Estranged Alone


des2_icon.gif frank_icon.gif

Scene Title Estranged Alone
Synopsis CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of sexual situations.
Des makes contact with Frank.
Date April 6, 2018

Dirty Pool Pub

With its scarred and stained concrete floor and mismatched barstools, this is a no-nonsense dive bar and doesn't pretend to be anything but. The only decorating theme seems to be "adhesive," as nearly every square inch of the black-painted walls has been adorned by a sticker, with no particular rhyme or reason.

Along the center wall is the bar itself, long enough to seat perhaps 20 or so patrons. On either side are two pool tables, totaling four. The back wall has a few small tables for those who choose to sit away from the bar itself, but there are no waitresses to bring drinks, so anyone wanting to drink will have to order at the bar before sitting.

The Dirty Pool is a safe enough place for a meeting. There's no waitresses to drop by and interrupt conversation, and everyone pretty much keeps to themselves. Des Desjardins looks like anybody else in her plain clothes with dark curly hair pulled into a ponytail. Her large glasses might stick out a little bit, but she looks more awkward hipster than anything else. Her grey sweatshirt - the one with c'est la vie written across the front in lowercase cursive is worn to help Frank recognize her. Black skinny jeans hug her legs, ending in a pair of Doc Martens.

She's banking on a certain look to keep people from bothering her.

The glance she casts around the bar is expectant more than it is nervous. The way she peels at the sticker stuck to the table? That's nerves. Her other hand is wrapped around a cold beer. She's not often a beer person - vodka or gin are her poison of choice - but this place isn't exactly a well-stocked cocktail bar. And, if she's honest, the beer makes her a little nostalgic. With her back to a corner and a clear view of the exit, she waits with anticipation for Frank Witchenstein.

When Frank enters the room, somehow the perpetually vacant look on his face, but large flowing black trenchcoat, give him a bit of a flare for drama.

It's of course entirely unintentional, he wouldn't know the first thing about intentional drama.

He walks over to Des, heart already beginning to rapidly pound, and takes a seat next to her at the bar. "I'll have milk. If you don't have that, I'll have water."

Then, turning his attention to Odessa, he just kind of stares at her. "I spoke to her. You'll be safe. If your life is in danger, you'll be taken somewhere safe, I'll be taken as well. The caveat is that I need to stay with you. We need to be in close contact for a while. She wants me to make sure you aren't a danger to us, that you aren't going to sell us out to the government."

She heads up to the bar and takes a seat when he enters, dramatic flair and all, her beer in hand, prepared to pay for whatever her decides to order. Which turns out to be milk. She doesn't know what she expected, but it definitely wasn't that. To make it up to the bartender, she orders another beer. Once he has his glass of water in hand, she leads him back to her table, bottle in each hand.

Thunk! they go down on the tabletop. Her seat scrapes against the floor slightly as she drops into it, again keeping her back to the wall. Laughter bubbles up once she's settled in. "I wouldn't tell them shit," she assures in a quiet voice, like the very notion is absurd. Because it sort of is. She's all but certain she's going to hang if the the government gets their hands on her. She has no incentive to give them anything if she doesn't get her freedom in exchange.

Life in a prison cell, she knows very well, is no life at all.

"Well, I don't believe you would either, but that's how it is. I have to stay with you, keep you out of trouble, and you'll be safe." Frank just sort of starts to stare at her when he takes a seat at the other side of the table. He slides his water directly in front of him, then leans down, sniffing it, staring into the glass. He doesn't drink it yet, he's just staring. "You're safe, so you should relax."

As if to demonstrate her ability to do just that, Odessa leans back in her seat, resting one arm on the back of her chair. She takes a long drink of her beer, watching him as she does. Holding that intense eye contact.

"So, I have a question, and I apologize in advance, but… Is Witchenstein your real name?"

"Yes. And I have a real doctorate." Frank answers, before he finally takes a small sip of his water, then sits it down, and stares at it again.

He's stopped making eye contact, but he still seems to be paying attention to her.

"I entered college when I was sixteen." he sniffs the water again.

"Touché." A real doctorate. He's got one up on her, she supposes. "I began studying at fifteen. I'm not poisoning you, if you're concerned." Odessa tips her head as she regards him, curious, wondering if he's attempting to insult her or assert some superiority over her. Somehow, she doubts it.

"It would be interesting, if you killed me. I think I'd enjoy the emotional impact of it, a strong feeling like that. The shock of you poisoning me, the intimacy of you strangling me…" Frank reaches out for the water, then starts to chug it down incredibly quickly, until only half of it is left, sitting it down onto the table.

He pauses, staring down at his stomach, then he reaches over to check his pulse.

One dark brow lifts as Odessa watches Frank chug that glass of water. When he finishes, she leans forward, resting both her forearms on the table, crossing the wrist of the hand holding her beer over the other. "Told you so," she teases gently.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're very intense?"

"Yes. I had to leave a few schools, but my parents kept me out of trouble. Now she does." Frank stares at her now, his eyes managing to remain cold and level, perhaps starting to adapt to her presence. But there's still something in his eyes, something latent, something that keeps him staring. "I have impulse issues."

"Will you drink with me?" Odessa nudges the unopened beer in his direction. It's a twist-off, so the bartender isn't required. She talked him into leaving the caps on earlier, since she's a woman drinking alone.

Also she might have given him some money. It makes the world go 'round, after all.

"If you want me to do surgery, I probably won't do it while drunk." Frank warns, as if that's the only reason he isn't drinking, then he takes the beer and twists the cap off.

Sniffing it, then sipping. "Beer reminds me of death. Billions of organisms are grown and die to make beer, entire worlds. It's really powerful, like humanity has to become gods for us to drink." He takes another long sip.

There's a long pause, staring at his bottle, and then he says, out of no where, "I don't usually get erections."

"It's amazing, right? How much death sustains life?" Truth be told, Odessa is mildly terrified of the man sitting across from her. But if there's one thing she's good at, it's deception. She can keep up with his comments. He is familiar to her, after all.

There's a moment, when he makes that last comment, where she has to take in a deep breath and decide how to respond. She covers it with a sip of her half-finished beer. "Do you want to fuck me, Frank?"

"Probably. I've never bothered with things like that." Frank doesn't seem shaken by her question, but he does stare at her, and then suddenly starts to reach out, moving to touch her cheek. "When I see how beautiful people are, men and women, I see their flesh, medically, I think about how it would be to do procedures. But when I see your skin, it makes my heart feel like it's on fire. Like I want to touch it with my hands rather than my scalpel."

Blue eyes half-lid and Des leans into the touch of his hand at her cheek, lips parted slightly with a sigh. "It's been touched enough with a scalpel for my tastes," she admits, forcing herself not to remember that encounter. Forcing herself not to remember other encounters as well.

"What will satisfy you? Weekly coffee dates to check-in? Make sure I don't deserve a spanking?" Historically, games of chicken haven't gone Odessa's way, but that's never stopped her from employing the same tactic over and over again.

"I want to learn about your life. Show me your life and we'll see what to do from there." Frank suggests, leaning in a little closer, his hand exploring her cheek until his fingers begin to slide into her hair. "I want you to help me learn about my feelings, the things I feel…"

He stares hard into her eyes, and asks, "Do I want to fuck you?"

His fingers slide into her hair and Odessa trembles. Women do that sometimes, he's surely read about it. She swallows hard and opens her eyes fully again to meet his intense stare. "I'm sure you do. When I was younger, the first time I felt that desire, I didn't understand it. I thought I was sick." That's an encounter she allows herself to remember. It makes all of this easier.

"So, ask me what you want to know about me."

"What is your goal in life, what do you want more than anything? If you were safe, what would you want to do?" Frank asks, his hands sliding down from her cheek, to run his fingers over the side of her neck. He certainly has a surgeon's hands, he knows the most sensitive parts of the human body.

That's useful to know for when one is cutting someone in an emergency, without anesthesia.

He seems to consider a few more questions, and then asks, as if following up a previous question, "Can I?"

Her brain is screaming at her. He can feel her pulse under his fingers, racing faster and faster. Odessa presses her lips together and answers his first question: "I want to be free. I want to be loved. I don't want to live in cages anymore, but I want to live."

His second question is addressed as well with a shaky breath of laughter. "What, now?"

"You don't have to live in a cage. I don't really understand freedom, I do what I like to do, but most of the time people don't approve of what I like to do. They find surgery to be morbid." Frank reaches his hand up to her mouth, a thumb touching her bottom lip, gently pulling it down. "I don't really understand how something like love works. I think I have things I love doing."

He shrugs at her final question. "I don't see why not."

"You want to find out if you love doing me," she quips once her lip has gone back into place. "What do you think you'd learn about me if we did this, Frank?" She's stalling, but the question is no less legitimate. His answer is of interest to Odessa.

"Maybe I'd learn what kind of person makes me feel strong emotions. What you're like beyond genius, what you are when we're basic animals. The core of us, the purity of instinct involved when all unnatural societal pretense is removed." Frank manages to say all of that in his normal matter-of-fact tone, and starts to slowly take his hand back. "I'd like to learn what you're like when you expose yourself, and what orgasms are like."

That makes Odessa flush finally. "I'm sure you would." Learn all those things. Like to learn all those things. "I'm… I have to get to know someone better before I'm comfortable with that." Half her remaining beer is drained in two large gulps. She's not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.

She shouldn't get drunk at all.

"But, now that I know you're interested…" Beneath the table, she nudges his foot with her booted one. "I'll definitely have it on my mind." The last of the beer is drained now, the bottle set down on the table and pushed away. "For now, I should probably get back. My cover story is holding for now, but I can't risk anyone getting suspicious."

"If you need to contact me, you have my card. I'm not difficult to find." Frank stares down at the table when she nudges with her boot, then takes a sip of his beer. "I need to spend a day with you soon, to figure out what you do all day. That seems like the best way to start."

Odessa nods her head as she moves to stand. "I'll see what I can arrange and I'll be in touch." She tosses down a twenty dollar bill. "Have another round on me, if you like. Remember to tip well." Her voice is sweet as she smiles and says, "I'll see you around, Doc." Then, she makes her way out the door.

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