2020-03-14 - Uber Eats


While on a job, Frank drops in on Betty.

Log Info:

Storyteller: {$storyteller}
Date: March 14th, 2020
Location: Betty's Place, Brooklyn, NYC

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Betty had moved to a nicer neighborhood. Higher security. Better class of people. Less gunshots in the night, less dealers on the corner. Of course, that's only the surface. Frank Castle knew better than most that some of the worst things happened behind designer curtains. That some of the nastiest criminals lived in nice complexes and walked their dogs and paid their fees and smiled at you in the elevator.

A lot of nice people weren't really that nice.

Tonight, Frank had visited one of them. He came in under the guise of food delivery, bundles of Chinese from the guy's favorite restaurant. The security guard barely looked up. Hat pulled down, the guy at least came to the door. He ordered Ubereats five times a week. Routine. It alwasy got them.

When the door open, Frank raised the pistol quickly and fired three silenced shots, two through the mark's head and one through his chest. He moved in quickly, shoving the still-shuddering body out of the way. Alone. No witnesses. Easiest it could be. He set down the food, except for a couple of boxes that he shoved into his jacket, then waved to the guard on the way out.

Three minutes, in and out. Done and done.

Which is why he has Chinese to offer when he shows up at Betty's doorstep. "I had extra," he says when she lets him in. Which is true enough.

As always with how Betty keeps her initial security, the knocking of anyone at her door is met with silence, a pause, and then the unlatching of multiple locks. Frank helped her put them in originally - no here, but at her place in Queens and then Hell's Kitchen. Here? Looks like she did that herself. Hand-canon resting down by her side, grip relaxed, she peeks out to see Castle and his offering of Chinese. "Frank?" She whispers, the tone in her voice one of honest surprise.

Pulling the door open, she allows him in before closing up shop and setting all the locks back into place. A step away, she sets the gun, his old gun, on the kitchen counter. A step back, she pulls the man into a tight, almost protective hug.

The new home is very spacious, modestly decorated, and there's a hint of a masculine side to some things. Perhaps she wasn't living alone anymore. For now, though, she seems to be the only one home.

Frank Castle returns the hug, a bit awkwardly, but that's just the way he is. Easy enough for her to feel the body armor under his sweatshirt. He didn't look a ton like himself, between the baseball cap and the jacket more suited for a guy half his age. He was clearly not looking to be recognized.

"Hey there, BB," he says, slipping properly inside. He does his due diligence, a quick scope out the windows, eyes flicking to the other doors. Not likely anybody's waiting to ambush him - coming here was an impulse, not a plan. But he never underestimates. And he never assumes.

"Looks like life's been treatin' you pretty good. 'bout time. You deserve it, better'n most."

"Fuck you and hug me proper, Castle. I know you know how." She teases before giving a small squeeze and pulling away. "You're not hurt or anything, are you? I've had the first aid kit stocked up just incase you came calling again." A motion to the kitchen, she shows him where to set his food down.

She was…different now, in a few ways. There was a brightness to her and runed beads woven through braids in her hair. By a side wall was a wooden buckler and sword, and on a stand was a set of armor, finely forged with craftmanship that would make some shed a tear. On it were runes as well, inset and crimson in hue.

"I suppose so. It's still life, though. Still rough in more than a few ways but…just is, y'know?" Then she blinks. "Oh! I still keep a bag for you, though, whenever you need it. You're free to stay here, as always. Can I get you a drink?" A glance over his attire, she smiles softly. "Working tonight were you?"

Frank Castle noted the sword immediately. He respected the craftsmanship even if he wasn't sure about the vintage. Blacksmithery was cool, but he'd keep relying on his 9mms all the same.

He gives a fuller hug, kissing her on the top of the head in an almost paternal fashion. "Ain't my fault I ain't a hugger," he says. "But shakin' yer hand ain't exactly natural either, so I guess I gotta do it." He raises an eyebrow about the bag and can't help but grin a little, "Oh yeah? I'll keep that in mind if I'm in a tight spot around here. Nah, I ain't hurt. Not more'n usual anyway."

When she notes he was working, he just shook his head, "Not anymore. I'm off the clock now."

Betty blinks softly, a hint of confusion showing in her warm eyes. "Well, yeah, Frank. It's been that way since Queens. You know that." A hand out, she gently touches the side of his face and makes sure to look him square in the eyes. Searching. "You been shaken around a bit? Forgetting some things?" Very possible in his line of work. A caress to his cheek, she finally pulls away and goes to get them utensils. That food wasn't getting any hotter.

"Well, still have some painkillers here, too. If you need me to stitch you up or clean some wounds, we can do that, too." A beat. "You just passing throught tonight?"

Frank Castle grins, "I don't think I've had too many concussions since last I saw ya, but you never know," he says. "I remember things well enough. You're pretty hard to forget anyways," he says.

He helps to set out the food, showing an expertise with chopsticks as he sits back and takes a bite, "I guess that's partly up to you. I ain't in no rush, but I also just showed up without any warnin'. Hospitality ain't never guaranteed, especially for a bum like me that sometimes brings trouble along," he says. "No pressure. I got my subway card. Well. Not mine, exactly."

"Well, it should be. Besides I was always a fan of showing hospitality. I let you into my home, so it's yours, too, as long as you wish it to be." She offers gently. Sticks in hand, she starts to eat, claiming a seat at the kitchen counter. Her attire is simple and homley - socks, shorts, and a baggy shirt. Nothing special. There's the smell of coffee in the air, somewhat fresh. A mug of it sits over on a coffee table along with bundles of paper work and a laptop just now switching over into sleep mode.

"Hey, you helped teach me how to take care of myself. I'm use to trouble by now, and better equipped for it."

Frank Castle nods, "I know. I see you've been adding a few surprises to your arsenal, too," he says, nodding toward the sword and armor. "Expecting dragons?"

He eats efficiently and neatly, his sticks gripping clumps of noodles and swallowing them rapidly. He's shed the jacket at least, still in the oversized sweatshirt and black pants. He's used to operating heavily armed, even in relaxed circumstances. Getting him to get rid of his guns usually takes a bit of convincing.

And not something she asks him to do lightly, if ever. His comfort was his own. "Maybe." She answers. "Had to run from the last dragon I saw. It's still…soul shaking, honestly. I never felt fear like that before in all my life." Her tone is serious. "No, I got it made for me when I had to do a mission for my God. Had to visit an underworld and there's all types of things down there. Warriors usually. I guess all warrior clans have their own versions of the afterlife, right?"

Frank Castle blinks, "I was joking about the dragons. That sounds pretty intense. I dunno much about Warrior clans or their afterlifes. I've always been a Catholic. Not a good one, mind you, but still. I'd hear some of the guys get into that Valhalla shit now and again. Mostly country boys who don't know dick just wantin' to drink beer and grow beards and play with axes. But it if makes 'em feel better, why not?"

He finishes his food, setting the carton aside. "Sounds to me like what you gots a lot more real than anything they brought up. I don't think I ever seen a dragon myself. I don't know what I'd do. Shoot it, I guess. Probably wouldn't do much good."

"You remember, I'm a shitty Catholic, too. Or was. I'm not sure if mom would be happy with my converstion or not but, here I am." She shrugs, keeping to her food and listening. She giggles, and nods. "It's hard not to believe when things are in front of you, though. I'll admit, I didn't really believe some guy calling himself Thor was actually, y'know, Thor. But things…happened. I feel in with a crowd when shit was south for me. With mom and all that. And the mob. I have a new God now, new way of thinking and it's…true. Never had something actually happy because of my prayers before."

Another giggle, light and melodic, she bites her bottom lip. "When I ran into that dragon, well ran /from/, I didn't have armor or weapons at the time. I had my gun, the one you gave me. I asked if bullets would hurt a dragon. So, yeah, I had that thought process, too."

Frank Castle raises an eyebrow, but isn't judging. He's a judgmental bastard, no doubt, but not about things like that. He's harsh enough about stuff that actually matters, he knows the difference between that and things that are none of his damn business.

"I was almost a priest. Thought long and hard about it. Talked by my priest when I was eighteen and everything. He was concerned I didn't quite have a solid grasp on the concept of divine forgiveness," he says. "So I joined the Marines instead."

"I figure a dragon, you gotta aim for the eyes. Wherever it ain't armored," he says, musing idly on the tactics.

"I know, you told me. You are sometimes an open book when you pillow talk, Frankie." She teases once more, but all in kindness and love. "I think you show forgiveness where it's due and dish out judgement where needed. You know I support you." Beat. "Shit, reminds me, I should revisit that support column I wanted to do about you. If that's still allowed." Digging in, eating more of her food, she watches after Castle attentively. "Mmm, I thought that, too. The eyes. Apparently in everything I've ever ready, there's also some soft spot on a dragon. I'm not sure if that's just stories or what, though. I was /not/ going to test that theory on the fucking World Dragon. I did well enough to run on cut up feet and in a damn sundress over the roots of Yggdrasil."

Frank Castle nods, "I ain't in charge of you. You're allowed to do what you want," he says. "Just know speaking out for me puts a target on you. And I know you're not afraid and I know you can take care of yourself. Still. Lotsa people want me dead or hurt and they won't think twice about taking you out to make a point."

"Yeah, I think I'll stick to mobsters and drug dealers. Dragons are a little outta my league. But it's kinda cool to know somebody who's fought one."

"Well, that happened when I spoke out for Batman already. It's ok, honestly." She murmurs, reaching up and touching the now faint scar across her throat. "Psychos always want to try and take pieces of people. They don't expect you to fight back, though." A shrug, she finishes off her meal and sets the box aside. Slipping off her seat, she gathers up their trash and goes to toss it in a bin.

"Hey, I didn't fight one. I ran away. But, I saw one? Does that count? Am I still a cool kid in your book?"

Frank Castle grins, "You're always a cool kid in my books, B. Always." he says.

"Yeah, Batman. Tough guy, from what I hear. Maybe a little soft, but ain't they all compared to me?"

He scoots over a bit to let her join him on the sofa. "They always expect me to fight back. They've learned over the years. I've killed enough of their friends they ought to know better. But something about those kind of guys, they always think they're better than me. I prove otherwise."

"Anyway. You do what you do. I've got your back if you need it, just like you got mine."

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