mr actual bleeding heart gentleman mcbullets (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
terrorisms) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
diademlogs2025-06-11 05:50 pm
terrorisms) wrote in diademlogs2025-06-11 05:50 pm
Entry tags:
๐ผ๐ ๐ก๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ค ๐ค๐๐ ๐'๐ก ๐ ๐ข๐โ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ก๐๐๐ ( closed )
Who: Frank Castle & Others
Where: Panorama
When: June
What: Catch-All
Warnings: Possible implications of violence, grief, murder, and black coffee
Yแดs, แดษดแด แดษดสส ษชา แดส แดแดกษด แดสแดแด สแดแด แด แดกแดs แดกแดษชแดษชษดษข
Aษดแด ษชา I แดแดแดสแด สแดแดส สแดส สแดแดสแด แด-sแดาแดสส แดแดแดษดแด ษชษด'
Yแดs, แดษดแด แดษดสส ษชา sสแด แดกแดs สสษชษด' สส แดแด
Tสแดษด I'แด สษชแด ษชษด แดส สแดแด แดษดแดแด แดษขแดษชษด
Where: Panorama
When: June
What: Catch-All
Warnings: Possible implications of violence, grief, murder, and black coffee
Yแดs, แดษดแด แดษดสส ษชา แดส แดแดกษด แดสแดแด สแดแด แด แดกแดs แดกแดษชแดษชษดษข
Aษดแด ษชา I แดแดแดสแด สแดแดส สแดส สแดแดสแด แด-sแดาแดสส แดแดแดษดแด ษชษด'
Yแดs, แดษดแด แดษดสส ษชา sสแด แดกแดs สสษชษด' สส แดแด
Tสแดษด I'แด สษชแด ษชษด แดส สแดแด แดษดแดแด แดษขแดษชษด
no subject
Logan disappears againโshorter this time, about 48 hoursโbut like always, when he comes through the doors on day twenty-four, he's as untouched as ever: no scrapes, no scratches, not one goddamn bruise. Just some flecks of blood between his knuckles that he missed. What he does do is eat. A lot. More than a guy even his size should, definitely more than the standard bacon and eggs he normally goes through.
When his third plate is clear, he just leaves, a few dark-stained crumpled bills on the table.
Day after, Logan doesn't stay. He picks up a stack of boxes and carries them off. Could be it's all for him, but the paper cup of (likely shitty, and Charles is gonna bitch about it) tea instead of coffee indicates maybe not. ]
no subject
Tea is noteworthy, too. All the times he's seen the guy come in, not once has he seen tea become any part of the equation. It's the kind of thing that would earn an arched eyebrow, were he sticking around to receive it.
Eventually, on day thirty even, a couple of familiar faces burst in the front door sporting a crowbar in each hand. It's a flurry of movement, with the jingling bell going nuts and the door banging off the wall from how hard it's thrust open in a dramatic display of dominance โ one that dies about three steps in when their eyes land on Frank and Logan casually angled to look at them from their place posted up at the counter. They exchange wide-eyed looks, then turn right the fuck back around and bolt just as quickly as they'd burst in.
Frank calmly stands, strides over to the jukebox in the corner, pops a credit in, picks a song, then sits back down to finish his coffee with a smirk on his face. )
no subject
It's also the reason he hops from bar to bar. Not the only reason, but one of them. He doesn't drink that muchโby his standards, anywayโgoing through a few cheap whiskeys and a couple of cheaper beers before he decides it's time to move on to the next one.
That's where he's at, perched on a stool with another crappy beer, when he catches a familiar face across the room. How about that. Guess he does go places other than that one diner.
By now, he's figured out Frank wants to be left alone (actually, he figured that out two seconds into meeting him; wasn't that hard)โso eye contact is as far as it goes. He assumes that's how it'll stay. Then he hears, You play?
Huh. Yeah, alright.
Logan grabs his beer and joins the man by the pool table. ] Been a while.
[ No rec room on the Blackbird. ]
no subject
He's in his comfort zone, and in a fairly good mood all things considered, when Logan wanders in. Must be this coupled with the weeks of companionably ignoring each other that nudges him into something a little more social.
His own beer gets set down on a little side table by the rack where they keep the sticks and the chalk. He plucks one cue out of the matching set, absently getting a feel for the weight of it while he returns a level, wry: )
I'll go easy on you.
( It's not genuine cockiness, there's nothing particularly braggadocios in either tone or demeanor. It's bullshit for bullshit's sake; he hasn't played in a while, either. Doesn't really matter, it's just somethin' to do other than sitting on his ass while he drinks. )
no subject
Still, he's curious, in that vague sorta sense. Hard not to be when you've bumped into each other over weeks. (When you've also dumped a couple of unconscious bodies together.)
The curl of his lips is equally wry. ] Doubt it. [ But he's only poking, too. ] More of a Texas hold 'em kinda guy.
[ Is it cheating if he can sniff out every drop of sweat? Probably.
He ends up breaking firstโballs scattering, but none sinking yet. Standard stuff. He leans next to the dart board to the side while Frank takes his place. ]
no subject
Sue him for having two kids and a mortgage at the time. Sue him again now for wanting to pay off his recently acquired loan instead of pissing away his meager income in a card game that's half based on luck.
Anyway.
He circles the table. Picks the low-hanging fruit of a solid hanging out near a pocket, and lines up his shot. )
So where'd you serve?
( Distracted, conversational โ but pretty confident in his guess. He recognizes the look. )
no subject
Canadian Forces, [ is the half-truth he eventually settles on, a sidestepped answer to Frank's where with what country instead. Close enough, anyway. But there's a distinct lack of specifics that somebody who served and actually remembered it might've had. ] Not anymore. You?
[ Like recognizes like, that how the saying goes?
Once Frank's finished with his low-hanging fruit, Logan circles the table and picks one of his own. ]
no subject
He posts up with the butt of his cue on the ground and his fingers laced around the top half, eyes tracking Logan's shot โ and the one he makes right after, too. Not bad. )
U.S. Marine Corps. ( And then, with just a touch of jaded, dark humor, echoes: ) Not anymore.
( Sometimes the people who get out leave for a reason. If you know, you know. )
no subject
His lips twitch. Yeah, he gets that. Well, he gets it and he doesn't. He's got no memory of his reason for joining, got no memory of his reasons for leaving. But he's pretty sure he can guess, if he knows anything about himself by now. ]
So what is it these days?
[ Killing time at a diner back home, too? Somehow settling into an actual life? The question's noncommittal, leaving room for Frank to answer however he wants. Mostly 'cause Logan's not looking to give too many answers of his own.
His ball rolls short of its pocket. Damn it. ]
no subject
Well, he's not here to shut the conversation down. If he wanted that, he wouldn't have initiated it in the first place. He's also not all that interested in putting complicated, unpleasant truths out there on a whim, so... )
Construction for a while. Then traveling for a while after that. Still figuring out what to do with myself here, but I'm holding down the fort at the Stock Market downtown in the meantime.
( Maybe Logan's heard of it, maybe he hasn't โ it's the shittier, less successful competitor to Jolly Roger Munitions. Good ol' Jolly Roger never has any instructors around, though, and the owner's hoping they can steal a little of their business if they've got one on offer.
He doesn't volunteer that it's a part-time gig right now while the business struggles to find a footing, that he gets the other half of his money by pawning the equipment he kindly relieves from raiders and looters who made the last bad choices they'll ever make. )
How 'bout you?
( Lines up his shot; bounces the cue ball off the side, into a stripe that knocks a solid into the pocket. Not bad. )
no subject
He returns to the table in time to see the ball land its pocket. His cue to keep sipping his beer 'til his turn comes again. ]
Would you believe me if I said private school? [ His tone is amused, expression mild. He leans his shoulder against a nearby pillar, splintered along the edge from where a bullet must've struck it ages ago. ] Did some logging up north. [ Probably. Memory's hazy, but there. ] Rode around. Been unloading boxes here.
[ He could find something better. The Dome, play bodyguard, whatever illicit transports are always going on around the city. He's not interested. He isn't...hell, he isn't entirely sure what it is he wants to do while they get their bearings. A piece of him feels oddly, annoyingly adrift, kinda like he's waiting for orders or an operation that isn't coming. What he is sure of are the few X-Men here, however small a handful they are. Maybe it's enough he knows who he is, for now. ]
i figure steer toward a wrap in favor of event stuff?
The rest of it aligns โ both with his impression of Logan, and with the similarities he's been spotting between the two of them. Logging, construction. Traveling, riding. A lot of things in the same wheelhouse.
Maybe unloading boxes is the Canadian version of working at a gun shop. Guns are equally as common as boxes to Americans. )
Huh.
( Is, ultimately, all he says. So profound, such insight, wow, such conversation. But he doesn't really need to โ he puts his attention back on the game, and the rest of their idle chitchat for the remainder of the night centers around calling which pocket the eight-ball's gonna land in, or who's picking up the next round of drinks.
It's a good time.
He likes this guy. The Canadian's alright. Still didn't manage to catch his name, though. )