riverviewlogs | Running montage of Johnny Cash

Entry tags:

Running montage of Johnny Cash

who: Frank Castle and YOU!
what: Getting to know the lay of the land here, and probably getting into trouble
when: October 15-20
where: Various points in the city
warnings: Pre-emptive warning for Frank's alpha male bullshit.

i MEMORY SHARE

[It's fast, but dark, a long hallway with off-green lighting, and it hurts to move--each step with the left foot sends a squishing stab of pain, knuckles already bruised and raw, but still aiming at bodies, running up.

A gun in the hand, aiming to kill, and then another flare of pain, the gun knocked out, hand against the wall, and then anger. Because they deserve it. For what they did to you, for what they did to your city. They hurt you, but that doesn't matter, you can hurt them back, and you can never hurt them enough.]

ii On the roof of the main housing building
[No one ever looks up. He learned that years ago, in the Marines. No one ever looks up. If you're above eye level, you're basically goddam invisible.

He wants to be invisible, right now, till he learns this place. It wasn't the first time he'd been dropped in the middle of foreign, hostile territory. He knew what to do--stay quiet, stay high, learn the place, day and night.

He's patient. He has a thermos of coffee, pouring himself a cup when he needs it, mostly just watching, moving from corner to corner to cover the whole view.]

iiiPerimeter Guard
[At least they gave him a job. Something he could do. He wasn't sure about working with a team--not again. Not after finding how deep Schoonover had gotten his hooks into the other Marines, men who, at one time, had been good men.

But it has a range, and that, at least, is something almost comforting, something he's good at. He'll start with the pistols, sending rounds down range with a speed that shows he's either really that damn good, or he 's working through some serious anger issues. Or both. Probably both.]

iv The Streets
[He does get to ground level from time to time, roaming the dark alleys at night. Because that's where bad people go, and that's who he hunts. So if he sees anyone, especially anyone looking shady, he'll confront them. ]

The hell are you doing here?

v Wildcard me!

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[ He holds his hands up in a placating manner to show he isn't armed but can already feel his fingers humming from the magical energy he's pushing into them. Just in case he has to conjure up a shield. He doesn't know this guy so it's better safe than sorry. Continues to float even as his cape lowers him to just above the rooftop. ]

I'm a doctor. People's safety is always my business.

You're a doctor. [Some 'yeah, right' in the tone. Doctors don't float around over buildings.

He lowers the gun. It's not away, but it's lowered, below the guy's floating feet. ]

I don't need anyone worrying about me.

[ He hears the tone and shrugs, conceding. ]

And a sorcerer.

[ Adding, waving his hands, ]

It's a long story.

[ But he sets himself down on the roof finally, scoffing at Frank's statement, ]

Then we have a difference of opinion on that.

Oh, yeah, of course. [Doctor and sorcerer. Jesus. Some people get all the fucking breaks. ]

You don't get to decide that. [He is teflon for other people's worry. ]

[ It definitely wasn't without his own set of sacrifices. Plus, he's stuck here with a bunch of other people, despite his powers. ]

Really? You're going to argue with me about this? Look, you're up here on the roof, by yourself. With a gun. I think I have cause to be concerned at least a little.

[Damn right he's going to argue about this. ]

I'm not going to shoot anyone, for fuck's sake. This [He hefts the pistol.] doesn't have accuracy at that range.

[He might be a doctor sorcerer whatever, but clearly, he knows shit about firearms. ]

[ Stephen rolls his eyes because Frank is one of those guys. Time for the good doctor to prove just how wrong someone is (an old habit that will probably never die lbr). ]

No shit, Sherlock. If you had a sniper rifle up here with you, we wouldn't be having this conversation.

[ He makes a gun with one of his hands and points it to his person, ]

I've had to treat enough close-range gunshot wounds to know the difference.

Edited 2017-10-15 17:09 (UTC)

No, we wouldn't. [There, they agree on something. Of course, Frank's thought is this guy would probably have the sense enough to stay away. But it's a start.]

So. Nothing for you to waste your 'worry' on.

[ How wrong Frank is in that assumption. Stephen is that frustrating combination of genius and stubborn dumbass rolled into one. ]

That really bothers you, doesn't it.

[ He can't help the amusement that slips into his voice at that, brow creasing, ]

Why does it bother you?

[ Curiosity mode: engaged. ]

Edited 2017-10-15 17:23 (UTC)

Why does it--? [Are Frank's goddam ears working? Is this guy actually making these words?] Why the fuck you care?

[He holds his arms out to his sides. ] See? Not injured. No need for a damn doctor. [Much less a 'sorcerer doctor']

Curious.

[ Said easily enough because it's true. That's all it really takes for him to gain an interest. It's always been that way for him. ]

Fine, then you can have a friend to talk to.

[ Is he serious? Most likely. He tosses the word "friend" around pretty liberally but he's rarely minded having company. ]

I'm no here to satisfy anyone's 'curiosity'.

[The signs, he'd think, would be obvious. The roof. The gun. The pleasant personality.]

Why the hell do you think we're 'friends'? I thought doctors were supposed to be smart or some shit.

[ He brings a hand to rub down his face because it suddenly hits him: it's like talking to Jessica if she had a dick and more testosterone. Jesus. He has to actually try really hard not to laugh at the revelation. He's not doing a very good job of it. ]

I'm sorry. Pardon me if I have offended thee with my usage of "friend". Clearly, friendship is not magic.

[Just so this guy knows, Frank's sarcasm-ometer is pretty well goddam calibrated.]

You'd apparently know, Dr Sorceror.

Just trying to figure out why you think I need someone to talk to. [Up here. On the roof. ALONE.]

[ Oh, he's becoming very well aware. ]

Dr. Strange, actually. Stephen Strange.

[ He gives a nod and doesn't offer his hand because he doesn't really offer it to anyone. Still a tender subject. He unattaches his cloak and lets it float where it wants to. He shrugs, walking over to the edge to look over. ]

Why not? It's like the song goes "everybody needs somebody".

[ He will resist the urge to name who and what date it came out. #oldhabits ]

Dr Strange. Sounds like a bad Vegas act.[Jesus, man. Look into some branding or something. Hi, I'm Dr Strange and I'm going to doctor the crap out of you. With a cape. ]

What, exactly, you think I need to talk about? You some kind of shrink?

[ He snorts. He's heard that kind of comment before back before he made his name more than a joke. ]

No. Just a Neurosurgeon from New York.

[ He looks back out at the view of the quarantine. ]

Though I wouldn't mind knowing why you're up here. Is this how you people watch?

[ Since they ruled out the other possibilities. ]

Right. You and your curiosity.

[Which he already isn't in love with. But if he wants this guy to go away, giving him what he wants might be the best option. ]

How you learn how a place works: sit up high. Watch it unfold. Learn the rules, the movements.

[ Sorry, Frank. It's just how he is (and how he's always been). He devours knowledge like food. With time, you will see.

He makes a face at that, however, turning back to Frank. ]

That sounds so... boring. You'll only learn about your environment if you interact with it. Observation will only get you so far.

Yeah, thanks, Confucius.

[Or whatever sage guru name of your choice.]

You walk across a field, first thing you do is make sure there are no goddam landmines. Because that's a real shitty way of 'interacting with your environment.'

[ He rolls his eyes again, ]

Yeah, and just watching the dirt will make it reveal its secrets to you.

Look, this isn't a war zone. You don't have to treat it like that.

You never watched dirt for long enough.

[He's just being contrary, there.]

Besides, people aren't dirt.

And jury's still out on what this place is. [And what weirdos like you are, while we're at it.]

[ Frank, you lil shit. His expression says as much before he's sighing tiredly, ]

No, jury is in and this place is safe.

[ He points out beyond the perimeter, ]

It's what's out there that you have to worry about.

Juries are shit anyway. [So fuck that metaphor. Frank hadn't had use for an actual jury in his own trial, anyway.]

Oh, thank god. For a moment there, I thought you were gonna give me some crap about how it's what's in my heart or some shit that's the problem.

[ He almost laughs. Good job throwing out your own metaphor, buddy. ]

Hey, the night is young. There's still time for me to do that.

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scoutsniper - 2017-10-28 02:17 (UTC) - Expand

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