2019-10-04 - Frayed Fringes

Is there honestly a reason for Frankie to be at the dispensary? Probably not, honestly. But sometimes people wander around, from place to place, and she's moving down the road and just happens to decide to go to the back. Because living life on a whim, sometimes, works out for her.

Like today, she spots a newly familiar face and starts to head in Greg's direction. Today she's opted for full on Boardwalk psychic, which might mean she's been working at some point. Long skirt, paisley peasant shirt, bracelets from wrist to forearm, jingly earrings. Tourists probably love it.

Greg, for his part, is reliable as the sunrise in his vaguely ratty and far too large knit hoodie and baggie, greatly-distressed jeans. His white camo backpack with attached skateboard is strapped to his back, forcing him to sit at a weird angle on the bench. He does an actual double-take as he spots Frankie walking out into the park lot, and a broad grin splits his features. "Oh hey, I thought I scared you off for good," he greets with laughter in his tone. He gives an elaborate gesture to indicate himself. "Still here so far."

"Not yet." There is still time, Greg! There is a quick look around the park, noting any of the resident skaters that might be around before she drops herself onto the bench next to him. "It's good that you're still here so far. Unless you're a ghost, and.." She shrugs her shoulders a bit, legs crossing before she smooths out her skirt with a jangle of her bracelets, "Pretty sure you're not a ghost. Right?" Just to be sure she reaches over to poke his shoulder, like that'll prove something.

Greg moans scarily, fluttering his arms around. "Iiii am the ghost of shiiiiiitheads past," he hams, breaking into a grin. He pushes back into his backpack, turning himself more towards Frankie. "Sorry for the creepout show yesterday. You kinda caught the family in rare form." His grin is amused as he brings up a hand to push his unruly curls out of his face. "Seriously though, thanks for telling me what you did." He eyeshifts around the park, but this is his domain, and a polite bubble is observed around Frankie and Greg on the bench. "I've been just using it, hard. For dumb shit." He shrugs. "I really didn't know I shouldn't. Is that why I keep getting pulled into...." shifty eye "...Places?"

"I use it." Frankie shrugs her shoulders slightly, "It's hard not to use it, I totally get it. But yeah...going too far, using it too much. It's been known to attract the wrong kind of attention." She glances around, notes the polite bubble that people seem to be giving them with a small smirk before she turns around to face him, a hand dropping onto the bench in front of her, "I don't know a lot, like...The questions that you were asking yesterday?" She shakes her head a bit, possibly to indicate that is so far outside her current pool of knowledge. "But there's this guy, Brit...he might know more. I've got his card somewhere at home. And honestly? I'm willing to help dig for answers, too."

An all-business mien that Frankie will find very familiar shuts down Greg's features, and his hair tumbles back into his eyes as he leans forward, intent. His eyes, impossibly dark brown, bore into Frankie's. "I'm glad to hear that. Who wants to be special if it means being afraid, right? People disappearing and shit... that's fucking heavy. That's the kind of shit, just needs to stop." He breaks eye contact, shifting an eye around the too-old 'kids' who loiter around here. "I didn't ask to come to this place, and the guy that brought me here to make me work for him scares me almost as much as these pigmentally-challenged bogey men. Fuck, I bet he works for them, anyway." He shakes his head bitterly. "Time to fuckin' burn it all down, all the bullshit they want to pile on our heads. All we need is a match." Those eyes clamp back onto Frankie's. "So who's this Brit guy? Not a fuckin' cop?"

"A cop? Fuck...no." Frankie shakes her head very quickly at that, like the very idea was something that was too crazy, or just a frightening one. Maybe amusing. There is a small hint of amusement at the idea. "No, Alistair Carver.." She reaches for a pocket in her skirt, checking it, then reaches for the other before she finds her phone, "I can't remember if I had his number in my phone or not..." She starts to hunt through the phone, scrolling through contacts as she follows another random thought, "So, don't mention that you think his name reminds you of Alistair Crowley's. I'm pretty sure that he'd not be amused, but maybe?"

Greg tilts his head to the side. "You mean like the Ozzy song? I had no idea that was about a real dude." He shakes his head, "You learn something new every day around here." His eyes track over to her phone, because human nature, and he looks without really seeing. "Honestly I'm happy to talk to anybody that might help me understand what the fuck is going on. I don't like the feeling of fuckin'... unseen forces at play and shit. It's sketchy as fuck." He tosses his spent butt towards a waiting coffee can, where it falls far short, but he doesn't care. "Or like a trap you can't see closing. It gives me the goddamn heebie jeebies, anyway. If I thought I could really get away I would run like hell."

"Getting away isn't always as easy as you'd think...I've known people that have left, but they always seem to come back. Some family emergency, or job, or...just, whatever, right? They always come back." She finds the phone number eventually, and turns it around to show him the number on the screen. "Alistair Crowley was a real guy." There is a moment, just a moment, where she looks like she might leave it there, but then she leans forward, voice dropping, "So he founded this religion, right? Thelema. I mean, bunches of people have linked him with the Satantic Church, but that's wrong. That was LeVay. I mean, at one time he played into the Satanist thing, but that was more like ...using this as a way to shock and awe people, and get his name in public light, right? But Thelema, his religion, was all about an experience he had when in Egypt."

Greg gives a grim look, shaking his head. "There ain't no getting away for me. Even if the DM would let it happen, fuckin' Felix won't." Just mentioning the name brings an anxious tension to Greg's body posture that even the Dark Men fail to impart. He glances quickly at the phone number, but returns his attention to Frankie as he finds himself drawn into the story. "My boy Hector got sent away to Catholic school for a semester one time 'cause his moms thought he was worshipping Satan. Homie was playing Dungeons & Dragons." Greg grins, but goes back to the story. "The ol' bait and switch... totally classic. So what went down with my boy Crowley over in Egypt? I hear they got some fine asps down there."

There is a confusing number of things that happen, the first being that there is a stillness when Felix is mentioned, then she oh-so-casually ignores that like it never happened.

The second is that he really just opened the floodgate, and she scoots closer, phone vanishing into her pocket before she starts to explain things. With gestures, and those gestures come with the sounds of her bracelets clinking and clacking together, "So him and his wife, Rose, were in Cairo in the early 1900's to just go see things. That was a huge thing back then, realize. And during this trip his wife would sort of go into weird, trance-like states, and give him messages. So eventually the entity that was speaking through her, called Aiwass, and he wrote down everything that was told to him...and that became the Book of the Law. Which, in this book they set forth rules for things. The biggest being this...do what thou wilt is the whole of the law. Followed by the refrain love is the will, love under the law."

"Do what thou wilt," Greg echoes, curious. "You know, that's a pretty damn good rule. If we would all just mind our own business and leave each other the fuck alone to do them, the world would be a much better place." If he notices much about that little moment of stillness, he doesn't really let on, instead leaning in to match Frankie's energy. "That would be pretty wild though, to just start getting messages from some... unknown..." His tone flattens, and he grimaces. "Yeah, pretty wild. It sounds like there must be some connection between what's going down here right now and whatever she was hearing in Egypt, right? I mean, that's pretty fucking on the nose."

"Moses heard a voice telling him what to do...and Mohammad." Frankie points out with a shake of her head, a hand raising to tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear, "Hearing voices, or claiming to hear voices, that are giving you a message isn't really unique to Crowley. Thing is, some of that might be real. But like, a ghost maybe, claiming to be the messenger of Horus. Or I guess.." She shrugs, not pointing out it could be someone that was a mouthpiece for the Dark Men. "I've heard there are other places in the world where things happen, like here. Not as much as here, but where it happens to. Cairo could be one, sure."

"Love is the will, love under the law," Greg says next, and he grins. "That one I don't really get, so much. I ain't any kind of expert on love, though." With this, he leans back, and lights another cigarette, glancing at Frankie sidelong. "So you're saying there are other places like here, where weird shit and weirder people happen." He gives a bright, self-aware smile to indicate he realizes he's in the weird category. "But if I'm tracking you right, it's like, strongest here?" He glances towards her for confirmation. "If that's the case, there must be something pretty important that's going to happen. Or maybe that needs to be done... or stopped from happening."

"It's about enlightenment, and following your passions and things. Some people like to think it was about hedonism, and considering the time period, and how big that was in a way. I'm sure there was some of that among the followers of it...but it was more spiritual." Frankie shrugs her shoulders just a bit, having no real first hand knowledge about it perhaps. "But, yeah. As far as I've heard. I've never left here, so I don't know for sure..and I'm not sure if there is anything going to happen, or need to be done, or what. Maybe it's more here, because something already happened."

Greg gives a really satisfying 'mind blown' expression as he leans back, his eyebrows climbing up into his curls. "Oh shit homie," he comments helpfully, calling on all the teachings of his higher education. "That's some shit. So then it's like, whatever happened. Was it supposed to?" He frowns, shaking his head. "Nah, that's wrong. I don't believe in predestination, really. I ought to say, should it have happened?" He falls quiet for a moment, puffing on his smoke while he ponders. "The things I can do, fam... that's pretty cool. It sort of feels like part of me now, and not a part I would want to be without. But the DMs, yo. Nothing good about that shit." He grins. "Those motherfuckers are what you call a barrier to enlightenment."

"Just to play Devil's Advocate, and let me point out that I don't really believe what I'm saying. But, what if they weren't a barrier to enlightenment, and instead keeping us in check while allowing us to develop?" She lifts a hand up, fingers splayed, "We're clearly allowed to do what we're doing, within reason. Even like...advancing, but maybe if we're just becoming dangerous is when they vanish us." She then drops her hand, one corner of her mouth twisting upwards, "Or they just can't track us all unless we are too big and flashy."

Greg frowns darkly. "One time up in Seattle, I got into a little mishap and found myself flat broke with no stash, so I had to go get a fuckin' job like a normie. I ended up at this salmon farm, 'cause they didn't do background checks." He flashes his best charming grin. "Anyway yo, they don't sell the fuckin' baby fish. Nobody wants to eat that. Naw, you let those little baby mothers swim around and eat and grow. Then when they're nice and fat, you sell 'em out so some douchebag can order the salmon at a goddamn steak joint." He looks at Frankie and shrugs. "Swim and get fat, little salmon."

There is a moment where she has to honeslty think about that, her hand lifting to her mouth so that she can chew on her thumbnail, eyes going distant. "So." Frankie starts, then stops right after that, her hand dropping, "That's a really good point...maybe they are waiting for us to get fat enough to sell to some bougie douche in a fancy place wanting his salmon. But the question is, in this scenarion, who is the douche, and what is the place...and to what purpose. Are they eating us?"

Greg gives a pensive frown, considering. "I mean, you said folks just disappear. So they use it too much, and they go away. Is it because the fish is big enough to eat now? Or is it because the fish got too big to keep safely?" He puffs on his cigarette and scratches at his stubbly cheek. "Maybe it's the craziest thing of all to believe that they could be scared of us, but shit, girl. There's got to be some way. You know?" He gives a frustrated snort. "Or maybe it ain't even like that at all. Maybe it's more like a battery? You get enough charge going and homies stick your ass in a car engine or plug you into their fuckin' Dark Phones."

"Could be all of that, or mix and matched combinations. I'm willing to go with the idea that anything is possible....or probable." Frankie shakes her head a bit, looking like despite the fact she'd grown up here, some things she just hadn't really given any thought. Like this. She seems curious, but also baffled, by the possibilities. "Yeah, folks vanish. I'm not always sure if they just get away, or run away. See, my mom ran away." She thinks. "I was like...sixteen, seventeen...and she just.." She gestures in the air, "Poof. My mom isn't the only one, I just always figured she bailed because she owed the wrong people."

Greg shrugs uneasily at that. "Eh, parents can be failures too, yo. My mother was fuckin' useless." He shrugs again, puffing on his cigarette. "I peaced from that when I was like, fifteen." He chuckles softly, smirking. "You know, I thought I knew why I was doing what I was doing, but every stupid decision led me right here." He grins, giving a gesture to include all the grand panoply of the shitty back alley skatepark. "I don't know what it means, family, but I think it has to mean something. I feel like..." Color rises up his neck and into his cheeks, and his lips twist with an embarrassed smirk. "I dunno. It's stupid or whatever. I guess it's just like, it feels like I could do something. Like something good, maybe." He shrugs uncomfortably. "We don't get to decide who we're gonna be, I guess, but it's just... I'm not that fuckin' down with where it's all been going so far. I'd just like to think I could be someone people would want to remember. In a good way."

"I disagree. I think we do decide who we're going to be, you do too." She leans towards him, tilting her head a fraction, "You said you didn't believe in predestination, right? Then that means you choose...and maybe all your choices have lead you hear, and maybe all your other choices would have. But maybe not. Can't really reverse time to find out, either." She shrugs her shoulders, sitting up straighter once more, "Doesn't matter how you've ended up where you are, though. Fact is you're here." She then glances around the skate park before looking back towards him. "So if you want to do something to be remembered, do it."

Greg slowly nods. "Yeah, I mean to. Changing what I do for work isn't really on the table." He grins. "But I'm in control of what I do with my own power. I get to decide this is a story about a hero, not a villain." He considers Frankie for a long, careful moment. "Somebody I'm not going to name told me there's a place, over in the Veil. I don't remember everything they said about it, but it sounded like at least some of the people who disappear -- maybe all -- end up there. If we could find that place, I bet we would find the answers to a lot of our questions. I can't imagine it would be easy... but I can get over there and back." He pauses, frowning. "I wonder if anybody else can?"

"Not me." Frankie knows that much at least, and she shrugs her shoulders a bit, "You might be able to find answers by doing that, but it sounds really dangerous at the same time. I bet there are easier, and safer, ways to get information." Which might just be her own personal fear of throwing herself into that situation, more than anything else.

Greg doesn't need to think about that long, grinning and nodding. "No, you right, you right. See, I got dipshit disease. Whatever reason I have... whatever this is, it doesn't help." His grin broadens, foolish. "I need people like you around to inspire a little healthy caution before I jump up my magic board and soar off to get killed or captured in the Veil." He shrugs. "Dipshit disease. So... how do you think we should go about finding out more?"

"That..." Well, that, clearly wasn't what Frankie had planned ahead for. The expression that washes over her face is thoughtful, head tilting just a moment before she shakes her head, "I've never really gone out of my way to work out how to...figure things out. But there are a lot of things that happen around town, could start by checking into them. People vanishing, mysterious things...Follow trails. I mean, it might still lead all to your not-so-dipshit-idea of finding whatever place your friend mentioned."

Greg chews his lip, nodding hesitantly. "You know, I think you're right. Right now, we're like those fish, just swimming. No fuckin' clue what's really going on. We need to wise up, get woke." He flings his cigarette butt towards the can, coming appreciably closer this time, but still missing by a lot. "This thread we're pulling, it's connected to something really deep and important about what the world really is, I think. Don't you get that sense too? I think you're right, and an answer that big, you're not going to get it all in one place. It's a lot more likely there's a piece over here and a piece over there, like a puzzle nobody's been able to put together so far." Helpful metaphors from the local stoner-philosopher.

"Puzzle where there are probably half a dozen pieces missing, too." Frankie points out with a shake of her head, "Which is probably part of the problem, and part of how they keep us uh...swimming." She seems to be amused by the metaphor, a smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards a bit, "So, do we treat this like a puzzle and look for the edge pieces, and work inwards?"

Greg thinks about that. "You know, I bet the old money in this town knows a lot, but they ain't going to open up to me." He grins. "At least, not until we can show them we know what we're talking about. At least enough to find out what we don't know. So I say when you're on the fringe, you work with what you got, and start coming in from the edge." He shrugs, laughing softly. "I don't think I ever finished a puzzle in my life, for real."

"My dad was an Addington." Frankie replies quietly, which suddenly makes her part of that old money crewe, and she looks actually uncomfortable with it. "I never knew him...just some guy that fucked my mom at some point, and..." She lifts her hands gesturing, "Here I am. Anyways, not to devolve into a sob story, because it isn't. I bet that we could bug my family. I'm family, right?"

Greg purses his lips thoughtfully. "Well hey, there's an unexpected break. It's almost like they owe it to you, right?" He smirks. "No, don't sweat it. Like I said, if you held me up to what my mother is, I wouldn't like it. I never even knew my dad." Glancing around, he pulls a nicely wrapped blunt about the width of his thumb from the pocket of his hoodie and lights it. "Like you said, we get to decide for ourselves. I really like that." He takes a few quick puffs and then offers the blunt to Frankie.

"My mom taught me everything she knew." Frankie takes the blunt when offered, "Everything I know, about my work at least." She lifts it up, taking a hit from it before holding it back towards him, holding her breath for a moment, "She was a slut, though. Like, full on...not shaming her. Just there was guy after guy...and any of them could have been my dad. I never figured it'd be a fucking Addington."

Greg takes and hits the blunt, holding his smoke for a bit. He puffs out smoke rings with sharp, shallow coughs on the exhale. "You know, I guess I could say my moms taught me everything I needed for work, too... how to manipulate a weak-minded junkie." He taxes the blunt an extra puff before offering it back over. "It's whatever though. I ain't trying to sit here and blame shit on anyone else, you know? It is what it is and we're at where we're at, yo. Time to get after it or get off it." He fires a grin off behind this tirade of folksism.

"I'm not blaming my mom. If she hadn't taught me.." Frankie pauses, taking the blunt back from him before she shrugs, "How to con tourists into thinking their dearly departed was contacting them, I'd have been out on the streets as a kid. Instead, I ran the shop, I survived." She lifts the blunt back to her mouth, taking a few hard hits from it before holding it back out, "Right, shit or get off the pot."

Greg takes the blunt and just sits in the moment for a time while he hits it. "You know, it's weird. I didn't get a choice about coming here, and I wouldn't have. But it happened anyway, and strangely? My life has gotten a lot better." He peers at the blunt as though it might reveal the secrets and mysteries of Gray Harbor, then holds it out. "I didn't really have friends before, but now I'm building a family. Own my own business and shit." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Maybe the fish just get big and fat and swim upriver to live happily ever after, eh? Eh?" His expression suggests this is not a serious opinion.

"Maybe. Like salmon." Frankie tries to not think about the fact that when salmon swim up stream its to fuck and die. Literally. "So, family?" She prompts, glancing over towards the dispensary for a moment, but she doesn't ask about business. Instead focusing on the family comment. "Your friends from the trailer? Girlfriend?"

Greg grins sheepishly. "Nah, no girlfriend. Somehow I think the dangerous allure of the local pusher is lost on my female contemporaries here." He dimples brightly, winking. "Their loss, But it's chill. I've found Grant, and Daisy, and my dude Robert. Good people, close friends you can trust... like family should be." He shrugs. "I never had anything but disappointment from blood, so fuck blood. I'll build my own goddamn clan."

"Really? Huh." Frankie shakes her head at that, looking surprised, even if only for a thoughtful moment, "Weird, I always thought girls liked bad boys." She reaches up for her bracelets, tugging them down around her wrist a little, "I know what you mean about making your own family, though. Family that you choose is better, if you ask me."

"For damn sure it is," Greg states with emphasis. He leans back into his backpack, squinting up into the sky. "I don't know, I guess I don't really let many people in. Like if I'm selling you shit or you owe me money, what're the odds we're going to take shit to the next level? Come right down to it I guess I don't even really know that many people that ain't clients. Something about not shitting where you eat." He grins, shrugging. "I'd rather let most people wonder. Fuck -- some of them are cops, ya know."

"Sure...got to watch out for entrapment." Frankie might be intimately familiar with the type of cops that go after her line of work, after all. "I'm sure you'll find some nice, brave girl that isn't a client that would love to bang you. There's plenty of fat fish in the steam, you know?"

Greg grins, leaning forward. "No doubt -- just got to snatch my nasty grizzly bear claws into the stream and snag me one up, right?" He flexes his 'nasty grizzly bear claws' demonstratively. "It'll happen when it happens," he observes with an air of contentment. "I'm not that worried. I guess if I was I could just lurk around the Platinum. I can't imagine it would be hard work." He shifts his grin towards Frankie. "What about you? Got Mr. Addington-Adjacent on the hook?"

"Nope. No one on the hook." Frankie shakes her head with a laugh, "Many reasons why no. Chief among them is most people think I'm weird, or crazy...or potentially just a fraud and a con artist, and wouldn't want to be caught dead around me. Until they think I can do something for them."

"Ah. So, same-same," Greg laughs. "I'm working my way out of the fringe; the dispensary is legit business, it opens a lot of doors to fuckin'... proper society. I can go places and talk to people that would never be inside a mile of plain ol' street Greg." He gives a grin, ever self aware. "I think I'd stop selling the shit, if I could, you know. But that ain't a choice I'm going to get to make. My Boss ain't the kind of dude that lets a line of business just fuckin'... shut down." He chuckles. "Now, he might shut me down, terminally. That I could see."

"Mr. Monaghan isn't...that bad. He never hassles me for what mom owed him, just waits for me to drop the money off each month, even seems to be cool with the lean months." Frankie shrugs her shoulders a bit, her arms crossing over her chest, "Winter is the worst, and I barely make ends meet most of the time. I've still got my knees."

Greg nods slowly, thoughtfully. "Yeah, I mean... mixed impression, I guess. I ended up with something that belonged to him, only I didn't know it belonged to him, right." He glances around, grinning. "The something was a few kilos of uncut coke. His guy got nabbed and I knew where it was, so I fuckin' helped myself. Reasonable, right? Well, Monaghan didn't fuckin' think so. He had me snatched off the street and dragged down here. I paid him everything I could come up with, but.... shit, I did up most of that stash myself. Free blow?" He gives a shrug like, come on. "So it was work for him here, push his shit, and maaaybe... how did he put it? Oh yeah -- it was good, actually. I almost laughed... I think he would've fuckin' murdered me on the spot, but I was so fuckin' high." He shakes his head, grinning fondly at the memory. "Yeah, he said it was this or he'd cut my dick off and make me snort it. I started picturing it, right?"

"That is...pretty damn descriptive." Frankie shakes her head at him, snorting faintly in amusement, "You want to know a secret? For a while I wondered if he was my dad." She lifts a hand up, tugging a strand of red hair forward to wave it at him, "Evidently not. Maybe mom never banged him...but she owed him for the shop, so now I owe him for the shop. Pretty sure I'll die before I pay off the debt, but, whatever. I'm not going anywhere, so it's not a problem."

Greg frowns like that arrangement bothers him. "Hmm. But he's chill to you about it, huh?" He chews his lip thoughtfully, processing the new data. "The thing is, I went to him with the idea for Green Harbor. I only had the idea; no money. He gave me time of day, heard me out, and actually kicked the money in." Greg's tone here is a little bit disbelieving. "I owe him -- he'll make a fuck of a lot more on it than he put in, and it never stops, but... shit, it happened. I guess it's hard to figure out how I feel about the dude." He grins. "Don't get me wrong, I have no fuckin' doubt he'd smoke my ass if I step wrong. But he gave me the hand up. Fuckin' confusing dude."

"I don't think he's that confusing..." Frankie shakes her head before she leans over, "So, think about it this way. As long as we're doing what he wants, giving him money, selling his drugs...why would he fuck with us? He's getting rich off us, right? Of course he'd loan you money for a high interest return, that's how I'm in the position I'm in. Mom wanted the shop, he gave her the capital for it."

Greg reaches up to scratch at his chin again. "So as long as he gains, he's happy. Everyone just does what they're expected to do, fine." He glances over at Frankie, suddenly serious. "So then what happens if people don't want to do what they're expected to do? How do you suppose he'd react if next week I went and paid up, paid my note, and then just kinda never picked up my next shit?" Greg looks like he really can't figure out which way Felix might go.

"Probably tell you that you still owe, and expect you to follow through?" Frankie doesn't quite know how this drug business works, but she's pretty sure that it's not the sort of thing you walk away from. Hollywood movies tell her this requires murder and mayhem. "But you could always be up front, you're paying him from the loan...that's more money than what you get selling illegal stuff, right?"

Greg chuckles softly, grinning. "Naw... not even close. Especially not around here, and I'm starting to figure out why that is, finally. Shit, the DMs and the Dreams make me want to stay high too. People here want it, and they'll pay whatever fuckin' price I quote. I make what I owe the Boss and a steady overage that's all mine." He gives a somewhat uncomfortable shrug. "I don't really hurt for money anymore. It's more like.... what can I do with it that won't blow up my spot? I'd rather keep investing in legit businesses and work my way out of the trash. It's not a fuckin' moral crusade... I just don't want to have to sweat the cops my whole life."

"Most cops around here are..." Frankie hesitates a moment, "I don't want to say nice, they aren't. But usually there's worse shit out here than me and you for them to really focus on. Look at all those murders recently...we are small in comparison to that kind of busy." She leans over, bumping her shoulder against his, "But there's nothing wrong with wanting to get out of the illegal business."

"I pay my money to get left alone here," Greg states. "But that's not worth much once I leave here. What makes the Boss so untouchable, I wonder? I want whatever that is for me." He grins over at Frankie, bumping her back gently with his elbow. "What about you? You're totally happy to just let him siphon money off of you?" Greg turns to watch her more closely. "It sounds like he takes most of what you make, unless I'm hearing you wrong. That's pretty fucked."

"I don't have a business that makes a whole lot...I've had some months where I can pay the cost of keeping the lights on, and not much else." Frankie shakes her head, "He's not taking most of it, just...what I can give. Which isn't always much. But, no, I'm not totally happy to let him. But I'd rather not say no, and end up sleeping with the fishes."

Greg lights a cigarette so he can think, leaning back again. "You know what I think? I think this fuckin' guy is pretty much the devil." He shrugs. "There, I said it. Motherfucker is benevolent and terrifying in turns, but his fuckin' debts are never paid, no matter how long you throw money at 'em. He's made more than a few kilos off my back by now, for fuck's sake." He puffs on his cigarette contemplatively. "I dunno Frankie. I just think, what the fuck is so special about this dude, that we should all keep paying him forever? What the fuck makes him so untouchable? Snatching motherfuckers off the streets and shit. In Seattle!"

"That's a scary thought." Frankie replies with a frown and a shake of her head, "I've no real idea...That's some big power, though." She agrees, glancing over at him, her expression turning thoughtful, "I didn't realize his reach went all the way to Seattle..."

Greg frowns and nods. "There and wherever else." He shifts around on the bench, sitting down on one foot and puffing on his cigarette. "I have a hard time trusting that kind of power." He lowers his voice, glancing around again. "I'm not sure it's something I want to really be associated with either, if I could help it. But I guess that ship has sailed." Still, Greg's tone is nothing if not thoughtful.

"You're not a very good bad boy, are you?" Frankie tilts her head to the side, giving him a longer look, a more focused one before she nods in answer to her own question. "That's it...you're not really cut out for this. Most people, well, maybe not most. Most drug dealers would want to be him...to have that power."

Greg looks taken aback by that observation, slowly giving a sly smirk. "Shit. I guess I'm just not used to working for fuckin' anyone, and I'm not a fan. He put me on the payroll at the Firefly Club as a goddamn janitor. Like I'm mopping miss and shit." He shakes his head and puffs his cigarette. "I don't know, girl. This dude grabs me up, punks me, then sets me up to make good money about a beat later. That's a psychotic fuckin' spectrum. I'm not trying to predict that, yo. Try to stay ahead of the crazy or whatever." He shakes his head, altogether rather firmly. "No. I want to know there's an end to the deal, where the terms are satisfied and what's mine is mine. I'm not going to get that from Felix unless I take it. The rest of what he has, someone else can pick that shit up. It's not for me." He laughs, and blushes, hanging his head. "I'm too soft. I like to help people more than I like to take advantage of them. So I try to help the good people, and I fuck the gangsters and the dipshits over. The scale evens out somewhere, probably."

"Probably." Frankie sounds a bit dubious about that, however, shaking her head, "Problem is...cocaine, meth, those harder drugs. They cause problems. Husbands beating wives, people turning tricks for a fix. Not sure that I'd considering dealing to be helping anyone, and all of it is taking advantage of them. No matter what someone says, they don't have it under control." She glances down at her hands, the thumb of her right hand rubbing against the palm of her left, "That's a harsh reality, it's better to come to terms with it early. I guess you can mitigate some of it, sometimes."

Greg puffs his cigarette, processing this, then grins at Frankie. "You know, I think that's true. I never used to really do more than dabble with it before I came here. Then with everything going on after I got here, it got a little heavier. I think at first, I thought I had to be high to, uh... to do things. I figured out that's not the deal." He chuckles. "Even if I never touched a drop, it doesn't matter. As long as I'm the pusher the shit's got me just as hard as anyone else. Harder." He puffs on his smoke again, then chucks it towards the can. For once, it bounces off the brick wall and tumbles into the can, where it will probably end up lighting a noxious fire. He stands up suddenly, adjusting the straps on his backpack, and smiles his best dimples down at Frankie, holding out a hand. "It's been a nice daydream, but I got to get to work if I don't want to be floating in the harbor later this week. It's been really good talking to you." He tilts his head to the side, grinning. "We came a long way from mysterious disappearances, here."

"That's true." Frankie agrees with a nod, seeming unphased by the sudden change and fact he's getting to his feet. Then she reaches out to take the offered hand with an amused look before getting to her feet as well, "Conversations in town tend to meander sometimes...especially around me, I think. Either way, good luck? Don't do anything stupid without running it by me first."

Greg flashes a mischievous grin. "Oh, I'm an ongoing act of stupidity. Since '93 I'm keeping it treal like this." He pulls some shitty, cheap sunglasses from the pocket of his hoodie, donning them. "Hit me up if you need anything, Frankie. Maybe if you need some help with something, or if you just want to talk." He gives Frankie a weird look, ineffable behind his shades. "I don't think I've just sat and talked to someone like that for years." Because he's such a smooth operator (not), Greg holds up his fist for a fist bump in parting. "See you on the flibbity jibbity," he says, the color once again rushing to his face as he awkwardly realizes that whatever the fuck he just said is totally not a thing, and weird.

Perhaps weird and ridiculous is a thing, because Frankie at least rolls with nonsense words as well as she rolls with someone wanting a fist bump. "My cell was on the card I gave you." Maybe she really is serious about him running stupid ideas by her. Either way, she lifts her hand to give him a dap, "Stay as safe as you can out there, and if you meet a girl with blue shoes...walk the other way."

Greg peers at first Frankie's shoes, then Frankie, suspiciously. "Blue shoes, huh? Okay." He shrugs, accepting with a grin. "Now I'm going to be staring at shoes all day." Shaking his head, he heads into the dispensary and beyond to go push the poison.