Hello hello I have arrived.
I used to update every few weeks and now it's every few months lmao.
Love and hugs to my wonderful supporters:
LandyShadow - I mean. You review less than a day after posting every single time. I adore you.
Luna - I'm glad they're making up too! It was getting a bit tiring writing turmoil after turmoil. It's refreshing to have some realism in there, mundane as it may seem. I'm glad you think so as well.
Mr. Knightman- finally got to chapter six, my favourite addition! I'm go glad you expressed your opinions so positively, I had a blast writing that one!
And to my PM supporters, Cececat and Hazel Ashwood - Cececat, I'm honoured to be reading your works, and Hazel, you know I love you and I wish you every happiness. #Frite misses you. I know because they told me. Can't wait for your return.
And on we go.
Sprite was woken in the early hours of the morning by a noise.
A series of creaks. Bumps. Like someone was moving furniture about. Now, that was very feasible - the house was full of people after all - but she struggled to think of anyone who moved furniture about at four o'clock in the morning.
She listened quietly. Cough. Snore. Sleepy groan. Creaky mattress.
Nothing.
She turned to look at Frank. He had been so painfully exhausted, and had fallen into an extremely deep sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Sprite herself had slept in uncomfortable, irregular intervals: the stress of having so many perfect strangers surrounding her in all her sleepy vulnerability, the unsettling fear of being unable to identify what those creepy sounds were, a dull, lingering ache in her stomach and Frank snoring like an absolute foghorn the entire time proved to make for less than ideal resting conditions.
Creak. Thud. Bump-bump-bump. Grooaaaaaann.
She should have dismissed it as the house settling by now. However, that groan sounded very much like a person.
'Frank?' She shook his shoulder gently.
Clang.
'Frank?'
'No...'
He stirred, frowning, and shuffled closer to drape a lazy arm around her middle.
Even that gesture, in all its gentle tenderness, caused her stomach to flare up uncomfortably.
In a voice thick and gritty around the edges with sleep, he slurred, 'Mmm, what is it, my love? Did you have a nightmare?'
'Can you hear that?' She whispered. 'That banging sound?'
He stretched, whimpering softly as a few bones cracked, and drawled, 'It's nothing, my sweet. Old pipes.' He was responding to her, but he was still mostly asleep. He hadn't even opened his eyes. He gave her cleavage a sloppy kiss and mumbled, 'Be a doll then, and go back to sleep now, there's a good girl.'
He immediately began to snore again (she thought, with mild amusement, that it was the only time she'd ever seen him doing anything unattractive) almost as soon as he'd stopped talking. He hadn't really awoken in the first place.
Annoyingly, he'd only confirmed what she had already been thinking.
She settled down in his arms again, slipped one of her legs in between his thighs for some security and tried very hard to doze off.
If only she wasn't so nervous. Her stomach cramped and made undesirable noises that seemed impossibly loud in the peaceful silence - and had been doing so since yesterday morning.
She originally wrote it off as immediate after effects from Frank unexpectedly pouncing on her and playing with her like a rag doll. When the pain persisted, she put it down to nerves. And when she was snuggled up in what she knew to be the safest place in the world, as close to Frank as she could possibly be without making love to him (which they actually couldn't resist doing despite their obvious fatigue, two times before going to sleep) and even then it still wouldn't go away, she began to suspect otherwise.
She scolded herself. Said it was just her overactive imagination. She was in a highly unfamiliar and unwanted situation, and when everything went back to normal (as it would that same day - although she had yet to be informed of the regular 'normal' parties they took so much pleasure in frequently hosting. Her unprecedented arrival and messy adjustment period created the longest interval there'd ever been between these tame affairs) her body and mind would settle down as well, and she could finally focus all her energy in creating somewhat of a normal life for herself.
For the first time in her life she has a family. She had a sense of belonging. And for her, someone who felt too old and sad to play tag when she was just six years old and didn't expect to see her eleventh birthday, that was all she needed.
Frank came to himself slowly. He didn't remember much of the previous night. For some reason he had a really vague memory of someone giving him a massage. His awareness went straight from that relaxing bliss to waking up the next morning. He half-suspected that his drink had been spiked with something, for he'd never slept that deeply for so long before.
But that was laughable. He didn't get drugged. He did the drugging.
Speaking of, he stretched out blindly to pull her against him and instead, found her side of the bed empty and cold. Strange. She almost never woke up before him, and on the rare occasions in which she did, she wouldn't leave his side. Especially during these few unpredictable days.
She absolutely adored waking up by his side. He would watch her sleeping - there would always be something so utterly enthralling about having something so small and innocent-looking so near to him all the time. He took great pleasure in simply savouring how exposed and vulnerable she was to him in those naively peaceful moments. So little and so helpless - for as long as he wanted before waking her. Usually by stroking her hair or peppering her with gentle, slightly ticklish kisses until she'd stir, smile, and swat him away.
The next ten or fifteen minutes were usually filled with cuddling, whispering and coaxing when she inevitably complained about having to get up and didn't want him to leave either.
The idea of throwing away all responsibility and staying in a warm, safe bed with her for the day seemed incredibly appealing; especially on this day.
She would finally be getting what she wanted. Which only made it even more ironic that she'd disappeared.
It didn't make any sense.
He briefly entertained the thought of her starting her day unprompted, leaving him to sleep in peace as she must've sensed how tired he was. She could easily be in the kitchen now, helping Magenta with the copious amounts of breakfast food to be cooked, or striking up a conversation with one of the estranged guests in order to help them feel as comfortable and welcome as possible.
But that idea made even less sense. It was Celeste he was talking about: the girl who still had the common childhood fears of her own shadow and absolutely refused to sleep in a room with blackout curtains.
Or she was just drunk. No surprise at all.
A series of doors slamming, almost in perfect canon, reminded Frank that he actually had a role to perform today. He only became even more disoriented when he (after very nearly yelping at such an unpleasant surprise) caught sight of himself in the vanity mirror with not a scrap of makeup on.
In a frustrated huff, he flounced to the bathroom (as if he hadn't slept late enough, he now had to spend even more time putting his face on again - something that was completely unnecessary and could've been avoided altogether had someone refrained from interfering with his normal routine!) and found the door wouldn't open.
He tried it again. Still nothing.
What the fuck? He thought irritably. Why wouldn't the door open? Was it stuck, or had someone broken it? Ooh, he really wasn't in the mood for this today. He almost couldn't believe it himself how quickly he had gone from feeling warm and cozy to feeling like he could kick the first person who looked at him wrong down the stairs and now this fucking door needed fixing...
A slight cough came from the room which he was unable to enter.
Ohhh. Of course. This was where she'd been hiding.
He hit his palm rapidly, and very loudly, against the door. Somewhere in the very outskirts of his mind he considered being more gentle and understanding with his nervous little mouse, but now was really not the time.
'Celeste,' he called, hoping the immediate use of her real name would shake her up as much as she once told him it did. 'Celeste, open this door.'
Nothing. As far as he could tell, she wasn't even breathing.
'Celeste, ignoring me is not going to get you anywhere, and I'd strongly suggest you drop this pathetically childish act before you regret it.'
He had consciously employed his best 'disciplinarian' persona, and even that didn't stir so much as a whimper.
'I can't.'
Oh. Until now.
Frank sighed, defeatedly exhausted all of a sudden, and leaned his forehead against the door.
'Yes, you can,' he reassured her firmly. 'Yes, you can. You've made it this far. Two weeks ago you were telling me the very idea made you feel ill, but you overcame that. You did it. Surely you can keep going for just a few more hours? Please, darling? For me?'
'Frank, I can't do it!' She stressed tearfully. 'Please don't make me...'
'Why not?' He asked tenderly. 'Why the sudden change in attitude?'
Startling Frank to the extent that he almost lost his balance after lurching away so suddenly, his usually docile and demure little mouse almost screamed, 'Because I don't want to!'
Delivering an almighty kick to the door upon a complete reflex, he spat, 'How dare you be so selfish? Do you think any of us want to be doing this? To be in this situation? To be cruelly separated from our homes, our companions, our loved ones? To be prevented from having any sort of contact with the ones who mean the most, sometimes for years at a time? No, of course you wouldn't,' he grumbled furiously. 'Although,' he sneered, 'I suppose you wouldn't understand. Someone of your background would never have known any different.'
'I'm not coming out,' she stated calmly. There was not the slightest waver in her voice. She must be getting used to his degrading tendencies by now.
That would never do.
'Shall I break this door down?' He growled, dangerously close to the end of his tether now. 'You know I'm more than capable of doing it, mousey.'
'Fine then,' she responded confidently, but (finally!) unable to hide the heartbroken tremors in her voice at her favourite pet name having been laced with such disgust. 'Tear the fucking thing from its hinges for all I care. But bare in mind that everyone will see the conditions you're living in, and conclude that it would be unsafe for you to continue any experimentation.'
Frank stuttered. He actually stuttered. For the first time ever, she really did have a point. Everything had to stay perfectly pristine - one wrong move and the whole lot would be axed, just as he'd explained to her.
He wouldn't go as far as to say she was controlling him, but he certainly didn't have as much control over her anymore. Not in that moment, at least. She had been anticipating being with him at his weakest moment, been slyly scheming away for goodness knows his long, and had seized the opportunity to heartlessly exploit him for it.
Had Sprite heard any of this, she would've laughed. Sobbed first. Then laughed.
In (literally) any other situation, Frank wouldn't been quite proud of her. He hadn't known she could be so clever, and didn't think she had it in her to be so vindictive.
Now, however... now he was utterly enraged.
He delivered another wordless, brutal kick to the door - the frame shook and tremored - and stormed away.
His body physically shook with fury, his breath came in short, sharp pants and even his vision was affected.
How dare somebody undermine his authority like that? Just how... how dare they?
After everything he'd done for her! Every time he sat with her till gone midnight discussing guilty feelings, every time he'd ignored his other girls to spend more time with her, every time he'd patiently coaxed the bottle from her convulsing hands and guided her through the temptation!
All the times she'd slept in his bed because she was too frightened to sleep alone. All the times he had let acts of misbehaviour slip by unnoticed because he was willing to do anything to make her happy. All the times he'd told her that he loved her.
Not to say he ever meant it.
A man was a convenient distance away, jogging up the stairs on a hunt for a recently lost nose ring at the time of this oncoming temper tantrum. As if his imposing height and heterochromia didn't make him distinctive enough (one ice blue iris created a strikingly beautiful contrast against the deep chocolate brown one) he also happened to be one of the extremely rare people privileged enough to call Frank his friend.
The odd characters had been close for a long while now. Aside from automatically getting invited to all the most prestigious events, savouring the knowledge of how jealous everyone else was and having virtually anyone throw themselves at his feet for even a glimpse of that desperately desired lifestyle, he also knew exactly what to do whenever Frank got himself into the state he was in now.
One took but a fleeting glance at the other, thundering down the corridor, disengaged and trembling with rage, and instantly ushered him into the nearest vacant room, quickly locking the door behind them with frantic fingers.
He could do no more than watch as Frank tore the room apart. He hurled ornaments, he made three ugly holes in the wall, he screamed at the top of his lungs.
And just like that, he burnt out. Exhausted. Gone. As if nothing had happened in the first place.
He collapsed in a defeated heap, too drained to walk two steps to a chair. Hugo, a dear, dear friend, sat with him on the dirty wooden floor and kept a firm grip on Frank's burning hand as he sobbed silently into the other.
'It's so hard,' he whispered. 'It's so hard.'
'What happened?' Hugo asked, moving closer and sitting back on his heels. 'Is it the stress? Because I can promise you everyone is so impressed with you, Frank, I even heard someone say it was the best one they'd been to. You knew this was going to be difficult. And as far as the project goes, there's no concerns there at all. You've outdone yourself, dear, please don't be so hard on yourself.'
'It's not that,' Frank said. He had only just mustered the strength to talk again. Lifting his head was still too difficult. He gave a great, heaving sigh. 'It's her.'
'Her?'
'The girl. Small one with silver hair. She's mine.'
Although Hugo encouraged Frank to go one when he sensed he was faltering, the man couldn't help but to raise a surprised eyebrow.
He knew Frank. He'd known him for years - not as long as Magenta, but he didn't think anyone could surpass that. In short, Frank was a sort of mentor to him. He knew what Frank liked. What Frank looked for in a person. In men, he was attracted to muscle, and lots of it. He liked masculinity in the traditional sense: someone who was brave and strong and protective. In females, it was not that different. He was strongly attracted to full figures, quick wit, independence and confidence.
This girl, however, had none of those things.
He recalled seeing her for the first time last night, and almost did a double take. From the corner of one's eye, she honestly did look like a ghost.
She was without a doubt the thinnest girl he'd ever seen. No breasts, no hips, arms and legs like matchsticks. Now, having a small frame was fine, as long as it was healthily so. Her startling figure along with skin so pale some veins were visible (in the correct lighting), her skin was icy cold to the touch and he hadn't seen he eat or drink a thing all night. In short, she just looked quite ill.
If he didn't know any better, he would've suspected her to be a vampire. But that was stupid. The Transylvanians had gotten rid of their kind centuries ago.
Frank would never have even looked at someone like her before, let alone take her under his wing as his own little pet. This only made Hugo worry that something else was going on here.
Something worse.
'Painfully shy, poor thing.' Frank continued to speak, bringing Hugo back to reality. Yet another concerning factor - Frank was about as compatible with shyness as he was with denim. 'She's locked herself in the bathroom. She won't come out, no matter how hard I try. And I'm not completely heartless - I am sensitive to how scary all of this must be for her - but she needs to start cooperating soon, otherwise... well, I don't know.'
Frank sighed again, finally able to lift his head and look his friend in the eye. 'She says things, when she gets agitated. She doesn't understand how hurtful her words can be sometimes.'
Hugo couldn't help it this time. He turned away sharply, clenching the inside of his cheek hard between his teeth. As utterly dumbfounded by Frank's blatant hypocrisy as Hugo was, now more than ever was the most important time not to incredulously laugh.
He cleared his throat quietly and asked, 'What made you decide?' Changing the subject before things got any worse. 'Why did you let her stay?'
'It was an accident,' he responded immediately. It was almost as if he'd been impatiently waiting for someone to finally get the hint and ask him. 'I wasn't planning on having anyone new. Those three together are obscenely infuriating enough as it is, and with such a monumental task ahead of me, another permanent one was the last thing on my mind. One night, completely out of the blue, she somehow finds her way here and stirs up the most dramatic scene. I honestly didn't believe it was real. I thought I was dreaming.' He chuckled colourlessly and continued. 'She was drunk when she came to me.' He shook his head forlornly at the dusty floorboard. 'So obscenely drunk.'
Frank was just a second too late at dashing forwards to catch her. The dumbfounded mistake resulted in him seizing her waist, but with one clumsy arm only, causing her head to rock forwards at an alarmingly high speed and smacking it very roughly into the wooden dresser before her in consequence.
He had to lower the child's body onto the floor completely before adjusting his grip on her limp form and hoisting her up properly. Now carrying her bridal style, her head hung at a severe angle over the crook of his arm. He could clearly see her eyes, half open even in her drunken state, and the grotesque way in which they rolled into the back of her head. Her dry, cracked lips remained slightly parted. She stank of alcohol and cheap perfume.
This was not good.
'Magenta!' He called urgently, finally snapping out of his daze. 'Magenta, get in here now!'
He carefully sat down on the bed, keeping the unresponsive girl nestled securely in his lap. He began attempting to rouse her (stroking her hair, rubbing her arms, softly murmuring reassurance to her) just before Magenta stormed in.
'What the fuck is going-!' Magenta was faltered both by Frank ferociously shushing her and by the shock of seeing a seemingly dead stranger in his arms. 'What's going on?' She asked, clearly very unsettled by the abrupt shock of it all. 'Who the fuck is that?'
Frank gestured for her to keep her voice down and gave her an incredibly meaningful look. 'I'm just as confused as you are,' he reminded her softly. 'I don't know how this happened. She just appeared out of nowhere, but we have to help her. Look at her, just look at the state that she's in.'
The woman nodded once. 'What are we to do?'
He replied, 'Go and see what Columbia's doing - don't disturb her if she's sleeping. If she is awake, tell her that everything's okay, but she just needs to stay in her room. Send your brother to me, and you -' he pointed to the girl's small bag that had been dropped at her feet ' - can look in there. See if you can find some personal information for me.'
As if on cue, her phone started to ring.
The sudden noise and the ferocity of the vibration against the wooden floor caused them both to violently jump - Magenta even let out a small scream - and the girl finally began to stir.
They both inhaled sharply.
Frank was quicker to react this time. He flapped a frantic hand at his domestic, who scooped up the bag in both hands before obediently dashing out of the room.
Frank gently brushed the girl's hair from her face. 'Mouse?' He whispered. 'Darling, can you hear me?' She continued to move and writhe sluggishly - alert enough to wriggle restlessly but not yet enough to respond. Uncomfortable frowning and the occasional groan was all he had to go by in the ways of communication.
He continued to murmur unthreatening words of reassurance to her, for she was almost certainly able to hear every word he said. 'You've had a bit of a nasty shock, but it's all over now. Don't be afraid, little one, I won't hurt you. I'll keep you safe until morning...'
In between softly cooing and gently rocking, Frank began to think of the practicalities.
How long had she been away from home? There could be scores of people searching for her now: her phone frequently ringing the way that it did made that suspicion more plausible. If a search party ended up here, one might console themselves with the concealment surrounding the house, but what if some of them had been to the house before? Frank was always hosting parties for the general public (in this case, 'general' being whatever gutter rats Columbia seduced from the street), and any one of them could've had their memories erased since then. They wouldn't know where they were but they would damn well see a castle and that was all they didn't need.
People would come. They'd flock like sheep: authorities would be alerted, the media might get involved, any number of her friends and family would want to have their say.
In short, publicity. And when a group of humans are informed about the existence of aliens, there was only one way left to go.
All that work for nothing. All that heartache for nothing. All that travesty for absolutely nothing.
But then, another thought came to him: suppose she didn't wake up?
Frank had no clue what had gone on before she came to him. Had she taken anything? Had she been in a fight? Had she been on the streets for a dangerously long time? Had she planned this unconventional method of escapism only to fail in taking her own life because they'd got in the way?
She could die.
What on earth would they do if that happened? What would they do with the body? How would they alert anyone without putting their own lives in jeopardy in the process? A murder enquiry would surely follow and then... oh fuck, then what?
They would either come looking her alive or find her dead. Their cover would be blown, poor Columbia would be abandoned to fend for herself. They'd have to leave her wondering what she did wrong. As for them... well, if things ever got to that point, Frank probably wouldn't care what they did to him anymore.
It was almost inevitable that Frank would lose.
Except, Frank didn't lose.
There was only one feasible option. An easy decision, really. Certainly not unwelcome either, this terrified little thing was exceptionally gorgeous.
He would just have to make her stay.
The girl sat bolt upright, extremely violently, and heaved an excruciatingly desperate gasp for breath. Frank grunted a little in surprise and tried very hard not to drop her.
Seized by desperate fear, she screamed and she wailed and she hollered like the whole world was caving in. Frank dealt with her violent kicks and scratches (as she hadn't realised she was more than safe with him yet) while listening to hysterical cries of, 'Get away, get the fuck away from me, don't touch me, let go of me you fucking bastard!' Until Frank somehow managed to shift her so she was facing him, put his strong arms around her very firmly indeed and tuck her head under his chin.
'Shhh, shhh, it's alright, little mouse, it's alright... you're safe now, Frankie's got you... I'm not going to hurt you, my darling, you'll be safe with me until morning...'
Frank patiently rocked her, hummer a soothing tune to her and gently rubbed her back in an effort to soothe her.
She didn't stop screaming for a very long time.
Her hysterical shrieks eventually began quieting down into unsettled whimpers. She was restless, clinging on to him as if he was the only one she had, and kept her face vigorously buried in his shoulder.
'That's it, good girl... settle down now, we don't want you making yourself ill... be brave and hold on for a little while longer - you're safe, remember, you're safe - don't worry so, my sweet baby, I'll get you home in the morning...'
It seemed as soon as the word 'home' passed his lips, she began to cry again. This time however, sickeningly so, they were cried of utter, unadulterated despair.
There were long breaks of silence - filled instead by gyrating shoulders and scrabbling hands - between each increasingly heartbroken wail. Frank could feel that she had turned her head to lay on his shoulder instead of hiding in it, and now she was just miserably sobbing. Frank himself was starting to feel teary eyed at the unspeakable predicament of this poor innocent child, but he did his best to comfort her.
'Alright, darling, alright... just let it all out, it's okay... you must try to be brave little one, I'm here for you... hush now, pet... shhh...'
When she blessedly relaxed against him with a shuddering sigh, without ceasing to rock her once, he sighed, 'Oh, my poor little mouse, how on earth did you end up here?'
'I can't.' The first word out of her mouth was heavily slurred and barely coherent, but she was speaking nonetheless. 'Too hard.'
'I know these times are difficult times, darling,' he whispered, 'but it does get better. It will get better. I promise you that.'
All of a sudden she shrieked, 'I never fucking had anyone!' and began to get extremely agitated again. Frank jumped a mile but immediately massaged her hair - a concerned frown masking his features - to try and keep her calm. 'It's alright for everyone else, they have their families there for them! I didn't. I don't. I never have and I never will!'
He soothed, 'Shhh, baby, it's okay.'
No, it's not okay!' She started hitting him again as her hysteria increased once more. In this case, the 'attack' was pitifully half-hearted, but she clearly had a black streak of violent tendencies. 'All my life I've had to look after myself! I didn't have a childhood! I'm so fucking tired of just coping all the time, one caring person is all I've ever asked for and I still don't even have that!'
Frank saw Magenta push the door open a crack and quietly place her phone (along with a full glass of water and what looked like a bowl of soup) on the bed stand. Frank beamed an incredibly grateful smile at her and winked - we'll talk through this later - before she slinked away again.
'Hush now... don't cry, little one,' he murmured. 'I'm here for you. I'll be you family until morning.'
Frank was incredibly mindful to take nothing she said at face value - her alcohol level was in the extremes, and all of this despair was probably an aspect of the drink talking.
Frank felt like he's been mindlessly repeating himself the whole time, for he continued to coo the same gentle words and reassuring phrases until he thought she'd fallen asleep in his arms. A thick, heavy silence followed. Forty minutes had elapsed since the door was thrown open. Ten more minutes passed before she began to stir again. Feeling more confident this time, Frank coaxed her into sitting back, she finally allowed herself to be prised away from him.
She was beautiful, this girl. So very intriguing as the dim moonlight caught the light from her glistening tears and every lightning struck revealed a quick flash of her vivid blue eyes.
Such a shame. Such beauty. Such potential. Such a waste of a life.
'Now then, little mouse,' he began gently, 'let's sort you out. You need to drink a lot of water and perhaps try and eat something as well? I know your stomach probably doesn't feel up to it now but you'll feel miles better for it in the morning.'
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Frank questioned why he even bothered being so excessively caring towards her. She probably wouldn't remember a damn thing the next day.
'You can sleep in here. I won't leave you alone unless you want me to, and in the morning, we'll get you back home.' Something compelled him to cup the girl's sickly-looking face in his gentle hands and promise, 'You are safe now. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. You believe that, don't you?'
She nodded once. Looking at him but not really seeing. Spaced out beyond comprehension.
Again, he questioned.
Magenta reappeared again, placing an empty bowl on the floor next to the stand - presumably to be used when the girl needed to vomit. Magenta jumped a mile at the unexpected sight of the girl awake, and snuggled up in her master's embrace of all things. The girl had the same reaction, and reflexively clung on to Frank tightly and buried her face in his chest.
The maid slipped out (hopefully for the last time), matching endeared grins on both faces of the aliens. Frank feigned chocking noises until his little mouse quickly let go, and was over the moon to hear her giggling softly. He explained away the housemate's presence, reassured her for the thousandth time, and succeeded in getting her to drink one whole glass of fresh water all at once.
She brought it back up a few minutes later.
Sigh. This was going to be a long night.
'And she never left,' Frank finished with a rather sentimental glimmer in his eyes. 'She's still here because I want her around. I wasn't sure what to expect with her, but as it happened, she surprised me.'
Hugo was staring intently at Frank now. Slightly bewildered. Had anyone looked over, they would have assumed Frank was doing what he did best with an attractive male counterpart, and that for whatever reason, it wasn't going very well. Not one of those onlookers would've expected to see Hugo again.
In reality, he had simply never heard his companion talk like that before. Frank was notoriously ruthless with the way in which he selected the 'lucky' ones to keep around. He would invite people for a good shag and usually some ego-inflating (which is why he always pitied the damaged ones. Attachment issues, substance abuse, broken childhoods. They, with their weak minds, were so much easier to exploit. Not that Hugo agreed with it. He detested that black streak in his friend. But it was not his place to say anything), but the ones he kept around were only there because they could obviously fulfil a certain need of his.
So far, it had only been the hyperactive tap-dancer. And that was only because he was too self-entitled to even dream of doing his own shopping...
It was such a flimsy reason to stay around, and the poor, used girl seemed to know that. She was always going above and beyond the expectations of a normal companion (a friend or a lover, the labels frequently changed) in a desperate attempt to constantly appease him and guarantee her place for another month or so.
The other two didn't have to fight as hard.
Hugo had known Magenta for almost as long as Frank had, and it was obvious what she was here. The resilience of their unorthodox friendship (even by Transylvanian standards) had forced them to have a begrudging respect for one another. That was part of it. But Hugo had been to countless exhibitions in his time, and he had yet to see, or even hear of, anyone that performed as well as she did. Sexual education was mercilessly drummed into them the same was prayer was in a Catholic school, so it certainly wasn't hard to become good at the craft. Some people, however, are just born with it.
And the hunchback, well, he could only assume that he served Frank with the needs that were the most crucial of all: because that was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, and if Frank had been keeping him around for pleasurable recreational reasons this entire time, Hugo would have to accept that he didn't know his friend at all.
Which begs the question: what did Frank need?
From the outside looking in, he had everything. It wasn't like they were spending the rest of thier lives here. This arrangement was perfect to hold him over until he returned home. What could that scrawny little human girl, an apparent raging alcoholic who was too scared to be in a room full of strangers, possibly be providing him?
'Nobody came looking for her then?' Hugo promoted.
Frank sighed. 'Nope. Not a hint of unrest at all. Turns out it was just generic people ringing her that night - no one of any importance. As far as I know, her mother doesn't even realise she's gone. She was never acknowledged when she was there, from what I've heard.'
Hugo watched as his friend's hands trembled and he thought he might cry again.
'It's just so frustrating. It astounds me how people can be like that. I didn't know she existed a few months ago and I'm already hopelessly attached, I can't even bare the thought of her being distressed. I just have to take care of her. Which is why,' Frank finally stood up and smoothed out his hair, 'it infuriates me to no end that decent, loving parents try for years and years to start a family, and people like that can just get them without a hitch.'
Frank left the room in a flounce and Hugo followed suit.
'And now,' Frank led them back towards his room as he really needed to put his face on, 'my poor Lessie is paying the price. D'you know, she barely received an education, she inherited the drinking problem from her mother, and she's always had to fend for herself? She told me that she would often have to take money out of her purse to feed herself, complete strangers were in the house all the time - which explains why this situation petrifies her - she's been exposed to drugs, domestic violence, sex scandals, all of it. And more.' Frank heaved a great sigh, suddenly exhausted by all the turmoil. 'All that and she's only eighteen. Barely out of childhood. All I can do now is make up for lost time. No child should have to beg to be loved.'
Frank stopped so suddenly that Hugo clumsily stumbled into him.
'Oh.' Frank was staring at the open door of his bathroom, a pleasantly surprised expression on his face. 'She's gone. She was hiding away in there. Poor thing, she's so scared. I can reassure her and soothe her till I'm blue in the face but she can't get it into her head that some people are actually decent people. She doesn't trust anyone, she thinks everyone wants to hurt her, but at the same time, she's so petrified of abandonment that she won't even sleep by herself. I question my desicions every day, I never know if it's the right thing to do...'
He trailed off sadly.
Hugo clapped his friend on the shoulder. 'I think you should give yourself more credit,' he said sincerely. 'So many people would've given up by now, or refused to take on the challenge at all. You didn't. What you're doing now, that's solely for her. And I'm incredibly thankful that we have people like that in this world.' He sighed heavily. All this drama had suddenly exhausted him. 'We need more people like you, Frank. The world is messed up enough as it is. I'm just wondering, if she's so resentful of other people, how on earth did she come to trust you?'
'I don't know,' Frank answered honestly. 'I really don't know.' Frank shifted into talking mostly to himself as he mused, 'I can't imagine were she's run off too, though, hopefully Columbia's with her, she knows how to take care of herself...'
Frank slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Hugo sat on the end of the bed as he decided he'd wait for him - he was rather enthralled by this situation.
He did enjoy having these discussions with Frank. It wasn't often that Frank let people see past his flamboyant, independant exterior. The overtone of this particularly intriguing conversation was selfless. Raw. Emotional.
But Hugo knew better.
Frank has always been unnervingly skilled at conditioning his own mind into believing things that weren't true. That's what made his previous work so impressive. No morals. Therefore, what Frank said seemed heartfelt and genuine, but he had convinced himself that all of this had occurred for the wellbeing of the young girl. In Frank's mind, he was practically a saint. He quite enjoyed helping others, he might do this more often.
In reality, Hugo knew, it was a thirst for power. That's all it was, and all it ever would be. Everyone knew his once all-ruling dominance had been slipping. Frank needed to feel like he was in control again. And if that meant emotionally manipulating a troubled soul, deceiving her into loving him like she'd never loved anyone before, and exercising his totalitarian, unquestionable authority over her whenever he felt like it, then that's what Frank would do.
Hugo played along, though. That was much easier.
Sprite cringed at the squeamish task ahead of her.
'Ooh, I'm so sorry.' The mutilated man in front of her repeatedly winced and hissed as she peeled the soiled tailcoat away from the scarred back - fighting hard to keep her stomach in place with the sound of the material slowly ripping away from the dried blood that glued it there. She ripped the last bit off quickly, like a plaster, and he cried out in torment.
'Okay, I know this really hurts but try and be quiet.' She dampened a sponge in lukewarm water and dabbed at the angry red slashes as gently as she could. 'Please, Riff Raff, in already in so much trouble and Frank'll kick me bowlegged if he catches me doing this as well.'
'I didn't ask you to do this.'
Right, she thought to herself bitterly. I'm obviously the selfish one. I could've sauntered on by when I heard you groaning, but instead I risked my own safety to help you. I don't have to be doing this. The least you can do, you tiny, tiny little man, is keep your mouth shut.
She wanted to hit him. Her arm was raised, she was just about to harshly elbow him between the shoulder blades for speaking so audaciously out of turn.
That thought flickered across her mind almost simultaneously as she realised that's what Frank would've done.
He had given her a lot, and he could be overwhelmingly gentle and loving at times, but no way in hell was she going to turn out like him.
What on earth was she doing, having thoughts like that? It wasn't his fault Frank had flown off the handle again, and no one deserved this. She was beginning to sound more like him, she had to admit that. Didn't want to, not at all, but she had to. It was the stress, that was all. Guilty if she stepped in and guilty if she ignored it. Either way, she'd be the one most affected by the decision.
Sometimes, she really hated Frank for making her feel like this.
Once the craters in his back were fairly clean ('What happened this time?' 'Made a scratch in the floor.'), Sprite carefully unraveled the bandages, mindful not to tangle them, and cut them precisely. The soft snip - snip - snip of the material separating was oddly comforting to her, and she focused on that instead of what she was actually doing. Perhaps the sound reminded her of cutting her own hair. One of the only things in her life she had any control over.
Hairstyles and alcohol consumption. What a pairing.
She bandaged them up as well as she could, and she had to admit she'd done a pretty good job.
'Do you want some painkillers?'
'No. Thank you.'
'Where does this go?' She pulled the artificial hump towards her - dragged it noisily along the tiled floor. It was too heavy for her to pick up.
'Let Magenta have it. My coat, also. She'll know what to do with it.'
Riff Raff either forgot to put his shirt back on to hide the illegal bandages or he simply didn't care, for he heaved himself into a standing position and walked out without so much as a backwards glance.
Even without the weight on his back, his spine was still at a curve. He probably wouldn't walk properly ever again.
Ah well. Drama before her time.
Now for the tricky part: she had to get Riff's hump and tailcoat to Magenta, who could be absolutely anywhere, and ensure it was safely stored away, all without being seen. In a full house. Filled with dangerously observant people. One person in particular, whom she'd royally pissed off already today.
She scooped the garments up in both hands and carefully exited the smallest, dirtiest bathroom of them all. Riff Raff surely did live up to his name. As if the dregs of society weren't enough, he also got the dregs of everything else. She wondered if that was his real name, or simply a pet name (cruel and degrading as it was) that had stuck over time, much like the scenario with her?
Sprite was knocked flat point one seconds after exiting the room. Arms reflexively splayed (the hump flew one way and the coat slid another) she squealed and shrieked through tightly pressed lips as a heavy, wet tongue lathered all over her face.
A slight commotion of quick footsteps and incoherent telling-off preluded the giant thing climbing off of her.
'Sylvie, I am so sorry!' She heard Magenta's genuine apology, but she could tell her friend was laughing. 'Are you hurt?'
She blinked her eyes open warily. She sat up saw Magenta fastening a collar around the neck of a rather large dog and tugging its ear once to scold it.
Her stomach was just starting to get better and now it was sore again. Man.
'No,' Sprite wheezed, accepting Magenta's outstretched hand to help her up and dusting herself off. 'Could probably do with some fragrance, though.' She eyed the animal suspiciously, who was now sitting obediently, panting in a way that made it look like it was smiling, and drooling. So much drool. So much of it. 'Why didn't you tell me you had a dog?'
'I have five, actually,' 'Magenta answered proudly. 'They live in the kennels, which are riiigghhttt at the back of the garden.' She made a swooping hand gesture to illustrate the distance. 'I would've released the dogs earlier, but I was waiting for the right time. Plus, everyone is a sucker for these guys, which is why I picked today.
The five dogs Magenta owned were a Stafordshire Bull Terrier (the one that had been overjoyed to see her), a Rottweiler, a Siberian Husky, a Saint Bernard - and a Pug. That was Columbia's one-year-of-loyalty-reward, apparently.
'Yeah, I bought them for protection, but they're big softies, really. The others are in the living room, if you want to see them? Some people gave been asking after you,' she grinned. 'You obviously made a good impression.'
How? She thought. I didn't do anything.
'Magenta, I have Riff's back thing and coat here. He suggested I give them to you. You won't tell Frank that I helped him, will you?'
'No, it's fine,' she replied casually. 'I heard the beating but there's not much I can do about it.' She took the garments from Sprite and smiled. She couldn't help noticing, with a strange sort of discomfort, that it was the first smile she'd seen that didn't seem forced.
'I think Riff's gone to his room now.'
'Right. Frank won't notice, not with the pets out. He loves animals.'
Sprite couldn't help but laugh. Frank clearly thought animals had more feelings than humans. Usually it was the other way around.
'Yes, we bring them inside occasionally, but they just get so much fur everywhere. They're well fed and well cared for, but they haven't had house time in a while - you know, after everything that's been going on and I didn't know how you were with animals.' The Staffordshire plodded over to her and nuzzled into her hand. She patted it apprehensively and found it was quite gentle. 'If there's any time to be around Frank, it's now. He's so excited to pamper them again, he's like a child. Plus, it relaxes everyone and creates a nice atmosphere. Decreases the likelihood of anyone noticing potential mistakes.' Magenta winked at her with a smug grin. 'I'd better check on Riff, I suppose. Thank you so much for helping him.'
She gave her a quick hug, handed the dog's lead over to her and strolled away.
Sprite uncertainly followed the sounds of simpering coos and general happiness. According to the collar, the dog was called Persephone, and she followed along docilely. Sprite hoped that having the dog with her as she unexpectedly waltzed in would take some of the attention away from her. The knot of guilt was still uncomfortably tight in her stomach - the last thing she wanted was for Frank to cause a scene.
She poked her head silently around the corner and was greeted by the most surreal of heart-warming sights.
General guests from last night peppered the room in small groups. Some were talking amongst themselves, some were eating, some were playing with the other dogs, and some were cuddling or making out with one other.
Most, however, were watching the middle of the room, laughing and smiling at the scene unfolding on the floor.
The Siberian Husky Magenta had mentioned before had flopped down on the floor, lying on its side looking quite content. Frank was sprawled out beside it, literally spooning the dog with his head half-concealed by the thick, white, fluffy fur. He had the stupidest grin on his face, eyes closed in pure happiness, and didn't seem to care at all that mostly everyone was laughing him.
'I've missed him!' Frank said in response to everyone's teasing. 'I love my Razor.'
This was the only time Sprite was glad to have remembered about the cameras everywhere. She would find a way to preserve this and blackmail him with it forever.
She dropped Persephone's lead in the doorway and she immediately trotted over to have a nosy over what was going on.
She snuffled over Razor and Frank instantly sat up to shower her with attention as well. He scrubbed his knuckles on her head and scratched her under her chin, rubbing her all over very firmly and became positively elated when she began licking his face.
Sprite was surprised to see he didn't care for the state of his makeup at all. He merely continued to laugh and squeal happily, only screwing his eyes shut and keeping his lips firmly pressed together to take any sort of precaution to his appearance.
'Oh, aren't you just the cutest thing, you are so beautiful, hey listen,' he held the dogs face in his hands as she panther severely and looked very loved up indeed. Frank continued to pet her enthusiastically as he whispered, 'Don't tell the others, but you're my favourite. Okay?'
The dog licked his nose and he almost died.
It was hilarious and incredibly pleasant to watch, but Sprite couldn't help noticing that Frank talked to the animals in exactly the same way he often talked to her.
As if hearing her thoughts, he looked over and caught sight of her in the doorway. He lit up even more than he already was (if possible) clambered to his feet and bolted over to her excitedly.
She was almost knocked over again by the force with which he hugged her. His wonderfully tight grip was the only thing that kept her on he feet as he smothered her with affectionate kisses.
He had white dog fur plastered all over his corset.
'Oh, my darling little mouse, I knew you wouldn't let me down...' Frank murmured into her hair before hoisting her to his waist and carrying her into the room.
Apparently she had since lost the ability to walk by herself. Not that she was particularly complaining.
He settled them both into a nearby chair and held her comfortably. Between yet more, slightly ticklish kisses to her shoulders and neck, Frank briefly filled her in on what she'd missed and introduced a few of the most important people.
'And this here strapping young man,' Frank spoke the phrase obnoxiously loudly, causing the admittedly striking, man's head to turn with a look of amused annoyance and stuck his tongue out at him playfully, 'is named Hugo, and he's a right dick.'
Frank's friend began making his way over. Even though he was clearly deeply trusted (and they must be close for Frank to be speaking to him like that) Sprite still felt her stomach turn funny as her heart rate increased, and she couldn't help but shrink further into Frank and hide herself against his chest. He held her tighter and she could hear the understanding smile in his voice as he reassured her with a quiet, 'It's okay, flower.'
Hugo greeted them with a warm smile and knelt down beside the chair.
'I'll just go and sit over-.'
'No, it's alright lamb, you can stay here.' Frank's grip prevented her from struggling away and moving from the unfamiliar situation.
It was just so annoying. She was well aware her behaviour reflected that of a child who looks to their parents for an answer to painfully simple questions, but her deep-rooted conditioning to fear pretty much everyone meant that she just couldn't help it.
She had explained this to Frank, once, in the days leading up to this dreaded weekend. Looking out her window a short time later, she saw Frank sitting on a garden bench, head in his hands and crying.
'So,' Hugo started with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, 'this is the one everyone's been talking about. The phantom mouse.' With another wide grin, he politely extended his hand out towards her. Half a beat passed before it clicked in her brain and she shook it. 'What do they call you?'
She stuttered. She flicked through the arsenal of names she'd complied over the previous months and tried to pick one.
She explained her predicament and he grinned again.
'Now tell me, Celie, he continued, affectionately diminishing her full name without a hint of a prompt, 'is Frankie here being nice to you?'
She felt herself blushing. Oh no.
She nodded wordlessly.
'Taking good care of you? Keeping you safe? Making you happy?'
She nodded again.
He smiled again (he was the smiliest person ever) and dropped his voice into a knowing murmur as he said, 'I bet he spoils you rotten.' He winked at her mischievously and Sprite found herself getting rather flustered. She was nervous ninety nine percent of the time, so it really made her day when she met someone who was really very nice.
The Saint Bernard chose that opportune moment to amble over sleepily and slobber all over Frank's shoes.
'Oh, Cujo!' Frank complained, with a look of utter disgust on his face. He had once sulked for four hours because no one told him the corner of his right eyelash was peeling away (because it literally did not matter) so Sprite could only imagine how he was feeling now. 'Dirty boy,' he tutted, 'get out of here,' lightly pushing against the dogs behind.
Someone cooed, 'Oh, is he being a big meanie to you, baby?' And the dog trotted towards the attention happily enough.
Frank gently pushed Sprite to her feet and kicked off the shoes disgustedly, occasionally making exaggerated gagging noises at the thick, glistening film covering his black patent pumps.
Sprite and Hugo had been giggling amongst themselves the whole time - beginning when they glanced at at each other and saw they both wore the exact same facial expression.
'Excuse me, I don't know what you're laughing at.' Hugo went a bit mad when Frank playfully tried to get sone in his hair. Frank tuned to Sprite (a much softer, less boisterous demeanour was reserved for her) and said, 'Lessie, my love, why don't you show Hugo around the gardens? He hasn't stopped going on about that since he arrived and quite honestly I just want him to shut up about it now.'
He dodged a well aimed kick from his apparent best friend and ran upstairs cackling.
Sprite dashed upstairs to quickly grab a light jacket from her room, and on the way, she heard the noises again.
Scrabbling and shifting, as if they had a rather severe rat infestation. But that didn't explain the groans.
Groans and creaks like squally floorboards - but she didn't understand how anything could be making a noise from within the stairs.
She ignored it and distracted herself by strolling along the garden with Hugo and the dogs in tow (the Rottweiler and the Pug, named Kaiser and Earnie, respectively), pointing out the flowers she recognised and answering generic questions about her life there so far.
Hugo really was exceptionally charming: as was everyone from this eccentric planet, she was slowly finding out. For the first time, she remembered Dimitri - or, more importantly, how she hadn't seen him all day. She asked Hugo about it and he told her he'd left last night.
'What? He told me he was staying!' She felt very disappointed indeed. Why would he lie to her? Sarcastically, she murmured, 'Maybe I scared him off...'
'Firstly, my sweet, you couldn't scare rice pudding.' Frank had silently appeared right behind them and made her jump a foot in the air. He cackled at her reaction (she'd never seen him laugh so often before) and continued, 'Secondly, you don't need him! Especially not now you have...' he nodded towards his friend who was now walking a little ahead of them, with Earnie in his arms. Frank gently took her by the shoulders and dropped his voice to a soft murmur as he asked, 'How would you feel about Hugo staying with us?'
She blinked. 'For how long?'
'As long as he wants.'
She pondered. She could see it working. Sprite liked the young man a great deal, and it would be amazing for Frank to finally have a male companion. She envisioned his temper reducing dramatically. Their lingering, nagging fear went with it. That would be nice. Very nice indeed.
'Well, I don't mind,' Sprite responded brightly. 'Besides, she added, 'it's not really anything to do with me, is it?'
He frowned. 'Of course it is, darling! You live here as well.'
Ooh. Ouch. Couldn't he have just said 'stay' or 'dwell'? Live sounded irreversibly permanent.
They trotted to catch up with the man (and dogs) in question and continued their circuit around the perimeter of the garden. Sprite had never felt so stupidly tiny, sandwiched between these two giants. With Sprite walking along shoeless next to Frank wearing the highest, sexiest pair of heels he owned, he was now over a foot taller than her. Hugo was even taller than that. She was teetering on the edge of being teased to within an inch of her life for the next... oh, I don't know.
Forever?
It was beginning to get dark as they went to go inside again. Everyone was about to leave, apparently, and Frank wouldn't let her get away with not saying goodbye.
Hugo was ushering Kaiser across the threshold when she saw something.
'Why is there a swing?'
A lonely wooden plank, beginning to rot and slanting severely, had been suspended from the lowest branch of a magnificent juniper tree by a pair of haphazardly knotted, tattered ropes. Judging by its questionable appearance, the structure has been erected a long while ago, and it didn't look strong enough to support a mouse (haha) let alone a small human being.
Her stomach was cramping again.
She watched Hugo first. His expression revealed he hadn't a clue either, and was just as inexplicably unnerved as her. If there was any time for a haunting tune straight out of a cursed music box and the physical materialisation of lost, infantile, tortured souls, it was now.
Both looked to Frank, and both immediately wished they hadn't.
The look on his face, as he seemingly stared at absolutely nothing, was the most harrowing either of the accidental spectators had ever seen. It made Sprite want to cry, it made Hugo want to walk away and pretend nothing had even happened (which he did after about five seconds), but mostly it made them more wonder what agonising, monstrous atrocities were indiscriminately fucking up his exhausted mind now.
Cautiously, Sprite extended a trembling hand and touched his arm.
He jumped, flinched with a terribly violent arm swing as if he'd been shot or electrocuted. Tears glistened on his deathly pale face.
The only sound was Sprite's heart beating wildly enough to jump straight out of her chest.
What's going on? What is this madness? What's happening here?
And why do I feel exactly the same?
Hugo briskly marched himself to the flurry of people stepping over the threshold, as was the annual tradition, falsely explained away poor Frank's absence, and retired himself to the warm, cozy comfort of the library.
The room in which he stayed, trying to dissociate from the knowledge of what so many long years can do to such a wonderful soul, to such a dear friend, until the stars came out to play.
It's so painful! I'm pained to realize my solitude on the Earth. It's dark...
Why? Why does it happen to me?
No One Remains - Painful Memories
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Alma Oakley