taylor was seated at the bar next to someone who clearly didn’t have a problem talking to people that they didn’t know. he’s heard of the term mansplaining but what was it called when someone explained something he didn’t need to know? was it oversharing? was it overexplaining? or was it someone’s weird attempt at trying to befriend a stranger at the bar.
either way it went, he got a free drink out of it so he decided to suffer through the explanation and even fix a smile on his face once she was done. “wow, sounds like you’ve got a lot of knowledge in making someone’s brain jello.” and so did he. “so is this you trying to get me to fight someone or you’re just being helpful?”
-
It didn't matter whether or not Frankie believed the strangers smile to be genuine. There was hardly anything genuine about a single exchange Frankie ever had. So she got carried away. Willfully so. Then, there weren't many topics that she was afraid to breach. Semi-public domain or not.
"Okay," Frankie drawled, brogue treated words thick in a foreign accent. With little effort, she craned her neck to look at the young man sitting somewhere nearby. "So you're not so easily dissuaded by brain trauma." The very last pull of her drink went down easily, her throat delightfully numb from drinks prior.
"Don't be a fun ruiner." Frankie raised a light brow. "I've got a system and it works. Haven't paid for a drink since '78."
Frankie smirked.
Julia just blushed at the words Frankie was saying and the little performance act she had. It made her laugh though, to see the ever entertaining Frankie do something that was so in character for her. Julia sipped at her seltzer, laughing. “I would expect nothing less from the great Frankie Quinn, honestly. The things you do, Frankie, they’re just incredible. You should take your act on the road and that’s some solid advice.” Julia giggled, deciding to live a little bit and order herself a Shirley Temple. “What else do you have up your sleeve, I wonder? Another magic trick?”
-
Normally, Frankie would have zipped back with a little sarcasm. But there was something sweet about Julia that she always enjoyed. Not that she was some delicate flower that needed to be handled with care. Frankie knew better than that. "Nothing worthy of these scuts. Maybe I'll show you later." She offered a playful wink . "Tell me there's at least a finger of coconut rum in that drink, Jules. You're an adult now. I promise, you won't perish."
Loose lips sank ships, but the breath that left his lips in that sputter of a laugh was strong enough to blow sails across the water. Amadeus nearly dropped his glass on the counter at her response, unable to help himself from peering over the other patrons to pay mind to her. She was captivating, to say the least. The atmosphere of Skyfall was much more serious than the other lounges and bars he’d been to in order to meet with clients, forcing him to acclimate to the tone.
The halo of golden locks stole the spotlight of the singer in the corner, her body language more than just a dance those around her wanted to mimic. She had a challenge draped over her that poured from her lips and he was certain it probably tasted better than whatever expensive liquor he had been given to drabble on about striking a better deal for the person with a wallet deeper than his own. The sight of her was enough to accept the cuts in what he wanted. After all, there were accommodations to be made after being gone from Chicago for so long.
Marry me, but Jude kept that to himself. It probably wasn’t best to get into another engagement less than two months back in town. Instead, he went with a more appealing response, “You mean a rabbit punch? That move’s illegal when it comes to recreational fighting. I’m a trainer and I don’t even teach it to anyone anymore, unless its for a self defense class.”
-
Frankie noticed all of the stares, at all times. Disgust from those who felt themselves better than her on at least some level; envy from those who favored her candor. She would feed on all of the attention the same way. Instant gratification: just add water.
One of the few who'd not-so-subtlety snaked their way over? He finally drums up the nerve to say something to her. Although, Frankie was doing just fine before he started talking. Through trial and error she (like most) observed how men this pretty had a tendency of inserting their foot straight into their mouth. Something about his reply amused her. Probably the liberal us of the word illegal.
"Is that what it's called?" Frankie would bat her lashes, leaning away from the man she'd been narrating to before, and into the new stranger who now held her attention. "Who would have guessed?" After flashing a smile, she turned away to fish for a drink from the table. She was totally full of shit, of course. "Do I look like the kind of girl who knows the difference between legal and illegal fighting moves?" A trick question if ever there were one. "That's cute."
To say that Frankie loathed the ordinary would be a gross understatement. Being a longtime resident of Chicago, and a loyal (but well buried) member of the Faust family, she knew exactly which places should have been off limits. But the thrill came from the possibility of being caught. Of slipping in and out of places that she might be killed for spending time in. But Frankie just liked to have a good time. Usually, she wasn’t looking for trouble. Not on American soil, anyway.
Skyfall Bar was her favorite place to not belong. The view from the top of the city was nothing less than she deserved for a life well lived. In the evenings when the lights were dim, and the music was bland as could be, Frankie could strike up a conversation with any old bastard who decided to shoot his shot by offering her free booze. A little Clogau and she’s cozied up to some portly accountant, who’d somehow managed to grow accustomed to the smell of antacid on his own foul breath.
“See, the secret is, you’ve got to…” Frankie quickly kicked back what little scotch was left in her glass, before she smashed it’s bottom against the table, like she was squashing a giant bug. “Hit ‘em hard enough that the brain slaps right up against the inside of their skull.” Coarse as her words were, she spoke sweetly. Smooth, like milk and honey.
( yvonne strahovski, 35, cis female, she/her ) Was that FRANCESCA ‘FRANKIE’ QUINN ? I heard a rumor they work for the FAUST family, but who knows for sure ? They can be a bit INTENSE & DERISIVE, but I also heard they can be NIMBLE & CRAFTY. You’ll usually find them at THE ART INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO in their spare time, when they’re not being a CRIMSON. You may want to keep an eye on that one ! ( ev, they/them, 27, est, none )
Hello everyone. This is my girl, Frankie. She’s 35, and an Irish national. Even though she is a Crimson for the family (more specifically, Oliver), Frankie spends a lot of time out of the country on ‘ a s s i g n m e n t ’. When she’s not galivanting around the globe, her home is in Chicago, with the Faust’s. A lot of her young life was spent in Ireland,
Frankie is an exceptional talent when it comes to taking care of business. She doesn’t always resort to violence, but she always gets the job done, no matter what it is. In the end, she could thank Oliver Faust for that. If brother from another mother had a face, it was them. Born along side one another, ten years in separate countries barely kept them apart until they reunited in Italy to start their training at a young age. Frankie leaned into her expertise right away, and overtime, she’d found a place most naturally at Oliver’s side. Her specialty is handling transactions of a fragile nature.
Part-time, Frankie serves as a Jr. Assistant Director of Philanthropy at The Art Institute of Chicago. A lot of her job involves greasing palms and brokering secrets, but in short, she manages a lot of money from both corporate and private donors. It doesn’t require a lot of in-person work, aside from events that she has to attend.
CONNECTIONS: Any and all Faust’s and Faust affiliates. Frankie is good at looking like she’s got everything together, but she’s kind of drawn to messy situations. Somehow she’s always knee deep in shit. It’s probably because she thinks its fun but we’re going to keep the lid on that for now.
I’d also love to plot with characters who are unaffiliated or members of opposing crews. No plot is too simple or too complicated. I could go into her backstory forever, so let’s come up with something fun.
tangentwithtanner
yousharknotpass
titsay
germansingergirl
blakekathryn
pixelskylines
prguitarman
