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Wishes Fulfilled (Fran's Epilogue) [18 Jul 2009|09:42pm] Francess Penn Birthplace: Chicago, Illinois Ensemble Member Since: 2017 Productions With Wells Stage Company: 5 Francess Penn studied English and Performing Arts at the University of Illinois at Chicago and abroad at University of London. She first appeared at Wells Stage Company in the 2017-2018 season opening, The Doctor's Wife (Young Molly, u/s Theresa). Other credits include Fiddler on the Roof, Love Stories, A Christmas Carol, and Hair. Miss Penn will play Julia in the upcoming season of Home at Last!. She credits her success to her family and her dear friend Avery. Comment

Avenging Sonya and a Beautiful World [18 Jun 2009|07:13pm] Francess sat in a corner of the empty drug store. The sleeping pallette lay empty. At night time, most of the fugitives left the safety of the hideout, looking for food or just exploring. It was easier in the dark and there was less chance of getting caught. They blended in with other demons. Francess didn't feel like going out. She held onto the small notepad Sonya left behind. Blood dotted its pages. The Russian alphabet meant little to Francess. It looked like backwards letters, a mixture of upper and lower case, with number symbols thrown in for good measure, like a keyboard threw up on the paper. But the hastily scribbled translations spelled disaster. The Inquisition hadn't given up. They were building a signal to bring reinforcements. They didn't just want to hunt and kill them. They wanted to make this whole world like theirs. The brunette rested her chin on her knee. Tears burned her eyes. To her, this Earth was a beautiful place, where all kinds of people and creatures lived together, and women had honest-to-god rights, and food and clothes and shelter were everywhere. Soon, it would be just like their old world, and Francess knew they (not just the Inquisition) had brought it on these people. So many would be purged or killed, just because the fugitives had come and brought the backwards ways of an awful world with them. Francess wasn't a fighter, but she knew she had to quit running and try to stop it. Even if they all got killed, it would be worth it, just to make a stand and try to protect this Earth. Tonight, she would close her eyes, leave her body, and follow Sonya's directions to the warehouse. She would spy and learn as much as she could about the Inquisitors. Then, she'd beg the others to come with her. Taking a deep breath, she tucked her face into her knees and counted backwards from one-hundred. Comment

Oceans of Possibility [08 Jun 2009|07:47pm] "Ruben...?" Francess crept across the blankets on the floor. The area of the old Paragon pharmacy that once contained pharmaceuticals was now a sleeping pallet for the fugitives. It was a safe corner, tucked away from the windows. It gave them a place to hide from sunlight and mount a defensive, if anyone broke into the entrance. She felt a lump that might be someone's leg. "Sorry," she whispered and kept going, towards the wall where the vampire slept through the day. On her knees, Francess stopped by his side. She tucked her hands between her thighs. Her hair curtained her face as she leaned over him and tried to make out his features in the dark. "Psst... Ruben, are you awake?" She bit her lip. "I'm awake, girl. What're you creepin' around for? Ought to be asleep." He himself hardly slept anymore, his slumber disturbed by bad memories of the last few years of running and hiding. He'd brought the gun with him when he'd finally laid down, and he could feel it on his other side where Francess couldn't see it. The vampire turned his head, felt long hair tickling his cheeks and chin. "You okay? My turn for watch?" ( What's It Like? ) ( Swimming ) Comment

Pretty Thieves (AU Francess & AU Cassandra) [04 Jun 2009|09:52pm] A two-story, brick building stood on a quiet corner in Lincoln Park. Once upon a time, it was a mom-and-pop pharmacy. It kept its working soda fountain for over fifty years. A small apartment upstairs housed the pharmacist, who inherited the profession and business from his father. He was lost in the 2013 disaster. Recently, the building was renovated for the market. The developers tried to keep its original charm, but in a market dominated by chains stores, it would be tough to sell it as a pharmacy. The fugitives broke in through the back door and used it for a hideout. There were plenty of nooks and crannies for hiding, upstairs and down. Francess stood in a bathroom at the top of the stairs. It was narrow and long with checkerboard tiles and a porcelain sink. Neither the electricity or power worked. She watched her reflection in the mirror and combed fingers through her tangled hair. It was long, nearly to her waist. Several times, she thought to cut it. In their world, fugitives could sell their hair and make a few pennies. She couldn't bring herself to do so, though. People like her had so few vanities. The winter dress was too tattered and faded to be pretty. She had no cosmetics, nor a need to use them. Fran remembered the slight perfume of her mother's powders, how the puff and talc felt so soft on her nose, her mother's laugh a balm. Arlene didn't know what her daughter was capable of. It was her sister Beatrice who discovered it, Beatrice who told. She chewed her lip and sifted the strands through her fingers. Cassandra found Francess in the bathroom, pausing in the doorway when she saw the young woman lost in thought, staring into the mirror. As Francess started to try and comb her fingers through her hair Cass stepped in, clearing her throat softly so as not to startle Fran if she hadn't noticed Cass's presence. ( Things Growing Wild ) ( Amazing Air-Boxes ) Comment

Talking in the Breakroom [30 Apr 2009|10:29pm] It was a fairly straightforward route to get to the Logan Theater. Melinda simply hopped onto the Blue Line at the UIC-Halsted stop, and rode it to Logan Square. She gripped the rubber handrail of the escalator as she exited the station, squinting at the bright sunlight when she emerged above ground. It was starting to really feel like spring as the temperatures ascended into the 70s and low 80s, but the weather did little to improve the brunette's spirits. She was a little less nervous after her conversation with Connor, though, so that was something. She crossed the street and began walking down Milwaukee, looking up at the theater's marquee. Pushing open one of the swinging glass doors, Melinda scanned the lobby and concession area for Francess. The brunette didn't know the other girl that well, despite spending time in her body. Truthfully, she had felt a little odd about it; she expended a considerable amount of energy keeping people at a distance, and to have someone literally inhabit her skin had been disorienting. Now, though, she had bigger concerns to deal with. Over by the snack food counter, Francess washed her hands and shook them dry. Earlier, a soda machine disaster sprayed brown liquid all over the place. Since Fran was Assistant Manager of Concessions, and therefore answerable for all beverage catastrophes, she swept in, chain of cups in hand, to catch the spillover until a coworker solved the problem. Things were under control now, but they'd all be drinking Mug Root Beer for hours. She looked up as Melinda approached. It was still a little jarring to see her face, since she wore it for a while. "Hey," she said, wiping her hands on the gritty, brown paper towels. The taller of the two women scooted around the end of the counter, hair swinging from an elastic band like a horse's tail. "What's up? I haven't seen you in forever." Immediately, she felt weird about saying that. Did it sound stalker-y? It was only supposed to be friendly. ( Talking About a Creepy Man ) Comment

Invisible Girl [26 Mar 2009|08:11pm] [During the Personality Trait Plot] Habits were an odd thing. Ingrained over several years, they became second nature. Even when the situation didn't call for a certain action, if one had been conditioned to perform that particular action, one often did it without thinking. Maybe that was why Avery still stood in front of the bathroom vanity mirror when he brushed his teeth. Of course, he couldn't see his teeth; he couldn't see any part of himself. But it would feel a little ridiculous for him to do it over the kitchen sink, for instance. He finished up, rinsing off the blue toothbrush and setting it in its ceramic holder. The vampire wiped his mouth on a towel hanging on the rack, flipped off the bathroom light and entered the illuminated hallway. The curtains were drawn tightly against the remaining day, the sun sinking resignedly over the horizon line of the lake. He yawned, crossing the room idly into his kitchen. Opening the fridge, Avery contemplated the contents, then closed the door again. He rearranged some magnets on the white surface, his thoughts lost in what he'd like to do that night. Absentmindedly, he opened the refrigerator again, as if what was inside may have mutated into something different and more appealing. No such luck. ( Learning to Fly ) Comment

Next-Door Neighbor [17 Mar 2009|12:14am] Maris lives in an apartment building full of twenty-somethings with modest incomes. She's like that, a full-time cashier at the mom-and-pop grocery down the street. Her boyfriend's a delivery driver for a sub sandwich shop. Together, they make ends meet. At nights, when Rob's at work, she curls up on the couch and watches reality TV with her feet tucked under an afghan. She eats cartons of yogurt with plastic spoons and stacks the containers up on the coffee table. She saves the lids for breast cancer something-or-other. A big, orange cat adopted them a few years ago. Rob left the window of his Dodge rolled down and found him napping on the seat. That, plus his sadistic personality, led them to call the cat Toonces. While Maris watches evening television and scrapes strawberry-banana yogurt from cartons, Toonces regards the whole thing with narrow-eyed disdain from his makeshift throne, a beat-up recliner stuck in the laid back position. Tonight, he's extra jumpy. Periodically, his tail thumps like a club and his amber eyes get enormous. Then his ears go up and he meows. While Maris would like to ignore this and get back to watching HGTV, the cat is creeping her out, because he appears to be staring at absolutely nothing. "Toonces, chill out!" she says, cutting her eyes at the unfurnished corner of their living room for the upteenth time. What is he looking at, anyway? She tells herself it's probably a piece of his fur floating on an air current, or a gnat, or a tuft of cobweb. But his insistence gives her the chills and she turns on a table lamp, gets a broom from the kitchen, and energetically brushes the empty juncture of two walls. Without fear, Francess looks down and watches the bristles poke through her etheric midsection. "This is cool..." Comment

A New Trajectory [16 Mar 2009|12:28am] Avery had paid attention the last time a doctor had put a splint on his wrist. It was after Grace had broken into the motel room he had been staying in. After the run-in with Thea, he had tried to approximate that as much as he could with rudimentary first aid supplies purchased at a drug store. In the days following that encounter, most of the bruises and cuts had faded. It seemed different to him, though. He didn't feel that same sense of defeat. In his opinion, the other vampire had come out the worse for wear. Of course, he'd be happier if she was in the custody of...whomever it was who dealt with vampires responsible for the crimes an innocent person was being accused of. He pushed these things to the back of his mind, though, as he stood on Francess' apartment stoop after ringing the doorbell. He swiped one sneakered foot over the 'welcome' mat as he waited. "Come in!" Francess, head and shoulders into her closet, retracted herself long enough to shout it. She had learned long ago that it was best to say 'hold on a second, please' and use the peephole. That way, dangerous strangers weren't let it on accident. But she asked herself today, hey, what were the chances it was a vampire? And that was that. ( Like a Masculine Pocahontas ) ( Just Dive In ) Comment

C'est La Vie [01 Mar 2009|12:19am] The patchwork duffel that carried all of Fran's junk slumped off her shoulder, the handle catching on the crook of her elbow. In her fingers, she clutched the casting sheet for an upcoming play. As part of her beginner's acting class, she was required to participate in a performance that capped the experience. Judging by the confused look on her face, Fran's assigned role had taken her off-guard. She crossed her ankles and sank onto the cold sidewalk outside the building, unwittingly crinkling the page as she stared into passing traffic. "See you later, Francess!" A girl with a hairstyle like a cinnamon bun waved. "Bye!" She smiled brightly and waited for the girl to disappear between cars, then allowed her face to relax. She chewed her lip. A cold breeze snapped at the paper. Fran plastered it against her thigh and tried to iron out the wrinkles. Avery passed a group of smokers cloistered about ten feet from the entrance of the Old Town School of Folk Music. They were gathered in a loose semi-circle, discussing either events from the various programs and lessons they'd just experienced, or a television show; he wasn't sure which, and he shook his head slightly, trying to get his attention span back on track. As he made his way down the sidewalk, he saw a figure camped out on the concrete, illuminated orange from a nearby street lamp. ( A Confession ) ( An Affair With a Pancake ) Comment

Hello Again [06 Feb 2009|11:33pm] Usually, Erica wouldn't be caught dead listening to 93.9. Usually. Lately, though, she was on an 80's ballad kick, so The Lite was right up her alley - for the time being. Sitting on a battered lemon yellow upholstered computer chair, the rusted old casters groaned as she wiggled her rear end and kicked her legs in time with the old Spandau Ballet song playing on the radio. A bright pink laptop and a tin cashbox, perched on the cluttered counter, were serving as a makeshift cash register for the time being. Noontime had come and gone, the sun arching a little further westward as it made its way towards the California coastline, undoubtedly to sink gracefully beyond the warm waves of the Pacific ocean. That was something Erica would kill to see - a California sunset on the beach. Just her luck to be relegated to another chilly late afternoon in Chicago, where the only hope of sunshine would mean an evening of ankle-high slush to wade through. Joy. Business was going... well. Sort of. Erica was unsure if she was making a profit yet - she hadn't quite got the whole Quickbooks thing down just yet - but customers were plentiful, as were people looking to hawk their shit. Erica had to explain to more than one person that she wasn't a damn pawn shop; estate sales and flea markets, those were more her style. Still, it was proving to be fun. One day, she might actually hire someone. Francess liked second-hand stores. Though she didn't know their histories, she liked to select and buy objects that had them, and make up stories about where they'd been before. It was like they had former lives, in a way. Old things did seem to have a karmic weight, more so than brand new items plucked off store shelves, which all seemed plastic, cheaply made, and terribly disposable. Whenever she did a good spring cleaning and donated belongings to charity, she counteracted her sadness over getting rid of them by convincing herself they were simply... progressing farther along a path of reincarnation. Being plucked up by a stranger and having a new purpose was a darn sight better than languishing in an stuffy attic. ( Talking Shop & Just Shopping ) Comment

Virtually Random [12 Jan 2009|10:55pm] ( Football, Anti-Gravity, Condoms, Grace's Butt, And Other Things ) Comment

Brights and Whites [09 Jan 2009|07:01pm] Connor let himself into the apartment after the run-in with Blond Boy, put the groceries away, then set about cleaning himself up. The sweatshirt was a loss, ripped from the armpit down, and he threw it away before holding a wet washcloth on his nose, which was still bleeding a little. He'd seen the cat when he came in, and he checked the animal's food and water bowls while putting away the dishes that had dried in the rack. He'd eat something, maybe hang around until Francess came home, then go out for patrol. The Destroyer fixed a pot of coffee, started throwing together some leftovers from the fridge. Thank God he could taste real food again. Avery was right; having taste buds that worked made everything different. He put it in the microwave and set the timer, then sat down at the little kitchen table once the beep sounded. His nose had stopped trickling blood, and he took the cloth away, folding it up so he couldn't see the red spot. Mental note - bleach for the towels and stuff during the next wash load. Speaking of the laundry, Francess had made an 'uh-oh' on the load she completed before work that afternoon. Knowledge of her great clothing catastrophe weighed heavily on her soul during her shift. It was with a hanged-puppy look that she unlocked the apartment door and let herself in. "It's me!" she yelled, a shaft of light from the kitchen letting her know Connor was home. Still in theater uniform and smelling of popcorn, she hustled past the open door and the room that smelled of reheated food. All Connor would've seen was a speed-walking beanpole making serious tracks to her bedroom. "I'll be out in a second." She shut the door, turned the wand on the window blinds, and stripped out of the burgundy outfit. Her cherished nametag bounced across the dresser and fell behind it, a source of panic for the next day. Francess changed into her comfort clothes: a tank top, EAT SPAM! pajama pants, and fuzzy orange socks. When she re-emerged, she was carrying a bundle of clothes. Her walk to the kitchen was like a march to the gallows. "Um... Connor?" Francess shifted nervously. "Mmmf." ( Laundry Ball ) ( So... You're a Man, and He's a Man... ) Comment

New Year's Eve Threads [04 Jan 2009|08:34pm] http://asylums.insanejournal.com/city_limits/151858.html http://asylums.insanejournal.com/city_limits/153507.html Comment

The Wicked and the Meek [23 Dec 2008|04:11pm] There was an evening concert happening in Millennium Park, a symphony playing traditional seasonal music for a crowd of people bundled in winter clothing under a tent. Francess, who loved classical music, had been planning to go since she saw an advertisement in the paper, but had forgotten about it in the panic of switching places with Melinda. It was by accident that she wandered by it. She didn't know where else to go and had been walking around for the better part of two days. She was also cold, but didn't want to go for a heavier coat. Where could she go? Francess was beginning to think of herself as a refugee. She only dared to stop into her apartment for brief periods of time, such as when she changed her shoes, fearing that Connor might throw her out for being an intruder. At Melinda's place, the roommates would undoubtedly notice differences in her if she opened her mouth. At the back of the crowd, she hugged her lightweight coat tight and shifted foot to foot. A few times, men gave her particular looks, a kind she was unaccustomed to receiving. It was totally bizarre being checked out in a body that wasn't hers. Christmas music had always touched a distant sort of chord with Grace. As a human, she'd celebrated the holidays intermittently, even when she was overseas in England. As a vampire, Christmastime meant both crowds that were easy to lose herself in while she hunted and the occasional theft that got lost in the shuffle of consumerism. She'd wandered over to Millennium Park out of boredom, noticed flyers tacked up onto several telephone poles as she got closer to the place where the concert was being held. Sharp ears picked up the sound of instruments being tuned, and she tucked her hands into her pockets as she blended in with the warmer bodies gathered to hear the music. The night was clear, the wispy clouds scudding past the moon on a brisk breeze. Grace listened to the opening strains of 'O Holy Night', glanced around at the other attendees. The sight of Melinda had the vampire's eyebrows scrunching together, because the brunette hardly seemed like the type to go for this sort of thing, especially in this weather, but maybe she was with someone else. Grace slipped back into the crowd and then behind the other woman. She felt like they'd been making progress towards a more physical relationship, and she wondered how the human was thinking of her now. It was important to keep track of her project, after all. "Hey, baby." She was right behind the mortal when she said it, and her arms went around Melinda's waist for a hug that was a little more than just friendly. "You miss me?" ( This is Bad, Bad News ) Comment

NotMelinda and Other Francess [18 Dec 2008|05:56pm] Winter break was proving to be interminable. Melinda wondered if an urban, apartment-dwelling person could get cabin fever, and she decided not to risk it. She looked online for nearby movie theatres, and found one that had rather agreeable prices and she could catch features that weren't available in the newer theatres anymore. The brunette had hopped on the Blue Line at UIC-Halsted, taking the train to the Logan Square stop. She had gotten a large Coca Cola and small popcorn, settling down for the first movie and relishing the theatre's near-emptiness during the daytime. Two hours later, though, and she had regretted downing the entire soft drink. As soon as the closing credits began to roll, she high-tailed it to the restroom. The hand dryer was broken in the bathroom. This complaint came from a woman with wet handprints on her jeans, who sought out the Assistant Manager to report it. On their operating budget, Francess thought, moviegoers were lucky the toilet wasn't a hole in the floor. After calling in a service request with the manufacturer, she found a role of brown paper towels in the supply closet and took them into the women's restroom. She set it on top of the hand dryer and taped a sign there, too. 'Out of Order. Fixing Soon! We Heart Trees!' Maybe it would stave off lectures from those people who wore Earth Shoes, and wanted to outlaw phone books, holiday wrapping paper, and takeout menus. While at the sinks, she fidgeted with her hair. Francess wanted to dye it again. The black was fading into ordinary brown. She wound her ponytail into a twist and made a bun on the back of her head, examining herself from each side. Did she look managerial? How about collegiate? In thinking about taking a theatre class, Francess also remembered a business card from Victoria she'd kept. The famous actress thought she could be a model. It made a little sense; Francess thought most models looked kind-of weird. Perhaps she could ask Victoria if she had any stage presence. Melinda came out of one of the stalls after flushing; she had used the toe of her boot to push down on the handle. Public bathrooms were germ-ridden, that's all there was to it. Her jacket slung over her arm, she approached the sink with rolled up sleeves. She pumped the soap dispenser twice, wrinkling her nose at the gross, viscous substance that plopped into her open palm. After washing her hands, the brunette approached the hand dryer, and that's when she spotted the other girl hanging up the homemade sign. "Excuse me," she muttered, brushing past the girl to get to the rough, scratchy paper towels that she'd have to make do with. That's when she felt as if the room were shifting, and she put one palm up against the tiled wall to steady herself. "What the..." "Hey... ow." ( Give it Back! ) ( Things NOT To Do In My Body ) Comment

Avery's Apartment [14 Dec 2008|09:02pm] Avery decided that if he was going to have Francess visit his apartment, he would need to prepare food that was fit for human consumption. And the one dish he was certain he could make was pasta; namely, spaghetti with meatballs. It was a simple matter of boiling the pasta and heating up the sauce, and the meatball process was relatively uncomplicated. It was actually quite fun using the gleaming kitchen for the first time, even if sauce spots got on the counter and the white stove top. He'd worry about that later. He had also stocked the fridge with soda and juice, intending to have a wide variety on hand. The vampire thought about attempting to procure wine, but that might have seemed a little odd. Besides, he had a hard time with that; shopkeepers rarely believed that he was over the age of twenty-one. The dumb part about going to see Avery in his shiny new apartment was how nervous she was. It didn't make any sense. Francess had been spending time with Avery for months; Heck, he'd seen her parents' house and her apartment, so it shouldn't have been a stomach-chewing-itself experience to stand on his doorstep. What was it? Paranoia? An insane fear of spotting an atrocious element of home decor, like a bearskin rug or a Sports Illustrated swimsuit poster? Terror over putting too much toilet paper in the bowl and clogging it? Lord, she prayed she didn't have to pee while she was there. Francess finger-combed her hair and cleared her throat. Lifting a hesitant fist, she rapped on the door. There was a brown paper bag in the crook of her left arm. She shifted it against her hip while waiting for Avery to get to the door. At the sound of the knock, Avery wiped his hands on a paper towel and went to the door, adjusting his blue t-shirt as he walked. He opened the door after peeking through the peephole, smiling when he spotted Francess. "Hi," the vampire said cheerfully, noting the bag. "What's that?" He stepped aside so the brunette could enter the apartment. "If you're hungry, I made dinner. I mean it wasn't a big deal or anything, so if you're not hungry, that's okay too." "Hi! These are housewarming gifts." Fran lifted a foot and was about to hurry across the threshold, in case she freaked out and took off running, but she froze mid-step. "Wait, do you have to invite me in, or is it just the other way around?" It was probably a monumentally stupid question, but in doing reading about vampires over the past few months, that particular detail never got un-muddied. Getting zapped or force-fielded out on her first visit would be pretty embarrassing. She stuck the grocery bag in Avery's hands and waited. It was interesting to note that the bag didn't zap. Of that, she was relieved. It contained a wooden box she had decoupaged in movie tickets from her favorite shows, a box of Count Chocula cereal, and a set of bowls and plates made from recycled LP records. Avery couldn't help but chuckle slightly. "That only applies to me. You can just walk right in." He took the bag curiously, and that reminded him..."I have your sweatshirt, it's hung up in my room. I wore it." Well, she knew that part. As the vampire rifled through the contents, his smile grew. "Thank you, this is great. Especially the cereal, nice touch." He waited until Francess had crossed the threshold before closing the door, and he set the bag down on a side table. "I can take your coat. I may have gone overboard with the heat, I didn't want you to be cold or anything." ( What's a Watership? ) ( The Sexy Talk ) ( Miscellaneous Convo ) Comment

[20 Nov 2008|09:11pm] Ferris Bueller Plot, Bio/Sex Ed Class: http://asylums.insanejournal.com/city_limits/116459.html Comment

First Taste [09 Nov 2008|10:23pm] Ever since that run in with Toby and the subsequent feral need to feed which had resulted in an altercation with a do-gooder, Nathan had been laying low. He knew that there would be consequences and he rather liked having his head on his shoulders and didn't feel like defending his right to exist as a supernatural creature from anyone let alone a scrawny youth looking for revenge. It had taken days of recuperation for Nathan to return to his normally composed self, to be the cold blooded killer that thought before he acted. A further day before he was able to walk on his own speed without the thirst crawling under his skin, driving him onwards to feed at whatever cost. But now that he was recovered Nathan allowed his wanderings to take him away from safety and deeper into the city, right into the depths of a busy bar. It wasn't sleazy in the way most bars he frequented were, it was full of life and easy to get lost in. Something Nathan appreciated; there was something to be said for being able to get lost in a crowd. It had at times saved him from extinction. He flicked the dying embers of grey ash from the end of his cigarette and picked up his glass, sipping at the amber coloured liquid as he watched the crowds move. Nathan was tucked away in the shadows, eyes light and watchful as they went from face to face, observing. People watching, fascinating thing, especially when nobody realised they were being watched. Some people were too intoxicated to realize much of anything, including their noise level. Such was the case with the group of ten or so 20-something women having a birthday party. Technically the get-together began at a restaurant, but once dinner was over the ladies decided to go out for a few drinks. They'd been shrieking and giggling and spilling things for going on two hours now. Their behavior firmed up Francess Penn's opinion that there was nothing more embarrassing than a drunk girl. Especially a drunk older sister. Beatrice had pulled in a favor to get her sibling invited to the birthday girl's bash, but it wasn't going too well. Most of the girls were very posh types, fairly superficial, and thought that the youngest Penn was a little on the weird side. They didn't outright say it, but it was obvious on their faces. Francess shrank more and more into herself until she felt concave. Finally she abandoned the table and stuck herself in a corner with her coca-cola. She jabbed her straw at the bobbing ice cubes. Once in a while she peeked at what they were doing, simultaneously disliking them and wishing she could let go and behave the same way. But she couldn't. She just wasn't wired like that. She pulled on the collar of her unstylish button-down shirt and then stuffed her hands under her thighs. It was an awkward way to sit, and it made her shoulders hunch up. ( Euro Trashy ) ( Experimenting ) ( Nothing Alike ) Comment

Draw-String Hoodies [23 Oct 2008|11:00am] Avery must have had a bruise on his chin. He was sure of it. Connor certainly punched hard enough. The next evening, as soon as the sun set, the vampire had headed out. He wandered aimlessly for almost an hour before deciding where he wanted to go. On a whim, he hopped on the Red Line, transferring to the Blue Line and backtracking to the Logan Square stop. He couldn't go to Francess' apartment, because of Connor's directive from the night before. He turned instead down Milwaukee, and made his way to what he'd come to think of as 'Francess' theater'. The vampire remembered what she had told him about being promoted, and he smiled to himself as he pushed past the front doors. Avery paused to look at the lit up posters displaying the coming attractions, then turned toward the concession stand. Completely clueless as to who had walked in, Francess was in full-on Assistant Manager mode. During the evening shifts, she served as the senior employee at the old Logan Theatre, and got to put together staff schedules for that shift as well as supervise closing responsibilities. Her additional functional area was to supervise concessions sales, which seemed like a Very Big Deal to Francess, because the majority of the theatre's earnings came from food and beverages. Francess rarely reached for what she considered 'exalted' status; once she was named flute section leader in her high school marching band and actually threw up under the imagined pressure. So it was important to her to exceed expectations. Her goal for her first month on the management team was not to receive a single complaint from a customer. Which led to the 'developmental moment' she was having with a young employee behind the snack counter. Remembering the series of VHS manager training videos she'd been forced to watch, Francess led him away from the customers before launching into a corrective yet positive explanation of filling popcorn buckets up to the brim, and how it was nice to offer to layer the butter, and not to get chintzy with the seasoned salt. Still flushed from the exhilaration of her confrontation, she turned away from the employee, wondering if she could sneak to the bathroom and put a damp paper towel on her face without anybody noticing. It wouldn't do to look like she was cracking under the pressure. That's when she caught sight of Avery. "Hey," she mouthed, gesturing in a none-too-subtle way for him to meet her by the wax palm tree. ( Pierre the Fern ) ( A Finger What? ) Comment

Fran's Room [01 Oct 2008|02:00am] The doorbell on chateau Penn was a source of embarrassment to the youngest family member living there. About ten years ago, Mr. Penn invested in a system that came with 100 pre-programmed songs to suit the occasion. The Penns kept the ringer on a seasonal rotation, which meant that when Avery Adlam pushed the button just before October, a slightly tired version of the Addams Family theme announced him. Footsteps bounded down the carpeted staircase of the modest, two-story home. Once her siblings went to college, Francess had graduated to the attic bedroom, which had a pitched ceiling and was by far the coolest room in an otherwise drab house. She skidded to a halt in the foyer and looked out the peephole. The porch light was on. Upon verifying that it was Avery outside and not a stranger, she took a deep breath so that she didn't seem spastic and opened the door. "Hey." Because she couldn't help herself, her eyes darted to his wrist to see if Avery wore a splint on it. Avery had removed the splint a few days previously, determining he was as healed as he was going to get. Instead, he sported his ever-present wristwatch and a black leather cuff he had found at the cafe and no one had come to claim. He liked it because he could snap it off his hand when he was bored or nervous and play with it. He smiled when Francess opened the door. "Hi," he said. "I really meant to call sooner, but some weird stuff happened. I like your doorbell, did it come with the house?" He had noticed the song, due to his above-par hearing. He stood at the threshold of the door, waiting patiently for Francess to invite him in. "No, but my weird parents did," she said, rolling her eyes, though it wasn't maliciously done. "You can come in," she offered. "They went out to eat and to a movie. So... nobody'll stare at you and ask uncomfortable stuff." The fact that she had to invite him in didn't occur to her. The only thing on Francess's mind was that she had a male visitor. On a few sporadic dates in her teenage years, they made it as far as the foyer for the required meeting with Mr. Penn and no farther. Because she was busily packing up her bedroom when Avery got there, Francess wasn't dressed for company. She had on a pair of high school gym shorts, a t-shirt, and footie socks with fuzzy balls on the back. The balls had been affixed with googley eyes that wiggled. Recognition of this came slowly, but it dawned on her, about the time Avery stepped inside. Francess retreated into the shadows of the hallway, where the porch light couldn't quite reach. Avery entered the house, looking around curiously. It wasn't so unlike his childhood home in New Jersey, except his parents hadn't made any personal touches on the residence. "That's good," he said. "I don't know how well I deal with staring and uncomfortable questions." He stood inside the foyer. "I heard from this guy Connor that you're moving into an apartment with him," he blurted out. "Which is good, because apartments are...nice. And he's pretty nice, I think." The vampire glanced down at his sneakers. "Should I take off my shoes or something? My parents used to make people take off their shoes, because of the laminate floors." "You know Connor?" she asked, finding herself surprised at how Chicago seemed to shrink all the time, nowadays. Her whole life, she'd felt like an island, just standing still and watching everyone else move and connect around her, and ultimately sail on past. Suddenly a pattern was beginning to emerge. "Oh, don't worry about your shoes," she said, waving her hand. "My mom has a daycare. Trust me. This carpet has seen more baby poop and throw-up than you can imagine." It had been intended as a casual way of making him feel better about his tennis shoes, but it was a gross image, and after saying it Francess wished she could take it back. "Not that we're dirty," she rushed to assure him. "I mean... we clean." The door closed with a click. Downstairs was quiet, but there was a record player on upstairs, and Francess could barely make out the chorus of 'Creeque Alley'. She balled her fingers in her gym shorts. The polite thing to do would be to offer him a cold drink, but he didn't drink sodas. Besides, it would just be a stall tactic to keep him from seeing her bedroom. It wasn't that she was private about it; it was that Francess knew the exact location of a pink bra on her desk chair. She decided to dash up the stairs ahead of him, in hopes of getting it in the laundry basket before Avery noticed. "Come on up," she said, slinging herself around the bannister post and taking them two at a time. "I met someone you know, too," she said over her shoulder. "Rebecca." ( People We Know ) ( Your Socks Are Staring ) Comment

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