[nyc] if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind | frank

may 2004

New York City had been almost all of the things that Nessa had expected it to be. It was loud, crowded with muggles, full of life, and ridiculously well stocked when it came to boutiques and fancy breweries. The good outweighed the bad, but that had never stopped her from complaining before. Nessa wanted the whole experience, though, so she'd set herself an itinerary to hit all of the stops. The ridiculously (and surprisingly impressive) muggle skyscrapers, the freakish green giant that sat in the bay welcoming immigrants, and of course, the subway system. She'd made it all of one-stop before she got off, it was not unlike the tube in London, but Nessa hated it in England too.

After the subway, Nessa checked her to-do list and convinced herself she hadn't already known that stopping at Frank's new restaurant wasn't the next on the list. As much as she had hated to admit it, visiting his place here in New York City was one of the most anticipated parts of her trip. She liked the food from the Deli, mostly, but she hated the atmosphere. And when Nessa had heard that this place was a bit more upscale, but uniquely, she was intrigued.

The woman had managed to blend on the streets of New York, toning down her typically over-the-top witchy aesthetic and opting for her classic leather jacket and a slinky dress instead. Nessa had imagined she would stick out like a sore thumb dressed in a cloak and lacy get-up, at least until she'd seen the fifth person dressed up like a stuffed animal, three on roller skates, and one in a speedo and glow sticks. New York City was a strange place indeed. She rounded the corner, hailed a cab (something she was both proud to know how to do and hoped never to do again after this trip was over), and headed for the restaurant.

The yellow machine came to a stop, and Nessa paid the driver what he asked before getting out. Her heels clicked on the pavement as she opened the door to the restaurant. She noticed some of the tables still covered and some boxes and spoke to a young person busy behind a counter. "Hello, I'd like a table, please?" It felt ridiculous that she even had to ask, but no one had looked up when she walked in until the person she spoke to did, and their expression seemed confused.

Not a good sign.

@Frank Adams

Frank was up to his ears at work.

Despite the him of it all, he was thriving under the pressure. At least, when it came to the things he was passionate about. And opening a spot in New York was very much a passion. It was a redemption of sorts from the last time he lived in the city and had successfully sabotaged almost every aspect of his life, a chance to right his wrongs as his mother had so blankly poised it over dinner when he first arrived back.

A nervous breakdown hadn't felt like an intentional wrong, but had it been?

He would have to take it up with his therapist.

"Behind, as in I'm behind you," Frank reiterated to the angry woman behind the bar that he had hired deliberately hired for her lack of customer service skills. She made a damn good cocktail and took no shit, and that was the kind of person he respected both professionally and personally. She elbowed his side in return and made a comment about his fumbling around her area like a wayward treetrunk.

It sounded more endearing in her Lousiana drawl, he thought.

There was a commotion from the front stand after the bright outside light had peeked in from up the tall staircase. Frank sighed, nearly stumbled over a half-empty box, then clumsily kicked it aside. "We're closed," Wasn't the closed side on the front door enough of a fucking indication?

As he rounded the corner and very unexpected face met him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" A grin crept over his features. Nessa Regan was far from a sight for sore eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Was the last thing Nessa had expected Frank to say as she greeted him in his restaurant. The one he had invited her to. And the fact that he'd manage to both surprise her and get under her skin, again, irritated the witch to no end. Nessa had found that nothing about Frank was simple or easy, despite how he pretended to be so casual about things.

"Are you serious?" She asked, one hand moving up her side to rest on her hip. "You invited me?" And at that moment, Nessa realized she wasn't nearly as comfortable being unwanted as Frank had seemed the night he showed up at her house and wouldn't leave. She took a steadying breath, used her free hand to flip her hair over her shoulder, and cursed impolitely. "I'll just be going, then," the witch said and turned around toward the door again. The more irritated Nessa was, the more her Irish accent muddied up everything she said, to the point of being almost unrecognizable to those who were not used to hearing it.

Nessa moved toward the door, absolutely stunned by the fact that he'd forgotten he invited her and feeling humiliated that she had come all this way. She'd been in New York City anyway, but still, she felt stupid. How could he forget? She wondered if he hadn't meant it in the first place, and that frustrated her further.

Frank looked pointedly over his shoulder before swinging back to Nessa, as if to speak a question of his confusion without words. But, in classic form, he couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Did I?" He nearly laughed (had he?) but remembered the exchange in a swift kick to the fucking shin.

If he recalled correctly of— of course, he had— he'd extended an invite in the midst of a heated debate about her takeaway. Something about how his new place might live up to her impossibly delicate palate.

The word delicate was used liberally.

"Uh, okay—" Frank stammered awkwardly, the clearing of his throat coming from deep in his chest. She was going, then. "Came all this way to not even eat the food," He had started speaking more to himself. "Makes sense," He pushed another unopened box out of his way as he watched her leave up the stairs. "Safe travels, kid," He scoffed.

Nessa wanted to curse the part of herself that nearly stopped in front of the door. That ridiculous little piece wanted to pause and wait for him to make things right. She half expected him to do it, but she knew better than assume anything resembling politeness from Frank Adams. Nessa didn't need to be rescued, she didn't need him to make her feel better, and she certainly didn't need food poisoning from his new restaurant. She scoffed, tipped her chin up, and climbed the stairs back out of the restaurant, making sure her hips waved just so as she made a dramatic exit.

Never in her life had she met someone as frustrating as Frank. He was terribly rude, had the bad habit of overstaying his welcome, and apparently, he'd forgotten all about inviting her to his new restaurant. Nessa couldn't imagine him having not meant it when he'd asked her, so of course, she blamed him for forgetting instead. Another stupid man who couldn't be bothered to remember the details. Merlin, help her. And maybe if she hadn't heard Frank's parting words as she pushed open the door, Nessa would have kept walking. Perhaps she would have stopped in and gotten lunch at one of the hundred other restaurants she was sure were within walking distance. Maybe she would have forgotten this whole bloody situation — but she had heard, and she couldn't let it go. "Fecking hell," she breathed and turned around.

With a sour look on her face, the dark witch turned back toward the door, yanked it open, and descended the stairs before huffing. "You are such a prick Frank," She said, her accent thicker than before. The witch was making a scene, but Nessa couldn't be bothered to think about that now. She barely knew this man, so it was irrational to take it so personally, but Nessa felt insulted, and hell hath no fury.

"I come all this way to stop in to see the new place, the place you invited me to, and you forgot about it? Ya fucking langer?" The more worked up she became, the more Nessa's hands waved around in front of her in big sweeping motions. "Ay, and you forgot to mention it wasn't even open yet." What a waste of time coming here had been, and logically Nessa knew it was an even bigger waste now that she was letting the situation get to her. But she hadn't eaten yet, and Nessa Regan could not be held responsible for her actions while under the influence of hunger.

He watched Nessa turn on her heels, and then really watched as she ascended the stairs in what he imagined was her best effort to be dramatic. And some effort it was. His mouth hung halfway open as he shook his head exasperatedly. "Jesus Christ..." The phrase was muttered with a practiced precision, the same that he had as a kid when he was trying to avoid getting in trouble with his mother while still getting his frustration out. God, Jesus, whoever, seemed like the easiest imaginary target. He fully expected the witch to place some kind of curse on her way out, but instead was met with the sound of her heels approaching.

"I think you got your point across before..." He muttered as her thickly accented voice bounced across the walls.

He had no idea what a langer was, but it didn't sound particularly positive. Not at least with that look on her face. Or with the venom in her tone. Or her arms folded like that. "Look, Nessa," He set down the box he'd been moving and it landed with a heavy thud. "Do you honestly think I expected you to actually show up?" Frank was genuinely curious. Their previous conversation (well, argument) hadn't lent itself well to anything serious. "I never said it was open yet, either, by the way," He kicked a heavy box out of his way and ran a hand through his unruly hair with a sigh. "Sorry to disappoint."

She didn't seem like to type to get her hopes up, anyway.

Feeling like she could full-on shout at the grown man across the room, Nessa inhaled sharply. Feeling the heat rushing up her cheeks, they'd likely turn red any moment. The small vein that ran down the center of her forehead was bulging, more apparent, and she stared at him. She probably should have just kept going, or never come in the first place, but as Nessa realized that was what he'd expected, she took another breath. Honestly, when he mentioned inviting her, Nessa silently dismissed the idea. And it should not have been a surprise that he'd assumed as much. Their interactions thus far had not been cheerful and friendly.

"Whatever," she said, a petulant roll of her eyes following her words. Maybe she should have owled first, or maybe he should have mentioned the place wasn't open yet when he'd invited her. Lots of maybes, but none of them helped her now. Frank's words nearly disarmed her. She watched the way he kicked a box and heard the sigh, and felt like replying with one of her own, but he just had to say something else.

"Sorry to disappoint."

Her sigh morphed into a huff. Nessa's shoulders relaxed even as her arms folded in front of her chest. He was irritating, but Nessa didn't expect any different anymore, and slowly the corners of her lips twisted up merely a hint. "Bet you are used to doing that," she quipped, fresh sarcasm replacing the previous venom in her voice.