ofxfrenchie-blog

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

raum & jezebel

raum: do you have a tendency to hoard anything? if so, what?

Frenchie let out a light laugh at the question, her mind immediately thinking about the cute little lilac velvet box that she had under her bed.  “I tend to collect sentimental things, so I’m pretty sure I have every single birthday card anyone has ever given me.”  She shook her head at the thought, thinking that it was silly for such a tough girl to be so warm at heart — as much as she liked to pretend she didn’t.  “I also have all the movie tickets I’ve ever gotten, plane tickets, whatever.  I tend to be really tidy so I don’t hoard stuff, except for the stuff that matters to me.”

jezebel: talk about a time you used your sexuality to get your way

Frenchie has always been someone to get her way, and she wasn’t unfamiliar with using sex to obtain some things that she wanted or needed.  She often tried to work her ass off in order to get those things, but sometimes using her womanhood worked just as efficiently or even moreso.  Sometimes it was easier to do that too.  “There was this one time my mom was owed money from her cheap ass boss, and he wasn’t going to give it to her.  She was just too nice, and she tended to get taken advantage of because of it.”  A sigh escaped her lips, “I obviously couldn’t use violent means — a jobless mother that would have to then fight a lawsuit would be everything but ideal.  So I did what I had to do.”  She leaned back in her seat, in a very Sharon Stone Basic Instinct type of way — one of Frenchie’s icons.  “Of course, occasionally he would gyp my mom, but I think it was just because he wanted me to pay him another visit.  It didn’t hurt that he was a good fuck, though.”

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

pythius: out of all the lies you have ever told, which is your favourite? (;

“Already answered this: I don’t lie.”  Frenchie replied with a flip of her long braids.  “Lies are unnecessary.”

Original answer can be found here.

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

abraxas & astaroth

astaroth: have you ever falsely accused someone?

The answer for this question can be found here (:

abraxas: do you believe in any higher power? if so, what?

“I’m not sure where I stand religiously; I’m pretty sure I’m agnostic.”  Frenchie said, her lips pursing in thought.  “I definitely believe in energies that are put out and received, from people, from places, from whatever, and I’m a firm believer in karma.”  She shifted in her seat as she thought some more about the question, and perked up when she started.  French was actually pretty excited, “Okay, so don’t think I’m weird but I think I’m really, like, prone to feeling energies.  If that makes sense?  Like, I just feel the energies and vibes that people put out and sometimes I feel energies without other people being there, so it makes me want to believe in spirits and stuff.  Something definitely happens when you die, and I’m thinking that sometimes spirits linger.”  She shrugged,  “But as far as like, Gods go I really don’t know where I stand with that.”

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

batibat, jezebel, leviathan & pythius

batibat: talk about the worst nightmare you have ever had

A sigh escaped her lips, not at all looking forward to thinking about the recurring nightmare she’s been having since she was a kid. “I don’t really like talking about it.”  She said, her hands instinctively curling into fists as she began cracking at her knuckles, “I’ve been having the same dream for years — since I was a kid, actually.  The dream starts off as something that actually happened, when I was a kid, and something that would happen over and over again.”  She shifted in her seat uncomfortably,  “My dad would be drunk, as usual, and coming after my mom.  And usually, even though I was little, I’d sometimes be able to jump in and help her.  Maybe calm down the situation a little, but in my dreams I couldn’t.  And it would get really bad.” she paused to shift again, “And I just couldn’t do anything about it.” 

jezebel: talk about a time you used your sexuality to get your way

“I could go on and on and talk about my attempts to use it on Val to cut the line at the Vices when I first got to Dertosa.”  Frenchie started with a light laugh,  “But I never really got my way then.”  While French did enjoy sex and was very in tune with her sexuality, she was more likely to work for what she wanted than use take the easy route out.  But there were times where convenience beat unnecessary work, or times where there simply weren’t any other options, and French was always one to managed to come out on top.  “I did fuck an officer that arrested my brother for beating the shit out of someone,” She said with a shrug, “But the officer was hot, so it wasn’t that bad.”

leviathan: what do you believe lies in the unexplored areas of the ocean?

“You know, to be honest, I never really gave it that much thought.”  Frenchie admitted, her brows pulling in thought as she considered a more decent response.  Really, there could be literally anything in the ocean — only like ten percent of it had even been explored, right?  “I wouldn’t be surprised if there were, like, some sort of dinosaur-shark type of creatures in there.  We already have some land creatures that look like they could be related to them; rhinos, komodo dragons, what the fuck ever.  I’d be down to see some sort of water relative to them.”

pythius: out of all the lies you have ever told, which is your favorite?

“I don’t really lie, if I’m being totally frank.”  Frenchie said with a shrug.  It was true: the woman had neither the time nor the patience required for lies.  And it seemed that all that ever came out of lies were more lies, and having to keep up with them provided more work than necessary.  “I’d rather just tell it to you straight or not say anything at all, if I can’t tell the truth, for whatever reason.  Lying requires too much energy that I’d rather use somewhere else.”

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

lix tetrax: if you could travel by wind, where would you go?

“Ooh, I like this question.”  Her posture immediately straightened up as she pondered her answer.  Really, she enjoyed living in an area as gritty as Dertosa; growing up in Phoenix, crime-ridden streets and hustling were all that she really knew.  However, it did sound great to be able to go somewhere coastal, maybe, and just relax.  She always wondered what it would be like to be completely stress-free?  Would she like it?  “I think maybe Thailand — equidistant from the beach and from Bangkok.  That way I can relax on the beach, but still have that shitty city vibe that you know I need my fix of.”

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

astaroth: have you ever falsely accused someone?

She scoffed at the question, finding it absolutely ridiculous.  Falsely accusing someone of something was definitely not her style, and especially after how she felt at the gala, she knows it wasn’t something she’d ever intend on doing in the future. “Definitely not.  It’s not the kind of thing I’d do.”

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

mephistopheles: have you ever helped a loved one destroy themselves?

Frenchie hummed at the question, her brows pulling in sadness as she immediately thought of her mother.  She thought of the years that her mother was subjected to her father’s abusive behavior, and while Ava had told her mother time and time again that it was time to let go of him entirely, the woman always refused.  Eventually, Ava just stopped arguing with her all together;  there was nothing she could really say to change her mind.  Until one day enough was enough, but that day took far too long to come.  Especially for her mother.  “Yeah.”  She said, her words soft, “I let my mom willing subject herself to shit she really didn’t deserve to take.”  That was all she said on the matter, her head turning away as a singular tear slid down her cheek.

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

lilith: what was your biggest rebellion against authority? why did you do it?

Lips pursed at the question, trying to retrace the steps she’s taken in the course of her life.  Despite working at a club in a very gritty city, and having to take the measures she can take at times because of that, she’s not really one that plays around with the law that much.  Sure, she smokes her weed and occasionally beats a bitch’s ass, but there are worse things to do.  “Though I guess it’s not really that crazy, I did drop out of high school my freshman year, and that was really fuckin’ hard.  You’d think it’d be easy, like ‘hey, I don’t wanna go to school anymore, so I just won’t go.’ — no.”  She rolled her dark eyes, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips.  “I had to fight the court, like, a million times, go back and forth with CPS — it was absolutely ridiculous. So yeah, I ended to dropping out and just getting my GED online so I could be home to help my mom out around the house with my siblings.”  Her shoulders lifted upward in a shrug, “I just did what I had to do, and like always, I handled it.”

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

salvatin‌:

there is something like relief that floods him, escapes him with a sigh as she rouses. the substances wear off. good, something at least. though he lets her be, gives her space, time to gather her bearings and to collect herself. he doesn’t know what she remembers, she’s no doubt disoriented and confused about the where at least. though he watches her briefly, watches her briefly before he focuses back onto his numbers and formulas. at least he got a good chunk of work done while he had waited for her to come to. 

he responds, only when she addresses him, however, he remains seated still merely glances at her as he closes programs and pushes files together ‘ work. ’ he supplies, not keen on explaining what exactly he was after. ‘ do you know where you are? ’ he questions as files disappear into drawers and are locked away once more. perhaps he would supply a little more detail to her question once she figured that out, or perhaps he didn’t need to do that after all. he get’s up then, once all is stored away, secured and out of sight. do you remember what happened? would be the next logical question but he skips that, refills her glass instead, watching her quietly for a beat. he supposes they don’t need the hospital after all. good. ‘ how are you feeling? ’

Wary eyes searched the room again at the man’s vague words;  Frenchie hadn’t asked him much, but he didn’t tell much either.   Normally she would respect someone thorough in their work, but not too mouthy about it — it was the way business should be conducted.   But her situation at hand wasn’t normal, and she didn’t particularly enjoy not being completely familiar with her surroundings.   Though she knew for certain that she had never been in this particular room, she could tell by the occasional whizzing of nearby passing cars that she wasn’t too far away from the street.  So that put her at ease, at least as much as at ease as someone who was drugged could be.  

She cocked a brow at his question, and parted her lips to answer with some smart-mouthed response until her eyes quickly darted to the glass of water that he filled her.  Wow, some more water would really be bomb right now.  So she drank it.  “No,” She replied, wiping her mouth clean of any excess water that had dribbled in her quest to completely rehydrate her system.  “That was going to be my next question.”  Frenchie noticed how tidy the room was, the papers organized neatly on his desk, bookshelves housing their books sparkling clean.  “Your office is nice and clean — where ever it is.”  Her gaze focused again on the man before her, lifting her shoulder up in a shrug as her response.  “I guess I’m okay.  I feel weird, but I guess that’s to be expected..” 

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

salvatin‌:

relieved she so easy steps towards him, accepting his help. isaiah effortlessly steadies her, carrying her weight more than she herself. he leads her to the lab, struggles a little, steadying her while unlocking the parlour while holding her but he manages, ushers her inside and down into his office. once she is settled on the couch, laying down he leaves to fetch her some water and a blanket to cover her with. ‘ it’s best you sleep. ’ he states the glass on the small table and the blanket around her. ‘ drink some and then rest—- ’ he could only guess what combination exactly had her unstable on her feet so liquids and sleep it were. ‘ I’ll be here if you need anything. ’ a promise ‘ you’re safe here. ’ he’s an asshole, but he’d never take advantage of someone in her position, deemed those that did sad excuses of their kind.

once she is settled he returns to his desk, plugs files, equations and formulas from drawers along with a pen. he’d busy himself with them until she was well enough to return home on her own.

Waking up had been a really weird thing for Frenchie, and immediately upon opening her eyes, she felt the overwhelming urge to drink water.  It felt like she had been in a comatose state or something, her body practically creaking in her slow movements.  She pulled her shoulders back with was followed by a loud crack, and a small groan escaped her lips.  Fingers curled around the nearby glass of water, the remainder of its contents quickly disappearing as she realized what had happened.  

Kinda.  It was all very foggy, but she knew that she was in a shitty situation and judging by the clean office area and the hospitality that she was granted, she had gotten out of the shitty situation.  Her eyes lazily shifted to the figure at the desk not too far away, watching as he tapped away at the keyboard.  She remembered his face moments before blacking out entirely, and knew that she recognized it further than that.  Something Drug-related, as he definitely wasn’t a Flower — though, judging by his physique he probably could’ve received money for it.  She knew him from the club, and even outside of that, she was sure, but she couldn’t put a name to her saviors face.  Was it rude to ask?  “What are you doing?”  She finally called out instead, the words feeling strange as they came out, the sound scratchy. 

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

thusnarcissuswept‌:

you’ve no idea how lonely i sometimes am pulp kitchen, post-gala open to all !!

Julian was, for once in their life, perfectly content to stay right where they were: smack in the middle of a beautiful sunbeam, leather-clad feet propped up on the windowsill they sat beside. Settled in with a book in hand, they were prepared to spend the afternoon reading in peace. Or rather, leaving everyone else in peace. Within minutes of starting the book, however, that constant inclination toward striking up a conversation with basically anyone crawling into their very bones. 

They fought it at first, adjusting in their seat and refocusing on a line of text they had already read three times without absorbing one bit. If someone wants a conversation with you, they’ll approach you, they chided themself. Besides, alone time was supposed to be good for you, right?

Wrong, wrong, definitely wrong. Five minutes later they were out of their seat, heading toward the first person they recognized armed with a smile. At least nobody could say they didn’t try.

“Pardon the interruption, but you look so engrossed it’s hard not to take interest,” they said, almost theatrical in tone. “What are you reading that has you so fascinated?”

Frenchie’s favorite book of all time was Lolita, and for some reason she found herself re-reading it every couple of years.  Well, she knew the reason, but she never really thought she would’ve actually done it.  She remembered her first time ever reading the book, in the ninth grade, only a few months before she dropped out of high school entirely to take care of her family.  She took it out after accidentally watching the film adaptation of it — the 1962 version, the supremely better version (though as a true fan, she did enjoy the ‘97 version too), and after thoroughly enjoying the movie, she did her research and saw it was a originally a book.  She had to read it, of course, and when she had been caught by her English teacher when she tried to read it instead of the assigned book at the time, she wasn’t scolded.  Instead, her teacher gave her a smile, “That’s a good one.  Read it again every couple of years and you’ll learn something new every time.  But right now, we’re doing Macbeth, Ava.”

It would be her fifth time reading through the book again, the last time at 25.  She never knows when she’s going to pick up the book again, but someday it just happens and she doesn’t fight it.  That’s what she was doing in Pulp Kitchen at the moment, tucked away in the corner of the store, where the window meets the brick accent wall.  Though you might’ve missed her presence, curled up like a kitten in the comfy sofa-like chair, you couldn’t miss the occasional clouds of smoke that she emitted every couple of page turns or so.  She fucked with the owners and she had her Medical ID, so they let her hit her oil pen — as long as no one was in her immediate area.

Someone violated not only that rule, but two others as they approached her: personal space, and the unwritten rule of speaking to someone who was reading.  Normally, she probably would’ve replied with something snappy, but the THC that flowed through her system made her so much more mellow.  So instead, she reached down and grabbed her ice coffee, taking a generous drink as she regarded them, recognizing their face.  But she wasn’t really great with her memory in the first place, and being sufficiently stoned didn’t help.  Still, she gave a ghost of a smile hinted at her lips as she gave them a response, “Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov,”  With a finger holding her page, she flashed them the cover, “Have you heard of it?”

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

lithiumlegacy‌:

where: the vices club when: the night after the gala, round midnight who: @ofxfrenchie

“Looks like we’re twins tonight, French.” Raleigh commented as soon as the woman entered hearing range, his gaze dropping to her bruised knuckles and then his own. Despite the meticulous cleaning of his own split knuckles, the cuts stood out even in the dim flashing lights. But, he’d rather split knuckles than a broken nose which might have been what happened if he hadn’t ducked out of the way of a particularly nasty right hook. Thanks again for that lesson, Bomber. He’d been sent to teach a rival dealer a lesson and Raleigh liked to think that he got his point across. That point? H was one that you did not fuck with. But business was done for the night, leaving open a wide availability. He’d chosen to spend that availability, drinking and following a tale of drama all the way to the club. He was truly sorry he had chosen tow work that night instead of attend the gala. 

And now, he’d found the subject of said tale. As usual, Frenchie commanded the scene on the floor - which might have been a bad business decision considering all the attention she drew from the dancers. Not that she’d entertain it, however. She took her job seriously, one of the things Raleigh enjoyed about her. Loyalty was an admirable trait. Not to mention, if this rumor was true, there’d be even more to admire about her.

“Good night?”

It was getting to be a busier night at the club, and the floor manager was doing her regular routine as she made sure things were running smoothly.  She had already checked out the line outside with Val and made sure the VIP customers were enjoying their stay.  Her next destination on her rounds was the bar, which was perfect because she desperately needed a drink.  

As she pushed her way through the sea of people surrounding the bar, many of them towering over her, Frenchie’s head picked up at the sound of her name.  Her eyes immediately darting to the source and she was glad to see Raleigh, even giving him a smile. He was friendly face that she hadn’t seen in a while; he definitely wasn’t at the gala, at least from what she could remember.  Which was a shame — French always enjoyed the man’s company.  They always shared a drink together and she grew to really respect the guy.  In addition to their shared experience with childhood trauma and piece of shit fathers, based off of what she had heard through the grapevine, they were both loyal and diligent with their work.  It was hard to find people like that in such a shitty city.  “Yeah, I guess we are.” She replied, taking his bruised hand in her own so they could easily view each others.  She turned their hands over as she examined his, her dark eyes flickering back up to his, “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

"ask me about my demons"

lilith: what was your biggest rebellion against authority? why did you do it? raum: do you have a tendency to hoard anything? if so, what? jezebel: talk about a time you used your sexuality to get your way mephistopheles: have you ever helped  a loved one destroy themselves? verrier: do you find yourself disobeying or obeying most authority? asmodeus: on whom do you want revenge and how would you take it? baal: if you were a god, how would you prefer to be worshipped? lamia: how do you feel about children? lucifer: what are you most proud of? sonneillon: do you hate anyone? batibat: talk about the worst nightmare you have ever had abaddon: what person, place, or thing have you most wanted to destroy? belias: do you gossip? abraxas: do you believe in any higher power? if so, what? ornias: talk about a time where you felt drained of energy lix tetrax: if you could travel by wind, where would you go? astaroth: have you ever falsely accused someone? carreau: do you consider yourself compassionate or harsh to others? why? leviathan: what do you believe lies in the unexplored areas of the ocean? belphigor: if you could pick 3 forms to shapeshift into, what would they be? azazel: talk about a time when you were falsely blamed for something mammon: when were you most greedy? for what? verrith: are you a patient or impatient person? pythius: out of all the lies you have ever told, which is your favorite? berith: do you often argue with others?

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

madhatmercury‌:

As distracting and enticing as Frenchie’s moves were, especially among the more conservative dancers in the crowd, Allie found it difficult to not follow her gaze.  The group she was eyeing was no more or less distasteful than any of the other’s in the room, though admittedly and begrudgingly, Allie couldn’t place them.  She memorized their faces and the not-so-kosher behavior so she could look into it later.  It might just come in handy.

Her dance partner’s voice in her ear snapped her back to attention, dragging her from Poison work mode back to reality.  Her smirk grew again, leaning forward just so, trying to make it easier for Frenchie to hear.  “That depends.” she mused, tossing her arms across the swaying pair of shoulders opposite her.  “On two things.  One being if my date can come up for air from hospital hell.  The other being what are your plans after this?”

The very last thing Allie wanted to do after this was go home, especially with the fact that the rest of her little gang seemed intent on being all business at this damn thing.  They never get to go out as a full group, let alone all glammed up, and yet somehow, they all seemed perfectly content to just working. So boring.

“Who’s even running Vices right now if you’re all here?

Frenchie pondered on the woman’s words, not quite sure of an answer for her.  “Honestly, I don’t know — I’ve been getting too lit at this party to even think of going to another.“  Though now that she mentioned it, not only would an after-party at the Vices would’ve been fun, but it also would’ve probably been great for business.  But she hadn’t really thought of an after-party; she planned to get as drunk (but good drunk) as possible at the gala and enjoy herself, and then end the night with someone in her bed. Ideally.  And as she had scanned the crowd, she noticed that she had plenty of options to choose from.  “And I mean, I don’t think I would’ve worn such a revealing dress if I didn’t plan on getting laid.”  She tossed her dance-partner a wink. 

Her tiny hands fell to the woman’s waist as she pulled her in a little closer, moving in sync as they danced.  Okay maybe she was feeling a little frisky, but Merc was hot and it was harmless.  Besides, just before Mercury had pulled her over, she had finished her sixth glass of whiskey in the last hour alone so she was having a little bit of fun.  “No one.” She replied with a shrug,“We decided to close it for the night since everyone’s here.  I think we could afford to lose a night of business.”  

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

salvatin‌:

he’d lost track of time, brooding over formulas and substances, it’s well into the night when he finally leaves the lab, everything locked and secured. he’d left his car a few blocks away, something he was grateful for now, getting to walk the short distance enjoying the cooler night air. he has barely a block from the lab when he catches sight of an odd couple across the street no doubt on their way home too. at first, he thinks the both of them are intoxicated, stumbling along the sidewalk. with a second look he realizes that it’s only her who’s obviously out of it, barely able to keep herself on her feet. 

it doesn’t take much to understand after that that the man dragging her off isn’t a caring friend but is out for something else entirely. he crosses the street, watches them for a moment longer before he intervenes. ‘ hey—- ’ he calls out, stepping forward. irritated eyes flash at him, underlying anger telling him that yes he was right. ‘ I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to hurry up let alone come with you. ’ he’d seen her before he realizes as he watches her sway. ‘ fuck off! ’ the stranger remarks, spitting in isaiah’s direction. oh, I think not. he moves quick, lands a well-placed punch against the other’s jaw, sending him staggering backwards. another hit follows and his form hits the concrete. without thinking he reaches out for her but stops. he didn’t want to drag her away too but needed to get her away from here.

so he holds his hand out instead, an offer. ‘ I’ve got a couch you can crash on. ’ he states. he’d take her back to the lab, have her sleep whatever she’s on, out on the couch down in his office. he’d dive back into his equations in the meantime. ‘ It’s not far. ’ he insists. he could take her to the nearest hospital too but something tells him that too much of a ruckus around this.

While Frenchie was obviously not in her right state of mind, it didn’t take too long for her to figure out what was happening.  The deeper voice that had called out them had initially frightened her — if she somehow regained a fraction of her strength, she wasn’t sure she could take on a second guy and come out victorious.  In fact, she knew she wouldn’t come out on top.  With the crazy influx of blood rushing to and from her brain, French was way too weak and disoriented to even throw a punch, let alone land one. 

However with the little that her drug induced tunnel-vision allowed her to see, she was relieved to find that the source of the voice wasn’t at all malicious.  Though she hated the idea of her being so helpless that another had to come in and “rescue” her, Frenchie couldn’t deny that she was glad it was happening.  She didn’t see too much — the majority of her focus set on her making sure that she didn’t lose her balance or worse, her consciousness.  But she heard the man defend her and throw the punches that she wished she could’ve thrown, and then she saw a man fall to the floor.  Her dark eyes, low and dazed-looking focused on the man who had drugged her, trying to take note of his facial features.  I’ll remember you, motherfucker, she thought, wishing that she had the strength to kick him while he was down or at least say something.  

When a large hand came into view, knuckles red with blood, her eyes lazily lifted up to the bearded man who had saved her; she immediately recognized his face from the Vices, but his name was escaping her.  Frenchie immediately complied with his offer, any ounce of fear she had from before entirely wiped from her.  “Yeah.” She managed to get out, the word breathy and barely above a whisper.  Perhaps she should’ve been a little slower to accept the invitation — after all, that’s what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.  But her only other option was to wander home under the influence of whatever the fuck she was feeling, which wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.  So instead, she took his hand and immediately upon clutching it, all of her weight shifted onto him, but she was sure he wouldn’t mind.  What’s a hundred pounds to a guy who could probably lift triple that or more without breaking a sweat?  “Thank you.”  She murmured, pointedly trying to use more energy to make sure that her words were heard.  French hated that she even had to thank someone for doing what she should’ve been able to do, but it had to be said and she’d much rather do it when she had less of a chance of remembering it.  

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

streiknine‌:

A hit was practically an art form — there was the angle of the knife, and the thrust of it and the weight (silver and black; palladium and anthracite; heavy, heavy, heavy), oh the weight, the resistance as it went through skin, and muscle, and organ, and nicked bone.

The soft feeling of a delicate throat trapped beneath an iron grip as the knife stabbed up in between her ribs — over and over. Perhaps the slash of another’s throat — before she could scream. Arterial blood colouring him red. Soaking into his shirt and spattering onto his face.

These people better be clean, he thought as the spray of blood hit dangerously close to his eyes — hitting his glasses’ lenses instead — his thoughts calm and clear.

Perhaps the art was in the stab into the softness of the first’s neck, just under her jaw, as soon as the grip on her was released. She was already cooling, giving up on fighting any longer. But that second one… she was a fighter. She was still trying to breathe, trying to talk, trying to scream. Striker dropped the first body.

“You shouldn’t have placed yourself in so much debt,” he said, calm, quiet, and cold, cold, cold, “that this is the only way to balance it.” He knew just how to measure his voice, so that the grumble of it would be heard only by those immediately in the room, rather through thin walls. Quick as a shot, he grabbed onto her spraying neck, crushing the rest of the airway that hadn’t been sliced. He gave her the same treatment as the first — jabbing into her weakly fighting body, leaking lifeblood like a faucet.

It was over.

He was an artist, and this was his medium. Creating balance in an unbalanced world. This was where he shined. This was where he found himself, his core, his own personal balance. The knife was wiped clean as best it could — put back into his pocket (it would be disinfected as soon as he got his hands on the chemicals).

Striker left the apartment after a thorough cleanup and a once over — cursing that he’d have to wear the blood on him for longer than he’d prefer. His extra shirt was just down the hallway, tucked away, but he’d either have to walk out shirtless (blood stained on his face, and hands, and in his hair) or just suffer with his blood-drenched shirt for a few minutes longer.

The voice that spoke to him when he left the apartment wasn’t expected, and Striker’s eyes snapped to her immediately — another one? No, the contact said just two women. — and he smiled at the comment. “You offering me your shower then?” Striker wiped at the feeling of still cooling blood sticking to his face, if there were any left it was now smeared across his cheekbone, just under his glasses. “And your cleaning chemicals?”

There wasn’t a reason to coldbox this person. That would simply… upset the balance of things. Easy enough. Simple balancing. “Please?”

In the nearing 28 years that Frenchie had been alive, she didn’t think she had seen anything like this before.  Actually, she knew she hadn’t seen anything like this before; it’d be pretty fuckin’ memorable if she had bumped into a killer right after he did his... Killing(s?).  She wasn’t quite sure how much blood could come from killing one person, seeing as she never really had to find that out, but judging by how drenched he was in that red bodily fluid, it seemed like it had come from more than one source.  That and the fact that she knew the women in apartment 4E were practically inseparable — if he killed one, he would’ve had to kill the other.

The contrast between the bright crimson and his stark white shirt was a lot for Frenchie to handle, and she was surprised she had even said anything to the man at all.  It was one of those things where you didn’t quite want to look at it, but you also couldn’t quite look away either.  It hadn’t really registered in her head that this guy might’ve been an absolute fuckin’ lunatic, but she recognized his blood-spattered face as one of the Poisons.  He couldn’t have been that crazy, right?  Perhaps it was just business, him killing her annoying neighbors, and as someone who found themselves having to do business all the time (though their definitions of the word were apparently very different), she tried not to make too big of an issue of it.  So be it, that she had a small chance of getting mercilessly killed.  Frenchie had just hoped that her blood wouldn’t be on his shirt next — afterall, she was doing the guy a favor.

“Yeah, totally.  As long as you don’t go all reverse-Psycho on me.”  She lifted her hand holding an imaginary knife, making the classic screeching sounds from that one shower scene in that movie.  Frenchie wasn’t really the greatest in situations where she was truly uncomfortable, and the way that the blood on his face smelled as it began to dry and crust-up definitely was beginning to unnerve her.  So she did what she always did in situations like these: make appropriately inappropriate jokes to at least try and lighten up the situation.  At least as much as one can lighten up a murder as possible.  

She nodded over at the other end of the hall, “I live over there at apartment 4C — come on.”  Frenchie made sure to keep him at a reasonable distance, though not necessarily out of fear but more so out of a necessary pre-caution.  Always the responsible one, that French; kicking people out of her club and taking care of others.  Apparently now she can add to her resume that she helps murderers get cleaned up so they don’t get caught.  Awesome. When they neared her door, she turned to give Striker a look before unlocking the door.  “Try not to get any blood on the floor, please.”

Upon opening the door to her dark apartment, she flicked on the lights to reveal a neatly-kept home.  Almost everything in her apartment was white: the couches, the faux-fur carpets, cabinets.  Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest for her to allow the man inside, but it was already too late.  “Bathroom’s down the hall, second door on your left.  There might be some, like, manly smelling stuff under the sink as far as shampoo and body-wash goes.”  She tried to keep the bathroom stocked in case she brought anyone over.  With a shrug she added, “And I guess when you’re done we’ll work on getting your clothes cleaned if they’re even able to be salvaged.”

civil blood makes civil hands unclean || frenchie x striker

[ofxfrenchie-blog]

when: decently late, around 1 am or so where: not too far from the lab who: @salvatin (tw: implied sexual assault, drugs, alcohol)

She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but right now, in current time Frenchie was fucked up, and not in a remotely good way.  Maybe she had gotten too comfortable with strangers at the bar, maybe she had given out the wrong signal, maybe she had put her cup down — she wasn’t quite sure where she had went wrong, but all she knew was that she was not in a good situation. At all.  

What made matters worse was that, while yeah, she knew that she was fucked there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.  Between how much alcohol she had ingested and whatever the fuck else was currently in her system, the mix had rendered the usually tiny-but-mighty woman entirely useless and at the hands of some weird guy.  The same weird guy that had been complimenting her all night and offering to pay for her drinks, and who was she to turn down free alcohol?  Okay, maybe that was where she had fucked up.  It was an amateur mistake, falling prey to the guy that was trying too hard, and now she was paying the price. 

She staggered behind him helplessly as he yanked her along, her steps heavy as if she was weighted down or something.  A large hand was curled around her wrist, fingers wrapped around so tight that the knuckles had turned white.  She probably would’ve felt them pressing into her arm if her body wasn’t so numb.  All she could see through her tunnel-vision was the ground, her head that felt so damn heavy, flopping downward as her long braids swayed in view.  

“Hurry up.”  He hissed as he yanked her arm, which was extended all the way out as she tried to keep as far of a distance from his as possible.  Despite what little control Frenchie did have over herself, how weak she was feeling worked in her favor; the slower she walked, the longer it took for them to get to this undisclosed location he was trying to drag her off to. Maybe in that time, she could regain some strength to do... Something.  She couldn’t even find it in herself to use her voice — reminiscent of a nightmare, when you try and try to get the scream out and somehow never can.  Fitting, she was living a nightmare.