Summary:Frank has a visitor. Log Info:Storyteller: N/A |
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Frank Castle has been through a lot the last few days, though nothing he isn't used to.
The news would showcase it. An entire gang meeting was filled with lead, and the Punisher is suspected to have struck again. The bodies were mangled and killed brutally, albeit effectively. Once the police arrived, it seemed to be a heroin operation.
Frank was back in the warehouse, loading one of his shotguns. He was wearing a tanktop and some black pants, combat boots. He had some bullet holes in his arm that he hadn't tended to, it was like the pain didn't even bother him.
Not to mention, it looked like Frank was focused. Did he have another hit tonight?
Betty Brant had her own troubles, a run about and dealing with the pit-falls of life. Something had dragged her out of bed, and given her wanderings she found herself here. Sighing, she swallows, closing her eyes and considering her actions. Twitching, she reaches out and gives the door a soft knock. This time, at least, she was alone.
As soon as Frank heard that knock on the door, he drew a handgun from…somewhere. Frank has all the guns everywhere, alright? and he approaches the door. He barely opens it to see who it is, gun ready to shoot down anyone he didn't recognize as a friend, then he saw Betty. "What are you doing here, Betty?"
Frank opens the door wider so she could come in if she wants, or if she just wants to see him. Yes, he looked a little bit up, but still every bit of Frank Castle that he is.
"Frank." She greets gently, her face paler than normal. She looks tired, some bag under her eyes and without a touch of makeup on her features. With the door open, she slips in, her gaze settling on those wounds he had yet to tend to. "Christ, Frank…let me help you with those?" She asks, forgetting he had asked her a question to begin with. Blinking, she flits from wounds to face and back again. "To see you. Update you." A pause, a frown and heavy show of concern on her features. "Doesn't that hurt?"
Frank looks at Betty as she seems to slip in and settle on his wounds. "No, I'm fine." then she seems to tell him that she has news for him, to which Frank just sighs. It wasn't safe for her to be here, but he just nods. "alright, fine. Of course it hurts. Just learn to deal with it." Frank being a hardass as usual, but he finally takes a seat, and lets Betty at least try to fix him up. "What update you got, Betty?"
"You know you can't be the good guy if you're dead, right?" She asks him gently, following after and not seeming to give two thoughts about where she was and who she was with. Peeling off her jacket and setting her purse aside, she clicks around to find whatever she was looking for. A sink, water, First-Aid kit. Joining his side, she pauses just long enough to pull back her golden-bronze hair. A wash of alcohol later, she studying his arm. "I'm shit at this," she warns in advance, but what she does know is to look for an exit wound.
"Gaxton and his lot are gone. Most dead, the rest scattered out. I…wanted to be the one to finish him off, but Deadpool didn't let me." There's a heavy weight of regret within her voice. "Mom died." She then admits. "Sometime during all that mess, her machines were damaged and…she couldn't make it."
"Your not worse than Russo." He remembers when Billy once tried to do simple first aid on him and YIKES that was horrible. Frank remembers the incident fondly. But who's Russo? Frank doesn't say. But he does look at Betty as she talks. He hears about her mother and he seems to sigh, like he saw it coming. Somehow, these shitheads always do something, always use weight that doesn't exist. But, he gives a light nod. "I'm sorry about your mom, Betty." He says, but then when she tells him Gaxton and his goons are gone? Frank seems to nod. "Good riddance. Leaves you safe from trickery, but…wasn't worth a life. I'm sorry about your mom." he apologizes again. But, everybody dies, at some point.
"Russo?" She asks gently, only now starting to clean across his wounds. "Sorry," she murmurs, knowing what she was using was going to sting. A lot. Relentlessly. Soon enough, at least, all the red and brown was clearing away to show bruised flesh. "Y'know, I'm doing a story about a guy named Russo. Heads Anvil and does a great amount of work with Vets," pause, "If you're interested, I could get you some information?"
Then back about her mom. Biting her lower lip, she nods and focuses on his wound. "Yeah, me, too. She's, ah…feeling a bit lost now. I'm angry I didn't get the last shot, either." Sighing, she continues, "And I'm all…twisted up in helping Gods and…fuck." She keeps cleaning and finally starts patching him up, then she feels it. "Frank, I think one's still in there…"
Frank seems to wince lightly, but he doesn't seem to make any kind of vocal acknowledgement of pain. High tolerance indeed. "Billy Russo?" He asks for clarification, but then it seems that She's helping gods. "Beg pardon?" then she tells him a bullet is still in his arm. Unsurprising, considering the 'hitch' he feels in that same spot.
"Great." Frank fumbles about for a moment before he pulls out some tweezers. He seems to be getting ready to take it out himself. No alcohol to help him or anything. Yikes.
Marine mentality, at its finest.
"Yeah, Billy Russo. Very passionate man. I'm going to have an interview with him about all of his work throughout the city." Gods. "Yeah…I got curious about a story I had shoved in a drawer of mine. Then people brought up magic and what not, I found it curious and ended up getting tangled up with Norse, Japanese, and Greek Gods…" Her fingers rest around his arm, eyes gazing forward at nothing in particular. "I, life's difficult for humans, Frank. We're so…tiny after all."
Frank!" She reaches out for the tweezers herself and then pulls away, shuffling out before offering him something to drink for the pain. "I'll…I'll do it. Just tell me how I'm going, ok?" More disinfectant abound, she reaches around and pulls his skin tight, trying to open the entry point. Metal up, she pushes in.
Interesting. He doesn't ask anymore about Billy, because Frank can't get his best friend mixed up in all of this. But he does give a small little smile. "Interesting. Sounds like I'm just going to need bigger bullets." Frank doesn't look worried at all. He's pulled off some interesting shit in the past.
But then Betty panics and steals his tweezers, and Frank gives her one of - those - looks. "Betty, you don't have to…whatever, fine." Frank shakes his head, and just stares ahead. If she's going to know where he operates, she might as well know how to fix him up. "I'll walk you through it." then she pushes in and Frank's expression screams F-bombs galore.
"Deeper than that. Don't be afraid of digging in."
"You do well enough hurting yourself. I don't want to be one of those reasons." Betty mutters even as she does as he says. Keeping him steady, solid, she even tries to coo a tender, maternal 'shh' at his arm twitching on its own. "Easy," she hums, moving the tweezers around until it seems to press against something hard. She moves and twists gently - there it was again. "I think…I think I found it."
Opening the tweezers now she pushes deeper, just enough, to pinch down and clamp around. Eyes toward Frank's face, she offers him a whimper of apology before pulling out. Slow, slow, she keeps hold of that hard hunk of slug. "Almost, shit…almost…" Then his flesh and meat ripple around its dragging edges before the pressure is off, the block free. Staring at the bullet, she shudders out and drops it, replacing the spot with a heavy padding of bandages. "I did it…Oh God, I did it…Frank, Frank, don't panic. It's ok."
Frank seems to wince and growl as she now pulls out the bullet, dropping it onto the floor where it lands with a light 'tink'. At talk of panic, Frank just eyes Betty for a long moment. "You think this is the first time I've been shot? I never panic." Frank states simply and with authority, before he does hold the bandage to his shoulder. Because OW.
"You didn't do a bad job, Betty."
Of course Frank wasn't panicing. Betty, though…her pulse was up and heartrate drumming. He holds to the bandage and she digs for more cleaners and ways of closing up the whole. "Ok, Ok..got this." She promises before gently edging his fingers away and dipping in the tape like sutures. Pulling tight, she smoothes them against his skin and sighs. "There…all, all good." More bandages, she starts patching with a bit more ease.
Frank looks at Betty as he sees her try and manage herself, though he can tell she's shaken. He lifts up his hand to cup her cheek. "Betty. Are you alright?"
Betty Brant freezes up at the touch. In truth, it wasn't something she expected of Frank Castle. Tape down, his wounds now secure, she glances his way and lowers back to her knees. Tired, now a bit stained with red and smelling of alcohol and copper, she tightens her jaw and nods. "No." She answers, though. "I'll get there, though. I, ah…I don't dig out bullets daily, y'know?" Swallowing, she clears her throat. "Anyway, you. Are you ok? I didn't hurt you too much, did I?"
Frank lowers his hand from her cheek when he has her attention. He doesn't seem to mind when she tells him her issues. "Its fine, you didn't hurt me badly. I'm still conscious." Frnak shrugs. "Though if I need someone tortured, I'll just let you take out the bullet." it was Frank's grim attempt at humor, to let the world know he's still human. "Was it your first time?"
Betty Brant catches that, and actually smiles. She scoffs and laughs. "If I was a bitch, I'd slap you right…here." She points to his wounds, giving the one she just closed up a flick. Moving to stand and gather up the used supplies, she sniffles and nods. "Yeah. I mean, of course. I didn't do anything with guns until I met you." It doesn't sound like something she regrets either. "I guess if you're going to pop my shooting cherry, I should learn how to dig the suckers out, right?" Swallowing, she tries another fatigued smile. "Besides, I support you and I offered to help however I can."
Frank seems to chuckle lightly. "Well, that would be a bad move, lady." Frank teases her about the teasing his wounds bit, before he stands up to his feet, looking at Betty in the eyes. the words 'pop the shooting cherry' does seem to raise a brow with him. He does give a nod. "Well, your one of the few people who know I'm not the devil or something. So….I appreciate that."
"Of course you're not a devil. You're human. You…You do good, Frank. You do what can't be done by other methods, even if it should be." Swallowing, she tosses the rubish out where he advises her to, and then turns off to clean off her hands and forearms. "You helped me, Frank. You took time out of your day to help me. That should be offered back to you 10-fold. No one, no one said 'sorry' enough for what happened to you or men like you. No one says 'sorry' enough for all the shit that happens to people we can't control." Head up, she looks his way, padding her hands and arms dry. "I'm sorry, Frank."
Frank seems to give a small nod, not used to being told sorry for anything thats happened to him or people like him. "Yeah well, thanks. Just doin' what anybody else would've." Frank shakes his head. "Don't have to apologize. You pulled a bullet out of me. Guess you could call us even." Frank attempts to lighten the situation.
"Even," she agrees with a soft breath passing her lips. "Well, alright." Gathering up her things, she slips on her coat. "Hey, um, I don't think I want to be even. Even means we don't have to run into each other again. I'd rather keep someone like you in my life, Frank." Smiling softly, she brushes his forearm, squeezing. "I want to write about you, too. Positively. I won't, until you're ok about it, but…keep it in mind." Pressing up, she passes a kiss against his cheek. "Call me if you need anything. Please."