Who: Freddie Trumper & Florence Vassy What: This is an all too famil...wait, wrong guy :p Where: Lobby of the complex to start When: After their comm convo Rating: TBD Status: Completed
So she was here, cause karma was apparently as much of a bitch as Florence Vassy herself, and for some insane reason he couldn't quite put a finger on Freddie had agreed to meet her. He didn't know why, or what would come of this meeting apart for probably mostly a hell of a lot of yelling, recriminations and comments about Daddy Vassy's probable KGB leanings. But what did she expect from him. She'd left him. Him. And people just didn't get to walk out on Freddie Trumper. Oh he didn't expect much from the people around him. Just loyalty. He didn't know when it had changed, that first game, when she'd met him. Had it been adultary at first sight? Or when he'd caught them together in that Mountain Inn. It had thrown him, and he'd screwed up his game, he'd lost. Did Florence even realise what she'd cost him that day? So much of what Freddie was was caught up in the game of Chess and without being on top, without being the best, what the hell was left.
He'd tried to get her back, he'd been irrational of course, and since finding himself in Lawrence he actually thought maybe he'd found purpose. That crazy future world, the friends he'd made. The things he'd done. Oh he was no great hero, no fighter. But he played his part, people said everyone was here for a reason and maybe he was. Maybe he'd figure that out. And maybe his ex had her own role. Freddie knew he should be nice, try that whole considerate thing she'd talked about. But being around her, it brought back memories. It brought back that feeling he hated. The one where he wasn't in control of his own emotions. He ranted at the press. He generally pissed everyone off but it had always had a purpose. A gain. And it had always been him and Florence in on it. Much as she'd hated it, she'd liked the money hadn't she, the fame he'd brought her.
Who would Florence Vassy have been without him, a Hungarian raised Brit with a backstory. 1956 all the tragedy that brought with it that no one in the eighties really cared about unless it was shoved in their faces by the press. And with him and with Global behind them it had been. Oh she'd profited well from their relationship until she'd traded him in for his commie opponent.
Freddie leaned against the wall, dressed in a simple white fitted shirt and slacks. The look suited him, and no matter what she said, he looked good. And she knew he looked good. So she could say what she wanted.