it's not the first time that wesley's lost someone, but it's the first time that he's been to an event like this. the grief in the air is amplified by fear and the uncertainty of what this means for grimmvale, especially if whoever had done this isn't caught. ❝ i hope so. someone that could be so gruesomely cruel shouldn't be out there. marcy deserves justice. ❞ moreso, she deserves to live the rest of her life... but there's not a damn thing anyone can do about that now. talking about her makes the loss grip his heart in a vice... and he's never been one to know how to properly deal with his emotions. not after spending his whole childhood tucking them away because his brothers had enough to deal with and they made sure they had it way easier than they did. while he'd prefer his tears and apprehension to be a private affair, he doesn't see a point in not being honest to frank. ❝ not great, if i'm being honest. the pictures of her, hearing some of the songs she'd hum around the animal shelter... it's all a reminder that this isn't a horrible nightmare. how about you? ❞
"If we're not careful, Marcy won't be the only one." Was it dark of him to think that Marcy was only the beginning? Perhaps, but then again, he also didn't think that Marcy was the first. There had to be so much planning for them to do that to her and to evade being caught meant that they weren't sloppy about it, they didn't panic over it. Frank wasn't sure if they just experimented on animals, or if there were people missing from Grimmvale that had been trial runs, but Frank couldn't shake the bad feeling he had that they were already in the middle of something unpleasant. "That's going to linger awhile, that feeling. You're going to be caught off guard by innocuous shit that never meant anything before." Franked warned, hoping that Wesley didn't think a night of communal grief and story sharing would make the shock and trauma of it all go away. "My list of regrets just got a little longer and Grimmvale keeps living up to its name, if you ask me." Normally Frank wasn't one to share too much, but something about Wesley made it easy to do - the same with Marcy, or it used to be.
frank's tone didn't faze juliana at all, instead it just reassured her that he clearly hadn't been kissing the guest of honor as she'd previously assumed he had been. perhaps a relative, boss, something of that sort? she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but he wasn't quite grieving like everyone else, so it appeared that maybe the two weren't so close after all. when he finally used his words and rambled off an explanation, one that she didn't quite comprehend, she couldn't help the way her head tilt as she stared over at him in confusion. "so what i'm hearing is that you're unhappy with how others are choosing to grieve? because they're not giving an offering, but taking...what, exactly? the free refreshments provided to them?" jules asked, now slightly curious as to where the old man's head was. "for the record, my personal culture suggests that you pour out a little tequila, say bless the dead, and then get white girl wasted. you should try it." she hummed, holding out her mug to him. "do it for the dead. i'm sure your little letter is a cute gesture, but marcy would want you to drink." not that she knew what marcy would have wanted, but anything to tempt the man.
Snorting at her misunderstanding, Frank shook his head slightly at both her translation of things and at the image of her mourning ritual. "What I mean is that there's such a thing as overacting." Was anyone there being dramatic to the point of being beyond belief? Not that he'd noticed yet, and misery truly did love company, the chance of everyone's grief amplifying in response to the misery of everyone else a possibility, but didn't that make chaos just more likely? Perhaps it made him a pessimist, but Frank was always prepared for something to go wrong. "Marcy's familiar with me drinking." Marcy is, Marcy was. Just like that, words changed. "You first. Be rude to make me drink alone." Not that he thought that she hadn't already been drinking whatever she had poured into that cup, or that he thought she was particularly concerned about coming across as rude, but Francisco wasn't immune to the pleasure of being difficult when someone wanted him to do something. Maybe a man of his age should have been more mature, but no one was perfect, and especially not Frank. "What's your poison of choice?"
aimlessly wandering, giving her respects to someone who probably wouldn't have wanted to hear them—at least not from her—and that's why she keeps them to herself. words spoken in her thoughts as opposed to expressing them to anyone else that surrounds her aside from the usual sorry for your loss that's given to anyone that been close to marcy. gaze couldn't help but to drift to the lone figure that wanders closer to the blazing fire and it couldn't seem to pull away as their fingers reach inside of the pockets of the jacket worn: paper in their grasp one second and tossed into the flames the next.
“ wow ... that's kinda sentimental. like a scene out of a movie or something. you burning the words you wish you could've said, but didn't ? ”
Watching as flame licked up paper and caused it to transform into vanishing sparks, Frank didn't bother turning around at the sound of a voice, instead waiting until all traces of the note were gone before glancing back over his shoulder. "What, are you saying I don't seem like the sentimental type?" He asked, a faint hint of a tease in his voice that could easily go overlooked. Not a lot of people were in a joking, easygoing move and Frank could understand why, but even in the firelight, he could see that her face was dry. She wasn't one of the sobbing, hysterical crowd goers and that made her more interesting by default.
"What about you? Already use up all your sentimentality for the night?" Frank said, not really expecting an answer.
shea’s been there for longer than he had originally planned, getting caught in conversations which isn’t bad, but shea isn’t the best conversationalist. he’s slowly making his way to his old pick up truck where he parked, but he can’t help but to look around to see if there’s anyone else leaving. he doesn’t know the socially acceptable time for someone to stay at one of these things, but he does have work in the morning. “just need a break from ... everything, if i’m being honest.” he says, making eye contact with someone for a moment, not wanting to seem rude for leaving.
"Nothing wrong with that. The crying gets to be a lot." Frank said, already having had one random girl cry on him and then pat his chest in thanks before flitting off. It had been a strange encounter that left Frank patting his pockets to make sure she hadn't tried to lift anything off him, but the only thing he noticed gone was a cheap gas station lighter than he wasn't going to bother tracking her down for when he wasn't even sure he hadn't just forgotten it. "More people here than I expected." And not as many of them sneaking off to cause trouble as he was expecting, which was an even more pleasant surprise.
some older kids had taken off with his dog a while back to let her make her rounds through the crowd. he still has an eye on her out in the distance. his emotions have been creeping back in like a snake, slowly constricting around his chest. it appears she's his security blanket and was in fact brought more for his own benefit than hers. he approaches the main draw of the event, the bonfire, to bask in the warmth and allow himself to bask in a few fond memories of cooking hot dogs over a campfire when his family couldn't afford much else. his eyes trail over the burning letter in the flames before his eyes turn to face the man that had thrown it in. ❝ that's a good idea. a cathartic way to let go of some of these feelings. hope it's taken the edge off a little for you. tonight's hard. ❞ he briefly considers writing his own letter, though he's not sure what he would even say in it. ❝ grimmvale's going to feel a lot dimmer for a while. ❞
"Not the first time I've been to one of these, and it won't be the last." Grim as it was, that was a fact of life even for someone that didn't live in a world of monsters and murderers. People died and being someone that you would miss didn't make them exempt from that. "Here's to hoping the guy that did it messed up somewhere because to do something like that to a person like her? It wasn't hate, it was theater." Guy was a generalization. Statistically, killers were more likely to be men than women, but some of the women that Francisco knew made him wonder if it just wasn't that women were better about not being caught. But the rest felt like fact to him. Sure, no one was universally loved, and Frank was biased in her favor, but he found it hard to believe that Marcy upset someone to the point that they did something like that without stopping. No, they were making a statement, and Frank had the feeling they were going to do it again. "How are you holding up?"
unlike some people, there was absolutely no way juliana would be caught dead at a function like this sans alcohol. and given her propensity for breaking the law, in public or in private, she hadn't bothered sneaking in a flask, instead just filling one of her yeti cups with her favorite casa azul tequila and proudly sipping on it as she perused the bonfire. she had half a mind to slap the faux tears off some of their stupid faces, but she decided against it, in spirit of the deceased. marcy had a knack for sprouting cheesy quotes and advice her way when she saw her, and she could vividly imagine how she'd respond to such an act. so out of respect for the butchered, she let them slide. but as she inched closer to frank and saw him burning something, her curiosity caused her to stop in her tracks. "what was that, old man?" she questioned curiously. "were you about to give some kind of eulogy out here for marce, or was that some kind of kinky age gap love note you can't send her now that she's gone?"
"I'm not the kiss and tell type," Frank said dryly, not that easily flustered. With all the people gathered at the memorial and the outbursts he'd heard from those gathered around, it didn't seem like he would be that noticeable and he had to give her a few points for observational skills. Perhaps she was like him and watching for the people holding themselves almost separate instead of participating in the grieving circles popping up everywhere in the half shadows. "Some cultures believed in giving offerings to the dead, everything I see around here is people taking things for themselves." Trying to find something to fill the gap inside themselves, all mourning loss instead of celebrating life. Frank wasn't going to tell them that they were wrong, but he was always a little distrustful. And perhaps, in this case, just a little self punishing, upset even when it wasn't reasonable that Marcy was killed and no one had known she was in danger until it was too late. Not that he was going to admit to that to this woman, of course.
"You know," Gabby started to say, showing a pointed look at the bonfire. "If I didn't know you that well, I would have thought you were throwing evidence into that fire. Tying up the loose ends," she said, knowing she probably ruined the moment by speaking up. It was hard, though, because she didn't know how to deal with all of this. Violence? Sure. She could handle that no problem. After all, she was around it all the time but death? A gruesome one at that? For someone who didn't deserve that? It was hard to stomach, which was why Gabby had been trying to find good distractions all night. "Sorry," she muttered. "You mind if I ask what that was, at least?"
Being accused of destroying evidence after a murder wasn't something that would make most people smile, but a corner of his mouth curved up as he turned towards Gabby. "But you do know me better. I wouldn't be sloppy enough to get rid of evidence in a public place." There wasn't a lot of reason to smile at an event such as this, but he wasn't going to deny the nice moments when they came. "Unspoken things, that's all. I don't feel the need to go making grand declarations in front of an audience, but it's a good way to process." Was it foolish to need to? Perhaps, but Marcy hadn't been a stranger, she'd been someone that deserved better than Grimmvale, someone that Frank had the uncomfortable feeling he failed.
Alcohol was forbidden at the event and yet three separate people had come up to him asking if he had anything hidden in his truck they could have, as if their asses were worth him going through the effort of being a traveling bar for them. If they wanted to drown their sorrows, they could either go home and get themselves wasted blind, or go to the bar. He wasn't too interested in them, more focused on those lingering on the edges, those that were being quiet and not taking focus on themselves. A skeptic by nature, Frank didn't trust everyone's motivation for being there, even though he could admit that Marcy was one of the good ones and deserved better than what happened to her. That kind of cruelty wasn't the kind that was just going to disappear, and Frank sighed as he approached the bonfire, pulling a letter of unsaid things out of his jacket and throwing it onto the flames.
maybe it's the place they grew up. maybe it's the way that they dealt when problems were thrown in their path. maybe they're messed up in the brain somewhere. whatever the case, there is something about a mourning party that just makes jessie want to sing. when they hum instead it is with lips pressed tightly together, close to the site of the bonfire as they people watch. the song on their tongue is a mournful, slow rendition of hallelujah by leonard cohen (a tune that can be pretty sorrowful in its own right) and they abandon it only when someone is close enough that they could very well brush elbows, if they were to reach out. they do not. instead, "seems everyone's goin' about mourning in their own way. i think it's healthier though, doin' it all here together. less chance of a total breakdown in private in my opinion, but what do i know?"
He thought he heard a catch of a song, a vibration of air that could have been real or just a trick of the imagination at the sight of Rhett. He wasn't quite sure, but it wouldn't have stopped Frank either way as he sat down next to them, content to wait in silence until the other spoke up. "Most people are communal, but you have to watch out for the snakes. Some of just here to be seen, and some are probably looking to exploit things. Haven't you heard of people returning to the scene of the crime, or killers helping search for their victims? Some people are hurting, but some just have crocodile tears." He cautioned before holding up a bottle, as if offering a drink to help Rhett swallow down his pessimism. "How are you holding up?"
[ Pedro Pascal, cis male, he/him ] - was that BALOO i saw around town today? nope, turns out it was FRANCISCO ‘FRANK’ DIAZ, the 48-year old BAR OWNER who has lived in town for HIS ENTIRE LIFE. i heard they have a reputation of being RELIABLE & DEMANDING. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next while being here in grimmvale.
STATS
Name: Francisco Diaz
Nickname: Frank, Frankie
Age/DOB: 48 (October 18th)
Birthplace: Grimmvale
Zodiac: Libra
Gender/Pronouns: Cisman, he/him
Languages: English, Spanish, French
Family: One younger brother, an ex wife
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Relationship Status: Divorced
HISTORY
Grimmvale is in your blood, it's in your family so deep that you swear your sweat was used to mix the stone. Crime has always gone hand in hand with that, the Diaz clan serving as the trouble that dogged at everyone's heels.
For you there's never been a question of what you would do, you would manipulate the system and take advantages of weaknesses to protect yourself and your own. Don't trust anyone, watch your back, and stand your ground. There are certain principles you are taught, but faith in the law and the pretentiously just never make the cut.
You become the face of the new generation, continuing on traditions you've never questioned, and you expect others to follow in your footsteps. You expect your brother to follow.
He doesn't.
Instead he chooses a normal life and while that's not you, not what your father would say, you can't leave your brother. You walk a fine line between them, still keeping your fingers in the underworld and maintaining a certain presence and reputation, but also watching out for your brother.
That's one of the things you were taught, after all. Look out for your own, and it doesn't matter where they are, does it?
And then through him, you meet her. It all goes downhill from there.
For a while, it's fine. Your father passes eventually, so his opinion doesn't matter anymore. Your brother has never approved, but he's getting there, back on the path of forgiveness.
And as for her? She's a friend, then a lover, then a wife, and then an ex, and you are changed by the experience, certain life choices too big to take back.
The name you used to use doesn't sound in the night as often as it used to, and your hands may be scared and stained, but they're dry, no longer digging into dirt or chest cavities.
You no longer walk in the shadows, but instead operate a middle ground for everyone, an overseer who reigns over the realm of neutrality. Mediation isn't something you ever pictured for yourself and the violence inflicted when someone steps out of line still feels more normal than peace, but you won't go back.
You don't know what comes next, but you'll face it.
CONNECTIONS
The antagonistic ex wife that he's never fully gotten over. Maybe they have a kid, maybe not. She's involved with why he got out of his trouble-causing life, specifics can be discussed.
Former associates he ran around with that he did illegal shit with. Maybe they want him back in, maybe they just want to know there's a chance to get out.
Bar regulars, people that go to him for advice or just hoping to get information out of him. Maybe people that still don't trust him, etc.
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