Don't look at me. Don't you fucking look at me!
Indie + Selective Franco Barbi from The Outlast Trials — commanded by Kreatchur.
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Monterey Bay Aquarium

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@capobambino
Don't look at me. Don't you fucking look at me!
Indie + Selective Franco Barbi from The Outlast Trials — commanded by Kreatchur.
[ ✘ ] RULES || [ ✘ ] ABOUT || [ ✘ ] NAVIGATION
Weird gross baby man stuff I’m working on. He’s so fun to draw.
I use the bullseye method to draw side profiles and I’ll keep it in the finished product because it actually fits the vibe
I've got the urge to throw Franco at more people — how about you give this a like and I'll go digging through your memes to chuck him into your inbox? Pretty please?
Or comment on it if ye a sideblog-
I've got the urge to throw Franco at more people — how about you give this a like and I'll go digging through your memes to chuck him into your inbox? Pretty please?
Or comment on it if ye a sideblog-
night hunter sketch i did a week ago and franco i guess? i didnt really render him but he has legs now 👍
Franco's least favourite person to see during in general prime time is probably Coyle-
and i'm gonna piggyback off that last post to say officially that (my) Franco is
Claustrophobic
Afraid of Elevators
Cannot swim very well, if at all
✧ sender is trapped with receiver in a stopped elevator.
(This would be pretty funny if my reagent got trapped in those expop/PA doors. They remind me of elevators, no pressure to answer btw! :D @yourbuddybonnie)
ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ ► accepting
How fun the idea of tormenting other reagents with reagents - who would've thought that people thrown to the wolves and suffering this bullshit therapy would turn on their fellows and friends just because Easterman asked? Those they called invaders — because that's what they did during these trials — terrified Franco. Why? Well, think about it! If they were so willing to turn on their fellow reagents just because some middle aged, balding man asked them to (or rather told them to), what was to stop them from turning on the prime assets in such a manner?
Scratch that — Franco has already had to fight with these 'invaders' and on his own turf! Forget the bricks and bottles; these fuckers were armed with knives! Instead of just causing awful head trauma, they had the ability to cause permanent bodily trauma — death! Just last week he's had to run from some crazed invader because he got to a particular reagent before they did! What did Easterman do about it? Laughed. Old fart laughed.
It's why he rides down these damn things from his own room with a sense of unease. He doesn't know what could be waiting outside the doors for him; A reagent armed with a brick and bottle; or an invader with a knife ready to swing at the first thing that moves. So he braces himself with a death breath and holds onto his precious Lupara tightly as the alarm blares and signals his arrival. Yet, when the doors open, in stumbles a face he's unfamiliar with and it immediately sends him into a panic.
"Th' fuck're you doin'?!" He shouts, the sudden weight falling against him and sending him to the floor of the elevator, wasting his opportunity to escape as the doors shut quickly and the lift begins moving. "Get off me!" He roars, shoving the person off with a surprising amount of strength. Barbi leaps to his feet to slam the buttons on the machine to get it to go back, but doing so causes the machine to come screeching to a halt, sending Franco back on his rear. What follows after is an eerie silence. He looks over at the reagent, lip curled and brow furrowed in confusion. As he stands, he hits the lit button again and... nothing.
"Don't you dare..." He whispers to himself, hitting the button again. "Don't you fuckin' dare." He jabs the button over, and over, and over again as if hitting it quicker and harder might prompt the elevator to move. It does not. "Look what you did!" He raises his voice, but not in anger, rather in fear. Franco wasn't a fan of small spaces, let alone elevator spaces. The entire mechanism freaked him out. Was it convenient? Sure, but that didn't make him any less scared of them and this... this was a horror movie waiting to happen. What if the elevator fell? What if the ground was thousands of feet below and the elevator fell? They would die. They would die a horrible death that no one could prevent.
"Easterman!" Franco calls out like a child for its mother. "Easterman! The thing's stuck! Get me outta 'ere!" || @yourbuddybonnie
✧ sender refuses to break eye contact with receiver. / from curtis tightenshold uvu
ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ ► accepting
Why does this old fuck have to be so god damned creepy? Franco couldn't stand being close to this guy let alone being looked at like some damn meal, and not in the fun way! He very much felt like the mouse under the hawk's gaze and it showed clearly upon his features that this unbroken eye contact was making him uncomfortable. Franco shifts in his seat and momentarily glances over at the wall, but quickly looks back because Curtis was still staring at him.
"What th' fuck d'ya want?" His lip curls defensively, preparing a snarl to warn the guy to stop where he was. "I got somethin' on my face? See somethin' you like? Take a picture, it'll last longer!" He's half tempted to take off his shoe and throw it — whatever it would take to get this guy to stop looking at him. || @tightenshold
✧ sender lowers their voice when receiver raises theirs. (from Waylon uwu)
ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ ► accepting
He's got a temper like a ticking time-bomb; it's only a matter of time before the little man explodes with rage, and when he did it was usually loud and violent, not always in that order. In this particular case, he can't quite remember what had set him off, just that something had and it made him angry enough that he was going to shout to the heavens just how furious he was. This man's response? He spoke softly.
Franco shouted obscenities at him and the man's response, infuriatingly enough, was to speak calmly and softly back, and though this initially made Franco angrier, it eventually calmed him down. Whether they intended it or not, their voice was soothing and it quelled the part of the smaller man that was in such a fit of rage, till Franco was nothing more than a scowling, sniffling mess — much like a toddler.
" Ff... Ff.. Fuck you," He snarls, between his erratic breathing. "Fuck y-you... y' think that wor...worked on me... I'm still mad at..! At you!" Though he cannot recall for what. Maybe Franco wasn't really mad at the man at all and more at his situation and this guy was just unfortunate enough to be the target of such anger? Franco was lost and he was afraid... and here was this guy, refusing to match his energy. Kindness? Or fear?
@his-last-resort continued from [ x ]
It was like his arms moved on their own when they reached out to catch them. He did not command them to move and had no particular desire to save them from what would have been a spectacular fall, yet he did so anyway and looked just as stunned as Artie did when they landed safely against him. In fact, one might say he looked panicked.
As soon as they are able to stand up on their own, Franco lets go, steps back, and brushes himself off swiftly, like they were carrying some sort of disease. If one paid close attention they'd notice that his cheeks were beginning to turn a shade of pink, something he tries to hide by turning away with a cough to clear his throat.
"I, uh, was just on my way out." He speaks softly, refusing to look in Artie's direction. "Sorry. You, uh... you should watch where y' step." The trial grounds were rife with danger even when the ex-pop was nowhere to be seen, that he knew first hand. How many times had he managed to fall through boards while chasing the reagents? How many times have structures crumbled suddenly? How many of the ex-pop died to these terrible conditions unrelated to reagent activity? Too many.
"I'll be goin', I guess. Careful 'round 'ere, yeah?"
@his-last-resort continued from [ x ]
"Then ask th' boss!" Franco tries his best to look pitiful (he likes to think he's really good at it) and clasps his hands together in a pleading gesture. "Let 'im know I'm askin' for it; let 'im decide! I've been doin' good, 'aven't I?" He's been putting the reagents through the wringer! Just as he was instructed to do!
He's about to plead some more when the doctor relents and asks for evidence of what the gangster desired. His eyes light up with excitement and his frown turns into a wide smile as he hops slightly in place with glee.
"Wait here!" He motions for them to stay as he runs off toward his room, sliding under his bed and searching desperately for the magazine shoved underneath. Not that he was trying to hide it from the big wigs, but rather he was trying to make his room less messy by hiding the mess somewhere people couldn't see, which meant he would have trouble trying to find it hidden among the other items stashed beneath the furniture. Franco does eventually find it and flips to the page with the desired suit; a patterned, burgundy suit with grey pinstripe pants that was priced around eighty dollars. Pricey, yes, but it wasn't the most expensive thing in the booklet, so it had to count for something, right? He rushes back out to the doctor and presents the magazine with an apprehensive smile.
"I know the price is a bit, but I'll do whatever y' want t' get this thing... please?" He'd be the best there was among the Prime Assets if that's what it took. If Easterman demanded more of him, he'd do it without complaint. Whatever it took to get that burgundy suit.
Freak-O Barbi
Full Picture Below👇
Mark softened a bit at Franco’s words…at least until Barbi made the fatal mistake of mentioning the idea of him running to him crying. He crossed his arms at the thought of crying because of pain. “I wouldn’t cry,” He claimed, mostly out of pride; he still had SOME ego after all. Usually he just yelled and cussed when he was in pain, Hell, he hadn’t cried since- He gritted his teeth subconsciously, trying to stop the thought from forming but that wasn’t how thoughts worked, his memory of screaming as he stood in the doorway, tears falling from his face as he looked at her, screaming why would you do this. He should have done something. Why didn’t he do something? He could have stopped this if he looked around instead of keeping his head down in stupid books. And now all he could see and hear was the screaming, the blood, the bodies of his-
His hand twitched against his arm as he snapped out of that familiar spiral, it practically always happened after Mother Gooseberry trials, no matter how much therapy he had about forgetting the past and renewing himself. He also never told Barbi about his connection to gooseberry, he didn’t think it was important for a number of reasons: 1. He was sure that Franco wouldn’t care, 2. If Franco did care then it’d probably fuck up the whole prime asset program, and finally 3. There wasn’t anything that anyone could do so why would he talk about it?
He took a deep breath, forcing those thoughts deep down: You destroyed your previous life the moment you agreed to all of this, He reminded himself as he leaned against the chair before sliding himself back down on it, adjusting (and wincing as he did) until he was sitting down comfortably. “Plus I’m not doing another, Said I could not that I should,” he mentioned…he’d be lying to himself if he said if it was anything but the simple reason that he didn’t want to leave Franco. Sue him. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked up at him for a moment, before he took the small medicine bottle from the small table next to him, uncorking it and chugging it down like it was water. He was used to the taste so he didn’t even flinch at it, though it made him wish for the slightly less terrible grape flavored medicine of his childhood.
"Yeah you would." Franco teased, but his laughter is short lived when he notices that Mark tense up and those eyes gloss over. Wherever Mark was mentally, it wasn't here, and it freaked him out a little bit, but he didn't know what to do. He's seen some reagents get the same way and when they were interrupted, they became incredibly violent. Franco, of course, was no stranger to this, but didn't want to risk having to hurt Mark to get him to stop.
"Hey, Reynolds, y'okay?" He leans forward slightly, tilting his head a little to the left to get a better look at his face. Where did he go? Yet, before he can ask anything else, Mark seems to spring back to life, forcing whatever he was wrestling with down in one deep breath. The smaller of the two stares at Mark for a little bit, breaking the silence with a yawn and a slight shake of his head. "Knowin' you, though; I wouldn't be surprised if ya tried. Be careful, s'all I'm sayin'."
Their relationship was rather new and, to those watching from the outside, it was plainly obvious that the two harbored feelings for each other. One might think that such a relationship would be fragile, given the difference in power between the two. A Prime Asset and a Reagent; predator and prey; the fox and the hound. But, they made it work. Mark was understanding that Franco couldn't afford to give him any slack in these trials and Franco also understood that Mark was going to do whatever was necessary to escape them. Sometimes it felt personal, but Franco knew that, in order to survive a hell like this, they needed to compromise. Would they ever escape this place?
"Do y' think Easterman knows..? 'Bout us?"
@his-last-resort replied to your post “"My fuckin' ear..! What's a fella gotta do t' get...”:
You know what that means, medicine! (Hope you feel better soon!)
"About time! Hand 'em over, hand 'em over!"
"My fuckin' ear..! What's a fella gotta do t' get some meds for this shit?"
He killed fitty men and they took his shins!!