Jill can't be convinced otherwise

ArtFran Shit That Is Super Long omg

"To dream about a talking horse refers to higher knowledge. Consider the significance of what the horse is saying." I went on, taking out a book on philosophy next to Fran at the library. Today was our day off from club time, since we were one of the busiest people of the entire committee. "'To dream the horse is black signifies a chance of their message coming from your subconscious.'" I flipped through the pages diligently, skimming a few words about wiseness and double-meanings. "To dream the horse is blue signifies sadness and a message from that emotion.'" I slapped the book closed, knowing the book wouldn't get me anywhere. "'You or someone is looking for help, but don't know how to go about getting it.' That is the significance of Electus being in my mind. I've read and repeated these words over a thousand times when I was younger. Thirteen, I think, ever since I started seeing Electus in my dreams."

Fran opened up another book from the shelf. Showing no interest after flipping through a couple pages, he shut it and placed it back into the shelf, listening to me speak among the silence of the library. Lately, we've been getting requests left and right of artistic people wanting to join the Cultural Arts Club, some of them even bombarding us in the halls with questions and demands of membership. It's been harder and harder as the Secretary to get this fairly passed onto the President, Fran, and it's been hard for him to deny them and tell them to go away, yet still keep a calm composure going about it. Cattivo decided he would investigate a new mission ahead of us. Somewhere in the boondocks of the main city, apparently. He said he wanted us to take a break from work and go somewhere quiet... for once. "You sure as hell ain't gettin it here," Cattivo had said. "Go to the library or some shit, I think you'll pop a glock in some kids head if you stay here any longer."

"What have you been dreaming about lately that makes you need to look in the philosophy section?" Fran spoke quietly, taking out another book and dusting off the cover. "You're usually either in the fairy tale isle or on one of the study tables giving yourself Carpal Tunnel Syndrome."

"I would rather do either of those then to sit in this damn section," I said quietly with annoyance tinging my voice, running my index finger over a row of black spines with bulking philosophy titles on it. "Electus has been telling me something that I haven't heard her say before. Plus, in my dreams I've been sinking in water, rather than sitting on regular floor. Somethings up and I want to check it out."

Fran tapped the book with his hands. I've seen him do that too many times in the last few years to know what it mean't. If it made a sound, like it was hollow, it mean't the book was empty, empty of anything he had any interest in. If it didn't make a sound, other then the sound of skin against fabric, it was deemed interesting. It made no sound. "Already found a book to read?" I questioned, stopping my index finger on a red spine and pulling it out with ease.

He smirked. "You know me too well."

"That's kinda scary, actually," I muttered, opening up the book to the table of contents. "That means I need to get out more."

"By that, you mean more alcohol," Fran stated, bending the thick cover of the book back and forth.

The lights of the library were dim. Some were busted up, some were burnt out, and some of them were dying with age. It smelled of moldy, musty book odor rather then sanitary disinfectant. The sound of people scattered throughout the large building shuffling and opening books up echoed off the opal walls clearly. The feeling of clarity filled my senses, keeping me calm and driving away my built-up stress. I bet it felt the same way for Fran. He seemed to really like it here just as much as I did. Scratch that, he always does.

The first time we met was here, at the town library. That was, of course, right after the party-crashing with Cattivo, the first time I met him. I was at one of the study tables at three in the morning, hungover and getting over a drunken headache, healing up after a scrap with a cheerleader. I was stemming a story idea at the time, and I was determined to put it down on paper. It would be seven chapters long, each worth at least five thousand words. I didn't know what it would be called, or what it would mean, but it would be about a certain girl, going to sleep on a peaceful Christmas Eve. She would be fourteen years of age.

She'd wake up the next morning, and an apocalypse would befall around her. Her parents we're zombies, ready to attack, but she killed them with her fathers shotgun in defense. That was the point I had gotten to at four in the morning, one hour after I showed up to the library, when Fran made his appearance. "That's a nice story you have there." He had said, taking a seat next to me. His flaming tattoo's were at his collarbone at the time. Before they stretched up his neck. Before they licked his jaw. Before the Cultural Arts Club entirely. "Mind if I have a look?"

"What's it to you?" I snapped, which I had covered the thick notebook with my bruised up arms. I was very private and closed off back then, coming fresh off a reservation and put out on my own. He talked to me as if I was a child. I was kind of used to it, then, actually. Fifteen, and unreformed to today's society.

"Just interested." He had said nonchalantly, not taking my attitude in offense. He sat back in his chair and looked at my eyes for a second. He then looked at my bruised arms. He looked back up at my eyes. "How about a trade. I'll show you a cool trick, and in return, you'll let me read your story there."

"It isn't finished yet," I had said, my voice sounding small.

"It's alright. Then you'll have to show me that story when you ARE finished," He explained, a warm smile playing his face. He looked so much older then me at the time, even though we're the same age. He lifted a pale hand, offered me a shake. Offered me a deal. And I shook it.

He had taken an inkwell pen out of his pocket. He pricked his finger with it. He inhaled through his teeth. Suddenly, his tattoo flared, like there was a bright fire burning underneath it. I looked back at his fingers and he had a piece of paper underneath the inkwell pen, which was filled with dark red liquid. He sighed. "Tell me if you can read it. Read it aloud, I mean."

I had nodded. He started writing. Amazingly, the bloody ink turned into flashy, burgundy letters in neat cursive writing. It spelled, "Will you be my friend?" I read them aloud slowly. And then I was greeted with Francisco's smiling face.

"I will be your friend, because you are just like me."

I slapped the book closed, the loudness of it bringing me out of my memories and my mood to reminisce. I stuffed the hard cover back into the shelf.

"What did she say that has you on edge?" Fran asked calmly, analyzing his book with critical eyes.

"It's a bit fuzzy, but I just want to find the meaning behind it," I hesitantly said. "Lets go to the computers. I just remembered a website where I can find the meanings."

Fran rolled his head up from the book to face me with an 'are you fucking kidding me' expression written across his features. I immediately knew he was a bit cranky because we were torn from our job and doesn't like wasting time. "We've just spent half an hour here and NOW you remember?!"

"Knock it off, Fran," I said passively, walking past him and towards the old computers. He followed, deliberately, except his nose went back into the book. "We're here to relax. I just happened to have some research to look up on."

I sat a computer, typing up the website I was talking about. DREAMMOODS. It was an awesome website to go back to every now and then when something odd was going on in my dreams. I typed in "Water" and up came the article. Meanwhile, Fran took a seat next to me, taking a spin in the office chair, his eyes not leaving the book while his chair spun to a stop. I read it aloud to him. "'To see calm, clear water in your dream means that you are in tune with your spirituality. It denotes serenity, peace of mind, and rejuvenation.' That's all it says. It doesn't say anything about sinking in water."

Fran looked up from his book for a second. "That's great about the spirituality part. But, what about what she said to you? It probably has something to do with that."

I clicked off the window and sat back in my chair, letting my arms hang at my sides. I sighed. "She said, 'You are sinking in your Blue Emotions into a different dimension. Your Green Emotions are fine, but your Red needs attention.' It's a messed up riddle that I need to figure out." I shrugged tightly.

Fran started to calculate. "I know that Green means intelligent emotions, like your sardonic attitude and whatnot, in a psychic sense, at least."

I gave him a stank eye at the comment before I started talking. "Blue means stuff that relate to sadness, monotones, and confusion. I guess I'm sinking into the wrong color right now."

"What do you think Red means?" He asked, rolling his chair somewhat close to mine, making me look into this bright red eyes. Those deep, red eyes that looked like you stared right into a red sunset, simply filled with good signs. 'Red at night, sailors delight.' They say. 'Red in the morning, sailors warning.' That basically explained Francisco. He IS red.

Red... red... THERE is red. I'm looking at red right now. Then, something totally unexpected and completely old ignited in my mind. It was an old fire in me from a long time ago that decided to light up in my core, making me get butterflies. I looked at Fran differently now that those old emotions resurfaced like bubbles from the pit of my stomach.

"Anger... passion..." I then blushed crimson, slapping my face, trying to cover up my evidence of what I was about to say, "... and Love."

Fran looked at me, almost as if he pitied me, the soft expression gracing his features, one of the many he doesn't express nowadays. It made my stomach drop. "Artie, I-"

"What?" I asked, my voice muffled against my hands, trying to cover up my blush.

He rolled the chair closer slowly, the sound of plastic scraping against old carpet reaching my ears abruptly. I almost rolled away to keep the distance between us, but he reached up and wrapped his hands around my thin wrists, silently asking for me to show my face. I resisted stubbornly, keeping my hands frozen in place. He pulled onto my wrists lightly, somehow moving the rest of me and my chair closer to him. I could smell his cologne suddenly. I bit my lip, trying to force down the blood rushing to my face.

"Artie, look at me," his voice asked softly. Gently. Sweetly. I blushed even more.

Deliberately, I lowered my hands, and revealing the crimson glow that burned my face. He gazed at me, searching my eyes again, and looking at my biting lip, and at my red cheeks. I could tell he was surprised. I could tell he was set back. Taken aback, almost. "I..." He spoke, not sure of what to say. "I don't know how to say this, but-"

"... but what?" I asked, hopeful that I could stop whatever he had to say if I interrupted him. Although, I did ask a question. And I know Francisco always answers questions.

He blinked several times, then he found the words. "Thank you for reminding me."

"... of what?" I asked, my voice sounding small.

"Of what red means to you," He said slowly, his hands winding up my wrist to my hands, starting to intertwine with mine. "... and of what you mean to me."

Closing the gap between us, he kissed me suddenly. He made it into a kiss that was long and soft. He was gentle, gracing my dry lips like they would break if he was too rough. My brown eyes popped wide open in surprise, feeling my first kiss ever. On the rez, if you've ever had your first kiss before sixteen, you were considered either a bad ass or a slut, thanks to society. I'm seventeen now, so I'm somewhat glad those society rules don't apply to me anymore. I could feel his smooth lips underneath my own. Butterflies were fluttering erratically around in my stomach. It felt fresh. He felt fresh. Watching his eyes close, and feeling arms wrap me into a warm hug, I started to close mine, too.

I seen Electus. Sitting cross-legged in the water, Electus began to walk around my sitting form again. I heard to clip-clop-splash once again. Electus tossed her head around, like she was finally happy with me. "Good job, Artemisa. You did it! You figured it out!" Her bouncy, happy voice rung in the empty prism that is my mind. I smiled at her, her coat turning a beautiful black once again, with a white blaze returning to her horse face, something I haven't seen in a long while.

Fran stopped to catch it breath, returning me to reality. I started to feel... happy. He placed his pale forehead onto my tanned one. "You seem happy, Artie," He stated, breathing heavily a bit before playing a grin on his face.

I looked at him silently, looking from one eye to the other, but my lips twitched into a small smile anyways. "Maybe I am."

"Indeed you are," He said, confirming it. He grinned at me before he decided to get up out of his chair, leaving the book from the philosophy section behind and instead, lifting me up, pulling me up to his lips again. He just couldn't stop smiling.

I realized I couldn't stop smiling, either. I melted when he tickled my nose with his, looking at me like I was so posh, even though I'm just short compared to him. "Um, excuse me," an elder lady voice from behind a computer, sporting a library security badge, said. "If you're going to show a public display of affection, take it outside. Some of us are here to work."

Fran and I looked at her in surprise. She looked at us, twitching her glasses toward the door. Fran looked back at me, a playful smirk gracing his face once again. "Cat shouldn't be back yet for an additional hour. How about some dinner at Jack Lee's, Artemisa?" He asked invitingly, seeming so nonchalantly formal about asking me on a date. He held onto my hands still.

I nodded, a smile still pulling at my lips persistently. "Sounds delightful, Francisco," I agreed happily.

He smiled brightly in response before turning around, holding onto the my hand still, walking towards the door. I followed him, a light feeling entering my stomach.

(WHY MUST I MAKE THIS SO LONG AND CAN'T WRITE AN ESSAY THIS SUCK)