Fic: "The Fantastically Flawed Adventures of Franny Goren" Prt 2, CI
Because she's mentioned here and because me, familyarchives and plenty of other people had a shit day, here be some new Franny.
God, I love writing this. It's so young adult, so fun and free. No angst for Franny!
First cracktastic part here.
TITLE: The Fantastically Flawed Adventures of Franny Goren [2/?]
FANDOM: Future!Criminal Intent
RATING: I'd say "WTF", but really, PG
DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf's, not mine.
The Fantastically Flawed Adventures of Franny Goren
NOTES: Spot the appearances from old faithfuls and et als!
----
TWO
I was born in New York City to two of NYPD's finest. My mother comes from a long line of law enforcement specialists, and met my father on the job. I have my father's tenacity, my mother's sense of humour and their combined sense of self. Needless to say, my home life? Is kind of strict.
---
It's breakfast time in the Goren Household. Mom's head is in the newspaper, and my Dad's reading some large, scary book about existensialist motives in twentieth century crime solving (or something similar) while picking around a plate of toast. The clock's ticking loudly, and Carver, our dog, is scratching to be let in. The only sounds in the house. Along with silence. And more silence. And more.
I suddenly have this overpowering urge to scream, but I resist. Instead, I reach for the sugar, and pour a good couple of tablespoons over my cereal, staring at my parents as I do so.
"And when you have to go to the dentist, don't look at us."
Mom turns the page of the paper, and continues like she's not said anything.
If I could see my face, I know I'd be pouting like a petulant ten year old, but I can't help it. It's been almost a week since I'd tried the tree thing, and nothing else has been said. No phone calls from Doctor Rodgers telling me of the latest sixteen year old crack whore she's pulled from the river, no crime scene pictures turning up in my notebooks of half-alive and fully-beaten teen prositutes, nothing. Jack. Squat. To call this bizarre behaviour on my very detective-minded, very strange-in-their-punishments parents behalf is the understatement of the universe.
I'd asked the night before if I could stay at my best friend Dominic's house - don't get the wrong idea, Dom is a girl and also the daughter of Fin, an ex-cop and Casey, a district attorney. Dom's the only one who can understand having not only older parents who are cranky and tired all the time, but freakin' ex-law and order as your flesh and blood who breathe down your neck as soon as you even look at the doorway. To say the least, we spend as much time together bitching about our parents as we do freaking out over our favourite bands and plaiting each other's hair; girl shit you can only do, obviously, with your best friend, and as far away from your parents as humanly possible.
Did I get an answer about staying at the Tutuola-Novak household? Nope. And I need to give Dom an answer today, so her mom can ring my mom...you know the drill.
I do as any normal daughter would - I try the cutesy routine.
"Daddy."
A grunt is my reply. I lather it on, pulling my chair closer to his.
"Daddykins."
"Frances." A sideways look.
At least that's something.
"Can I go to Dominic's house tonight?"
"No."
Ohkay, and suddenly Mom's pulled the paper down and is glaring at Dad like she's willing information or sense or something into his brain. Watching them, with their non-verbal communication, is a sight to behold. It's almost like they live in each other's brains, think the same way, finish each other's sentences. It's long since ceased freaking me out, but still, it makes you wonder about a time when they first met and they had to, y'know, talk to each other in sentences and tones like the rest of us.
The majority of me thinks it's the best thing in the universe, but. The way my parents love each other, it's weird. But it's them. And I would never tell them this, ever, because I'd get a look from Dad and an eyeroll from Mom, because they like to pretend they hate each other's guts.
But I digress.
"Dominic's got her english paper to do, and I said I'd help because I've done mine..." I've gone into a whine, and I hate it. "...Casey's gonna be there, and I think Fin, and Ken's back from Sydney, and..."
I break off, because Mom's holding a flyer in her hand.
For Taking Over Bloodlines, mine and Dom's favourite band.
With a large, huge proclaimation that they're performing their last gig in the foreseeable future in New York City.
Tonight.
"Go get ready for school, Frances," is all she says, putting the flyer under her breakfast plate.
Shit.
----
"Dude!"
It's pretty much all Dom's said to me since arriving at school. I slam my locker shut and start towards English, the "dude!s following me down the hall.
"Your class is back that way, Dom."
"Dude!"
"You've said that!"
She stops me, her face gaping like a fish. "Dude! We have to go! Last gig! Last chance! I've got Ken helping us out, he's not gonna tell Dad and..."
"I know, Dom, but unless you have another plan that possibly involves gassing my parents and/or getting the band to our house, then it's over!"
"Unless..."
I could almost see the wheels turning. And I loved her for it.
---
Of course, streets away I couldn't hear my parents having a discussion about some escaped psychopath who's escaped and could possibly be after my dad and whoever he held near and dear.
The name Nicole Wallace didn't mean anything to me, anyway.
Not yet.
---
TBC
---
Aw, man, I love it. So lame! So awesome!
God, I love writing this. It's so young adult, so fun and free. No angst for Franny!
First cracktastic part here.
TITLE: The Fantastically Flawed Adventures of Franny Goren [2/?]
FANDOM: Future!Criminal Intent
RATING: I'd say "WTF", but really, PG
DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf's, not mine.
The Fantastically Flawed Adventures of Franny Goren
NOTES: Spot the appearances from old faithfuls and et als!
----
TWO
I was born in New York City to two of NYPD's finest. My mother comes from a long line of law enforcement specialists, and met my father on the job. I have my father's tenacity, my mother's sense of humour and their combined sense of self. Needless to say, my home life? Is kind of strict.
---
It's breakfast time in the Goren Household. Mom's head is in the newspaper, and my Dad's reading some large, scary book about existensialist motives in twentieth century crime solving (or something similar) while picking around a plate of toast. The clock's ticking loudly, and Carver, our dog, is scratching to be let in. The only sounds in the house. Along with silence. And more silence. And more.
I suddenly have this overpowering urge to scream, but I resist. Instead, I reach for the sugar, and pour a good couple of tablespoons over my cereal, staring at my parents as I do so.
"And when you have to go to the dentist, don't look at us."
Mom turns the page of the paper, and continues like she's not said anything.
If I could see my face, I know I'd be pouting like a petulant ten year old, but I can't help it. It's been almost a week since I'd tried the tree thing, and nothing else has been said. No phone calls from Doctor Rodgers telling me of the latest sixteen year old crack whore she's pulled from the river, no crime scene pictures turning up in my notebooks of half-alive and fully-beaten teen prositutes, nothing. Jack. Squat. To call this bizarre behaviour on my very detective-minded, very strange-in-their-punishments parents behalf is the understatement of the universe.
I'd asked the night before if I could stay at my best friend Dominic's house - don't get the wrong idea, Dom is a girl and also the daughter of Fin, an ex-cop and Casey, a district attorney. Dom's the only one who can understand having not only older parents who are cranky and tired all the time, but freakin' ex-law and order as your flesh and blood who breathe down your neck as soon as you even look at the doorway. To say the least, we spend as much time together bitching about our parents as we do freaking out over our favourite bands and plaiting each other's hair; girl shit you can only do, obviously, with your best friend, and as far away from your parents as humanly possible.
Did I get an answer about staying at the Tutuola-Novak household? Nope. And I need to give Dom an answer today, so her mom can ring my mom...you know the drill.
I do as any normal daughter would - I try the cutesy routine.
"Daddy."
A grunt is my reply. I lather it on, pulling my chair closer to his.
"Daddykins."
"Frances." A sideways look.
At least that's something.
"Can I go to Dominic's house tonight?"
"No."
Ohkay, and suddenly Mom's pulled the paper down and is glaring at Dad like she's willing information or sense or something into his brain. Watching them, with their non-verbal communication, is a sight to behold. It's almost like they live in each other's brains, think the same way, finish each other's sentences. It's long since ceased freaking me out, but still, it makes you wonder about a time when they first met and they had to, y'know, talk to each other in sentences and tones like the rest of us.
The majority of me thinks it's the best thing in the universe, but. The way my parents love each other, it's weird. But it's them. And I would never tell them this, ever, because I'd get a look from Dad and an eyeroll from Mom, because they like to pretend they hate each other's guts.
But I digress.
"Dominic's got her english paper to do, and I said I'd help because I've done mine..." I've gone into a whine, and I hate it. "...Casey's gonna be there, and I think Fin, and Ken's back from Sydney, and..."
I break off, because Mom's holding a flyer in her hand.
For Taking Over Bloodlines, mine and Dom's favourite band.
With a large, huge proclaimation that they're performing their last gig in the foreseeable future in New York City.
Tonight.
"Go get ready for school, Frances," is all she says, putting the flyer under her breakfast plate.
Shit.
----
"Dude!"
It's pretty much all Dom's said to me since arriving at school. I slam my locker shut and start towards English, the "dude!s following me down the hall.
"Your class is back that way, Dom."
"Dude!"
"You've said that!"
She stops me, her face gaping like a fish. "Dude! We have to go! Last gig! Last chance! I've got Ken helping us out, he's not gonna tell Dad and..."
"I know, Dom, but unless you have another plan that possibly involves gassing my parents and/or getting the band to our house, then it's over!"
"Unless..."
I could almost see the wheels turning. And I loved her for it.
---
Of course, streets away I couldn't hear my parents having a discussion about some escaped psychopath who's escaped and could possibly be after my dad and whoever he held near and dear.
The name Nicole Wallace didn't mean anything to me, anyway.
Not yet.
---
TBC
---
Aw, man, I love it. So lame! So awesome!