the shackles that bind frank’s ankles scrape against the concrete floor while the ones on his wrists drag on the steel table that separates himself and @morefearless. it’s comical, really, but justified—despite the fact that frank has barely spoken a word since his sentencing and has been downright docile if not borderline catatonic, the staff know better. he’s less a bear in hibernation and more so just a predator lying in wait, and with each passing day, unbeknownst to them, he inches closer and closer to his target.
it isn’t his first or second or third session with the pretty blonde doctor, and this isn’t the first time frank thinks of the fact that she’s been practically thrown to the wolves in this place, nonplussed as she seems about it all.
he clears his throat. when she greets him, he responds with a curt, “ma’am,” as he peers at his blurred reflection in the metal of the table.