𝐼𝑓 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 ( closed )

[terrorisms]

Who: Frank Castle & Others
Where: Panorama
When: June
What: Catch-All

Warnings: Possible implications of violence, grief, murder, and black coffee

Yᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ɪғ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ
Aɴᴅ ɪғ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀ ʜᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀ-sᴏғᴛʟʏ ᴘᴏᴜɴᴅɪɴ'
Yᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ɪғ sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ʟʏɪɴ' ʙʏ ᴍᴇ
Tʜᴇɴ I'ᴅ ʟɪᴇ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʙᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ

Comments

[carcajous]

[ His eyebrow goes up, though the look says he's not that surprised, when it comes down to it. Easy assumption to make. Not an incorrect one, neither. It's just...more complicated than that. What's he supposed to pull outta his pocket, the Pacific Theatre in fucking World War II? How about the great mutant-human war of this century? ]

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. ]

[terrorisms]

( The answer's not exactly one he expected — in part because of the lack of deployment specifics, but mainly over the country of origin. It earns a mirrored eyebrow right back at Logan, a look that practically telegraphs Canada, huh? Can't say he would've pegged the guy as Canadian right off, but it's not too far out of left field after a second or two of considering it. American civilians like to give Canada shit about being too polite, but that's only because they've never had to see Canadian soldiers in action — something fresh new scout sniper classes get to learn the hard way when they get absolutely schooled the first time.

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 — 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. )

[carcajous]

[ Probably doesn't help that he's a little bit of everything and nothing all at once. At this point, he's got just as many memories of New York as he does the Rockies. Logan gives a shrug in response—unattached about the whole idea.

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. ]

[terrorisms]

( Now that's a question — one that has him sucking his teeth thoughtfully as he visibly considers the answer. It's a matter of whether he plans to interpret these days as in recently back home, or these days as in here and now in this city. Then, just exactly how honest, how specific, how much he feels like giving away.

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 — 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. )

[carcajous]

[ While the other man weighs his answer, Logan pays for another beer, whatever they've got behind the counter. He glances over his shoulder. Stock Market, that right? He's walked by. Never looked in, though. In the entire time he's gone in and out of the diner, this bar, he's been without a single weapon on his person—a point Frank might've noticed, might've not.

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. ]