Searing 33, 122
Merielle Cavendish and Weston both were wide eyes and silent as Franky and Dalma finished their story. It was odd enough that for the first time in the history of the Gobbler and the Free Press that Franky had shown up late to the morning meeting, but to bring this news of an impending devastation, was beyond the realm of ordinary. They were both aware of Dalma's role as a Seer, and they had no choice but to believe it, for that was how her Emblem worked. It simply was truth.
Weston leaned back in his chair, his metal fingers over his face, against his nose. Merielle was paled, her hands were shaking as she tried reaching for her bag. Franky pulled out his smoke box, plucked out a cigarette and lit it on a candle on the table, passing it to her. She took a deep drag on it, sighed loudly. "So what do we do?"
Franky sighed. He'd just come from Lyra's. Dalma had immediately seen the tattoo on his wrist but he'd not yet had time to share with her what had happened. He knew what he was about to say would be the end of this relationship. "We lie, in the Free Press."
Weston looked over, confused, at Franky, and Merielle went from pale to red and furious. "NO!"
Franky did not try to stop her as she stood up, "NO! We had an agreement! We would always tell the truth! We shape it, we delay it, we mold it, but we never lie!"
"We have to."
"WHY?!" She was shaking more now, unable to bring the cigarette to her lips.
"Because this is happening tomorrow. If we had more time, I would defer to your expertise as I normally would. But we do not. And this will already incite a panic. So if we must do that, then it needs to be in a way people can understand and unite behind."
Merielle was already staring dagger at Franky, she sat down slowly, narrowing her glare, "What are you suggesting?"
Franky looked at her, his gaze softening.
"You want to blame Kalzasi."
Franky nodded, "We don't actually know what is causing this attack, so it is a reasonable enough of a guess. I've seen what the Imperium can do, and Kalzasi is more prone to magic."
She slammed her palms on the table, "But you don't know that!"
"No, I don't. I just know that if we can't get everyone out or to safety, as fast as possible, we will lose so many more. We can tell the truth later, when we know it."
She pointed at him now, "No! The moment you start delaying the truth, it is all lost!"
Franky nodded, closing his eyes, "I know."
Tears were in her rageful eyes, "You promised. You promised we'd never lie."
Franky nodded, "I did. And I'm breaking the agreement. I do not want to do so, but I must."
"And if I refuse?"
Franky shrugged, "I am no writer. If you refuse, I promise, thousands more will die. I do not want you to carry that burden, nor do I wish to carry it."
She wiped away her tears, and Weston went to talk, but Franky held up a finger to the man stopping him instantly. Franky continued, "I know what this means."
Tears were streaming down her face, "You're a liar. A devil. You had your fortune teller say all those things just to use me."
Franky's throat tightened. Another burden he'd bear. "Yes."
She threw her cigarette at his face, and he let it bounce off, closing his eyes to not be burned by the ashes. "You bastard. You absolute piece of shit."
Weston started to move, but Franky twitched a bit in Weston's direction and the man stopped.
"I won't put my name on it."
Franky nodded, "Fine."
"I will quit and take the others with me."
"And I will pay you all a generous severance and wish you the best."
"FUCK YOU! I DON'T WANT YOUR MONEY! I NEVER DID!"
Franky nodded, his chest tightening now, his hand squeezing his knee as he endured this. He hadn't done it for the money either. She was crying steadily now, her voice barely above a whisper, "We were going to fix Zaichaer. You made me believe in you. Not with your silver fucking tongue, but by being a good man."
Franky's eyes softened, his eye glistening, and he said nothing.
Her head hung, tears falling freely on the wooden table. "I'll get it done." She looked up, wiping her eyes, fixing a loose strand of hair, "If we survive this, never contact me again. Your version of hope is worse than any Zaichaeri born despair."
Franky nodded, "I will be sure to do as you wish."
She scoffed, standing up again, and storming out of the bar of the Gobbler. A few moments later, they heard the door of the Free Press slam shut, shaking the building. Franky wiped his eyes on his sleeve, looking to Weston now, "Please convey this information to the staff. I would do it myself, but I have," he rubbed his eye on his shoulder, "I have much to do still. If you or any of the staff need money to contact or move anyone quickly, just use our accounts. A woman, Lyra, will be coming by soon to help. Provide her with any assistance she requires."
Franky stood up, and Dalma joined him, silently. Weston stood as well, looking at Franky with worried eyes, "Franky, can we really protect them from this?"
Franky swallowed hard. "I don't know."
Weston nodded slowly, "Consider it all done. Go with haste. I'll hold the Gobbler together until your return."
Franky stepped forward, a hand clasping Weston on the shoulder, silent tears streaming down the goblin's face. "Thank you, my friend."
Weston stepped into Franky and wrapped him up in a tight hug, the first they'd ever shared. He whispered into Franky's ear, "I'll follow you into death and beyond, sir."
Franky squeezed him a bit tighter then separated them slightly, looking Weston in the eyes, one hand gently holding Weston's stubbled cheek, "Not just yet, old friend. Our deaths must mean more than simply following."
Weston nodded.
They both cleared their throats as Franky turned to his wife, nodding. Her face was impassive, as the pair made their way out of the Gobbler and into the waiting wagon.
"Where to, Franky?"
"The bank."
The driver pulled out a pocket watch, then looked over at Franky, "Sir, they won't be open by the time we get there."
Franky nodded, "That's fine Gorha, she'll open the doors for me."
The driver shrugged, "Alrighty then." He heeyawed, and the horses lurched forward. The sun was almost fully past the horizon now. Not enough time. But there was never enough time. Not for anything. Not when it came to plans. Plans were always more about the sacrifices to be made and the corners needing cut, it was never the goal or the path to it. Time was always the greatest of enemies.
Dalma reached over and grasped Franky's hand. "My love."
Franky turned to look at her, and she was smiling at him, sadly, "I know you must take on so much pain."
She squeezed his hand, "But you're not going down a path we can't come back from, right?"
Franky was silent, his shoulders slumping a bit. A soft whisper, "I don't know."
Her hand moved slowly up his arm to his shoulders, "Kor, if we survive, we still must be able to live with ourselves. With each other."
The driver nearby shifted uncomfortably, but Franky and Dalma ignored him.
Franky swallowed hard, "We'll cross those bridges if we're still alive."
Dalma nodded sadly, leaning into him. "We'll survive. We have to."
The trio traveled in silence the entire rest of the way to Willowby Lane, making their way to the bank. Franky stepped down out of the wagon, providing a hand to Dalma as she joined him gracefully. "Are we meeting the elf who was seduced by your ledgers?"
Franky laughed for the only time on this day, "Yes."
Dalma shook her head, "Some elves are so interesting."
Franky tucked his arm into Dalma's "It keeps the world turning."
And together they climbed the stairs of the bank.
