frank castle. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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maskormenacelogs2016-08-15 04:59 pm
dnr) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-08-15 04:59 pm
It's almost dark by the time the lock turns on Maurtia Falls #008. The light has that low, shrouded feeling that always seems to creep in all at once, a sudden shift from day to night. Frank had taken his time acclimating to the city, walking half to get the lay of the land and half just to let what was happening sink in. Interdimensional abduction. Super powers. The Cold War. A dog he hadn't seen for a month, but wasn't unhappy to see again.
Said dog, a grey and white pit bull all froth-mouthed from the heat, bounds in first through the door, tongue lolling and tail thumping against the furniture as he circles the living room despite the tug on his leash.
"Come on," Frank says, his voice low and his feet moving for the kitchen, even as his eyes are still circling the room for signs of habitation. Group housing, the guys on base had said. "Gotta be a bowl around here somewhere."
Said dog, a grey and white pit bull all froth-mouthed from the heat, bounds in first through the door, tongue lolling and tail thumping against the furniture as he circles the living room despite the tug on his leash.
"Come on," Frank says, his voice low and his feet moving for the kitchen, even as his eyes are still circling the room for signs of habitation. Group housing, the guys on base had said. "Gotta be a bowl around here somewhere."
Frank isn't sure he'll be staying in government housing long. But he isn't sure he won't, either. When he'd woken up yesterday morning he'd had a mission, a calling spelled out for him in the clearest, most brutal terms he could imagine, and even on days he wasn't sure God or fate or any of that bullshit even existed, he had the skills and the means to do one thing. Today, he's got no resources save a dog and an apartment in a city that isn't his, that didn't ask for the Punisher, that put him to work in a coffee shop instead of on the streets.
If being transplanted across multiple universes isn't some kind of sign, he's not sure what is. But what kind, he doesn't know.
It's as much habit as any kind of necessity, then, that his first priority is getting a good look at the place he's landed in. He lets the dog roam out back first while he walks the perimeter of the yard, taking the occasional casual look overtop the fence into his neighbor's, learning the exits, gauging the sight lines from the windows.
Later, Frank takes the dog out for a walk, rope leash in hand, with frequent stops for the latter to get in a good sniff and the former to size up his neighbors' properties. And the neighbors themselves.
If being transplanted across multiple universes isn't some kind of sign, he's not sure what is. But what kind, he doesn't know.
It's as much habit as any kind of necessity, then, that his first priority is getting a good look at the place he's landed in. He lets the dog roam out back first while he walks the perimeter of the yard, taking the occasional casual look overtop the fence into his neighbor's, learning the exits, gauging the sight lines from the windows.
Later, Frank takes the dog out for a walk, rope leash in hand, with frequent stops for the latter to get in a good sniff and the former to size up his neighbors' properties. And the neighbors themselves.
Edited 2016-08-16 05:57 (UTC)
Better Latte Than Never may be the kind of coffee shop to use a cutesy pun for a name, but this is still Maurtia Falls, and Frank had been at least begrudgingly relieved to find it isn't exactly hipster central. There are no matching green aprons and black polos here, no strawberry cream frappuccinos, no double shot Oprah Teavana dirty chai with soy. The usual barrage of espresso drinks are still on the menu, sure, but this is the place you come for a cup of coffee you could stand a spoon up in and a breakfast sandwich that'll hold you over 'til lunch. A diner-style countertop surrounds the coffee bar, the tables are formica, the chairs aren't exactly cushy, and the staff isn't especially tolerant of customers who forget to treat them like humans.
Still, most of the baristas are friendlier than Frank. Frank isn't a How can I help you? sort of guy; he isn't a smiler or a people pleaser, he's a silent, judgmental starer, and after the extended flat look he'd given one customer's order of an extra hot cappuccino with no foam, his coworker had helpfully offered to take over the register for a while. Maybe indefinitely.
During the morning rush, he's the guy in the back making your coffee who looks more like a bouncer than a barista, and consequently he doesn't get many complaints. In the afternoons, though, as traffic starts to wane and the tables start to clear save for well-entrenched internet users, Frank can be found wiping down tables, collecting dishes, cleaning steam wands—
And watching. A little too sharply for the average barista, maybe.
Still, most of the baristas are friendlier than Frank. Frank isn't a How can I help you? sort of guy; he isn't a smiler or a people pleaser, he's a silent, judgmental starer, and after the extended flat look he'd given one customer's order of an extra hot cappuccino with no foam, his coworker had helpfully offered to take over the register for a while. Maybe indefinitely.
During the morning rush, he's the guy in the back making your coffee who looks more like a bouncer than a barista, and consequently he doesn't get many complaints. In the afternoons, though, as traffic starts to wane and the tables start to clear save for well-entrenched internet users, Frank can be found wiping down tables, collecting dishes, cleaning steam wands—
And watching. A little too sharply for the average barista, maybe.
At some point, a cat appears in the coffee shop. That's the thing about cats, really - you don't usually see them wander in, or walk around; generally, they're just sort of there, present, looking at you uncannily. And this one looks at him uncannily, a sleek, gray little thing that's taken up residence on one of the chairs and watches Frank intently right back as he wipes down the tables. She's utterly motionless aside from the occasional twitch of the very tip of her tail.
It's pretty much closing time by the time Tina wanders in, but it's still breakfast time in her book. It's what happens when your sleep schedule consists of 'nap when tired, be awake when not.' Exploring this big new world where she didn't already have a personal fortress was new and different, but was getting boring. Each town the same. People, no one openly shooting at each other, plants that staunchly refused to try to murder her.
How did people even live like this?
But she's used to people's shocked reactions to her totally normal outfit (complete with blood splattered mask worn like an over sized bow in her hair) it enough now that she doesn't even glance over and check for a potential attacker when one of the booth dwellers gasps at her entrance.
She throws herself onto a bar stool at the counter top, tucking her knees in so she can spin a few full rotations before locking eyes with Frank.
"Yo."
How did people even live like this?
But she's used to people's shocked reactions to her totally normal outfit (complete with blood splattered mask worn like an over sized bow in her hair) it enough now that she doesn't even glance over and check for a potential attacker when one of the booth dwellers gasps at her entrance.
She throws herself onto a bar stool at the counter top, tucking her knees in so she can spin a few full rotations before locking eyes with Frank.
"Yo."
Being in Maurtia Falls was always an exercise in suffering, actually.
Tony Stark vastly preferred the sharp cheer of De Chima, the experimental coffee shops that used innovative and new ways to brew their wares. Chemistry, art, and science combined into one package that a genius like Stark could well and truly appreciate. It was different, in Maurtia Falls, and not just because the man in a $5000 suit would sweep into the store and attract every eye.
No, it was borderline hostile.
It was also eerie when the name he gave for the cup, always a very full of himself -- "Tony Stark" would get the rush of interest and attention. Why was he here, what was he doing? -- Business deals with contractors, of course, but smaller companies never had their own coffee fix, and so he always offered to buy the coffee for the meeting.
Which was likely how Frank was forced into making every variation of the monstrosities that would include ristretto shots, no foam, no milk, half-soy, and everything in between.
Oh, and one Red-Eye, for the man himself. Who actually stared back, if he caught Frank looking.
Tony Stark vastly preferred the sharp cheer of De Chima, the experimental coffee shops that used innovative and new ways to brew their wares. Chemistry, art, and science combined into one package that a genius like Stark could well and truly appreciate. It was different, in Maurtia Falls, and not just because the man in a $5000 suit would sweep into the store and attract every eye.
No, it was borderline hostile.
It was also eerie when the name he gave for the cup, always a very full of himself -- "Tony Stark" would get the rush of interest and attention. Why was he here, what was he doing? -- Business deals with contractors, of course, but smaller companies never had their own coffee fix, and so he always offered to buy the coffee for the meeting.
Which was likely how Frank was forced into making every variation of the monstrosities that would include ristretto shots, no foam, no milk, half-soy, and everything in between.
Oh, and one Red-Eye, for the man himself. Who actually stared back, if he caught Frank looking.
Coffee was Daisy's one constant in life. She'd like to say she wasn't addicted to it, but, that would be a lie.
Ever since Lincoln's come back, Daisy's found it easier to get out and socialize. She was still struggling of course, but, it was a lot more manageable now.
Looking up from her laptop as she sets her coffee down, Daisy stared openly at the man wiping down a table in front of her. She knew him. Where did she know him?
...Oh shit.
"Frank Castle?"
She had caught his trial on TV back home.
Ever since Lincoln's come back, Daisy's found it easier to get out and socialize. She was still struggling of course, but, it was a lot more manageable now.
Looking up from her laptop as she sets her coffee down, Daisy stared openly at the man wiping down a table in front of her. She knew him. Where did she know him?
...Oh shit.
"Frank Castle?"
She had caught his trial on TV back home.
Frank isn't really a cat person. You do right by a dog, it'll do right by you, too. A cat, on the other hand, might just as well decide to bite you anyway. This one, with her uncanny stare and her barely twitching tail, looks to him like exactly that sort of cat.
They're still animals, though, and that means firstly that he's inclined to be kind to it all the same, and secondly that he's pretty sure this is some kind of health code violation in the making. So he leaves his rag on the counter and steps, remarkably quietly for such a big man, over toward her table, trying not to startle her. He's not looking forward to chasing her around the cafe. "Hey," he murmurs a low greeting and offers out one coffee-smelling hand at a fair sniffing distance. He's not sure cats are real big on coffee, but there's not much he can do to avoid it here. "Pretty sure you're not supposed to be in here, little miss."
They're still animals, though, and that means firstly that he's inclined to be kind to it all the same, and secondly that he's pretty sure this is some kind of health code violation in the making. So he leaves his rag on the counter and steps, remarkably quietly for such a big man, over toward her table, trying not to startle her. He's not looking forward to chasing her around the cafe. "Hey," he murmurs a low greeting and offers out one coffee-smelling hand at a fair sniffing distance. He's not sure cats are real big on coffee, but there's not much he can do to avoid it here. "Pretty sure you're not supposed to be in here, little miss."
Kitty decides, at once, that he likes this guy. Maybe it's the cat in her instinctively recognizing someone who's not a cat person - because you really can recognize them, and your cat instincts do just make you want to go and bother them. Maybe it's the fact that, in spite of not being a cat person, he's still gentle in his movements and his manner. Or maybe it's just that he smells nice. Coffee is such a lovely smell.
So she twitches a single ear, and lifts her enormous luminous eyes to his face - not moving a single muscle otherwise. A moment of silence, and then she speaks, her voice light and warm and girlish.
"Would it help if I bought a drink?"
So she twitches a single ear, and lifts her enormous luminous eyes to his face - not moving a single muscle otherwise. A moment of silence, and then she speaks, her voice light and warm and girlish.
"Would it help if I bought a drink?"
Whenever M winds up working in one of the porter cities, he always tries someplace new. Today's selection is Better Latte Than Ever, after something about the place caught his eye. Having ordered just a large plain black coffee (yes the most boring, basic order ever), he sits down at the counter, dumping a large duffel bag at his feet. Though wearing the normal t-shirt and jeans, he's also wearing a large leather jacket over the getup, unusual for the weather. Also unusual is the odd speck of red dotting along the lower half of said jacket. It's not his fault scumbags have a tendency to bleed everywhere.
After taking another sip of his coffee, M leans in towards Frank, smirking. "Am I particularly interesting to you, or do you bore holes into all your customer's heads?"
After taking another sip of his coffee, M leans in towards Frank, smirking. "Am I particularly interesting to you, or do you bore holes into all your customer's heads?"
Of all the goddamn coffee shops in all the world, is the thought hammering through Frank's head when he sees Tony Stark scrolled on the side of the side of a coffee cup. He spares a sharp glance to confirm it, and to note that Stark is staring right back. Which, for the record, makes it pretty difficult to concentrate on making the litany of sugary over-caffeinated bullshit that composes the man's order.
Stark looks different in person, but people say that about everybody famous, don't they? Frank has never met the man, just seen pictures of him on magazine covers and tabloids, a couple clips on TV years back, and he can't say his memory is especially sharp. He knows who Tony Stark is, though, and how likely it is that Iron Man of all people might have turned on the news for the first criminal trial of a so-called vigilante.
A guilty man might just bolt. Hell, anyone more committed to self-preservation might at least excuse themselves to the back room for a minute. Frank just makes the guy's coffee. Not perfectly, granted, but with enough intermittent-but-steady eye contact and attitude that any mistakes come off more like challenges than opportunities for correction.
"I got something on my face?" he says finally as he slides the to-go tray over with one hand. If he's about to get outed as convicted felon here, he'd just as soon get it over with.
Stark looks different in person, but people say that about everybody famous, don't they? Frank has never met the man, just seen pictures of him on magazine covers and tabloids, a couple clips on TV years back, and he can't say his memory is especially sharp. He knows who Tony Stark is, though, and how likely it is that Iron Man of all people might have turned on the news for the first criminal trial of a so-called vigilante.
A guilty man might just bolt. Hell, anyone more committed to self-preservation might at least excuse themselves to the back room for a minute. Frank just makes the guy's coffee. Not perfectly, granted, but with enough intermittent-but-steady eye contact and attitude that any mistakes come off more like challenges than opportunities for correction.
"I got something on my face?" he says finally as he slides the to-go tray over with one hand. If he's about to get outed as convicted felon here, he'd just as soon get it over with.
Frank doesn't react all at once, but in a short succession of stages. His eyes flick to follow her spin around the chair, then take in her outfit, then land on the mask. His back straightens.
He doesn't ask if it's real. He knows what dried blood looks like. And that she looks awfully young to be wearing so much of it.
"Whose is that?" is what he settles on instead, with a nod to the mask. The blood, he means.
He doesn't ask if it's real. He knows what dried blood looks like. And that she looks awfully young to be wearing so much of it.
"Whose is that?" is what he settles on instead, with a nod to the mask. The blood, he means.
After his run in with Stark the other day, Frank is putting a little more effort into differentiating between the generic is that an imPort? stare and something more. Hers therefore catches his attention, but only in a vague, wary sort of way at first; he doesn't recognize her, so maybe it's nothing.
Until she says his name. That's not nothing. The corner of his mouth twists in vague consternation, and he spares a sharp glance up at her.
"If I'm supposed to know you, I don't," he answers, short.
Until she says his name. That's not nothing. The corner of his mouth twists in vague consternation, and he spares a sharp glance up at her.
"If I'm supposed to know you, I don't," he answers, short.
Maybe acknowledging that she knew him wasn't the best idea...
"Oh, no. You wouldn't." No one else was nearby, but she still talked just loud enough for him to hear.
"I saw your trial on TV."
"Oh, no. You wouldn't." No one else was nearby, but she still talked just loud enough for him to hear.
"I saw your trial on TV."
There's a difference between just watching somebody and watching to let somebody know he's watching them. What he's doing today is a little more the former than the latter, but given that odd fleck of red on the other man's jacket, maybe he shouldn't be too surprised to be noticed, or called out. Something about his gaze shifts, subtly appraising, but he doesn't pause in his work.
"Little warm for a jacket," he answers with a nod to it. Casual, like maybe he doesn't mean anything much by it. It just caught his attention. He's just the meathead cleaning the espresso machine here, after all.
"Little warm for a jacket," he answers with a nod to it. Casual, like maybe he doesn't mean anything much by it. It just caught his attention. He's just the meathead cleaning the espresso machine here, after all.
To say that he jumps at the sound of her voice would be kind of a misnomer; blocks of granite don't exactly jump, and neither does Frank — but the muscle mass of him does get a little more solid somehow, all of a sudden. A little paler, too.
For a second he just stares at her, evenly. Then his chin swings to his right, casting a cautious glance over the few other scattered customers. And back to her. Is he the only one hearing the talking cat?
For a second he just stares at her, evenly. Then his chin swings to his right, casting a cautious glance over the few other scattered customers. And back to her. Is he the only one hearing the talking cat?
On TV. So she's gotta be from the same— whatever it is, universe. He guesses that's as likely to happen as Tony Stark walking into the coffee shop, which is to say, apparently not as astronomically unlikely as he thought, and pretty inconvenient for him keeping a low profile to boot. His mouth flattens.
"Yeah," he answers at a low rumble, breaking eye contact and shifting his weight. "And?"
It's not a dismissive syllable, even though it would be easy to make it one. There's a touch more sincerity in the question, something low and raw that doesn't just come from the fact he's trying to keep his voice down. She saw his trial. Fine. What did she think?
"Yeah," he answers at a low rumble, breaking eye contact and shifting his weight. "And?"
It's not a dismissive syllable, even though it would be easy to make it one. There's a touch more sincerity in the question, something low and raw that doesn't just come from the fact he's trying to keep his voice down. She saw his trial. Fine. What did she think?
"It's all right," she responds easily. It's not exactly a challenge to read his body language. And she leans down, and uses her back paw to scratch at her chin as she continues speaking - "You're not mad. I'm an imPort like you. This is my power." (Which is, overall, an intensely unhelpful description, since she doesn't make it clear that this refers to shapeshifting, not simply talking.)
"What's your name? I know you're new around here."
"What's your name? I know you're new around here."
"Mine?"
Her hands instinctively go up to the mask. Not touching, just hovering around it. Ready to break out some slap-kwondo if the big, very tired looking (kinda looks like Brick) man makes a grab for it. The bloods been there and on so much of her stuff for so long that she barely thinks about it these days.
"No worries, playa. The psycho's dead and burned, not like he needed it so much now. Or, uh, is needin' anything much these days. Question answered, the coffee free now?"
Maurita Falls, for all of its faults, is at least honest. De Chima is filled with nerds and fangirls, Heropa is the perfect Southern stereotype of insulting compliments and Nonah is Nonah. Of course, Maurita Falls being what it is, he does not go into the city unarmed - he carries a knife in a holster, discreetly hidden by his shirt - but not so discreet enough that a sharp-eyed person might tell what it is.
That said, he doesn't always go to Maurita Falls - most people he knows lives in the other three cities. When he does, it's usually for his job as the spokesman for the Heropa Animal Shelter and the go between other shelters, since it's not that uncommon for southern shelters to send animals to the northern ones.
After work was concluded, Carl decided to take an early dinner and went to the closest place he knows would have a good cheap meal. The door bell jingles, Carl takes off his sheriff's hat and with the one eye was wasn't mangled and covered by the eyepatch, he sees a familiar face.
Shane. Another dead person from Carl's world. Working in a coffee shop. How long has he been here? Does he know that Carl, Daryl, and Andrea are here? Shane's arrival conflicts Carl, judging how his heart tightens at the sight of older man. He helped him and Mom when they thought Dad was dead. But then he tried to kill Dad, later on when he start to loose his mind. And Carl put him down for good, when he came back as a walker. It's uncanny, to see Shane again, walking and working, like a normal person.
Carl stands still, trying to figure out how to work this out. He doesn't want to talk to Shane while he's still working - that's just something you just don't do, especially when you are still trying to figure out how to live in this insane world and come to terms with the fact that you are dead. It's bad enough with Andrea, but at least she wasn't killed by a member of her own group twice over. He only remembers his place when an grizzled old man nearly stomped over Carl, snapping "Move out of the way!" before making his order. Several heads turn (and one teenager snapped a picture with his phone when he realized Carl is an imPort) and already Carl is the center of attention. He ducks his head and waits in line behind the old man, who gives Carl the stink eye.
That said, he doesn't always go to Maurita Falls - most people he knows lives in the other three cities. When he does, it's usually for his job as the spokesman for the Heropa Animal Shelter and the go between other shelters, since it's not that uncommon for southern shelters to send animals to the northern ones.
After work was concluded, Carl decided to take an early dinner and went to the closest place he knows would have a good cheap meal. The door bell jingles, Carl takes off his sheriff's hat and with the one eye was wasn't mangled and covered by the eyepatch, he sees a familiar face.
Shane. Another dead person from Carl's world. Working in a coffee shop. How long has he been here? Does he know that Carl, Daryl, and Andrea are here? Shane's arrival conflicts Carl, judging how his heart tightens at the sight of older man. He helped him and Mom when they thought Dad was dead. But then he tried to kill Dad, later on when he start to loose his mind. And Carl put him down for good, when he came back as a walker. It's uncanny, to see Shane again, walking and working, like a normal person.
Carl stands still, trying to figure out how to work this out. He doesn't want to talk to Shane while he's still working - that's just something you just don't do, especially when you are still trying to figure out how to live in this insane world and come to terms with the fact that you are dead. It's bad enough with Andrea, but at least she wasn't killed by a member of her own group twice over. He only remembers his place when an grizzled old man nearly stomped over Carl, snapping "Move out of the way!" before making his order. Several heads turn (and one teenager snapped a picture with his phone when he realized Carl is an imPort) and already Carl is the center of attention. He ducks his head and waits in line behind the old man, who gives Carl the stink eye.
At the comment about his coat he looks down, feigning surprise that he's even wearing it. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders he looks back up at the nosy barrista.
"Iron deficiency. I'm always cold." M's smirk never wavers. After all, he's well aware of what a bullshit answer that is, but it strikes him as the most amusing. It's never any fun to give away the game so quickly.
"I'm not the only mystery here today. After all, you don't strike me as the barrista type."
"Iron deficiency. I'm always cold." M's smirk never wavers. After all, he's well aware of what a bullshit answer that is, but it strikes him as the most amusing. It's never any fun to give away the game so quickly.
"I'm not the only mystery here today. After all, you don't strike me as the barrista type."
"And it was pretty intense." She hadn't watched all of it as it was happening but it was talked about around work. Daisy looked into it on her own time too, once she found out Matt Murdock was one of his lawyers. Matt was at the orphanage she was in as a kid.
Daisy picked her coffee up again, eyes not leaving him.
"Pretty sure you're supposed to be dead, too."
Daisy picked her coffee up again, eyes not leaving him.
"Pretty sure you're supposed to be dead, too."
Her explanation is simultaneously reassuring and not (did the dog get superpowers too?), but though he narrows his eyes at her a little, he relaxes marginally, too.
"Frank," he answers, and the second glance he spares the rest of the tables now is just to check if they're gathering attention. In Maurtia Falls, at least there aren't too many imPort fans, but negative attention is still attention he'd like to avoid. "You do this often?"
What this is, he's not sure he grasps well enough to be more specific, but still.
"Frank," he answers, and the second glance he spares the rest of the tables now is just to check if they're gathering attention. In Maurtia Falls, at least there aren't too many imPort fans, but negative attention is still attention he'd like to avoid. "You do this often?"
What this is, he's not sure he grasps well enough to be more specific, but still.
"I'm Kitty. No jokes, please," she says, quite amiable in her tone. And then she continues, cheerily enough, "And yes, I do. It's amazing what you can see when you're a cat."
She pauses to lick her paw to wash her face, the picture of casual feline relaxation. Before she does, though, she looks up at him and says, mildly, "Of course, I suppose you can see a lot as a barista, too. Did you spot anyone interesting?"
And then, cheerfully enough, she continues on.
She pauses to lick her paw to wash her face, the picture of casual feline relaxation. Before she does, though, she looks up at him and says, mildly, "Of course, I suppose you can see a lot as a barista, too. Did you spot anyone interesting?"
And then, cheerfully enough, she continues on.
The apartments in Maurtia Falls weren't much to look at, but they had provided Bela with a place to live for the past sixteen months. Her plans to move to somewhere else had been put on hold until she had enough money to make it happen.
She's home a lot later than usual, the keys to the house already in her hand as she walks up the path to the door. A noise behind her causes Bela to turn around to see what it was, catching sight of Frank and his dog. Good thing her cat hadn't decided to go outside, it wouldn't bode well for the poor animal.
He wasn't someone that Bela recognised, but that didn't mean he lived in this particular neighbourhood. She observes his behaviour for a minute or two, finding some of it slightly suspicious.
"Nice evening for a walk, isn't it?"
Small talk. That's how Bela was going to play it.
She's home a lot later than usual, the keys to the house already in her hand as she walks up the path to the door. A noise behind her causes Bela to turn around to see what it was, catching sight of Frank and his dog. Good thing her cat hadn't decided to go outside, it wouldn't bode well for the poor animal.
He wasn't someone that Bela recognised, but that didn't mean he lived in this particular neighbourhood. She observes his behaviour for a minute or two, finding some of it slightly suspicious.
"Nice evening for a walk, isn't it?"
Small talk. That's how Bela was going to play it.
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