𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 ( closed )

[terrorisms]

Who: Frank Castle & Others
Where: Panorama, Diffusion Zones
When: February
What: Catch-All

Warnings: Likely mentions of violence and grief

I ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴠᴇ
I ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ
I'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴇʀ
Fᴏʀ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ɢᴏʟᴅ
Iᴛ's ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴs
I ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɢɪᴠᴇ
Tʜᴀᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴍᴇ sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ
Fᴏʀ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ɢᴏʟᴅ
Aɴᴅ I'ᴍ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʟᴅ

Comments

→ amy & clint;

[terrorisms]

( As promised, Frank invites Clint over for dinner. Nash has to work, but he's arranged a little shopping date for the two of them tomorrow — she'll get a tidy little allowance of cash for that when the time comes. In the meantime, perhaps for the first time since they've known each other, Amy gets to learn firsthand that Frank Castle knows how to cook.

He's decent at it, too, which seems to surprise people who forget that for most of his life he was a father and husband. If he couldn't bother picking up a spatula during the few weeks or months at a time he got to spend at home with his family, he'd have deserved for Maria to kick his ass straight back to Afghanistan herself.

He tells her a friend is coming over. Somebody that can help her out (read: keep an eye on her) when Frank's busy with work or other work. Not terribly unlike Curtis in that regard. He does not tell her that person is a famous actual fucking Avenger. That gets to be a pleasant surprise for her to discover when Clint comes knocking while he's flipping burger patties on the little kitchenette stove top. )

Hey- get that, would you? That's him.

( Gonna have to get the guy a copy of the keys one of these days. Not that Clint couldn't break in himself if he needed to, but. Still. Gotta get a set for the kid, too, now that he's thinking about it.

That, or he needs to bite the bullet and just go apartment shopping for someplace real, now that he has a pressing reason to. )

→ furiosa;

[terrorisms]

( Toward the end of Furiosa's shift at Assets Management, Fury will find the strippers all in a tizzy as they only ever are when Minivan is here — only with slightly more enthusiasm than normal, because he's here with a present for her oh my gosh it's so sweet-

He's waiting for her in the front lobby, trying not to grimace at the bubbly, chipper attentions of a pair of blondes that are utterly smitten — not with him specifically, but rather with what he's holding. It is not a bouquet of flowers; big shout-out to Nash for pointing out something small but obvious that would have flown right over his head: flowers die within days or weeks. Dead plants make Furiosa sad.

Instead, he's holding a small marbled jade flower pot filled with healthy soil and a bunch of colorful flowers — some local species they didn't have on Earth, apparently hardy enough to survive cosmic storms, winter temperatures, and life in an indoor flower shop. He figures if none of those things have killed it, it can probably survive through damn near anything — so long as she remembers to water it once in a while. He's betting that probably won't be a problem.

He's dressed nicely. Not overly so, but the army surplus shirt and tactical pants are gone in favor of a nice black henley and some dark wash jeans. He's shooting for a middle ground of making an effort while not expecting much higher from a woman that comes from post-apocalyptic hellscape Australia and roasts roadkill as an acceptable form of protein. )

→ girl's day;

[nashua]

[ As promised, Nash shows up just after ten AM. Still in her pastel polo from her diner shift, still smelling like syrup and bacon — but there's something to be said for a job that lets you wear, you know, pants. Shutting the car door behind her, she waves off Willing Chauffeur Jack Townsend with a smile and a thanks before she lets herself in to the motel room. That's right, she has a key. (Suck on that, Clint Barton.)

She doesn't bother to remove her shoes or coat, setting down a box of muffins and generally acting like she owns the place. ]

Morning! [ Cheerfully. ] Who's hungry?

[ There are no raisin muffins. Chocolate chip or banana all the way. That's how seriously Nash is taking this. ]

[toughact]

[Honestly, Amy is also not very familiar with Frank's level of culinary prowess. Might have to do with the fact that they were constantly on the run, or that she was sitting around bored in an RV by herself for a chunk of her mortal peril. She doesn't want to come out and admit that it's nice to have someone cook a meal for her; she hasn't had care and attention put into feeding her since... Well, probably her grandma. Stepmom mostly obliged by cooking for her father, and Amy just so happened to be around to feed, too.

So okay, sue her, she's kind of pumped to eat a real meal made by someone she's come to care about. And it's enough to not make her roll her eyes at the concept of another Frank-ordained babysitter. Some small part of her wants to scheme ways to annoy this person — but ah. Behave, Amy. Behave.]

Wouldn't want to interrupt the chef hard at work...

[Said as she opens the door.

She's not really sure who she expects. Maybe someone with a bad military-grade buzzcut, or some grungy guy in a hoodie. Or a no-nonsense lady in a skirt she's well-versed in sprinting in.

Instead, she sees Clint. And, like, yeah. She knows his hero name. What kid didn't know?

Despite this, she goes with the first thing her brain supplies:]

The purple Avenger?

[Should she be slamming the door in his face? Is this the friend, or is he here to try and apprehend Frank for some shit he pulled in Panorama that she doesn't know about yet? THE PUNISHER + AVENGER = ????]

[imperatour]

[ The strippers that weren't waiting in the lobby with him are rushing Furiosa along to go, go! The hurried stomp of platform heels makes it sound like she's being trailed by a stampede of giggly wildebeest on the trek from the locker room to the lobby.

They've seen her kiss him before, yet the novelty never seems to wear off. Something about the big bad Furiosa cracking a fond smile and swaying forward for a sweet kiss just never loses its edge with them.

Valentine's Day has been... an interesting time at the club, to say the least. Lots of lonely patrons confusing the attention they buy with genuine affection. More so than usual. At least Nash's little history lesson about the origins of the holiday might have won her over some. What can Furiosa say? She loves a good story about defying tyrants and soldiers making vows to each other. Until death do us part feels sort of insufficient, though.

Settled into the front seat of the minivan, Furiosa can't help the fond smile that keeps creeping back into her expression every time she looks down at the plant. He did good. ]

Rocco absolutely hates it when you pick me up now, by the way.

[ But Furiosa cares very little for what the owner cares about. She doesn't work there because of him. She does it because of the girls. The girls who are all annoying and loud and way too nosy about Furiosa's boyfriend, and she's pretty sure she would kill any man that hurt any of them without thinking twice about it. ]

Nice choice with the pot. [ Her metal fingers make a delicate chime when they touch the side. ] Guys have been sending the girls flowers all week. Locker room's starting to smell a little ripe as they all turn.

[ Not to mention... it's depressing. ]

[brandingproblem]

I'm impressed. Most people don't even get as far as color association with me.

[Hi, in other words. Clint is extremely used to being The Least Recognizable Avenger, especially out of any associated uniform, especially without a bow in hand, so while he got used to the idea of being recognized over his years of avenging service, it never settled well. Always felt humbling, or embarrassing. And simply weird, for a spy. When he and Natasha had to start being very careful what kind of missions they went on--

But this is, apparently, the sixteen-year-old kid that Frank took in even before showing up here. Funny the way some people fall into the world and others don't.

When the kid doesn't immediately move, he tries to put everything at ease by calling over her shoulder.] Smells good, Frank. You got normal condiments or weird ones? [Because one never really knows with Panorama, the things people make with what's available, the things people bring from the zones. He redirects attention to the kid, decides maybe a handshake is in order instead of anything condescending.] I'm Clint. Friend of Frank's. You probably know me by another name. Or a color, I guess.

[toughact]

[So we're just hanging out with our buddies we've accidentally made at hotels we've broken into, huh? That's how it's going to be? Amy can't complain, because it's nice to actually have someone around who isn't quite as questionable as other company she's kept the last few years...

The sweet, sweet sounds of Flappy Bird greet Nash as she enters; Amy's been trying to figure out which mobile games on her modern phone from home work, what with the lack of internet compatibility. Man, she regrets not downloading more for the bus ride she had been taking, just before she got here.

Looking up, her eyebrows immediately raise.]

As long as it's not five cups of coffee like Mr. Serious, I'll take anything you got.

[Frank does not drink five cups of coffee. Probably.]