[ Nashua shows up right after her shift at work. Smelling strongly like syrup and coffee, she wears a butter yellow polo shirt with Daphne's Diner ironed into the fabric and a severe shadow of puffed up purple skin and pulverised blood vessels around her right eye. It's unusual for Frank to reach out like this, prompting at least some concern.
A noise on the far side of his living space holds her attention for a second, the muscles in her throat contracting and settling slowly. Then, back to Frank. ]
First of all, it wasn't my ass. Secondly — hi, Frank.
[ Why does he only ever behave like someone who wasn't raised in a pig's slophouse during their encounters when she's work? She's determined to train him through basic social courtesies or die trying. ]
no subject
A noise on the far side of his living space holds her attention for a second, the muscles in her throat contracting and settling slowly. Then, back to Frank. ]
First of all, it wasn't my ass. Secondly — hi, Frank.
[ Why does he only ever behave like someone who wasn't raised in a pig's slophouse during their encounters when she's work? She's determined to train him through basic social courtesies or die trying. ]
What's up? How can I help?