Summary:
Fran Brume dislikes life. Jura's boring, so it's off to Italy, months before anyone turns up looking. Italy's no place for a child, but it might be just right for a 10-year-old pickpocket illusionist. And it's not like anyone will recognize Fran, even after Fran makes a name at 13 as "Frame", an freelance mafia thief. They're all looking for Fran in a frog hat, not Frances in an apple cap. Fem!Fran AU. Fran-centric.
Disclaimer:
I don't own any of the KHR! plot, settings, characters, etc. I don't own the cover picture, either.
Plink!
Plonk!
Poink!
Plop!
Fran sighed, her eyes closed. If it were possible to pout with a blanked face, that would have been what the teal-haired child was doing. As it was, an air of definite sulkiness surrounded the girl who was flicking pebbles into the river.
"This is boring," Fran complained aloud in smooth French, eyes still closed. "There's no one here for miles except me, Granny, and the dumb villagers down the hill. And I used to like that because that meant there was no one to annoy me, but now I don't like that because that means there's no one for me to annoy. Plus, there's nothing here for miles except forest, plains, farmland, meadows, streams, and this single river and subsequent waterfall and cliffs.
"Jura's boring. France is boring. Life is boring. So what am I doing here? Not for Granny; she gave me food and a room out of familial obligation and that's that. Her bentos are horrible, too, so I won't miss her if I left.
"Not for education, either; the village school only goes up to Lycée (High School), and I've got more natural smarts than those brats have fingers combined. I don't even go to school anymore, since as soon as I learned how to read and write I ditched and self-studied through those old workbooks and whatever novel I could get my hands on. If I'm really out of options, I even try going through those dusty dictionaries and programming guides. How's that for schooling?
"And a career? What career? Down here, it's all in the family business, so I have the grand options of either marrying into a random family, or starting a privately owned farm or shop. And then I'll be stuck here for the rest of my life. No thank you, I'd rather take my chances out in the world, please."
The budding illusionist paused her monotone rant to herself, which she'd already repeated so many times that now it was practically memorized word-for-word. This was where she usually ended her rambles, to either return home and read or practice her 'magic' (illusions), or to saunter down to the village and steal something. Sometimes she's throw in a little variety by playing around and experimenting with her 'magic' in a realistic setting, to observe realistic reactions and find out realistic effects. /Anything … for science!/ she thought with a tinge of amusement.
(Somewhere in an ultra high-tech lab, a baby with a green pacifier shuddered and consequently swore. "Argh, my new serum spilled! Curse you, mysterious shudder-inducer!" His alligator/crocodile raised an eyebrow at Verde's actions, before ignoring him again.)
But today… today, Fran didn't feel like slipping back into the wheel of monotony, the wheel that spun and spun and spun without end, causing her days to resemble running on a well-rehearsed schedule instead of running on that "free will" humans were so famed for. She didn't feel much of anything on a regular basis, instead wading through the weeks in a haze of apathy and keen, keen eyes. Therefore, today's feeling of reluctance to return was gravely obeyed.
/So… I don't want to return. Okay, that's decided. Where do I go, then?/ she mused. Her eyes opened as Fran wandered to a softer patch of grass on the riverbank and laid down, spread-eagle and gazing at the sky through parted lids and teal eyelashes. "Take my chances out in the world…? Huh, that might actually work. Let's see my options, then. Well, I've established that France generally holds no interest for me as of now, even those glittering big cities like Paris. Paris is overrated, anyway. I do still want to live somewhere where there's bustle and hustle, but some peace, too. Somewhere I can avoid detection; somewhere I can melt into a crowd with one 'magic' mask on, and melt back out with another 'magic' mask effortlessly. Somewhere I can stay without ties, but where I can put down prompt roots if needed. Somewhere where the language is close enough to French that I won't be hopelessly lost, but far enough from it that I can be lost when I want. Somewhere I can live in without question as long as I've got the money, which I'll definitely have as long as I've got the stealing skills and sufficiently suppressed morals. Somewhere… interesting."
A half-smile curved into Fran's lips. She propped up one arm behind her head and stared hard at the sky, at the clear summer sky slowly fading away to dusk. "Yeah," Frances Brume muttered to herself, a wistful sigh that stirred the lazy June breeze around her. "Yeah, that sounds nice." Closing her eyes again, she stayed still and didn't move until the stars began to glint. Then she slowly got up and trudged away into the depths of the forest, vanishing soundlessly into it's shadowed embrace.
"Frances Amarante Brume! Have you been lying about by the river again!? Young lady, at your age, you should be more focused on your studies! What will you do once you're old enough to move out? Have you even thought about it yet? Good Lord on Earth, what would your mother and father say if they could see you now? Oh, never mind. actually, they were as bad as you, never taking school or life seriously, and then galloping off to Italy of all places to get hitched on a whim! Children these days; at least Alyssandra and Alphonse became successful businessmen at the end, though why they chose me to dump you on when they died I haven't the faintest clue," Granny scolded snappishly.
Fran, long since used to her grandmother's rants, blankly waited for her to run out of steam, all the while thinking mutinous thoughts.
/If I've said it once, I've said it a trillion times; call me Fran!
And what's so wrong about the river? Surely it's better than loitering around the candy shop like every other kid my age, bragging about their parents and making disgustingly awkward attempts at flirting. I mean, come on, people, we're only freaking 10! Who the hell actually wants a boyfriend/girlfriend at 10!? Whattya gonna do, ask your parents to drop you off at the movies for a 'date'?
'Focus on my studies'? Puh-lease, I'm light-years ahead of the students in my grade, and I don't even go to school!
And stop hinting about my future, would you? I've seen through your transparent attempts at getting me out of your house since I was 4 and you accidentally left me alone at that shopping center a town over.
Of course I've thought about it, though. That's what I've always been thinking about when 'lying about the river', as you so eloquently put it.
And I know very well what they'd say, actually, considering I've been reading their letters and journals dedicated to me ever since I found that cache of them under my mom's loose floor plank when I moved in at 2; oldest trick in the nonexistent book, I tell you.
'Successful businessmen'? They were freelance illusionists for the mafia, lady. Are you really that oblivious as well as senile, ancient, ugly, tactless, and afflicted with several unfortunate anger problems?
And they 'dumped me on you', because obviously I was a secret, and if anyone got wind of the fact that two respected if not world-famous illusionists ever married and had a doubtless extremely talented illusionist child, I'd be kidnapped and coerced into recruitment faster than you could call '911'. Not that you would, you heartless old crone./
When Granny finished, Fran simply turned her blanked face to her (taking extra care to keep it even more emotionless than usual, since Fran knew how much her monotone expression freaked her maternal grandmother out), dipped her head in an acknowledging bow, and then made her merry way upstairs into her bedroom (which was her mother's old bedroom, not-so-coincidentally). While the white-haired elder murmured waspishly to herself downstairs and scrubbed at the walls perhaps harder than called for, Fran allowed herself the indulgence of a well-deserved smirk for a job well done at riling up her caretaker enough that she hadn't noticed Fran slipping away a portion of dinner.
"Italy, hmm?" Fran mumbled through a mouthful of rice soaked in a chunky minestrone soup. She was lying on her stomach on her neatly arranged twin bed, leaning over an open journal, with one hand propping up her chin and the other hand feeding herself spoonfuls of food out of a bone china bowl.
The journal was one of the many other journals and letters from the formerly mentioned hidden cache. This particular journal detailed Alyssandra Francesca Brume's adventures in Italy, where she'd gone to study abroad and met Alphonse Jacques Moretti, the love of her life as well as the person who explained to her about the strange 'magic tricks' she could call up. Eventually, after getting married, she was inevitably sucked into the underground of Italy along with Alphonse, who was already a member of a soon-to-be-dissolved weaker famiglia. They became a fairly respected illusionist duo, freelancing for the mafia and angel-investing in their downtime.
Many very helpful tips and notes were scribbled in the margins as well, from the best places to get a job, to the most important things you should remember when crafting a completely legal and separate identity. Rereading it a few times, Fran had managed to stabilize and affirm most of the details in her grand, 'see the world' plan.
"Yeah, Italy should do it. I'm a fast learner, and French shares some similarities with Italian, so give or take a few weeks and I could pass as a native in less than a year. An illusion to make me look older and forgettable will take care of any legal issues with buying things. Illusion money should work, too; I'd better trade it in for actual Euros, though, at the airport before I fly to Italy, in case some random mafioso sees through it. It's best to have an actual, legal identity to go by, though; now what's a suitably vague job that requires one to disappear from the public scrutiny for long periods of time, yet can be a potentially lucrative cash flow to explain away the money I'll get? An author, then. Make that an average author who writes under many pseudonyms in many genres and likes her privacy, and whose name is only known to her publishers. I'll probably have to scribble out some actual novels every now and then, though...
"I'll stay a girl, obviously; it'll be easier. But a more androgynous look could be beneficial in case I need to get out of a tight spot with a drastic change of appearance. 'Jacqueline Espositos'? Hmm, a general, plain, common name. Good, she'll be a general, plain, common person, then, in her twenties. And my actual money will come from theft, of course. As in, jobs requesting an item to be stolen. Mafia, obviously, because that's the only viable option for me right now; all the places mentioned with a job board that's open to anyone willing to try, are mafia-linked places. Besides, Alyss only worked in the Mafia, so she didn't note any other places. Freelancing as an illusionist might be dangerous, though, especially if anyone discovers that I'm not even a teen yet. If I freelance as just a thief, however, and keep switching illusion disguises for every job, then that might work. And if not, well, my pickpocketing skills will always be honed," she finished decisively, punctuated a sharp nod of her head.
Having finished reviewing and rehashing her game-plan, so to speak, Fran got up from her position on the bed and stepped over to her closet. "No time like the present," were the words running through her head. /I'll leave tonight./
Of course, not being an idiot like all of those other kids who decide to run away on a spur-of-the-moment decision, Fran packed accordingly. It was late enough at night now, that her grandmother was sleeping and therefore not awake to witness her ransacking of the house.
/I can't just use my illusions for everything, because eventually come other illusionist s going to find out if I use my Flames willy-nilly. So … All my clothes, first of all, which is basically three oversized cotton short-sleeves in light dove gray, dark ash gray, and a teal color that matched her hair and eyes; two loose T-shirts in black and gray; and five pairs of cargo capris in camouflage green, gray-black, dark gray, teal, and a dark red; and underwear. My sandals and sneakers, too; they're practically coming apart at the seams, but hopefully they'll last until I can con another pair. Oh, and that one really soft and worn gray oversized hoodie with the pocket in the front; not because it's my parents', but since it's essentially a fluffy blanket. I'll leave everything else, since everything else is either old, outdated, or not fit for summer. I'll probably buy some more stuff at the airport with illusion money, anyway.
A few bottles of water, check. Most of the packaged food (which are all snack foods, unfortunately), check. Flashlight and back-up batteries, check. The newest map of our region and surrounding towns, check. Bug repellent and pepper spray, check. Reminder: get a taser as soon as possible. All of Alyss's notes, too; their my 'guidebooks to the mafia', you could say. Tent? ...eh, I'll use an illusion one if I need to. Illusions should be safe until Italy. Huh, that's it, I think. Everything else is too traceable, or replaceable as soon as I get to the airport. Okay, then, all I need to do is get to the airport as stated. Right. Let's do this./
And so, that is the dramatic (not really) preparation of Frances Amarante Brume's journey to the airport in the next town, followed up by the dramatic journey of Frances Amarante Brume to, well, the airport in the city a few towns over. (The dramatic journey consisted of Fran walking through forests and the countryside for a week, and camping out in the nearest convenient deserted forest for a week, living off of bottled water and various assortments of overly franchised brand-name snack foods, until she finally walked inside the city limits of LaPlaine. It was honestly a big disappointment to Fran, who had expected at least someone new to cross her path.)
"So," Fran remarked to the air, glancing around at the considerably noisier sights around her. She spread her arms out wide, paying no heed to the passerby giving her a dirty look (whether because of her scruffy appearance or her duffel bag that smacked into his shoulder, she wasn't certain). "So," she repeated. "This is the beginning of my new life, huh? Well, it could definitely use some less pollution and some more of that stereotypical metropolis glamour, but hey, it'll do the job. Let's get me fixed up."