βͺ frank sees her. he's always seen her. he'll notice the way panic traces the inner rim of her eyes, the way they gloss over in that way that she could once blame on the biting chill of new york city. and while the winter weather is crisp here, it's nowhere near enough of an excuse. it hasn't been long since she'd left billy's, since she'd led indecisive limbs back to the down.
there is no safe place. there is no home.
chilled fingers dig out her device just as she's ducking into some poorly-run cafe to steal a bit of warmth. he knows she's back, but what's more is that part of her feels if she can just see him, if she can be around him, maybe it'll ground her. assure her she's really here, that she hadn't been gone a months time, that if she just let herself rest she'd wake up in that dim flat in hells kitchen, yellowed fan spinning idly above her. β«
[ He's killed men to find her; with her disappearance following the suspicious events on the ship, Frank had resorted to his own classic methods of gathering information, scouring the city through the dingy streets of the Down where the most gruesome scum lurked, where lips were often loose if you had the right methods of persuasion. There'd been little he could find, and the blood that stained his hands from the process was only a brief satisfaction in knowing there was one less bastard out there to cause trouble.
It was a hard judgement to cast to say he'd given up, even if the bruised knuckles were more of mere routine these days than a signal of any new gathered information. He'd known she was still there, somewhere, but he lacked the means to reach her with his limited hands.
To say his heart was near ripping out against his bones and skin from its frantic beat upon hearing her would be an understatement. He'd been at Wynonna's, but with the message, he'd found himself tugging his clothes out of the dryer, not nearly as blood stained as they'd been last night, dressing himself as he rang a call straight through to her, not bothering with the text. ]
Karen. [ It's a scratchy sound, ached and trapped. ] Where are you?
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backdated β dec. 26
there is no safe place. there is no home.
chilled fingers dig out her device just as she's ducking into some poorly-run cafe to steal a bit of warmth. he knows she's back, but what's more is that part of her feels if she can just see him, if she can be around him, maybe it'll ground her. assure her she's really here, that she hadn't been gone a months time, that if she just let herself rest she'd wake up in that dim flat in hells kitchen, yellowed fan spinning idly above her. β«
hey. you around?
no subject
It was a hard judgement to cast to say he'd given up, even if the bruised knuckles were more of mere routine these days than a signal of any new gathered information. He'd known she was still there, somewhere, but he lacked the means to reach her with his limited hands.
To say his heart was near ripping out against his bones and skin from its frantic beat upon hearing her would be an understatement. He'd been at Wynonna's, but with the message, he'd found himself tugging his clothes out of the dryer, not nearly as blood stained as they'd been last night, dressing himself as he rang a call straight through to her, not bothering with the text. ]
Karen. [ It's a scratchy sound, ached and trapped. ] Where are you?