Summary:A drink and hitting on Hod. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The Sunday evening crowd is caught between surges, the early dinner and a drink people have left, and the late comers, not that there are a lot of those on a Sunday, havn't made their way in yet. So there's plenty of places to sit, but it's also not empty. People chat and background music plays, something new from some local kid Luke gave a shot. It's a bit to electronic for Hod's taste, but he does approve of the jazzy beats inter mingled.
The cook leans behind the bar, a glass of wine in one hand, a bottle in the other, and an apron stained in all manner of food stuffs draped over his form. He drinks from the glazz almost lazily, 'staring' off into nothing. "Yo! Can I get some more Shitty Nachos?" someone calls out, and Hod just snorts, "Soon as the server gets back fella. My ass isn't walking shit from one table to another." Because of course he's not. The bar is one thing, tables? Pfft. That's for sighted people. And plebs.
Frank Castle slept in almost all day today, after a late night that only made page three since the bodycount was relatively low. Scumbags today do seem to run a bit faster. Frank kind of blames those fancy new sneakers. No wonder they cost a hundred bucks a pair.
He has a homestitched cut over his left eye, bled like a stuck pig the night before. He's wearing a plain black tee, khakis and boots. He's got at least three weapons on him, but they'd be hard to spot without training, but even unarmed, he's obviously a hard man. He takes a seat at the bar and gives a knock, "Beer at your leisure. Ain't no rush."
Thea's never been one to follow dictates of the day of the week. Though she had been to brunch that morning with her grandparents, because Sunday brunch is just a good thing, especially with giant mimosas.
She'd spent her afternoon studying a possible target she's been offered a contract for, searching the internet, reaching out to contacts - and hours slipped away. So it's not going to be an early dinner, but socializing with people that don't expect perfect manners is something she looks forward to.
And so it is, she's swinging on into Luke's, in heeled boots, snug dark jeans, and a pale blue v-neck tee. Strawberry blonde hair is loose in curls over her shoulders, makeup light and natural. There's a smile as she sees who is behind the bar, and even widening when she sees who is sitting at it. "Hey, Hod. Bourbon when you can, please." She will move to slip up onto a stool next to Frank. "Well hello, Mets."
A beer mug is plucked up from the shelf and filled from the tap before being set more or less in front of Frank. More or less being the opperative words. Hod smirks a bit beneath his shades as he hears a familiar voice and starts the whole process over again, this time with something stronger and sans the tap. "Baseball." he says suddenly, "Another thing I'll never understand." the bourbon slides into place next to the beer. "Mets. That /is/ baseball, correct?"
Frank Castle takes a sip of the beer first, "Hey there, Thea," he says. "Baseball, yeah. Mostly just my taste in hats. Sometimes you can't shake a first impression," he says.
"Been doing okay? I been a bit busy lately. Exterminators got a lotta ground to cover," he says. "And there's never a short supply of vermin."
"Baseball's mostly just an excuse to eat a hot dog and sit in the sun and yell for a bit. The gameplay ain't that important."
"Hey yourself." Thea says with a smile. She'll pick up her bourbon for a swallow. "How is, Hod?" She'll ask the blind bartender. She'll setting in a bit, chuckling. "
"I just like to tease him, Hod. And baseball is only fun for the overpriced beer and food, and an excuse to yell and scream at some overpaid players."
She will glance at Frank from under lashes, a frown at him. "Can I have an order of burger and fries, Hod? And whatever this one wants."
She leans in, after a sharp look at the stitches. "Why didn't you call me?" She asks, a hand out to touch his leg. "I could have fixed it. I'd have to cut those stitches out first, now."
Hod shrugs at the question, "Abject suffering and self loathing is only fun for about three weeks then you have to get over it and return to where the booze is. So-" he waves a hand around him as if in explination for his recent return from his absence. "It occurs to me that if people just ate hotdogs in their yards and yelled at anothing then there would be no over paid players and things would just be more affordable." he pauses, "Or not. I never understood sports. Or color schemes."
He sets his wine on the bar and nods, "I can do food, /that/ I understand." he heads back towards teh doors into the kitchen, fingertips lightly tracing the edges of the things around him as he goes.
Frank Castle shrugs, "I don't think about it that hard. Baseball been around since before me, gonna be around after I die. Somebody's always overpaid. There are worse things in the world. Lots worse," he says. He knows all about abject suffering, of course.
To Thea, he manages a half-smirk, "I know you could. But you ain't my on-call nurse, babe. Sometime's a man just needs to bleed. It ain't nothin' serious."
"Yeah, but you yell at nothing while drinking warm beer, people will just think you're crazy and get you locked away." Thea responds, voice warm with amusement. She watches Hod go, used to seeing him navigate his own way.
She will scowl at Frank. "No shit I'm not. If I'm busy, I wouldn't answer the phone. You don't /need/ to bleed, when I'm not …working." She sounds aggravated. "Serious enough. Head wounds bleed like a bitch, and I stitch neater than you do." But her hand will lift to just rest on his arm, and give it a light squeeze.
Hod snorts at that, "Being drunk and yelling at this no one can see while in public is like, my thing." he says before disappearing through the double doors into the back. Then come the loud banging and clanging sounds from the back, and what sounds a bit like a sea shanty being sun with some very um… vivid imagery. It's hard to hear details over the music in the bar. Thank the gods.
Frank Castle grins, "I like your company, more'n just about anybody, but I managed to stay alive for a long time up to now. I know when I'm in danger and this was not danger," he says. He doesn't know Hod well enough to keep talking too openly about his personal adventures.
"People like tribal shit. People to cheer for. Heroes. Of course, now they got the Avengers and shit, so I suppose baseball ain't as important as it used to be."
There's a faint flush at Frank's statement, her hand falling away to curl around her glass. "It's not a matter of danger." She murmurs, giving Frank a long look. Clearly she's planning on bringing this up again later.
"Well, there have been games since ancient Greece and all. We like having things to cheer for, I suppose. Avengers, baseball, sports in general."
Frank Castle nods, "Public killing of criminals. I always was a sports guy," he says. "People used to take their kids to see hangings. Fucked up."
He can tell she disagrees with him, but he's not afraid of a little conflict. People are allowed to have differences of opinion, even people that like each other a lot.
"Can I get you a burger or a steak or something? Maybe a blooming onion."
Thea points towards the kitchen. "I already ordered my burger and fries. If you want one, I told him to put it on my bill." there's a hint of a smile. "That your version of bringing me chocolates, or something?"
Hod returns after awhile balancing two plates and what appears to be the lid to a metal trash can, the kind that Oscar lives in. He. Walks. Very. Slowly. To the bar, and once there sets the first plate down, then the second, then lets out a held breath when the metal 'platter' clangs onto the bartop. "Two burgers, medium, all the fixings, fresh cut seasoned fries, and an order of Shitty Nachos." The trash can lid carries a small mountain of nachos. But not like regular nachos. These nachos are magical. Not literally. Maybe? Hod won't say. But! They are loaded up in such a way that every individual chip has toppings, as if they were all loaded one by one before being roasted in an oven or something. This is not just another pile of toppings resting on a bed of chips. Oh no. This is more. And it weighs about 3 lbs. Without the lid platter.
Hod pushes the plates across the bar as a trio, kinda in the direction of the pair, "Blooming onion my ass." he says, crossing his arms over his chest. Apparently he heard that?
Thea laughs at Hod scoffing at blooming onion, smiling. She reaches out and tugs a plate closer, so she can pick up that burger and start eating. There's a sound, almost a grunt, of approval at the taste of the burger. "Good as always. No wonder I eat here so much. Thank gods I don't weigh a ton."
Frank Castle frowns, "Nothin' wrong with a big butt," he says. "Usually means you're livin' pretty. It's people gotta stay alive that stay in shape. Cause you gotta dodge shit."
"Patty melt and onion rings, pickle, no mayo," he says.
Hod crosses his arms over his chest and sort of stares out over Frank's left shoulder and points at the plate on the bar, "Burger." he says flatly, then the finger moves… well, sorta near the nachos, "Shitty Nachos." he adds in the same flat tone. "To late to change your order now. Suck it up buttercup." and then he's patting about seeking his wine, bottle or glass, he's not picky. "Of course it's good. I made it."
She will give Frank a sidelong look. "I like fitting into my clothes, thank you. I need to stay in shape, thank you." She will lift her chin, a sniff as if her feelings are hurt.
She chuckles as Hod calls Frank buttercup. "Of course you did, but even a master deserves to be told his work is appreciated." She takes a sip of bourbon before she's diving back into that burger.
Frank Castle frowns at Hod, "You're a salty old fucker, ain't ya? Reminds me of a sergeant I had once upon a time in Afghanistan. Used to make gumbo out of the local hares, thought he was hot shit cause he smuggles some extra cayenne in with his rucksack," he says.
"Gumbo wasn't bad, though," he says, going to eat some of the nachos. He's not actually that picky.
"I like your ass the way it is," he admits to Thea.
Hod snorts, "Spend enough time at sea and salty becomes a fairly accurate term. And of course you do, my ass is spectacular, should be, all the running I do." he finds his wine and finishes the entire glass in a pair of gulps before refilling it with the bottle's remnants. He then sets the empty down under the bar in a box that clinks and takes to the new glass with vigor. "Between you telling me how good a cook I am and Cap My Eyes Are Up Here talking about my backside you two are gonna make me blush." says the completely dry toned fella who's pale skin remains entirely unblushy. The beard might be hiding it though? He /may/ not be aware Frank was talking to Thea.
Thea looks at Frank with a quick blink, a rise of rosy flush that is quickly tamped down by use of her powers. That hint of a smile splits into laughter when Hod assumes Frank is talking about his ass…or at least makes fun like he's assuming it. "Hod, darling, you know I adore you." She puts on an overdone British accent for that.
But then she's looking sidelong at Frank again, lips tugged into a crooked little smile.
Frank Castle takes a sip of his beer and nods, "Yeah, Hod, we just met, but it's clear you're a real friggin' peach," he says.
"Those kinda metaphors makes it sound like you're a Navy man. I was a Marine myself, but I won't hold it against ya," he says.
Hod doesn't quite smile, but there's a softening around the edges of his mouth, "People don't tend to meet me more then once or twice in a lifetime, tend not to stick around. Might as well get my fun in when I can." he offers to Frank before adding, "Been one of those too." he says with a firm nod. He falls quiet for a moment, "Bah. It's no fun mocking a soldier unless you marched with 'em."
He turns his attention on Thea, "So." he says, reaching under the bar and pulling out a random bottle of something vaugely amber colored, "/You/ wanna tell me you like my ass too, or can I just slink off into the back and get black out drunk again?"
Thea rolls her eyes, something muttering about military men, though she sounds amused. She looks up from her plate to Hod. "I haven't really considered your ass. I'm more into the beard, I think." She's smirking. "Go get drunk. I'm sure one of the girls can take over." She sounds almost affectionate towards the blind man.
"I was never enlisted. That mean you're disappointed in me?"
Hod offers a sound of disbelief at Thea, "Liar." he quips when she says she's not considered his ass, which is actually pretty fair! At this point she's only seen him from about the stomach up, bar life being what it is. Then he shrugs, "Be a soldier, don't be a soldier, not everyone walks the same path. Be a dick move to judge people cause they took a different one. Not my style. I judge people for other shit." he lifts his bottle at Thea and wiggles it like he was waving good bye, then pauses, snags two more from under the bar, then heads for the double doors once more playing an audible game of eeny meeny miney moe. A fourth bottle mysterously joins the others on the way, though where he plucked that one from is anyone's guess.