[frankie's pov during this scene. starts right after she steals sinner's cig]
frankie and sinner have been sharing everything for years: a car, money (if they had any), clothes, guns. and lately, cigarettes too. there's no much difference between sharing everything else and finishing each other's smokes, in frankie's opinion.
it's oddly intimate, the way most of the things they do tend to be. like an indirect kiss. thats stupid, frankie scolds herself, what are you, twelve? she feels a pang of shame deep down in her gut for even thinking about it and wonders if the thought ever crossed sinner's mind too. probably not. sinner's not the kind of person to dwell on such things, too busy suppressing any thought that might threaten the precarious life they've built for themselves. if she finds frankie's new habit odd she hasn't said so yet.
with no distractions other than the roar of distant cars and an old janis song playing on the radio (something about love and blues and having nothing left to lose), sinner's intense gaze is almost unbearable. it's like a physical weight, oppressing and suffocating.
frankie feels the foolish urge to cover herself. the need to hide something from sinner is a foreign sensation. there was a time when they knew everything there was to know about each other, back when everything was a matter of life and death, hunt or be hunted. when the most important thing in the world was finishing the hunt they were working on at the time, to kill the vampire, shapeshifter or whatever it was that was terrorizing one of the thousand of nameless towns they passed through. and then move on to the next one.
frankie misses the rawness of it all. there was no room for hesitation or doubt, back then.
jesus, she's exhausted. she's covered in blood (hers or sinner’s? does it even matter?), monster guck and who knows what else. she needs a shower and a drink but she knows she won't get either until tomorrow night, if she's lucky. it's not safe to stop now. they should put this town in their rearview mirror and drive three or four hours before allowing themselves a break. getting rid of the monster of the week does not mean the town will be grateful, not in their line of work. they have a long night ahead of them. and it's starting to get cold.
for a wishful moment frankie lets her mind wander, what it would be like- for sinner to take that last step separating them and steal her cig back. to feel her breath on her skin. the proximity of her body (real and alive and right there), close enough to feel the heat radiating from her, close enough to touch. her shirt (their shirt) damp with blood and dirt, the butter soft feel of her old leather jacket.
she wishes sinner would kiss her. so close, it’s hard not to notice the few inches frankie has on her, and a small part of frankie rebels at the fact that sinner would have to look up, maybe even stand on her tiptoes, to kiss her. frankie's seen sinner flirt with the women she picks up at random bars in nameless towns. she knows all her moves, her cockiness and sleazy looks, the mask she wears around strangers. but it wouldn't be like that. sinner would lean in, unsure and slowly but so, so honest. she'd be real. she's only herself around frankie.
just thinking about it makes frankie swallow, her throat dry. she really needs that drink. it could be so good. we- we could be so good. frankie wouldn't even tease sinner about her height.
her eyes travel over sinner's face, from the sweaty fringe plastered to her forehead to the arch of her eyebrows, following the shape of her nose, all the freckles that adorn her skin, invisible under the night sky. but frankie doesn't need to see them to know they're there, just as she knows there's a small, almost imperceptible scar on her left cheek, where a shapeshifter nearly got her a few years ago. her eyes keep going down, down, to her bitten red lips, the gentle curve of her chin.
she notices a small cut on sinner's jaw and thinks that would sting if I grabbed her face. fantasy-sinner would complain between kisses, fond and playful (careful with the merchandise, frankie-) but she'd let herself be held.
in frankie's fantasies sinner kisses back. she always does.
as expected, none of that happens. frankie stands there, hesitant, reluctant to break the spell, and takes a long drag because she doesn't trust her own voice. she wouldn't know what to say anyway. she feels naked under sinner's intense scrutiny. her body torn apart, guts and secrets spilling out, making a mess. everything on display. embarrassing. she needs to pull herself together.
she waits and wonders do you want me? do you need me? could i make you feel better?
and then, with nauseating fear, do you even know?
just as her thoughts begin to spiral out of control, a bright, warm sound breaks the silence of the night. sinner's laughter is familiar and comforting, like an old, worn shirt. it realigns frankie's world and pulls her back to reality, away from her fantasy world (where sinner wants her back, they're in love, and their lives aren’t so fucked up that they can't do anything about it-).
sinner smiles, "girl, you've gotta start buying your own smokes" she says. her voice is unusually high, bursting from her as if she's desperate to fill the silence, too. frankie, in a gesture that now feels almost like second nature, pretends not to notice. for both their sakes.
Got my test pieces back and they did exactly what I was hoping for (minus the barrel mug, I didn’t get it thin enough)! Now to plan the light fixture. I also finished the bird houses, put together the pumpkins, and threw more ornaments and shot glasses.
sometimes cultural differences are really small things. it's the name of a cleaning spray. it's professional long-arm quilting services. it's the direction of the sea. it's how you prepare the same coffee. and there is a temptation, because these are small things that don't feel like A Cultural Tradition Requiring Respect, to argue over which thing is right. because we need to be right about something. shoes off in the house. how to eat with a fork. small things. but the small things are the culture, and you have to treat people decently in the small things.
The fastest way to accomplish The Project is to cease being afraid of The Project. The Project cannot maim you. The Project cannot kill you. The Project is more afraid of you than you are of it. It is okay if The Project turns out differently from how it was in your head, and it is okay if it has flaws. You are capable of engaging with The Project.
tangentwithtanner
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
andulkaphoto
vaporwave
2087
