13094/Back On The Day

Back On The Day
Date of Scene:	16 October 2022
Location:	A rental container in an industrial area
Synopsis:	Frank and Cecily meet after a long time and make a deal
Cast of Characters:	Frank Castle, Cecily Winters

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Frank Castle has posed:
It's massive for what it is, but the space is still fairly confined, taller than it is wide, a chokepoint essentially built in as Frank Castle awaits the meeting. He mostly trusts Cecily, for a variety of reasons that they'll probably talk about. He always has to talk about it. He knows why. Doesn't make it easier.

But still, she had been a cop and most cops? Stay cops. So if she showed up with a SWAT team, prepared to take him down, he'd already camped himself here, encased in solid steel with only one entrance and enough weaponry to blow three dozen wannabe green berets straight to cop hell. Which was like regular hell, but with donuts.

He's wearing his trademark death's head, no reason to hide it, along with khakis, boots. His black hair is tucked under a ball cap and shaggier than he usually runs. Military cuts were nice and cool, but he always got clocked. Hair was better.

Now he waits, a shotgun by his side, a pistol on the other, elbows on knees, bent forward with his ass on a chest chock full of explosives and he's waiting to find out if he's making a new friend or going out in a blaze of glory. He lights a cigarette. Cause why the fuck not?

Cecily Winters has posed:
    She always answers her phone. She always comes at the appointed time. Punctuality and professionalism is the name of the game in her business. Be it meeting a client to talk a custom job on a firearm, securing a bodyguard contract for a weekend event, or aiming down sights to put a bullet in someone's head. Always precisely where she means to be, precisely when she means to be. Like some sort of wizard.

    And like a wizard, she walks alone. No SWAT team. No helicopters. No vans. Just a nondescript grey sedan. Dull. A few years old but in good condition. Nothing fancy. Because the woman driving it has enough fancy just by virtue of being what she is. Her attire is neat and straight-edged. The handgun in her shoulder holster sits securely, and she carries a messenger bag over her shoulder.

    Then there's those ears. Those tails. Nine of the latter, two of the former, fuzzy and vulpine. Like a kitsune stepping straight out of some anime or mobile game. She closes and locks the door, stowing her keys in her messenger bag and then after looking around the immediate area, moves towards the appointed meeting place. She's nearly silent, her footfalls on flat, polished shoes ever so quiet. She definitely doesn't look like a cop anymore. Closer to an office lady working some high-end exec firm or bank. Minus the shooter's gloves and shoulder rig, of course.

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank Castle puts his thumb along his chin, one finger up to his cheekbone, cupping his face and just staring for a long moment. His expression is flat, of course, dead. Castle only has two modes: poker faced or so god damn enraged he wants to kill everything he sees. The last one is just the real him, of course. This is the mask.

"Okay. You win. Ain't often I get surprised, cause for me surprised would usually mean I'm dead. But this. This is a god damn fucking world class whoopsy doo surprise. Holy shit," he says.

"You want a beer?" he asks, kicking a mini-fridge nearby. "Smoke?" he asks, drawing the Camel from his lips and blowing a plume. "Ain't this world a strange one. I would've quoted Shakespeare or the Bible once, but I barely remember that shit anymore. Too many concussions, probably."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    The fox approaches the stern gunman and allows herself a ghost of a smile. "Mister Castle," she states quietly. "It's been a long time," Cecily nods respectfully. She's wearing her mask, too. That cold, professional veneer. She's here on business, so she's wearing her business face. Simple as that. "A very long time, considering your reaction," she then says, moving closer but remaining just out of tail-grasping range. Some people get grabby, and it's been years. Not that she expects Frank to be the tail-grabbing type.

    "No thank you," comes her answer for refreshment or nicotine, but she does chuckle quietly. "Clever words written by dead men. No need for those here. Speaking your mind is preferable. Times change. So do things. And people. For better or worse. I like to think my changes are for the better but... they can be inconvenient sometimes..." she sighs.

    "But you gave me a ring and here I am. Again, it's good to see you still kicking, despite your best efforts," she turns that ghost of a smile into a wry smirk.

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank Castle nods, "I liked you then. You were younger, of course. Weren't we all? Is younger better? I ain't sure. But you were there, more than a lot of the others. Guys at the end of their shifts, ready to take a piss or go home to the wife. Forget about what they seen. About the blood. About my kid's brains on the god damn cuffs of their god damn shoes."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and his hand trembles on the pistol just for a second. If he'd been alone, he'd have put it to his temple. As he has a thousand times before. The one trigger he'll never pull. Probably. Not until he's done. And he ain't ever gonna be done.

"You're startin' to build a rep for yourself. Not common for an ex-cop. Most of them ain't good for much but mall security. I don't care if it's power or skill, as long as whatever you got works."

He takes a sip of his beer.

"Okay, I lied. Skill's better. Skill comes with training, skill comes with the ability to adapt. Most powered folk, in my experience, rely on their super shit and think it'll get 'em out of anything. And a bullet to the brain will usually tell 'em different."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Well if the STAR team is to be believed, I'll be stuck with this face forever," Cecily shakes her head, then sighs. "Means there'll be a lot of time for me to remember things. Things a lot of us wish had never happened." She takes a few steps closer, almost to arm's length. She's not about to reach out and touch Frank, not without invitation or permission, but she does clasp her hands at her waist. Those tails of hers curl a little bit behind her, two or three looping tips around her legs.

    "A rep, mmm? Well. Lot of bad cops wish I'd died for real back in '18. And what few good cops out there are glad I didn't. But that doesn't change the fact I did almost bite it. Guess I was lucky?" she lifts those shoulders in a shrug, her fox ears curling forward some.

    "I'd like to think for me it's both. Mom always taught me the value of time spent at the range. My powers, well... put a blast from that in my chest and might surprise you..." she gestures to the shotgun nearby. "Still, whatever's pumping in my veins now doesn't change that I'm still out here trying to be a force for good. Even if it means getting my hands bloodied up real good. That why you gave me a ring? Need some wetwork done? I doubt it's for weapon work, you keep yours in the same shape I keep mine." She smiles fondly at Frank's firearms as she talks about them.

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank Castle chuckles slightly, "Sometimes I hire out for jobs, just for the sake of the time. Doing everything yourself gets old when you got ten problems at once," he says. "Outlaw sounds like fun in a country song. But I'm my own mechanic, my own medic, my own cook, my own banker, my own driver. I handle and service all my weapons, ship 'em, too. I gotta use god damn Excel. Do you think I want to know a fucking thing about Excel?" he sighs.

"Truth is, I need...to outsource. And sometimes maybe a little back-up wouldn't be bad. I pay good. I ain't gonna micromanage you, you know your job, but on my dime, you follow my orders. On your own time, do as you please."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Goddess I know how that goes..." Cecily laughs. "I still toe the line of legality in a lot of ways but I've got enough people around so I can get an oil change or get a brick of nine for target practice..." She sighs, though, sympathizing with Frank in a sense. Then the fox nods, her tails swishing a little. Her hands unclasp and her arms fold under her bust and she looks the other man over as he speaks.

    "So what do you need exactly, then? I can work on your gear if you need something sorted. And I can put powder in bullets, or put bullets in heads. Or both. Keep a contract and an invoice on a memory card we can melt if it needs to be shredded. How's that sound?" she asks, offering complete discretion.

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank Castle notes the body language and the tails. He gestures towards them with a nod, "Those get you in trouble out there any? Seem like obvious targets for an irritating flesh wound. I hate an irritating flesh wound," he says.

"Let's start with all of that," he says. "I have a couple of operations I'm keeping an eye on right now - got 'em dead to rights, just gotta get the opportunity correct. Minimize innocent contact, that sort of shit," he says. "Don't believe the hype. There's a lot of innocent people out there. I know. Better than anybody, I know."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily glances back at her tails and shakes her head, "Biggest dangers usually involve doors, truth be told. Plus, well..." She gives a lopsided smile, "...out of all the muties out there, you don't really see a lot of kitsune-looking sorts. Ears and tails of any sort seem to be pretty rare... so... I stand out. For good, or for ill. Usually ill." Another shrug and she looks down at one of her arms. "As far as irritating flesh wounds go... well. As I said. I can take a few bullets and maintain efficiency. As of late I find myself getting between the bullets and the people that can't shrug them off. Hurts like hell but it beats some kid getting sent home in a bodybag..." she trails off.

    "...big part of me wishes I had this power a lot sooner..." she says quietly, "...but I'm still just one person. Can't take all the hits and save all the people. And can't let that fact drag me down. Do the best I can."

    Her head shakes and she squeezes her arm for a moment before glancing back up at Frank. "You've got my number, then. If you need overwatch, I'll find a roof to camp on. You need someone to run interference, I've got your back. Don't mind the clothes," she indicates the white blouse under her vest. "I'm no stranger to getting mud and blood on them. I've had to replace this outfit twice this week alone..." she grumbles.

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank Castle nods, "Prejudiced folk always gonna find somethin'. They ain't never gonna run outta new ways for folk to be different for them to bitch about. Used to see it in my old uncles, sittin' around on Sunday afternoons after Jets games, suckin' down beers on our couch while my dad grilled shit on the god damn balcony."

He laughs, "And I loved those guys. But they were also dumb assholes. About a lot of shit. NOne of that shit matters. I found out the hard way," he says and then he swallows.

"Funny. You think it's been a long time. You think it'll..." he stops and he puts the gun down this time, gripping his hand in a fist.

"Thanks," he says. "I'll be in touch. Soon. And once you're on the clock, you're on the clock. Capisce?" he says.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "It'll never go away," Cecily says simply. She shakes her head, "Don't ever lose that edge, Frank. The world needs more people like you. Everyone's just too afraid to admit it." The fox reaches out, one hand moving towards the gun to gesture to ease it down further. "I'm always on the clock. That much has never changed with me. The world just doesn't stop turning because you've punched out for the day, you know?" She brings her hand up to her forehead and rubs it, exhaling a quiet sigh. "I know a little triage if you get yourself hurt, by the by. I can't do *everything*, but you know what I specialize in. So, if I can be of use in your fight... well, I'm looking forward to that call."