ok sure i'll talk about farleigh start. i'll talk about his tragedy of never being enough as it were and then having to deal with fucking oliver. sure. disclaimer: it's about class (and race) and the horrible reality of the rich. the horrible reality of living as farleigh.
another disclaimer: i'm white! and poc definitely pick up on everything i'm talking about here as it is, and better. i was and am specifically interested in farleigh vs. oliver but it's impossible to examine without considering race. definitely let me know if anything abt this sucks!
farleigh and oliver are similar. it's annoying because every intruder that is not himself is annoying, partly because felix's attention swaying from farleigh is dangerous; there is always a threat of being discarded, even if no precedent existed. the potential is terrifying.
but you'd think he's seen this before, every summer (if venetia is telling the truth) or at least often enough to learn to recognize it fast, so he should know this will pass. part of it is i think still the deep anxiety, and i think he hated every boy that was there before, and it is sort of routine.
but definitely a huge factor in farleigh's annoyance is the fact that he's a biracial (black for cattons, that's all they see) man in a white rich household. he's alert and exhausted all the time. of course he's angry at oliver, regardless of whether he's the first to crash at saltburn for the summer or the fifty-first.
but the important thing is this.
farleigh is very jealous of and angry and pissed at oliver because farleigh sees all the similarities between them. outsider, in financial trouble, whatever it is, in need of cattons; and yet oliver is preferred. and farleigh seems to be the only one to really consider it. felix does not pick up on the hint when farleigh brings up the birthday party vs. his mother. felix's clumsy "different or... anything like that" is as much about race as it is about class, of course. the "we've done all that we can" bit is felix absolving himself of guilt because surely they had, surely the mysterious collective cattons that he's not really part of had tried all they could do. to him, farleigh is different from oliver, because farleigh has been helped. felix is rich and white and twofold uncomfortable with farleigh, even if he's nice about it, even if he genuinely enjoys his company; he doesn't look too close at farleigh because he feels too guilty to come too close. and farleigh can't do anything about it. he can't nice himself into it. the fucking tragedy of him is that he's never enough in the world of the ultra-rich white, even if (especially because!) he's born into it.
farleigh is very pissed at oliver because farleigh also sees all the differences between them. you know who can be nice poor white enough to fit in? fucking oliver. felix says "just be yourself, they'll love you" when oliver first moves in. farleigh was also probably told the same thing, and felix also probably believed that farleigh could just be himself, but even if the cattons were magically not racist at all (impossible), it wouldn't make a difference to farleigh. he would still self-censor, keep in check, be in dangerous waters (because racism is not just about the individual, but about the system). we see that he'd won himself leeway by years of trial and error by the way he speaks to the family, but it's still within the boundaries of acceptable, built by the cattons. he's part of them because they allow it, and farleigh is very, very aware.
the annoying thing is oliver can be himself. like, truly, genuinely, he can just be. and farleigh can't help but envy that.
as a side note, oliver is obviously jealous of farleigh in the beginning as well, because regardless of the reality of farleigh's situation, he was born into it, and hence, at least in oliver's mind, has his position solidified. oliver's whole thing is unquenchable thirst and hunger for whatever and everything the cattons have (including themselves!). he wishes to have been a catton from birth. to oliver, at first, there's nothing farleigh can really do to lose it. and until he figures out the cattons completely, he can't help but envy that.
but i think farleigh senses something different about oliver early on. at least on the level of the text, we have "you're almost passing [for] a real, human boy", which is so important because farleigh is the first to point out oliver's weirdness. the next to do so is venetia in the bath scene calling him a freak, but it's too late. farleigh is too early.
and i like to think he clocks oliver too early because he sees the jagged edges that he recognizes in himself. i think that one other thing that farleigh envies is oliver's freedom to let go. freedom to let go is very similar to freedom to be, but not quite the same.
to be is about perception: farleigh knows he cannot fall out of line, but would like to, and oliver does not have to worry about it at all (i mean, he does, because oliver also performs for felix, but farleigh doesn't know that).
to let go is about the self: farleigh is too scared to even want what oliver eventually does, to even consider the possibility. oliver can let himself want. oliver can let himself act. oliver just can do things and want things. i'm not sure farleigh can.
and so in this scene, when oliver's wants and actions have landed him nowhere with farleigh, felix, venetia, the cattons, of course farleigh gloats. he can let himself do that, because if the cattons are slowly discarding him, farleigh can allow himself this one small victory. he's relieved because despite the dangerous similarities, oliver is, thankfully, not really the same as farleigh, right?
but like. this movie is a love letter to all things gothic. oliver is a white man. he prevails. the brief performance that oliver put on did eventually end up more effective than farleigh's lifetime of constraint. my heart fucking breaks for him to be honest.
the issue that remains is the fact of farleigh's survival. i like to think that oliver came to respect him. oliver is smart, but farleigh is clever. he picks up on everything oliver does (to refer back to the karaoke scene, farleigh immediately retaliates in the cleverest way, in the moment), and he's the only one to do so consistently (venetia, again, for example, comes close, but too late; oliver doesn't like that, there's nothing to work with). hence, stay with me for a little longer, the paradox: farleigh survives because he was never enough for the cattons, but he is very worthy of oliver's attention. in his own freaky way, oliver wants him. look at that.
so. farleigh. farleigh might come back. he always comes back. and i think oliver wants to try harder next time.
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ayyy im back with another Unedited human au snippet <3 it's almost entirely dialogue oopsies <3
~
Eddie slows in putting his coat on - Barnaby isn’t sticking around to chat with fellow staff like usual. He’s in a rush, scrambling to grab his jacket and hurrying from behind the bar. He dashes through the door, looking like a man on a mission.
The door Mr. Frankly had just vanished through.
Could he be…? No, Barnaby seems like a good man. But he had seemed a little pushy with Mr. Frankly, from what Eddie could tell.
It couldn’t hurt to make sure.
Eddie frowns deeply as he goes outside, wincing slightly at the first burst of cold air after hours spent in a warm building. He’s just in time to see Barnaby jog up behind Frankly and close his car door before he can get in. Barnaby immediately leans against the door with his arms crossed, pinning it shut and blocking Frankly from the driver’s seat.
Eddie’s stomach plummets. Before he knows it, he’s speed-walking across the parking lot towards them, a fire burning in his chest and his hands curled into fists.
Frankly says something loud enough that Eddie can almost hear, his voice echoing in the empty lot. As Eddie watches, Barnaby pokes Frankly’s chest, making him stagger back a step.
“Hey!” Eddie barks.
Both of them jump and whip around - Barnaby’s eyebrows shoot into his hair, while Frankly’s lowers into a flat line.
“Eddie?” Barnaby says.
At the same time, Frankly says, “Mr. Dear?”
The two of them look at each other in surprise. Eddie pays the exchange no mind. He stops by Frankly, trying to slightly angle himself in front of him without making it too obvious.
“Is everything all right here?” he asks, looking Barnaby up and down. He really hopes this won’t come to blows - Eddie can throw a punch well enough, but Barnaby is an imposing figure. Eddie already knows he’d likely lose, but as long as he can buy Frankly a couple extra seconds…
“No, actually, everything is not fine,” Frankly says in a ticked-off - and strangely scolding - tone.
Barnaby, not breaking eye-contact with Frankly, counters with, “Everything’s peachy, Ed.”
“You sure about that?” Eddie asks, trying to keep his tone amicable.
“Scout’s honor.”
“Please,” Frankly scoffs, “you were never a boy scout. And that’s not the point - I am trying to get home!”
“You are trying to die in the most avoidable way possible.”
Eddie shoots Frankly a concerned look. “You’re what?”
“I am perfectly sober,” Frankly says.
Barnaby raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Your face is flushed.”
“It is not!”
Eddie winces. “It, uh, it is. A little.”
“It’s none of your business,” Frankly seethes.
“Listen,” Barnaby sighs. He leans heavier against the car and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t wanna be the one 'ta call Julie and deliver the news that her beloved Frankie went and got himself killed at the taco bell intersection.”
Frankly makes a high and derisive noise. “Excuse you, I have class. I’d die outside of Howdy’s.”
“Please, he’d turn your memorial into part of the gift shop. I can already see the signs - ‘dead friend sale, five percent off!’”
“I’m worth at least thirty percent.”
Eddie clears his throat and gestures between the two of them. “You two… know each other?”
“Unfortunately,” Frankly mutters.
Barnaby grins. “Aw, you’re just saying that. It’s okay - I know ya love me, Frankie. You don’t have to say it.”
“I do not.”
“I have evidence that proves otherwise.”
Frankly rolls his eyes. “You’re unbearable.”
“And yet…”
Eddie heaves a sigh - of relief or exhaustion, he’s not sure - and drags a hand over his face. “Alright. Good, I - good to know.”
“What, did’ja think I was attacking him?” After a moment of prolonged, awkward silence, Barnaby’s teasing smile drops. “Oh. You did.”
“Barnaby? Attack me?” Frankly snorts. “Give him some credit - he’s smarter than he looks.”
“Yeah, I’d have better chances taking on a pack’a hyenas!” Barnaby lets out a hearty cackle. “At least then we’d all get a laugh out of it!”
“So I misjudged the situation pretty terribly,” Eddie says, inching to the side to give Frankly his personal space back. “My apologies.”
“Don’t sweat it, Ed. I know Frank may look like a bundle of sticks, but he’s petrified wood all the way through! Pure stone, you know.” Barnaby grins and leans towards Eddie. He whispers conspiratorially, “‘Cept when it comes to holdin’ his liquor. Then he’s a total lightweight.”
“Barnaby,” Frankly hisses.
“Practically paper!”
“That’s enough, thank you!” Frankly makes an attempt at shoving Barnaby away from the car door, but Barnaby widens his stance. It’s like watching someone try to move a tree.
“See, this is how I know he shouldn’t be driving,” Barnaby says conversationally to Eddie. “If he were sober, I’d be the one drunk - punch-drunk, that is.”
Eddie isn’t sure whether or not he should laugh - was that a joke? Barnaby seems fond of them, but… surely Frankly isn’t a violent person. Frankly lets out a growl of frustration and clumsily tries to bodyslam Barnaby. Eddie inches back a step.
“Alright Frankie, you had your fun.” Barnaby scruffs Frankly like a misbehaving cat and holds him at arm's length. He holds out a hand. “C’mon. Keys.”
“Never.”
“Have it your way. I’ll go ahead and call Poppy, tell her that you’ve forgotten the many dangers of-”
“Oh, fine,” Frankly spits. He yanks his keys out of his pocket and slaps them into Barnaby’s waiting hand.
Barnaby flicks the keys as Frankly stalks to the passenger side door and yanks it open. “Choose a place for dinner, we’ll swing by and pick it up - my treat.”
“Obviously your treat,” Frankly grumbles. “As if I’d-”
The slam of his door cuts off whatever he says next, though Eddie can see him still talking in the car. His phone screen illuminates his irritated expression as he - presumably - looks up places for takeout.
“Well, I’m glad you were here to stop him from doin’ somethin’ everyone would regret,” Eddie says. “Mr. Frankly-”
“Mr. Frankly?” Barnaby snorts. “You’re not one of his students, are ya?”
“I’m just bein’ polite. He set the tone by referrin’ to me by Mr. Dear, so I’m tryin’ to respect that line in the sand.”
Barnaby shakes his head, grinning. “Just call him Frank. He puts up a big show of bein' a grouch, but he’s really a big softie. Though don’t - don’t try to pick a fight with him. Ever. You’ll lose.”
“Wasn’t plannin' on it.” Eddie makes a mental note to keep calling him Mr. Frankly, just to be on the safe side. It’s not like they’re friends, anyway. More like… acquaintances. Occasional Run-Into-Each-Other strangers.
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