2019-10-03 - That Thug Life

Daisy comes stumbling out of her bedroom to the smell of cooking and burning combined. Her rainbow-dyed blonde hair, mostly neon green and pink, is twisted up on top of her head in a very messy bun. She wears a pale blue tank top and sleep shorts in bright green with little pink polka dots on them, and slouchy purple socks that look like they might slide off at any moment. She rubs at her eyes and asks "What are you burning out here?" on her shuffling way to the fridge where she locates a carton of orange juice and takes a swig straight out of it. No glass.

Grant staggers out of his room, in his boxers and one sock, and hair damp, and blanket around his shoulders. On Daisy's question he asks groggily, "It's not my other sock is it? I can't find it anywhere." shuffleshuffleshuffle steps take him toward the kitchen to leeeeanand peek. "Soup? Bacon?" He looks up to Greg arching an eyebrow with a wry grin, Did you bring enough for the whole claaaaaass?"

Greg gives a frantic gesture with a sweep of a frying pan that takes in pretty much the whole kitchen, where attempts at pancakes, eggs, waffles, bacon, sausage, ham, and something black and unrecognizable are in various states of incineration. "A little of everything!" he chirps brightly, with a cheerful grin. Not relinquishing the frying pan, he turns to the table to scoop up a marble slab with a few lines of coke carded out on it and brandishes it towards his housemates. "Morning! Ride the rails?" He sweeps the slate about enticingly, managing to shift the lines into one vague mound in the process, and the tooter falls off the slab to roll under the fridge. Not that Greg notices.

"Toast. That must have been toast," Daisy surmises as she investigates the charred remains. She watches Greg proudly displaying the disaster that is his cooking attempt and she puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek as he is brandishing about the coke. "You're adorable. Get out of the way." She gives him a push and begins attempting to salvage some of what's cooking on the stove.

Grant became instantly sated at, 'Yes, Bax, you get food'. He leans and tries to not get hit with the frying pan. "h shit and we're starting with desert?" As the tooter rolls off and under he fridge he tracks it with his eyes like a cat with a bug and stares making 0 effort to go all the way over there to o get it. "It's gone too far... one forever... we will miss you." He does liberate the marble slab from Greg murmuring something that sounds like, "Man isn't this the cheese board? Kinda got this hankerin for brie and coke. I think that could make a badass combo so long as the wrong one doens't go up your nose."

Greg flashes his best dimples at Daisy, surrendering his station all too willingly. "Hey, uhh... I tried, right?" He grins sheepishly, looking around at the mayhem. "Fuck, I did some damage though. Do you suppose any of this is still food?" His smile towards Daisy seems to indicate his belief in her. He laughs as Grant takes the coke slab. "Brie, huh?" He shrugs, a reasonable expression painting his features. "Shit, I'd try it. You ever had a baked brie? My boy Hector's mom used to make that shit, fuckin' to DIE for family." He notices Grant's lack of a nose hose and reaches into his pocket for his wallet, from which he retrieves a crisp hundred bill and starts to roll it up tightly. "You know they say almost every bill in circulation has some cocaine on it?" He brandishes the newly-made tooter with a wink. "Let's make sure this one's not feeling left out." There are probably some other facts about what's on bills that he'd rather not hear right now.

The eggs are salvageable, but need to cook just a little bit longer, still runny for scrambled, which she turns them into, throwing some cheese in. Those get scooped out onto plates that she makes Grant get. Then she tosses the charcoal toast-esque briquettes into the trash. The bacon gets a quick flip and is dished out as well. The waffles are examined and seem to pass muster, so those are dished out as well. The sausage is still frozen in the middle, so gets a place of its own in the frying pan with the ham which is likewise not done. "Okay, eat what's hot. The ham and sausage will come in a minute or two," she instructs with scary efficiency for someone who just woke up. "Brie is amazing," she opines to Grant. "Baked brie is even better," she then follows-up to Greg. She ignores what may or may not be on money. She doesn't want to think too hard on that.

Grant stands there bleary and tired, but it looks like round two of reality breaking is happening. Why he was roaming around the Firefly Forest all night? Who the fuck knows. Daisy knows to put that might be considered by the weak as 'inedible' on his plate. It's either machismo, a total flight of burned out taste buds, or total indifference that lets him eat half of what he does. He coos, "Awww we wouldn't want it to feel left out. now we wouldn't." It's not a kitten, Bax, Christ. Still he takes it and admits, "Fivers make it taste funny. Soooo, He sets the marble slab aside for a moment to get plates out as directed and then goes back to the task at hand. "Sorry. I tried to find us a cake last night. Did not go well."

Greg's eyes track the slab, and when it gets set down, he quickly rolls up another crisp bill and snorts up a sizable portion of the coke. "Whew!" he celebrates with a weird, vague noise, delivered too loud, then crosses to the fridge to produce a can of Monster. His free hand grabs a plate, and he ponders his predicament for just the merest fraction of a second before an incredible choreographed dance like something out of Beauty and the Beast takes place, whereby portions of the food find themselves either floated bodily or manipulated by levitating scoops to arrange themselves on Greg's plate. His chair slides out and he settles into it with a satisfied smile as his can of morning toxicity opens itself with a crisp crack, and he lifts it up to take a long, slow drink as his plate drifts from his hand to settle lightly onto the table. "You know, fam," he goes on as though nothing weird happened. "I really scored big at that distributor out at Elma. Did I ever tell you that story? Anyway, my point is, that was just a stupid smash and grab. I think we could do it better, and maybe in a way where we don't have to get in a gunfight to do it. There's good fucking money in it... I cleared five digits, and like, I was rushed."

"Yeah?" Daisy says vaguely as Greg goes on about the big score at Elma. She finishes up the remainder of cooking the food. It's brought over to wherever the rest of the dishes have been set. She wanders over to Grant and reaches out, ruffling his hair and leaning against his shoulder comfortably. Reaching out, she grabs a piece of bacon and pops it into her mouth. "So, you wanna .. what? Knock over someplace? I'm not really uh.. B&E material, Greg." She steals the hundred when they're done, and does a line off of the slab after making a neat one for herself, then dishes herself a plate full of eggs, meats, and things. She doesn't even blink twice at the levitation. Instead, she slides into a seat between the two of them, blinking her eyes slowly, and digging into her food.

Grant takes the plate giving Daisy a smooch on the cheek. "Yoooooou are the best." He takes his burnt toast and the rest over to the table and pulls the rolled Benjamin from behind his ear. He doesn't dive into the small pile like he's Scarface, but he doesn't not either. He flinches, and then again rubbing his nostril with a knuckle and takes hat moment to let the world re-calibrate. "Operation second wind iiiiis a go. Goddamn." The 100 goes back behind his ear though not well with his appliance in making it an easy snag for Daisy. and he drops down into a seat and murmurs, "Five of em? Shit I couldn't even score cake last night." He looks to Daisy and explains, "The clown ran off. Long story." When Daisy says shes not B&E material he murmurs, "Well shit it sounds fun. Dunno til you try."

There are distinctive knocks that cops make. Thankfully the knock at the door isn't one of them, and is in fact the quiet sort of knock where someone is really hoping for one of two things, 1) no one answers, or 2) whoever answers doesn't do with on the tail end of their own private Fear and Loathing adventure with a gun in their hand.

Greg grins around the table, pausing on Daisy. "Thanks for saving breakfast." He takes a few nibbles before dropping his fork; he's been up all night doing drugs, after all. "I did the job with these dudes who work for Felix, and it was not subtle work. I think it could be done better. Like, sneak in, sneak out." He shrugs, taking another drink from his can and standing back up, too restless to sit. He grins to Grant. "Operation continuous gale force is going pretty good too homie. But f'real tho, there's good money to be made." He shrugs lightly. "Shit, if I could make it a regular supply, I could edge out Felix's business." Right on cue comes Frankie's knock, and Greg crosses to the door with alacrity to fling it open -- fortunately, it opens in. He eyes Frankie up and down, saying nothing, offering nothing but expectant silence.

"I know, that's why you keep me around," Daisy says to Grant with a brilliant smile. Her rainbow colored hair, mostly pink and neon green is up on top of her head in a messy bun. She's in a pair of slouchy purple socks, bright green sleep shorts with pink polka dots, and a blue tank top, clearly having just gotten out of bed not long ago. When a knock comes at the door, she just glances up while pushing another piece of bacon into her mouth. "Where did you go to get cake that you couldn't find it?" she finally asks Grant while Greg goes to answer the door, but not before saying, "You're welcome, sunshine. I mean, to be fair, I just wanted to eat something that wasn't charcoal-shaped. Purely selfish."

Grant is so pacified with his brain regaining speed that Daisy's accusation just gets a grin from the Sk8 boi as he eats his burned toast with egg smooshed on top. "Heh, well there was these balloons going into the Firefly forest. Low on fireflies. High on treed. Clown populace dropping. There was this buuuummmer of a birthday party. Those always have cakes, right?" Stands to reason. The rest doesn't necessarily add up but does it need to. There's a knock and he's to coked up to fucking care murmuring, "See if they brought cupcakes." Looking to Daisy he agreed, "The man is endorsing good enterprise. Can't argue it sounds fire."

It is a really good thing the door opens inwards, or Frankie would be suffering from a broken nose and two very unattractive black eyes right about now. Instead she's just standing right there in front of the door, dressed like she's going to some concert. Or funeral. Black head to toe, a Pink Floyd t-shirt, jeans, Converse, and a black lace fringed shawl wrapped around her waist. She looks like she has been up for hours. Bright eyed, bushy tailed, and very awake as she stares right back at Greg, then looks past him into the trailer, "It's polite to invite guests in."

Greg also looks like he's been awake for hours, and hours, and hours, and his eyes are red and bloodshot. He brandishes his can of energy drink towards Frankie in a 'come on in' kind of a way, and gives a welcoming smile. "Please guest, come in." He pauses for a snap assessment that seems to conclude in Frankie's favor, because he follows up with, "Line of coke?" He seems to realize that a bridge from A to B perhaps needs to be built, giving an awkward grin. "I'm Greg, and these are my friends Daisy and Grant." He gestures with the can to take in the motley crew at the kitchen table. "Want some breakfast? I'm probably done with my plate. I just nibbled."

"Must've been one shitty party if they didn't even have cake," Daisy says as she shovels some eggs from her plate toward her mouth. The rest seems to zip right on by her, including the part about clown populations dropping. Frankie gets a piece of bacon waved at her. "There's food. Some of it is edible. If Grant's eating it, it probably isn't." That's the only warning Frankie's going to get on that count. Daisy reaches over and pokes Greg in the side. "Eat more. At least eat the ham."

Grant munches his toast riding high on life though he stops chewing long enough to recognize Frankie, "Awww heeey. C'mon in. Partake if thee will of our burnt offerings." he does love the theatrical but hey tis a fuckin feast, yo. It deserves some panache even if from a guy in his boxers wearing a towel around his shoulders. He goes to take another bite and tells Daisy, "I know! Maybe that's why the clown ran away. His toes itch the back of his other calf as he murmurs, "If he doesn't eat it I will." Because of course he will. And then the idea hits him and he's up on his feet with that lookof pure inspiration "Shit, I got it." And with that he's digging out a sharpie and hunting around for... paper maybe?

"I know who you are." Does she, does she really? Frankie either really does, or is just really good at acting like she's aware of everything. Potentially tools of the trade. "You should eat your own breakfast, though. Seems a shame not to." She points out, then shakes her head at Daisy, saying no to the food, right before she goes to snag a piece of bacon before she finds herself a seat somewhere, legs crossing as she takes a bite off the bacon, "Frankie." It's supplied for those that don't already seem to recognize her. "I had a little bit of an urge to drop by, hope you don't mind. Probably not for the coke, I really..." She almost says doesn't need it, but then she shrugs, "Sure, why not."

Greg grins, and a smallish marble slab with a modest pile of coke on it rises up from wherever it was placed last and floats towards Frankie. He holds out the rolled-up bill he used, and then it too floats towards her. Greg's grin slides into a haughty smirk as he approaches the table to grab a piece of ham off of his plate -- with his hand. He takes a bite, grinning at Daisy. "See, Mom? I'm eating." He helpfully shows her the proof, opening his mouth wide.

There's a glance over in Grant's direction as he stumbles off to grab his pen and something to write on. She shrugs her shoulders and goes back to eating her own breakfast, content to finish it off on her own. If they're not going to eat the food, she sure is. And she packs it in there, not a sense of shame at all about slathering the waffle in syrup and butter. She watches Frankie come in and take a seat, nodding approvingly when she at least takes a slice of bacon. "I'm totally not doing dishes, though. That's on someone else. I saved breakfast." And she's totally taking credit for that.

Grant is scribbling, inspired. You'd think he can write a note. No. No, not at all. There are cartoons a happening and some pop art lettering. yeah he might be designing a new board or- nope. It's a sign that reads: NO ENTRY WITHOUT CAKE and an angry cupcake on it. Holding it up he looks hell a proud catching his towel as it falls. Two pieces of duct tape are torn off and the front door is flung open to adhere it to the outside and closes it again. Turning to Frankie he says to Frankie, "You work on the boardwalk. Cool shop and far out crystals and shit yeah?"

The floating coke doesn't cause her to panic and freak out, which is point one in her favor, right? Frankie reaches out to take the slab, a brow raising upwards without a comment as she reaches for the rolled-up bill. She settles the slab on the nearest flat surface before reaching into her pocket to pull out her ID, for those that are nosy it is just that, state issued ID. "I do work on the Boardwalk, and it is an amazing shop with far out crystals and shit." She agrees with Grant as she starts to cut out a line, glancing in Daisy's direction, "Do you often have to save breakfast?" There is a small amount of worry there, but it's soon cut off as she turns back to laying out the line quickly before lifting the bill to one nostril, closing the other with a fingertip before she quickly snorts the line.

Greg shrugs, grinning. "I'm a shit cook," he confesses. He ventures into the living room and returns with a bag of weed, a grinder, and some papers. Settling down at the table, he opens the grinder and starts to load in some choice nugs. "Sour Banana Sorbet," he informs anyone who might be interested, closing the grinder and turning it in his hands, dumping it out on the table, and tumbling it all into a paper. "So, Frankie." He smiles across the table at his guest while he rolls the joint up. "What's the occasion? Just dropping in for a social call, or is there something I can get for you?" His intonation is pretty clear: dost thou need'st drugs? He licks the gum of the paper and finishes twisting his joint, lighting it up without further ado. Puff puff pass, and it's headed left, towards Daisy.

"He's a really shit cook," Daisy confirms for Greg and Frankie, "Fortunately, Grant will eat damn near anything, and I can salvage most things." She takes the joint when it's passed to her and takes a long drag from it, holding for a moment before letting the smoke curl away from her lips. She then passes to Grant once he returns from hanging up his masterpiece on the door. "I like this new cake rule. I'm all for cake tribute." She looks like a cupcake, all rainbow colors everywhere. Food finished, she gets up from the table and heads into the kitchen to grab some tupperware to throw the leftovers into and then plays a game of tetris, connect four, and legos simultaneously in the fridge to wedge stuff in. It's pretty dubious in there. It does not daunt her. Once done, she dumps the dishes in the sink and says, "I'm going to shower. Back in a bit."

Grant has signage triumphant! ...and now anything not devoured is sloooowly getting assimilated to his plate. The man in the boxers and the towel does not play around with wasting food. "I thought he did alright." Grant, coming in from the side with optimistic enthusiasm. An eyebrow arches, "Sor*bay*...sounds fancy. That the same stuff we had at that thing last week in that place where we ran from that thing that time?" Super specific. Very helpful. A lazy grin slides to the living space where Greg perched and Frankie stands. "There's still bacon." Looking to Daisy he soaks in the praise for a tithe well declared, "If you need help holler. Reinforcements shall be sent." That stated he teals the remainder crust o Daisy's abandoned toast. "So is it all new age supply or you just doin the palm readings and whatever? I wanted to drop in but was kinda runnin from this asshole at the time and that shit's like personal and whatever."

"Just dropping in." Frankie replies, her hand lifting up to rub at her nose, then she drops the rolled up bill onto the slab before she licks a finger, reaching over to gather up any of the stray pieces of coke, "Like I said, I just felt like dropping in...Well." She pauses, glancing at Grant with a bit of amusement before she offers cryptically, "Something told me to come by." Then she rubs her finger briefly against her gums, watching as Daisy bustles around before heading to shower, the answer for Grant is somewhat absent minded for a split second before she glances over, "I do any and all kinds of readings, I can help break curses, make a curse, make a love potion...pretty much anything you might need. If you want, I can give you a reading."

"Do you know a way to fight the Dark Men?" Greg asks, suddenly all business as he leans forward. He has used the time to build another joint, which he lights and holds. "Do you know anything about why people are... different... here, or why different people seem to come here?" He slowly eases back in his chair, puffing on his joint. "I want to learn as much as I can about what's really going on around here. I want to help people." He shrugs. "My job, what I do... it's all about making people feel good, ya know? The Dark Men are the opposite of that. I want to figure out a way to deal with them."

Daisy disappears into the bathroom at the end of the hall, vanishing inside where the water starts running as she goes about taking a quick shower now that breakfast has been attended and the smell of burning has been abated. The sound of humming can be heard beyond the water, though what she's humming is anyone's guess.

Grant smiles so pleased with himself as that something. He brings the plate wandering over and holds out a strip of bacon to he , "Well it's nice to see you even if you are cake less. When we fix the cake issue I'll keep you up on the progress." Because he's been singularly hunting one for 15 hours in the literal, actual wilds. He leaves that eyebrow arches perpetually interested and entertained. "I remember ma used to do something like that around October. That...could be super cool." He leans over Greg and slap s a hand to the man's chest snagging up the joint he just rolled, "You are a true man of the people, Greggo."

The sudden question about the Dark Men brings Frankie up short, and she looks at Greg with an honestly surprised look. The question rather easily knocking her right out of her usual lazy way of greeting the world. "No. I don't. I know that using the powers too much attracts their attention, and they make people vanish." she then nervously toys with the fringe of her shawl, "If you want to learn more...Maybe we can talk sometime more quietly." Or in private. There is a look towards Grant, then her eyes shift down towards the drugs floating around the room, metaphorically speaking.

Greg smirks towards Grant with a shrug. "I dunno man. Maybe it's from how fucked up my childhood was, but I get off on helping people that need it. We all need help from the Dark Men." He frowns pensively as he returns his attention to Frankie. "It draws them," he muses darkly. "Disappear where?" he asks sharply, his gaze narrowing. "Into the Veil somewhere? I hear that's what it's like if I go into the Veil when people are around -- it's like I just disappeared, or whatever. So it sounds like the same thing." He tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. "How about the Veil? Do you know much about that place?" He pauses, his thoughts moving elsewhere for a moment. "You ever heard of an... asylum in there? Maybe that's where people go."

Daisy eventually comes wandering back out of the shower, hair damp and in a towel. Her bedroom is one of the two little ones that share the guest bathroom, rather than having its own. She disappears into her room for a moment or two more, then wanders back out in a pair of long black cargo shorts full of pockets, and a plain white tank top with a neon green sports bra underneath that matches one of the hues in her hair. Looking for one of the two lit joints, she finds one and takes another drag from it. She glances between Frankie and Greg and Grant, "Man, a girl goes to take a shower and shit gets heavy in here." She smacks Greg's shoulder, "Assault by creepyshit talk much?" She grins over at Frankie and says, "Don't worry, we've all grown up in this shit. It's not a secret or anything."

Grant sets the place down and hunts a lighter. No, not under the news paper or the copy of Snowcrash someone's reading for the 80th time. WIthout looking up he muses way too removed from his filter right now, "My doctor a while back recommended some of those correctional therapy deals." Finding the lighter he stops his wandering search and lights that puppy up murmuring from the corner of his mouth. "Chill, bro, methinks, our friend be buggin." Eyebrows arching he looks to Daisy taking a slow drag with a nodding murmur of agreement.

"Nope. I don't know anything about an asylum, and I don't know where they take you...I always imagined dead was where you vanished, but considering I've never had an encounter..." Frankie shakes her head, then she lets her attention shift towards Daisy, "No? Then why are you in here talking about this stuff and just floating slabs of coke around? They are attracted to the use, and then you throw talking about them right on top? No. You want to talk to me, we talk somewhere else, where their attention isn't already targeted."

Greg shakes his head, frowning. "This isn't my normal. I'd never heard of Gray Harbor until a few months ago. Weird shit started happening and then I found myself here, pretty much back to back." He shakes his head irritably. "I'm just trying to make sense of it all. I don't know the rules." He stares at Frankie for a long moment, just long enough to be uncomfortable, before he slowly grins. "Sorry. I have, uh, an intensity problem sometimes. It's just fucked to not really know what's going on."

"I meant the whole, weird shit happens in Gray Harbor thing wasn't a secret. The town's fucked up," Daisy says. Though if she knew about the Dark Men in particular, or that the use of Glimmer attracted them, she doesn't say that outloud. She probably didn't, from the way that she glances over her shoulder when Frankie mentions it. "And you're the one who showed up in our house saying 'something' brought you here. We didn't exactly invite you. But here you are, and I think we've been pretty damn hospitable thus far. So if you want to enlighten us to something we didn't know, awesome. Feel free." She holds the joint between her fingers, and then lifts it to her lips once more.

Is Grant even fucking paying attention to the conversation? There's a shrug of expression but he doesn't seem to push things one way or the other. He is super powered by science right now and has bacon. An argument nor conflict doth he not need. Until Daisy says something and he speaks up, "Oh I'm the something. I might have said heeey it's groovy should knock if you'r ein the area. That wasn't like... ghosts. That was a wild Baxter in his natural habitat: social non-conformity." He pauses and looks around circling a finger, "What I think she's drivin at is like if you invoke like.. names and shit things can listen. Ghosts. I dunno. but I belieeeeeve the suggestion was cool, but trans-locate the convo to keep it on the Dee-Ell and shit." Okay he was paying attention.

"I don't mind sharing information." It's pointed out, again, just to make sure that that didn't get lost in things. Either way, she starts to get to her feet, reaching into her back pocket to pull out a black business card, tossing it onto the table, "If you want to talk, come find me there, I'll talk." And just to make sure that there's no chance of someone getting mad at her she pulls a crumpled ten from her pocket, holding it out towards Greg, "For the line." There is then a look for Daisy, but it's clear that what she said, or how she said it, has at least made Frankie pretty certain that she's not welcome.

Greg waves off the money with a grin, and also stands, fishing around in his pocket to come up with one of his business cards for Green Harbor Organics. "I'll be in touch, but if you find that you need any help with anything, hit me up. Or come by here. Anyone in here, living under my roof, I trust like family. They can all do business if I'm away." He steps over into the living room to snatch up his white camo backpack with his skateboard strapped to it, shouldering it. "I'm heading to work, fam. I'll skate over, so you two can take the van when you're ready." He unclips a keyring from the backpack and chucks it in the general direction of the table; the throw goes way high and the keys flop against the wall to fall to the floor. "It was good to meet you, Frankie. Sorry for the weird set up. What you told me will help." He frowns as he opens the door, pausing to let Frankie precede him. "None of us really knows what's safe." He glances back over towards Daisy, then back at Frankie. "You aren't... you don't work for them, right?" He looks extremely uncomfortable to be asking, but perseveres. "I can tell, you know. I don't want to use it here anymore, right now, because of what you said." His head tilts to the side as he considers all the implications of that. "But I can tell. You're not, right?"

When Grant says that it was him that told Frankie to come by, Daisy seems to relax just a little bit, because Frankie saying 'something' sent her then telling them they had the attention of Dark Men, whom she assumes are bad, the whole thing was just adding up wrong and rubbing her raw. She shrugs her shoulders then at Frankie and says, "You're fine. And you're welcome here. Just, you know," she nods over at Greg when he says they don't really know what's safe. "We figured we were being safe.. ish." As much as anything they do is safe. "Sorry for being a bitch. Telling us what we're fucking up is probably a good thing." She watches the keys sail over and hit the wall then fall, shaking her head a little in amusement before going to pick them up. "Alright. See you over there," she tells Greg.

Grant nods slowly looking too damn amused, "Shit I can't tell when the world's on or off half the fuckin time. Yeah yeah alright man. We'll grab some donuts on teh way in. Aww man and they got those cookies out shaped like pumpkins. Man... October's the shit." As if he didn't jus teat 1.5 breakfasts of burnt offerings. "Frankie, yeah I'll come down to the boardwalk later. I gotta bring fliers out anyways. Sorry for shit getting, heh, ya know, yeah." no that's not a definitive sentence but it sums up Gray Harbor pretty damn well.

"I'm a psychic." Probably not a real one. "Being mysterious is second nature." It's an acceptance of the apology, right? "Sorry that it came off weird. Thanks for the bacon." Grant gets a finger point, "I'll keep my eye out." Then she's heading for the door to let herself through the held open door, waiting until she's on the other side of the door before she answers Greg, "I don't...At all. And I'd understand if you wanted to double-check my words, and I'm willing to walk a ways with you so you can check."

Greg lights a cigarette once he's outside the new trailer, and grins brightly at Frankie. "You can walk with me and I'd be happy for the company, but..." He shakes his head. "I'm not going to read you, or whatever. I'll take your word for it." He unclips his skateboard from his backpack, sets it down, and steps up onto it. "I don't think you'd tell me something to help keep them away. What would be the point? So, I'm going with it." He starts to nudge the board slowly forward... with his boring foot, this time. If Frankie does choose to walk along he'll match her pace.