Who can face, who can face
Characters: Franky, Open
Time: Evening
Location: Franky House Mk. II, by the lakefront
Content: Franky's largely better from his ordeal, but that doesn't mean he feels less like an ass
Format: Prose
Warnings: Likely swearing and speaking of unpleasant things
Notes: Franky House has been open as a place to live since the hotel exploded; anyone who wants to live or just spend some time in a relatively safe refuge can be crashing in here.
It wasn't like it had been the first time Franky had made a stupid, reckless choice in attempt to protect someone. Yet, somehow that made it all the more frustrating. He would have thought he'd be more careful this time around; the dumb kid he'd been was supposed to be in his past, in so many ways. He was supposed to be older, wiser, stronger, more mature, with more awesome weapons and stuff to protect people.
Apparently not so much, though. Franky strummed his guitar thoughtfully as he mulled over his stupidity. That action alone seemed to speak well for his current state of being; he had it in him to do something aside from sit around looking sullen and brooding. Now, there was music added. That almost counted as a full recovery.
Time: Evening
Location: Franky House Mk. II, by the lakefront
Content: Franky's largely better from his ordeal, but that doesn't mean he feels less like an ass
Format: Prose
Warnings: Likely swearing and speaking of unpleasant things
Notes: Franky House has been open as a place to live since the hotel exploded; anyone who wants to live or just spend some time in a relatively safe refuge can be crashing in here.
It wasn't like it had been the first time Franky had made a stupid, reckless choice in attempt to protect someone. Yet, somehow that made it all the more frustrating. He would have thought he'd be more careful this time around; the dumb kid he'd been was supposed to be in his past, in so many ways. He was supposed to be older, wiser, stronger, more mature, with more awesome weapons and stuff to protect people.
Apparently not so much, though. Franky strummed his guitar thoughtfully as he mulled over his stupidity. That action alone seemed to speak well for his current state of being; he had it in him to do something aside from sit around looking sullen and brooding. Now, there was music added. That almost counted as a full recovery.