Log:Speaking Frankly

The Madness of David Flyte 2020/02/12 	 Grimm Frank

24

Grimm sits along on the small scrub island off the coast, small and flat enough to easily pace or see one end to the other, or call out to someone from one end or the other. Her knees are pulled up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them as she stares out over the ocean and hangs up her phone.

Porter took her here once when her powers surged out of control. It was the place he'd go to to vent frustrations or isolate himself when his luck was swinging towards the dangerously unlucky.

There is not much cover at all on the island and only birds really come here you think. Which makes the yipping sound that comes from behind you as you sit gazing at the sea all the more surprising.

If you glance about, you can see a fox doing that head cocked to one side then leap up into the air and pounce on the ground thing. The fox seems to be having a marvelous time of it, a canine grin on its russet colored face as its two, or is it three tails, wag in enjoyment.

Grimm blinks and looks over her shoulder. She's still dressed in a loose, old black band t-shirt and dark gray pajama bottoms, though both are stained with blood spatters that have dried. She watches the fox with a melancholy expression before looking back over the waters. . o O (It's gone too far. I can't control it anymore. I should find Charity. Or...or turn myself in. Would Starguard be able to contain N'zrathol if it breaks through while I'm in a cell?)

"Nope, they wouldn't stand a chance, girlie," says the fox as it rolls on its back in the sandy soil, apparently scrathcing its, no his, back. "Neither would the Chosen One. It's not a demon prince or someting, ya know?" Who'd thought that a fox would sound vaguely like Jack Nicholson?

Grimm doubletakes on the Fox. "Wait, what?" Is she seeing things again? Dreaming? She uncurls and twists a bit, planting a hand on the ground as she studies the fox. "Not even Starguard?"

THe fox rolls to his feet then sneezes once, then again. "Oh, Radagast's suspenders, pollen, hate that stuff..." He then cocks his head as he looks at you. "Well, in the end, with the help of supers...no, metas, you call them metas here, right? Ya know, Babel did you kind no favors, but I digress..."

The fox looks at you again. "What was the question?"

"Babel? Huh?" Gabrielle studies the fox to try and figure out what it is. A spirit? "So...I can't contain it. Then...dying really is the only answer?"

Physically, it feels like a normal fox, but it is talking. Mystically, it feels like a normal fox, but it's /talking/. Spiritually, it feels like s normal fox, but it's /talking/, right?

"OF course, you can contain it. You contain worse than Nazzie already, doncha?" states the fox as it sits down and scratches vigourously.

The fox sits up and wraps its two, not three, or is it five, tails around its feet. "And while dying is a way to stop him...well, lets be frank shall we? Of course, easier for me to be Frank given the I've got the right bits. So, I'll be frank and you can be Grimm, 'kay?"

"I do...?" Gabrielle asks uncertainly. She's completely perplexed by the fox that is talking, wondering what's even real anymore. Maybe it's a dream and her subconscious is trying to give her ideas. At the frank discussion, she nods slowly. "Uhhh, sure."

Frank then says, "So, first of all, you're wondering who or what I am. Well, keep wondering cause that's not what we're here to talk about. Call me Frank, like I said."

He nods his head at you, his silvery eyes. They were brown before right? Or black. Regular fox eyes, right?

"So, just take my word for it, you do. Now, I had my money on a really good hunter to fix some of this stuff. But, well, he's dead now. Probably will be for a while. Maybe. Anyway, he's out of the picture for now. So, falls to you to deal with this particular thing. Nazzie that is."

Grimm blinks. "A hunter? I...okay," she just accepts it. Weird is where she lives, after all. "Wait, Nazzie...this hunter was supposed to deal with N'zrathol?" (See Log:The Gentleman's Warning)

Frank the fox licks his nose then says, "No, he was supposed to deal with someone else. Sticking a knife in that someone else probabaly would've meant your problem woudln't have come up, but whaddaya know, since the hunter drew the Ace of Spades instead. Nice kid, just not too lucky." Frank yawna. "Well, things change. Fate's fickle. But don't call her that to her faces. Cause real problems belive you me."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever meet her. Seems she has it out for a friend of mine, though." Grimm wonders if it's Karma or Fate that's entwined with Porter's powers. "Wait...this hunter was just a kid? And he's dead?" That upsets Gabrielle a bit. "You shouldn't have put that on a kid's shoulders," she says as she begins to stand up, sounding like she blames Frank for the kid's death.

"You're /all/ kids to me, Grimm. Even N'zrathol is just a kid to me. A very, very bad kid who for murdering countless, well many, worlds is in a very well deserved time out for the rest of eternity."

He leans over to nibble at his side. "Damn, I hate itches. Don't you? I mean, feels good to scrath them, but, they keep coming back." His attention and his golden eyes return to you. "Speaking of itches: confine yours to dreams, kiddo. Stop snuggling up to other people's playthings."

Grimm freezes a bit at Frank's explanation. "What -are- you?" She blushes at the itch talk and snuggling. "I don't know what you mean..."

Gabrielle's face goes red. "Nothing physical happened like that! It was purely platonic! He was just trying to help me sleep without having a nightmare," she says defensively. She feels guilty, anyway, though. Less defensively and more sad, she says, "Mal doesn't show up in my dreams unless he's with me. Or...I guess...when Dialydd let me dream of him. Somehow." She looks off for a moment, pondering on what Dialydd's real deal is, before looking back to Frank. "Waste of material?"

"Potential for fee-nom-inal cosmic power? What does he do? Help people in their dreams and make clocks? Sheesh, with a body like his, I make time, you bet." Frank's tone is certainly heavy on the innuendo at the end.

He then adds in a more serious tone, "So, you know what to do, right?"

"No, I really don't," Grimm finally answers, still feeling lost and helpless. "You said someone was supposed to get a knife in them. But I don't kill." Well. Didn't. She stares at her feet for a moment.

"Well, not /now/. Right now, the one who should;ve got a knife in him might be a way out for you." Frank then adds. "And Luck's boytoy isn;t dead, Grimm. YOu saved his life after...well, let;'s just say there are a number of reasons not to snuggle with Porter and leave it at that, shall we?" He snigs in a disapproving manner.

"The Sisters, whoops, there goes my deposit, well, you got the directions of who might lead you to an answer. So, use him. Shipri's tits, Grimm, someone should. I mean, whoa, he's ripe fo the picking!" He gives a somehow lascivious grin for a fox.

"I know he's not dead. Now. He almost was. He got...well, lucky," Gabrielle says miserably. She feels terrible for hurting her friend. She raises a brow at the other comments. "The Sisters? What've they got to do with this?" It's been a while since she's been there. Not since she took Malcolm and they ran into a darker version of herself. "Alright. So I have to go back to Dialydd and work things out. She raises a brow at the lascivious fox. "Ripe for harvesting that cosmic energy, huh?" She teases. She knows what the Fox really means. She thinks. "How is the guy who should've been killed a way out? What's C...Radical's part in this?"

"R..Connor's part is whatever he chooses. I mean, don't get me wrong. He's a nice guy. But way, way too orderly for my taste. I mean, he probably organizes his sock drawer! Something's just not right there, ya know?" says Frank the fox in a decidely offput tone. "What's next? A syllabus for heroing? It's supposed to be exciting and unpredictable, amirite?"

"And we're not going to talk about the the Sisters...but, boy, if we were could I tell you stories!"

"I mean...maybe. Before he--Wait, how did you know who he was?" Maybe Grimm shouldn't be surprised by an old thing that things the Elder gods are kids. That makes her worry. "He's not -that- bad," Grimm at least tries to come to Connor's defense. She frowns a little at being denied learning about the Sisters. "Not even to tell me how they factor in?"

Frank looks right then left then behind himself then at you and stage whispers. "Let just say that for the right payment the Sisters'll direct touch seers, prophets or psychi mouthpieces to deliver messages from something sometimes. But, it's all very hush hush, OK. Don't tell /anyone/ or they'll likely slip you a Mickey Finn." He taps the side of his snout with one paw. Or tries to, nearly falling over before catching himself. Frank wraps his seven, no nine, tails around his feet with a regal nod instead.

Grimm nods slowly. "Um. What's a Mickey Finn?" She whispers.

"It's a...whoops, gotta go!" And with that abrupt announcement, the fox leaps into the air and fades away. A moment later, a bolt of blue lightning hits the ground where sat which turns into a coruscating blue pillar of electricity that shouts, "I'll find you, trickster!" that then leaps away into the air.

Grimm dives away from the lightning bolt, skidding in the dirty and shielding her head with her arms. She looks up at the shouting, wide-eyed.

Next: Log:Here as a Friend