DreamingFoxfire

Fate. It had to be. Weaver was a superstitious man, that was a well known and decidedly obvious fact. Things did not just... happen. So why this? Why now? He reached out a hand tentatively to touch the blackened bark before him. ---- It hadn't been that long ago he got a lead on an unusual nightmare that'd popped up near Frankie's nightmare. He was a regular visitor to her arcade and had already set up one of his (many) cork-boards there as well. It wasn't long before he got to work, interrogating the sharer until they finally left. "Do you have to scare away all of my patrons?" the owner of the nightmare mused, collecting coins from the pinball machine next to his cork-board. She had long since given up trying to stop him from setting them up. He was so engrossed in staring at the entangled strings it took him a moment to process what she had said to him, "Frankie you know what this means, right?" "I rarely know what you mean." she pulled her sunglasses down slightly