Running montage of Johnny Cash

[scoutsniper]

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!

Comments

ii

[potentialed]

[ He's not wrong. Being up high enough ensures a certain advantage on whomever or whatever you're watching. As Stephen knows from his flying excursions. Sometimes he does it during the sunset or early morning if he's not yet managed to fall asleep. But considering how his own dreams and memories have been lately, he's opting for a nightly fly around the quarantine to help with... all that mess.

Usually, when someone is on the roof, they are either wanting time to themselves, training, or star-gazing. So when he spots Frank doing what he's doing, Stephen stops and watches for a while himself. This man seems an observant sort so it's amusing he never looks up himself.

Eventually, Stephen decides to announce himself, calling down: ]

I hope that's coffee you're drinking and not booze. It wouldn't be a good idea to be drunk and up this high.

\o/

[scoutsniper]

[Someone beating him at his own game? Frank whirls, gun drawn, to find the target, er, the speaker. Who is floating. With a cape.

Frank's first thought is that someone must have laced his coffee and he's having some kind of goddamn hallucination. He's not convinced enough by that theory to lower the gun, though. ]

Not sure what business that is of yours.

[potentialed]

[ 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.

[scoutsniper]

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.

[potentialed]

[ 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.

[scoutsniper]

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. ]

[potentialed]

[ 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.

[scoutsniper]

[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. ]

[potentialed]

[ 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.

[scoutsniper]

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.

[potentialed]

[ 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. ]

[scoutsniper]

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']

[potentialed]

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. ]

[scoutsniper]

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.

iv

[umbrastaff]

Selling drugs, what does it look like?

[Sorry, you ran into the world's worst elf. (Or second worst, if you count her twin brother.)

Lup is out test-driving her new body by getting hammered, and was on her way home.

Not actually selling drugs. This time.]

iii.

[krasnaya_vdova]

[She hadn't actually shown up here for the gun range. But, she'd been in the area, and she knew Bucky and Steve would be getting off patrol soon, so she'd decided to swing by. But neither of them had been back yet, so instead of leaving, she'd decided to kill some time at the gun range.

Someone like Frank might recognize that the way she moves is almost eerily quiet and clearly the result of training on how to be little more than a whisper. Oversized green military surplus jacket, duffle bag slung over her shoulder. It used to be everything she owned, but now it's mostly pared down to the weapons and the tech. She's sort of vaguely late-teens or early-twenties, and the fact that she's petite tends to make people read her as younger, but her blue eyes speak of too much tragedy to be too young.

She watches him for a little while, not focusing on him for too long at once, trying to avoid that way people tend to feel when they're being watched.]

You're not bad.

[Her voice quiet, coming after he empties the clip.]

[scoutsniper]

[He registered someone entering the range, with a cursory look. Enough to get a quick impression, take in a few details, some things that didn't quite fit a girl who seemed so young. ]

Yeah. [No heat to it. He's not bad. He'll take it.

He slaps another mag in the pistol, holding it out to her. ] .

Now you. [Maybe, maybe, a hint of challenge, to put her money where her mouth was.]

[krasnaya_vdova]

[He takes the compliment, which is a good thing, in her book. The posturing isn't immediate, anyway. And the challenge is more subtle than anything.

She walks over, lets the duffle bag land at her feet, though she makes sure her foot catches the strap. But she takes the gun, holds it for a second, feeling the weight. It's nothing against him specifically, but she just doesn't trust strangers too easy.]

Alright.

[She takes aim at the paper and pulls, silent except for the sound of the casings and the sharp but satisfying sound of the squeeze of the trigger and the gunshot that follows. The grouping is tight, all but dead center mass -- except for her first shot which she puts dead between the eyes of the paper target.

She lifts an eyebrow slightly as she hands the gun back.]

Nice gun.

[scoutsniper]

Nice grouping.

[ The words are understated, but he means it. She's good.

He takes the pistol out, swaps magazines again. ] .

You as good with long guns? [Casual conversation, gently probing for information at the same time.]

[krasnaya_vdova]

Thanks.

[It might be understated, but Ava still isn't really accustomed to compliments, so there's just a slight touch of warmth at the words.

At the question there's a tilt of her head as she looks at him for a moment. It's a more complex question than he realizes, but so are a lot of questions people ask.]

Let's say I'm not too shabby.

[She doesn't lean toward giving too much away, although she's a little less cagey than she used to be.]

How about you?

[scoutsniper]

I'm not bad. You're not too shabby. [Sounds pretty equal to him.]

Used to be a sniper. [A shrug. Hey, if we're playing 'let's understate everything' he's game.]

[potentialed]

[ 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.

[scoutsniper]

[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.]

[potentialed]

[ 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 ]

[scoutsniper]

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?