Frank/profile

> "*...*"
> ― Frank
>
>

## Frank

* Act.1
* Act.2

## Personality

Angry  •  Crass  •  Bull-Headed  •  Daring  •  Audacious  •  Dependable  •  Loyal

Everything about Frank is loud. Her clothes scream in neon like a poisonous lizard warning you not to get too close, and her indoor voice is several decibels above that of a plane engine. She sees no point in subtlety or decorum, and gets straight to the point in any given situation. Sometimes that point is that you’re clearly a god damn idiot.

She’s a firecracker, quick to anger and quick to cool down after she’s exploded. She doesn’t hold grudges, and is baffled by those who do. She doesn’t trust new people quickly, but will stand by those she considers her own until her last breath.

Frank likes straightforward answers, and quick results. To that end she has a love of parkour for being the absolute quickest way from Point A to Point B... but also loves it just because she's a huge adrenaline junkie.

She works for an old video rental store, but not the kind that’s a money laundering front - a little niche shop with an arcing expanse of backlog catalogs. If you want those three episodes of Doctor Who that were only available on a limited release laser disc, they’ve got it. She adores her job. She has never called in sick a day in her life, and works with dependability and quick wit. She loves movies, but she loves the the terrible ones the most. She’s enraptured with awful horror films, rubber mask monster films, and horribly fansubed 80’s anime. All of which she will declare is not actually bad, but “fucking transcendent”.

Frank revels in the weird, the gross, and the supernatural - the last one holding a little extra poignance with the shiver down her spine that any of those events could be *real.* There’s too much unexplained in this world to not believe some of it is true.

## Background

Frank grew up poor. Her childhood was a sea of memories about barely scraping by - breaking into the pennies and dimes in a mason jar to buy second hand school uniforms, walking three miles to the grocery store because saving the bus fare was the difference between *beans* and *chicken*. Despite the financial difficulties, she went to a private Catholic school. Even though she chafed with school faculty enough to find the principals office at least once a week, she worked her ass off in academics. That wasn’t because she cared for any of the subjects, but because there was nothing more soul crushing than the carefully cloaked disappointment in her mother’s eyes when she didn’t give it her all. Than those lancing words: *“I want you to have better. You have to be the best to get it.”*

Or, there wasn’t until her mother got sick.

At first it was less days off spent at the park, more days in with a rented movie shoved in the old VCR. Then it was carving designs into the handle of her mother’s new walking cane.

It was *not* calling 911 when she she collapsed, body shaking, eyes unseeing, because they had talked about this. They couldn’t afford the ambulance. Turn her head to the side so she doesn’t choke. The stroke would pass.

Frank was twelve years old when she was pulled out of private school, because there was no way to consolidate the medical bills with her tuition. She didn’t care about school - but she knew something had to be horrific for her to be pulled out of what she was always told was “A guaranteed acceptance letter to any college.” A statement uttered with the importance of a blood oath.

She wanted to help in any way possible, and did so by petitioning the owner of the video rental store they went to every week for a job. She was thirteen, so he said no. She persuaded him by rapping loudly on the door every day for hours until he finally gave in to her tenacity. At first, it was off the books, stupid stuff. He had her sort returns in the back room while watching a movie on a decrepit old CRT TV, and considered it occasional baby sitting for a good friend who needed a break.

She proved herself quickly though, pursuing her limited responsibilities with dogged persistence. She learned not only what he told her to, but dug into everything he told her not to. She memorized the store catalog and watched as many of them as possible (especially the R rated films), and committed herself to absorbing the *right*way to do *everything*. At 16 when child labor laws wouldn’t restrict it, he easily offered her a position for evenings and weekends as long as she promised to stay in school. At 18 when she graduated, the “Assistant Manager” title was tucked onto the top of her paycheck, to thank her for all the responsibilities she was already handling anyways.

Frank explains it to her mother as a “gap year” - she’ll go to college. Soon. When she knows what she wants to do with her life. When she has a little more saved up. She doesn’t really mean it. The idea of being cramped inside institution walls again drives her crazy. She has zero interest in boarding a dorm, she doesn’t want to leave her mother alone. She wants to help.

But she can’t tell mom that - the mantra is still the same:  *“I want you to have better.”*

And that’s why when the mysterious note shows up on the scrawled on the back of a receipt for a transaction and a customer she doesn’t remember handling, she doesn’t throw it away. She tucks it in her pocket. Red ink inviting her to change her life, make something more, something *better.*

## Trivia

* Learned to skateboard just to be better at it than the rude boys who lived on her street as a kid.
* Took gymnastics lessons in elementary school before she started specializing in parkour.
* Likes sour candy the best.
* Swears recklessly everywhere. Except never ever in front of her mom.
* Knows nothing about her father or her extended family.
* Instinctive distrust of tall people.
* Would like to meet Godzilla some day.

## Quotes

* > "*Say Something Here*"
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― name & when / to whom