black beauty | frank

december 2003

I gotta pee again, sweetheart.

Giovanna smiled gently, patting her hand atop Howie’s where his arm was linked with hers. “Sure, Pops.” She steered them back towards the bathroom and let him hobble the rest of the way on his own once they were close enough, muttering about his prostate. She grimaced and turned back to the party (he’d likely be some time).  She hadn’t wanted to come at all, but Howie had guilted her into it with the same line as last year (“It might be my last one!”) and she had resigned herself to the fact that that might be the case every year until it was his last.

She swept over to the finger food and stood in the middle of the table, surveying her options. It appeared that the smart people had come to the food first, because there wasn’t much left to choose from — there was a solitary chocolate chip cookie but it looked like it had a bite taken out of it, leaving half a plate of oat raisin. There were still plenty of carrot and celery sticks, but the ranch dressing looked heavily contaminated with flecks of something.

Then, she spotted it: the largely untouched bowl of olives. Not exactly a well-rounded meal, but she’d take it at this point. She reached for a toothpick in the same moment as the man next to her, and drew back her hand as it brushed his. Gia glared up at him—about to accuse him of having eaten everything else here, judging by the size of him (really, he was just tall and broad)—but she stopped suddenly.

She was staring, caught off guard — she hadn’t seen him before. “Those are mine,” she told him, wielding her toothpick in a manner that suggested she was willing to stab him with it.


@Frank Adams

Francis, despite every fiber in him, loved an office Christmas party. The bad finger food, the shitty watered-down cocktails, and most of all, the colleagues who had been waiting all year to air out their dirty laundry, profess their love for that guy in the department of magical transportation with a wife and kids at Ilvermorny. It happened to be a bonus that he knew all of three people, two of whom he'd only met at last year's event.

Annie, his childhood friend and neighbor, had been bringing him as her plus one to events since she started dating her nearly (as she said) separated boss. Frank didn't mind lying to their parents as long as it meant they would get off his back about who he was actually (or wasn't, in his case) seeing.

The same as the year before, albeit a bit more transparently, the auburn-haired witch lost him the moment her esteemed coworkers had had enough to drink to not notice that the two of them had snuck off somewhere for a few hours. Beer in hand, Frank had found himself meandering toward where the food was located because that was safer than anywhere near the dance floor.

A particular memory of getting groped by an older witch in finance sprung to mind as he scoured what was left.

Picking up a few miniature sandwiches that were just stale enough from being left out for too long and balancing them on his forearm, he reached out to fill his pint-sized plate with olives. Everything there seemed too small for him. "Jesus f—Christ," He hadn't seen anyone come up beside him and definitely wasn't expecting to be accosted by a toothpick so early in the night.

"Uh, these are very clearly for the party," For the office in which he very clearly an integral part of. Frank popped one into his mouth and sidestepped the stranger's weapon, taking a moment to look her over briefly. He didn't think he recognized her but then again, he didn't actually work there. "Here," He offered a sandwich as a trade, dropping it on her plate without an answer.

Gia barely bat an eyelid at the man’s surprise – she was accustomed to that sort of reaction. If anything, it was on the milder side of what she had experienced.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow at him, then gave him a very obvious once-over – lingering a little now that she was able to have a good look at him, lingering a little more upon finding she was liking what she saw: tall, dark… a little unusual. She watched him move out of range of her toothpick and a slight frown creased her features. She stepped closer to close the gap, hand still aloft and ready to strike.

Here, he said, breaking her out of her train of thought, and put a stale sandwich on her plate – she presumed as some sort of peace offering. Giovanna looked at it for a moment before flicking her gaze up to meet his. “Thank you,” she whispered, lowering her toothpick and reaching over the table to stab an olive onto it. She brought the fruit up to her mouth and placed it between her teeth, drawing the pick out slowly and keeping her eyes on him.

Giovanna discarded her toothpick–her own peace offering–and shifted her weight onto her other hip. She lifted her chin to gaze up at him, eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”

Frank watched the woman, considered walking away, then decided that as strange as she was that she might just very well be the most interesting thing he would come across that night. If everyone else at the party was any indication, anyway. Resigned, he studied the discarded toothpick on his plate before his dark brown eyes turned back up to her just as she prodded him once more. Who was he?

She definitely didn't work in a people-facing department.

Shifting his plate so that her toothpick didn't touch his perfectly cut sandwich, Frank pulled it up to take a bite, the miniature triangle lost in his hand immediately. "Frank," He said finally. "I don't work here," Not that he thought he needed to explain it to someone who actually worked there. "I'm here with Annie—" It dawned on him not everyone at MACUSA knew his friend. "She's, uh, magical creatures something..." He took another bite.

The who are you in return was implied.

Giovanna kept her eyes on the man, patiently waiting for him to finally divulge his name--Frank--and that he didn’t work here. A soft scowl creased her features--disappointment, rather than anything else, because it mean he must be somebody’s plus one (she’d have preferred it if he’d just snuck in)--and the expression only deepened when he said he was here with Annie, from magical creatures something. Sounded like he was super interested. Probably for the best, given what she knew about Annie (it was amazing what people got up to when they thought they were alone).

The brunette grimaced at the sandwich Frank was eating (she wasn’t entirely sure what that filling was and daren’t ask). “Giovanna. I work here,” she said, then, as she looked around the room and saw her colleagues in various states of intoxication, added a “regrettably.”

Gia brought her attention back to Frank and didn’t bother adding that she worked in the same Department as Annie -- it might be better if he thought they didn’t know each other. “So where do you work?” she asked, a curious eyebrow raised. “Somewhere they don’t require taste buds, obviously,” she said, glancing pointedly at what was left on his plate.

For someone who nearly took his hand for stealing fucking black olives, she had some nerve in being the judge of the breadth of anyone's tastebuds. Frank liked them too so he couldn't say anything, but, because of who he was as a person, he was going to.

"I'm a chef," He hated himself for saying it but he kept a straight face. Frank had never identified as a chef in the traditional sense, having spent most of his career in the trenches of kitchens peddling brunch to twenty-somethings drunk on mimosas, even though he very much presently was. The meeting he had with Portia about her new spot in Brooklyn had left him dangerously optimistic about the future. He was feeling more bold than usual.

"You must be the goddamn welcome witch," He said sarcastically before defiantly taking another bite of his sandwich that she had been eyeing up. There was a zero percent chance that she worked in any department that required customer service. Unless she was a really good faker. Which, if his time in the restaurant industry had taught him anything, was entirely possible. Some of the angriest people he knew were like broadway performers in front of a table.

"Why are you here then?" Frank glanced over at her. She said regrettably. "If you don't want to be?" It seemed so simple to him to not do the things that he didn't want to do.

A chef. Giovanna’s lips curled at the corners. “Right,” she said simply, rolling her eyes. No chef worth his salt would touch any of this food, let alone eat it, so he obviously just didn’t want to tell her. He could be obscure if he wanted to, she supposed.

Gia’s eyes swept over the table one last time, just in case she had missed anything (she hadn’t), before snapping back to Frank when he spoke again. She laughed, rather than take offence. "I couldn't think of anything worse," she told him honestly. She let her gaze travel down his figure head-to-toe again; the attitude was worth it, she decided -- kind of helped, even.

Why was she here? A great question, she’d been about to tell him--lips parted ready to answer--when she remembered: Howie. She glanced towards the bathrooms and saw he’d reemerged; he was talking to someone from maintenance. Giovanna looked back at Frank. “Keeping a friend company,” she said finally with a shrug. “Nowhere better to be,” she added. “Oh, and the food, obviously,” she smirked softly at him.

“So you’re a ‘chef’—” she used air-quotes on one hand, “—think you could make a sandwich that good?” she asked, nodding at the one he was finishing up. Gia knew she didn’t need to be a chef to make something more edible than anything on this table.

It wasn't uncommon. The undeniable doubt radiating from the woman— an otherwise perfect stranger— was familiar in all of its personalized nuances. It brought him back to nearly a decade prior to when he was just starting his culinary career outside the line cook pit and exclusively making shitty breakfast food for drunk punks. He didn't (and still didn't) have a typical look for someone who was at the helm of the most in-demand food spots in the city so he couldn't blame them.

As such he figured he couldn't blame Giovanna, but God did he want to prove her wrong.

Keeping a friend company she said and he snapped back into reality, pulled from the trenches of his own unwarranted volatility. "Not doing that great of a job..." He just couldn't help himself. It was as if the second a thought entered his brain his stupid mouth had to spout it out. "That's nice of you, though..." Frank was doing a wholly unconvincing job of backtracking despite the fact that he kind of meant it. He could empathize with constantly being there for other people, if even begrudgingly.

As if to right the wrong of his little nicety she shifted the axis of the earth again, that time with her favored finger air quotes. It was the kind of tick he figured she must have learned when she was seven and hadn't quite grown out of. Not that he was one to talk, of course.

"Definitely not," Frank wasn't lying. He genuinely enjoyed bad-catered food as much as the next one. "But I'm not a real chef so what would I know," He shrugged. "I should, uh," He scanned the room for a familiar face in his friend, an out. "Well, I don't know where Annie is..." He said more to himself than anything else, not daring to ask the question in his head out loud because he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"You try the punch?" He swiveled back to Gia. "I saw that sketchy guy pouring a potion into the bowl earlier," Frank nodded to the half-bald man who had alarmingly started to dance in the middle of the room to the slow-tempo Christmas music.

Giovanna’s sculpted eyebrows rose at his scathing review -- partly in surprise, partly in amusement; that he’d be so blunt (and, honestly, she liked it). Frank softened his initial assessment before she could respond, and her lips tugged up at one corner. “Mhm,” she hummed, one disbelieving eyebrow still raised at him. “I can be nice,” she told him in a tone that suggested she could be not-nice, too.

The brunette witch grinned, then bit her lip to try and tone it down a little. “Right, just a pretend chef,” she teased.

Gia tilted her head curiously at Frank as he scanned the room, then decided to take the opportunity while his attention was elsewhere to return the gifted sandwich to his plate. “She’s probably busy,” Giovanna said with a soft shrug, dragging her eyes back up to his slowly. “You know, her boss keeps her late, like, all the time.” She said it with a straight face, then offered the smallest of smiles. Of course, Gia didn’t know this from first-hand snooping -- but some people seemed to forget that the portraits hanging in their offices--or indeed, their boss’ office--had minds and mouths of their own. It just so happened that the wizard in Annie’s boss’ office was one of the juiciest gossips in the history of Magical Congress.

The witch followed where Frank was pointing, grimaced at whatever dance move that was, then turned back to the wizard in front of her. “I haven’t, but I’ll try some if you will,” she dared him with a soft smirk. “Unless you’d rather get a drink somewhere else?”

A pretend chef. The way she said it Frank knew was good-natured enough but he took it on all the same. If he were being honest— and he usually was— he felt like a pretend chef most of his adult life. The onset came more fervently around his more seasoned peers, around other success stories in the industry. Whatever it was he had to offer seemed to pale in comparison. He was still surprised with all of the opportunities his craft had offered him.

Frank's heart did a god-awful little fucking jump at the thought of the new spot in the city. He had to have done something right to get on board with that. To be allowed.

"Yeah," He agreed as Giovanna carried on about how late his friend's boss kept her— as if he didn't already know that he thought smugly. At least the woman had the decency to not openly gossip about it. He could respect that. Though, he did make a mental note to let Annie know that her little secret was becoming much less so the more lackadaisical they grew about the "affair".

An affair seemed like such a formal word for something so...  cliche.

"Hmm," He frowned, dark eyes narrowing on the sickenly sweet looking punch before flicking back down to the nearly empty can of beer held tight in his palm. Eventually, Frank looked back at the woman and clearly considering his options. Ultimately the idea of small talk with someone he didn't know (even if her strangeness had been mildly intriguing) was not his idea of a good time. "I think I'm going to go home," Frank sat down the can, a finite end.

"Hey good luck with your friend though," The one she was doing a not-so-great job of keeping company. He glanced to where she had gestured vaguely just before then turned to awkwardly leave. Annie wouldn't mind, anyway.

fin

I think I’m going to go home. Giovanna’s smirk disappeared. Her eyes followed his large hand as he set his beer can on the table beside them, then stayed focused on the can. She hadn’t expected him to back down so quickly -- given how their brief interaction had gone so far, he didn’t seem the type to give up so easily.

But, she supposed, if he really had come with Annie, perhaps the news that she was staying late with her boss had upset him more than he cared to let on. Oops.

Gia brought her attention back up to him, then glanced to Howie -- still busy with the guys from maintenance. “Yeah, thanks,” she said flatly. Frank turned to leave and she raised one hand half-heartedly after him before lowering it upon realising he was already out of reach. Well, there went that. The witch sighed and rolled her lips, scanning the room until her eyes fell on the punch again. She shrugged one shoulder to herself and made her way over to it.

[ end ]