[ frank wasn't trying to get her to trust him. not even close. he listens calmly and slowly lowers himself, crouching down so they're eye-level. his heart aches for her, and more than that he wants to grind that guy's bones into paste and feed it to him through a straw after he rips out his teeth one by one. at least that image keeps him pacified for a moment, but there's still the matter of a crying girl. one who very much does not need any more pain right now. ]

Okay, it's okay. No one's taking your clothes. They're quiet, right? That's all that matters. [ and that she's safe. try as he might, some of that empathy leeches into his wide, wet gaze. ] I'm glad that sick fuck is dead.