frankie + ivy.
Frankie had a thing. A habit, if you will, a slight weakness. And sure, everyone had one, even if it was painfully well hidden (she still hadn't figured out what Nicola's really was, but she knew all the diversion weaknesses), but Frankie's was not hidden.
No, hers was blatant and decidedly obvious whenever she got involved with a redhead. It was a problem.
Whatever it was -weakness, obsession, a built-in attempt to almost kill herself every time,- Frankie was drawn to dangerous, seductive, secretive redheads. And yes, she wasn't picky in that sense; she didn't have a type so to speak, she'd enjoy anyone's company for a time. But it was like a magnetic draw anytime a redhead who could kill her or just get her into international shit are nearby, Frankie was gone.
Meeting Pamela, Ivy, meeting Ivy at the greenhouse, hearing about efforts to sustain and save certain cultures of plant life, it was a little eye-opening sure. And it definitely started entirely as just 'she's pretty and offered tea', but grew the more she listened because there was something about Ivy that gave off the vibe, the alert, the allure. That warning to tread carefully, because this woman could, and likely would, kill you. Most people backed slowly away from that; Frankie jumped in with glee.
So whatever this love God was playing at; poetry, karma, wanting to watch a car crash in motion, Frankie really didn't care. Because she got another evening with Ivy, with alcohol and flirting and frankly, she was going to woo the shit out of this woman.
"At least there's no glitter, right?" She'd read, somewhere, that it took years for that to break down, if it ever did at all. Passing a drink over, leaning on the bar, Frankie took in the entire club, already gauging exits and threats, but putting it on the back burner for now, "And the view is really something." It was corny, yes, but as she sipped from her own glass, her eyes didn't leave Ivy for that exact reason.