that. That’s not fucking normal. The fact that you’re not bothered by that is not fucking normal. Added to the fact that you knew how to handle that thing, makes me think you know how to handle other not-normal things too. 

[frankmulloy]

carbrakes-and-stakes​:

[pm]  Sounds like you were really busy. You need hobbies man.

Isn’t it. Stupid people with their stupid happiness. Yeah, if they’re is a hell, it probably involves watching a bear eating your leg.

You wanna come over to hear me complain? How much do you charge? Sounds like you missed an opportunity to be a therapist. The kind that says huh uh every once in a while.

[pm] Yeah, yeah, when hobbies start paying my rent, I’ll get one.

Being a bartender is basically a form of therapist. Except better because you can shut them up with drinks when they get annoying. Or you know, drink the drinks yourself. Depends on the day. Tell you what, when you’re back on your feet...well, foot, buy me a beer and we’ll call it even.

[frankmulloy]

inspirationdivine​:

Chance Encounters || Frank and Lydia

Timing: Current Parties: @frankmulloy @inspirationdivine Summary: Lydia and Frank meet during one of Lydia’s hunts Warnings: None!

Hunting humans occasionally meant coming to places like… this. It wasn’t true terrible, if she was honest, but it also wasn’t the Artesian. After some of the places she’d been to watch Todd perform, this human singer’s choice of venue was more than acceptable. Shortly after she walked in, Lydia’s chest began to ring, like wind chimes in a breeze. Somewhere in here was a fae, she knew it. “Darling, do you mind waiting here a moment?” Lydia asked, walking away from their booth and over to the bar, until she spotted him, an incredibly beautiful man who couldn’t be anything other than fae. He had to be. Lydia slipped to the front, thrilled to meet another fae, so she reached over the bar to offer her hand to shake him. “Hi! I’m Lydia, it’s ever such a pleasure to meet you!”

Thus far into his shift Frank has abstained from engaging with any of the Pint’s patrons (not that he was overly chatty with any of them to begin with), he had instead isolated himself from them by cleaning the glass pints with a sort of silent determination, looking up only when an order was placed and back down again when it was satisfied. In true Mulloy manner, he had built his own space which few had ever dared to cross, that afternoon was one such exception. The introduction of one, Lydia, was like a plunged blade, spearing through his cocoon of isolated peace. Her beauty was undoubtedly singular, but it was her very being that sung to him. A moment of jarring silence lasted between them, and it only occurred to Frank then that he was holding his breath. Now Frank never shook anyone’s hand, a habit that he had carefully crafted for himself and yet he took hers. Wary flesh on a waiting one, and all at once it was like an electrical shock had been administered on a heart that was flatlining, and then Frank was breathing again. “Frank.” His voice sounded uncertain but that was most definitely his name. 

“Frank! It’s a genuine pleasure.” Lydia replied with an effortless smile. When he took her hand, the bells rang loudest, like the bell tower had struck noon. He looked a little alarmed, but maybe most fae had better taste than here. Lydia looked around briefly, but there wasn’t anyone overhearing them. They were much too focused on getting the attention of whoever was actually serving them. Forgetting about the human she’d come here with altogether, Lydia smiled as she lifted herself onto a bar seat in front of him.“This was the last piece I expected to meet someone like us. Have you been working here long?” Maybe he was just shy. 

Frank’s eyes followed her every movement as she lifted herself up onto the bar seat, waiting perhaps for some sort of glamour to fall away and reveal that she was more or less exactly like the rest of them. That this sudden intensity was the subject of his own making, born from wishful thinking and helpless desperation. It did not. He wasn’t sure if relieved was quite the right word. This exact moment had transpired between him and the bar owner before, a man was also like him, like them, and yet even as history played out before him again, he was just as graceless with it the second time as he was the first. “Not that long–I’m sorry like us?” He’s heard of the existence of other subspecies of faes, though he could not name all of them even if you paid him. While she felt familiar, it still wasn’t exactly the same. Perhaps that was the source of his hesitation. Or perhaps it was the way she so obviously enjoyed herself. She carried with her an easy smile that he could not hope to imitate, and was still unsure of whether he even wanted to.

He was watching her ever so keenly, Lydia felt like she was in a room with Regan again. He was trying to understand her, or perhaps, more vainly, he just couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had that effect on some people and most humans. Until he spoke, that was, and threw all her expectations out of the window. Lydia’s smile dripped off her face in surprise and concern. Oh no. She was dealing with another Regan, wasn’t she? How were there so many lost fae in this town? “Do you not…. Feel a similarity? Oh, darling. I’m ever so sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you.” She said, unsure how to approach this. “Do you really not know what I’m talking about?” He was supposed to be working, this was hardly the time to drop something so significant.

Wait, what?—Frank shook his head, shaking off some of his initial surprise with it. Frank never liked surprises. Surprises either tried to kill him or rendered him stupid. Both were equally undesirable outcomes. The enchantment released its hold and slowly he began to find the functions of his brain again. Finally he regained the ability to put words and coherent thought together so he might be able to communicate with someone where no caution and distance were needed, because she was right, they were alike; the same. Was that not what Frank had always wanted? To be the same? “No, I mean, I know what you’re talking about,” he said, with perhaps the most articulacy he’s had in their entire short conversation, “I just mean you’re not…gancanagh. You’re like me but you’re not…like me. So what are you?”

He took a moment to resettle himself. Lydia didn’t mind to wait, concern creasing her features. Eventually, when he did speak, Lydia breathed a soft sigh of relief. “Oh, I was worried!” She tilted her head in surprise. He was not wrong, of course, once he explained what it was that he was. All fae rang the bell chimes in her chest in the same way, but she might have been able to guess by his beauty. “Well, no, I couldn’t possibly be. I’m neither a man nor at all masculine in any way. No more than you could be a banshee.” She smiled, leaning in as if to tell him a secret - she was. “Although we are perhaps more similar than you might expect. I’m a Leanan Sidhe. A muse. I inspire art.” 

Leannán Sídhe. The name was familiar to him, attached to an old, distant, memory of his childhood. Of his mother telling him stories about beasts and faeries from their Irish folklore. Not that any self-respecting eleven year old boy ever paid much attention to stories about faeries, that was of course, before the wings started growing in. But even at his tender age, he did not have the heart to tell her that her bedtime stories were true, least of all those that were not exactly complimentary of the faerie folk. “But it’s never as simple as just inspiring art though is it?” He held her eyes as he answered the cost of that inspiration with a silent gaze. At least she inspired art, Frank was too afraid to even shake a stranger’s hand. The destruction left behind by both were much the same, and Frank was not ignorant of the woman whose eyes kept an unwavering hold on Lydia’s back. “Is she one of your…artists?”

Oh, he had merely been tongue tied. Lydia smiled, easing more comfortably into her seat now she wasn’t so worried of frightening him. The words meant something to him, and he was blunt in asking about her diet, which made Lydia smile. “No, but then again, no pain no gain, as the saying goes,” she replied, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.  Lydia looked back to Kelly, giving her a small wave. She was so young, yet ever so enthusiastic to share her songs. Lonely, too, but that was the nature of humans that age. She couldn’t quite work out whether Frank was asking out of judgement or plain curiosity, and considering how wide and varied fae morality could be, she decided to play it safe, if always entirely honest. “Her interest is currently natural, rather than cultivated, if that’s what you’re asking. We’re on a thirty day free trial, as it were. What about you? This is not a bad place to work and find a meal for the evening. The company on the other hand…” Lydia looked around the room, and while of course she could not truly tell what anyone was, she was very confident that practically everyone here bar the two of them had to be human. They just had to be. “I imagine it has its ups and downs.”

Lydia served her own brand of cool indifference, far from concerned by notions of shame or guilt, on how or whom they survived on, and Frank had to suppress a shudder. Her smile was all winter and he had always struggled in the cold, but oh did she wear it so well. Her every word stroked gently at the hungry thing that lived in the marrows of his bones and the pit of his stomach, one Frank kept carefully starved with cheap whiskey and cheaper cigarettes. “I don’t mind, I’m not much of a people person anyway,” he said mildly, and then added, “the shepherd’s pie isn’t so bad…and the stew tastes pretty decent on the nights they remember to season it right.” It was a truth well known that faes couldn’t tell a lie, although Frank had become very good at living one. To pretend to himself that his judgement was from a place of righteous morals, and not from a place of deeper, venomous, resentment that she was so free to do as she was ordained and without remorse for being exactly as she was. It was her nature, as it was his, but why was he the only one telling himself that it was wrong?

“Really? Now that is a surprise.” Lydia knew a fair few gancanagh, who she would have described as the definition of people persons, but there were exceptions to every rule. Horrifically, her mind turned to Jax, the Gancanagh who had worked at the ring, using his silver tongue to force Remmy to fight for his own personal gain. Frank seemed nothing like that man, and by all means, if Jax had been manipulating any other zombie, Lydia might not have minded so much. “I’ll keep the recommendations in mind if I ever bring someone who needs to eat around,” she chuckled, pushing her thoughts far away from Remmy. “By all means, let me know if I’m bothering you. I just… really like to introduce myself to fae when I run into them. It’s easier in this town than most, but still,  and I don’t think I’d seen you at Faetal Attraction.”

Frank answered Lydia’s surprise with his own, evident in the arch of his brow and the slight part of his lips, as if he wanted to say something but was unsure of the words. He was an oddity to her, it seemed, which begged the question of how many faes like him did she know? And then a small voice added most delicately: was his father among those acquaintances? He quickly guided his curiosity elsewhere, back to the present, to the name of a place he was not yet familiar with. He hasn’t been in White Crest all that long and much of his time was spent divided between tending the bar at the Pint and then at Soul, with little spared to himself, or anything else. A poor habit that needed amending, not that Frank was in any great rush to do that either. “Fatal attraction? Like the movie?”

Lydia stared at him for a five-count, before laughing in her bewilderment. “No, like the bar,” she chuckled, pressing her hand against her chest. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m ever so sorry. This town has a propensity for puns which results in just this sort of confusion.  F-A-E Faetal.” Her chuckles had subsided, as she looked at him questioningly. “It’s a place for people like us to meet other fae. Oh, come on, now you have to let me take you sometime. Sometime when you aren’t working, we’ll make a night of it.” Better than this place, certainly, but who was she to judge? “I know you said you aren’t a people person, but there are quieter times that we could go, and it’s fun, even for a short while.”

Her pretty promise came with an even prettier smile, and Frank was immediately put ill at ease. He had developed an almost instinctual aversion toward charm, and charming people, and Lydia was practically dripping with it. A series of practiced excuses were laid out on his tongue (this was not the first time Frank had to talk his way out of doing something or going somewhere he did not want to), but underneath the coiling chain of dishonesty, a little presence at the back of his consciousness demanded his attention: curiosity. Frank has never been in a room with more than one fae at a time. People like us. He had always been intrigued by how many of them they were, how many species of faes existed beyond those he already knew of (which was not many at all), what was this community like that his ‘normal’ upbringing had deprived him of? Frank was practiced in denying himself a great many pleasures, but always failed at refusing his own curiosity. To curb any great display of enthusiasm, he resigned to her invitation with a measured, “I’ll think about it.”

He hesitated. Lydia just couldn’t get a read on him, not yet, but she would. With every passing day, her loneliness threatened to suffocate her a little more. At least a gancanagh would understand that part of her. All the same, she smiled in relief at his measured response. “Alright. Well, when you make up your mind, please drop me a line.” Lydia pulled her business card from her wallet, and looked at the quickly accumulating pile of dirty glass ware that she was distracting him from. “As much as I’m enjoying meeting you, I should probably not get you in trouble with work.” And she ought to return to sweet young Kelly, and her hunt. 

Lydia Griffin. Art Conservator. Her contact information craftily spelled out  beneath in fine print. He put it inside his jacket pocket with no great care. At the time, he didn’t think he would ever come to need it. It wasn’t as if they socialised in the same social circle. Frank wasn’t social at all! You need only look at their dress to realise their differences, which was stark. Outwardly, anyway. What stopped him from throwing the little rectangle of (probably expensive—it looked expensive) paper away altogether was a feeling. He wasn’t sure when, or under what circumstance but they would meet again, of this he had no doubt. Frank looked at the young woman at the table; still waiting. Evidence of impatience present in the increased frequency of glances she kept shooting in their direction. “Right, I should let you get back to your guest.” Frank took a moment, not as certain in his own pleasure at having met Lydia. He said instead, “I’ll see you around.” And he would, even if he didn’t know it yet.

[frankmulloy]

WHITE CREST + A CHARACTER STUDY ___ morgan beck. ( @mor-beck-more-problems )

[frankmulloy]

kadavernagh​:

[pm] I don’t think it’ll be fun. Although, going on a roadtrip with a total stranger does sound like something that might appeal to my mother.

Right. What compelled you to try to punch a solid block of sand?

Perhaps not.

[pm] Well, my ma got together with my old man so, I don’t think she’s overly concerned about who it is she gets in a car with, let alone roadtrips. 

A reminder that I didn’t punch the sand. The sand punched me. I just threw water at it. Did you punch the sand?

[frankmulloy]

letsbenditlikebennett​:

[pm] Who doesn’t love a little character? Shyness? I don’t know her. Logically, I know you’re right. In practice, I don’t see myself staying out of things when people are in danger. Hey, I’ve made it this far with people trying to kill me. [user almost adds the “I’m a bad bitch you can’t kill me” vine, but decides against it] 

You’re the best. <3 Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your whole stoic bartender vibes and tell the other regulars you brought me pizza. 

Sand that is randomly appearing places that it shouldn’t which for White Crest usually means something sketch af is happening. You’re in luck, I already walked the dog and was staying put for the night. :/

[pm] Do try. Personally I like staying alive a little bit more, and I prefer it for you too. Especially when people are literally hunting you.

Oh good. I was worried for a second. Last thing I need is for people to start expecting to buy them pizza, and not ask for their fake IDs.

You know the little thing we were talking about? The whole don’t stick your nose into trouble? Something that is sketch is usually trouble, Ari. Just leave it. I’m finishing up at the pub, I’ll get the pizza on my way and should be at yours in a couple of hours. 

[frankmulloy]

kadavernagh​:

[pm] My mother lives in California. You mentioned yours is in Boston. Bowling sounds improbable.

No. You don’t owe me anything. You weren’t even badly injured.  

I’m not interrogating you. I’m not– you don’t have to answer my questions.

[pm] Roadtrip? Jesus take the wheel can take on a whole new meaning. It’ll be fun.

Sure, it only felt like I was run over by a semi like I said, I heal quick.

Well, it wouldn’t be a start to a very productive conversation if I didn’t engage with any of your questions now would it?

[frankmulloy]

kadavernagh​:

[pm] My mother is also Catholic. My dad never really– now I’m coming to realize that he spoke about fate a lot. I don’t see anything wrong with asking questions, especially seeing as you’ve been answering them. It isn’t an exchange of information. I owe you nothing.

[pm] Cool. They should go bowling.

I never said you owed me anything. I mean you saved my ass in the end, so I probably owe you. I’m just saying, it would be nice if this felt more like a conversation and less like an interrogation. 

[frankmulloy]

letsbenditlikebennett​:

[pm] Honestly, it kind of was. I did put myself in the middle of a centuries old feud so it be like that. Nah, that’s not going to make you not It won’t happen again. I trust as much. Oh yeah, definitely avoid. Would rather not see you become someone’s dinner. 

In that case, I have lots of character. Not that I’m regularly clawed up or anything. Just a sparkling personality… and a tendency to not shy away from danger. Magic is pretty cool. A little scary, but thankfully all the spellcasters I know love me. Pizza is magic and definitely makes me feel better. Can I request half meats and half veggies? 

Can you tell me a little more about the sand? One of my friends seems to be having the same problem.

[pm] Yeahhh...you know what, me too. Probably healthy to practice some shyness every now and again though. And I mean literally, it’s probably good for your health. As in, keep you alive. 

Yes ma’m. I’ll drop them off after I finish at the Pint. Shouldn’t take too long.

It’s sand Ari. I don’t know what else to tell you. Now please, for the love of god,  just try and stay put until I get to yours and don’t go sniffing out any more trouble. At least not until I get there.

[frankmulloy]

WHITE CREST + A CHARACTER STUDY ___ alain babineaux. ( @carbrakes-and-stakes )

[frankmulloy]

kadavernagh​:

[pm] Right. God. Sure. Well, I see no further benefit in questioning you about that particular point; you seem to have your mind firmly made up. Which I can understand. What do you do? 

Onycholysis. It simply means that your nails have fallen off. Now you have a proper term for it.

[pm] Yeah, yeah, I know, but she’s Catholic so it might as well be, as far as she’s concerned. I tend bars.

You know for someone who asks a hell of a lot of questions, you’re not exactly forthcoming yourself. You still haven’t explained to me what happened to Mr. Sandman back there. The only thing I know about you is that you’re, well...somewhat like me. And that you know a lot about different diseases apparently.