[Okay, so this guy does know a bit about him. Maybe it's not a death trap waiting for him. And Scott must be the only person ballsy or stupid enough to call The Punisher a dork.]
( and it's not really any of scott's business what frank does with his life, but no-one believes in chances like scott believes in chances. which will kill him one day. probably. )
[Pajamas? What has Frank gotten himself in to? Well, a free dinner is a free dinner and a night out of a motel would be nice. He goes to the address once he gets it and finds the place easily enough. He knows Hell's Kitchen like the back of his hand.
Once there, he knocks and waits, baseball cap, bruises and all. Hopefully Scott won't be alarmed by the recovering black eye and purple cheek he's sporting.]
( as far as "not being alarmed" goes, scott barely notices the bruising. in his line of work with the other costumed superheroes, generally speaking seeing super bruises are the norm. frank's always looking beaten up, anyway, which is another factor. he's happy to welcome the guy in once he gets the door open. )
That's a terrible team you root for. ( because, yeah, apparently that's what scott focuses on. he won't delay too much, though, and he motions to the kitchen table where there's a bowl of noodles and another of bolognese sauce with a jerk of his head. ) Man, you're lucky I don't take baseball all that seriously.
[Frank is amused by the remark and shrugs as he steps into the apartment. Out of habit, his eyes skim the room for any signs of danger, entrances, exits, or cover. It's always good to have a plan.]
Yeah, sometimes there's a few heavy hitters.
[He then walks past Scott and opens every door; just a quick check. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. He even checks a closet. Hope he's got nothing embarrassing in there. It's not until Frank's finished the sweep does he actually go to the table, remove his cap, and sit in the chair.]
If you were looking for my stash of comic books, those're back in San Francisco. ( scott's at the fridge while frank is seated, peering into it and absently turning cans. ) Pick your poison, Castle.
( he pulls three cans out, setting them down one by one in a line on the table by the side of frank's plate. maybe the first instinct around a man like frank castle isn't "make the mood lighter and joke around", but scott's not one for stiflingly stiff moods to begin with. )
[Frank looks at the colas, a brow raised at the question, then helps himself to one. He opens it up and drinks from the can, then nods.]
Thanks.
[He begins to serve himself a plate of spaghetti and pours the sauce on top, then picks up his fork to begin eating. As he eats, though, he glances at Scott now and again.]
So you're... Bug Guy.
[Or something like that.]
What brings you to Hell's Kitchen, Mr. Lang? You avenging something?
Ant-Man, but I'll give you points for trying. ( scott takes a nice couple of gulps from his own can of pop--happy, essentially, to stuff himself with sugar. scott's a guy who's big on it, which probably explains a lot. ) And, um... no. See, I help the Avengers from time to time, but I'm not really on the front line. Not so big into getting myself into violent... alien-murdering situations.
( he's been called a pussy for that. repeatedly. scott wears the title with pride. )
I'm here for recon. ( slurping noodles into his mouth, scott chews, swallows, and smiles. ) There's something mighty shitty happening with some... jerks who've mastered immortality.
[Frank continues eating. Normally he doesn't eat quite so much. Strictly coffee diet when he's on an assignment. When he's not, though, he tries to fuel up. Right now, he's not entirely sure if this is an assignment or not, given who he's talking to.]
And is that why you're having me over for dinner? It can't be for the company.
Oh, uh... not really. It's more like sometimes you just need to rest your head a little.
( scott shrugs his shoulders. it's nothing strange to him, really, given he'd come from prison and thrived on the kindness of others willing to help after. no harm in doing nice things, even if he's housing a serial killer. then again, the company scott generally keeps aren't necessarily the most innocent, either.
he scratches the end of his nose. ) I mean, you don't have to stay. But it looks like you're liking that spaghetti well enough, which is awesome already.
I got a futon which is a lot nicer than a motel bed, though.
[Scott's usual company probably aren't murderers, though. He's taking quite a risk inviting someone like Frank Castle into his apartment. Then again, Frank is supposed only be after people who deserve it, so Scott is probably safe if those reports are true.]
Something other than a motel bed would be a nice change. [He'll admit that much.]
( scott laughs, pointing with his fork. ) Yeah, see? You get me.
( and maybe he's pushing his luck, but scott doesn't think too much about it. frank's not necessarily one of his best friends; he's also not a total stranger. the line is strange, honestly, but he's good company, at least. )
But okay--okay. Humour me. ( he scoops some spaghetti between his tines, watching frank curiously. ) What's the grossest motel bed you've ever had to sleep on?
[That's not the type of question Frank had expected. Was this guy for real? He just wanted small talk? Frank thought about it a moment, then shrugged.]
There was one that smelled like every rat in the city had crawled into the sheets and died.
[That's probably not a great image while they're eating dinner.]
It--what? Really? ( scott could pass for riveted, almost. ) Was it at least comfortable?
( and it seems like a lot of mundane shit... because, yeah, it's mundane shit. but there's a point to all of it, scott likes to think. a break of normalcy between all the mercenary killings and all scott's own crap. )
Were there any actual rats? Was this smell unwashed comestains 8 months later? Dude.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yay :D
Stay? No.
[He can't possibly be offering after what Frank just said, can he?]
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I got a crazy old guy funding a shitty flat while I'm here in good old Hell's Kitchen and made too much spaghetti for dinner.
( you know, the whole "cooking for four" scenario that comes with usual roommates. )
Like spaghetti?
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I just told you I kill people, and you're inviting me to your home to have spaghetti with you and your little girl? Are you out of your goddamn mind?
[Given that it's Hell's Kitchen, that's quite possible.]
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Second of all, you only kill people who kill the innocent, right?
Third of all, I might be out of my mind, but what do you expect from a guy who went into the quantum realm?
You still haven't answered the spaghetti question.
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Yeah, I like spaghetti.
[So he'll be on the way.]
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( and it's not really any of scott's business what frank does with his life, but no-one believes in chances like scott believes in chances. which will kill him one day. probably. )
switch to action?
Once there, he knocks and waits, baseball cap, bruises and all. Hopefully Scott won't be alarmed by the recovering black eye and purple cheek he's sporting.]
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That's a terrible team you root for. ( because, yeah, apparently that's what scott focuses on. he won't delay too much, though, and he motions to the kitchen table where there's a bowl of noodles and another of bolognese sauce with a jerk of his head. ) Man, you're lucky I don't take baseball all that seriously.
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Yeah, sometimes there's a few heavy hitters.
[He then walks past Scott and opens every door; just a quick check. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. He even checks a closet. Hope he's got nothing embarrassing in there. It's not until Frank's finished the sweep does he actually go to the table, remove his cap, and sit in the chair.]
no subject
( he pulls three cans out, setting them down one by one in a line on the table by the side of frank's plate. maybe the first instinct around a man like frank castle isn't "make the mood lighter and joke around", but scott's not one for stiflingly stiff moods to begin with. )
Cola, cola, or cola?
no subject
Thanks.
[He begins to serve himself a plate of spaghetti and pours the sauce on top, then picks up his fork to begin eating. As he eats, though, he glances at Scott now and again.]
So you're... Bug Guy.
[Or something like that.]
What brings you to Hell's Kitchen, Mr. Lang? You avenging something?
no subject
( he's been called a pussy for that. repeatedly. scott wears the title with pride. )
I'm here for recon. ( slurping noodles into his mouth, scott chews, swallows, and smiles. ) There's something mighty shitty happening with some... jerks who've mastered immortality.
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And is that why you're having me over for dinner? It can't be for the company.
[He's not good company in general, he thinks.]
I don't know much about them.
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( scott shrugs his shoulders. it's nothing strange to him, really, given he'd come from prison and thrived on the kindness of others willing to help after. no harm in doing nice things, even if he's housing a serial killer. then again, the company scott generally keeps aren't necessarily the most innocent, either.
he scratches the end of his nose. ) I mean, you don't have to stay. But it looks like you're liking that spaghetti well enough, which is awesome already.
I got a futon which is a lot nicer than a motel bed, though.
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Something other than a motel bed would be a nice change. [He'll admit that much.]
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( and maybe he's pushing his luck, but scott doesn't think too much about it. frank's not necessarily one of his best friends; he's also not a total stranger. the line is strange, honestly, but he's good company, at least. )
But okay--okay. Humour me. ( he scoops some spaghetti between his tines, watching frank curiously. ) What's the grossest motel bed you've ever had to sleep on?
no subject
There was one that smelled like every rat in the city had crawled into the sheets and died.
[That's probably not a great image while they're eating dinner.]
LMAO IM SORRY FRANK
( and it seems like a lot of mundane shit... because, yeah, it's mundane shit. but there's a point to all of it, scott likes to think. a break of normalcy between all the mercenary killings and all scott's own crap. )
Were there any actual rats? Was this smell unwashed comestains 8 months later? Dude.
lol XD
I try not to think about it. Shit. You collect hotel horror stories or something?