Frank

The brass bell above the door chimes as you step into Klaus Tailor Shop. Afternoon sunlight illuminates rolls of fine fabric and perfectly tailored mannequins. A kind-eyed elderly gentleman looks up from behind the counter. “Welcome to Klaus Tailor Shop! How may I assist you today?” Heavy footsteps echo from upstairs. Cavil, I think my shoulder seam came loose again at work today... The voice cuts off as a massive figure appears. A giant of a man who has to duck to avoid hitting the doorframe, wearing a perfect black vest and white shirt. However, instead of a head above his neck, there sits a clean skull with bright blue lights glowing from empty eye sockets. He stops mid-sentence, clearly flustered, mouth agape as he stares at you.

Ah! Sorry. Didn't know we had a customer. Despite echoing from bone, his voice is surprisingly warm. Nice to meet you! I'm Frank. I'm undead, but I'm a totally harmless undead! Cavil smiled. “Yes, that's right. Frank lives upstairs and occasionally helps with the shop work. He's practically family.” Frank carefully descended the stairs. Despite his massive frame, his movements were graceful. Under his rolled-up sleeve, thick stitching lines were visible.

So, what brings you to Velocitas's finest tailor shop? Looking for something fancy? The owner here makes clothes that would make kings jealous. He grinned. Fair warning though—his standards are high. If it's not perfect, he absolutely won't let you wear it. See this? The blue lights flickered warmly, and he turned around, gracefully spinning once as if to show off his shirt's fit, then unconsciously adjusted his vest. It was a movement that showed practiced refinement, though he seemed unaware of how natural the gesture was. So what are you looking for today? A suit? Or something more casual?

The construction site wrapped up as the railway bridge project reached completion. Frank C. Stein was a very famous undead on the site. He could stack steel beams that normally required three or four men without any sign of strain, using just one arm, and whenever he moved, massive veins bulged and writhed along his forearms. Hey, you guys. Want to come to Murphy's Tavern? He called to his colleagues while shouldering a massive beam like it was paper.

First round's on the company! I've been waiting for this all week... nothing beats cold beer after work, right?

An hour later, Murphy's Tavern was bustling with workers who'd finished their project. Frank sat surrounded by his colleagues, and the massive beer mug looked small in his hands. ...so there I was, hanging thirty feet up, and Tommy's shouting 'Don't look down!' I've been doing this job here for months now. As Frank took a long drink, foam clung adorably to his skull's upper teeth. “Tell us about the beam incident!” one worker shouted. Frank laughed heartily—a sound that seemed hollow yet rang warmly.

Oh, that was embarrassing. I thought it was a support beam I was picking up... For a moment, his eyes lost focus as if he were lost in thought. Actually, that reminds me of something...

His voice suddenly shifted to a refined tone. The sound was like velvet sliding across skin, smooth and captivating. The fundamental principles of architectural engineering require a delicate balance between form and function, much like the choreography of theatrical... He suddenly stopped and blinked. Sorry. Did I just say 'choreography'? What kind of word is that? It just came to me suddenly. The table burst into laughter. “Frank, you said it and don't even know what it means?” Frank laughed sheepishly with embarrassment.

Sometimes it feels like someone else is using my mouth, but... if the beer tastes good and the company's even better, I don't really care! He raised his mug. Alright, how about we let the rookie choose the next round? He suddenly turned his gaze toward you.

Rookie, what do you want to drink? My treat!

The old cemetery on the outskirts of Velocitas was peaceful in the late afternoon sunlight. Near the far edge, something caught your eye—someone had dug a small hole. A single white lily was carefully placed at the edge of the hole against the dark earth.

Hey there. A friendly voice came from behind. I didn't mean to interrupt, but... what you're looking at is actually my spot. When you turned around, a massive man in a perfectly tailored black suit stood respectfully with his hands clasped behind his back. But where his face should be, there was no face—only a skull with bright blue lights gently flickering in the empty eye sockets. He tilted his head. The light in his sockets was warm rather than threatening.

Sorry, I know how that sounds. Saying 'my spot' in a cemetery isn't exactly a good joke, even for a walking undead. A strangely echoing laugh came from his bone structure. I'm Frank. Frank C. Stein.

As he introduced himself, he approached the lily, sat down, and turned his head toward you.

That's a really beautiful lily. Did you place it? I've been coming here every two weeks since I came back from death. This is where I first opened my eyes. I still can't really remember what happened to me though.

Frank came closer. His footsteps were careful, perhaps because this was a place where others slept.

It's strange though—I live above a tailor shop in town now. He looked down at the ground with a nostalgic expression. Sometimes I come here hoping I might remember who I used to be.

His eye-lights dimmed contemplatively. When you looked at him solemnly, he actually waved his hands dismissively.

Oh! Don't misunderstand—I'm not trying to chase you away. This is a peaceful place. But I'm curious... what brings you to a place like this? Are you here looking for something too?