[ frank is sat in front of the fire transcribing something. there's a mug of coffee in front of him that's long gone cold and a croc-dog curled up on his lap. it's curious because there's no coffee in the inn or any writing supplies and yet here he is. hearing sharpened by the silent village he hails from, frank hears someone crack the tome of history that's finally been pieced together. it feels good to be a part of something going forward this way, to record events so that new people will know and that even people who have been here as long as he has won't give up. it's given him something to work towards, at least, which is something he didn't have for a while there.
he doesn't intend to speak up, but when squall changes to the census book he clenches his teeth, craning his neck to watch the man over and behind the sofa from his spot on the floor by the hearth. he doesn't look like much this way: long hair and beard obscuring the bruising on his face and an oversized (bright teal) athletic hoodie concealing just how big he is. he knows he's down in that book though, at least a dozen times over. he thinks about erasing his name every time someone looks at it, the itch of self-consciousness starting to creep up the back of his skull. ]
Weird that someone drew a hotdog on every page of that thing, huh? [ he's not sweating shut up. ]
inn
he doesn't intend to speak up, but when squall changes to the census book he clenches his teeth, craning his neck to watch the man over and behind the sofa from his spot on the floor by the hearth. he doesn't look like much this way: long hair and beard obscuring the bruising on his face and an oversized (bright teal) athletic hoodie concealing just how big he is. he knows he's down in that book though, at least a dozen times over. he thinks about erasing his name every time someone looks at it, the itch of self-consciousness starting to creep up the back of his skull. ]
Weird that someone drew a hotdog on every page of that thing, huh? [ he's not sweating shut up. ]