14486/Stirring Up The Cauldron

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Stirring Up The Cauldron
Date of Scene: 24 March 2023
Location: Sheldon Park - Bleake Island
Synopsis: Captain Britain gets Frank Castle out of a situation, whether Frank Castle likes it or not. Future favors are owed.
Cast of Characters: Frank Castle, Brian Braddock




Frank Castle has posed:
Frank usually doesn't hunt in Gotham. The place is infested with Bats, kind of like how NYC proper has a bad case of Spiders. Always plenty of work keeping New York's underlayer scoured as clean of certain criminal elements as he can.

But that doesn't mean he won't dare, when occasion demands it. And now one of New York's mafiosi has come to seek shelter with his distant kin among the Falcones, well aware that Frank's on his trail.

So he's there in the Cauldron, dressed not in the armor with the leering skull, but the plainest possible clothes: black hoodie and beanie, old jeans, gray t-shirt. He looks more like he's on his way to a boxing gym than a vigilante scouting the lay of the land. No disguise, either, to conceal that blunt profile. But then, how many people really know what he looks like when he's not geared up. There's certainly nothing furtive in the way he moves, as he ambles past Falcone Shipping. More of a swagger, honestly.

Brian Braddock has posed:
Similarly, there's very few reasons Brian might be found haunting this sector of Gotham's industrial spread. For one, no self-respecting Lord of Anything goes walking around this late at night looking all but an absolutely beautiful target for anything from a mugging to something far worse. The dark-blond is walking along as well, dressed in a Gotham University hoodie and jeans, entrenched in his phone by the glow of its screen up upon his person. Granted, at six feet and six inches of height, he's not a standard mugger's first target.

The real give-away about what he's up to? The whole bait drill?

His phone screen's on a blank notes page. It's purely illumination to draw attention to him, like a firefly in the forest -- that and those are a really nice pair of sneakers for a university student.

Thankfully, he's got enough attention spared for his surroundings that instead of bowling Frank right over, he executes one of those absolutely fantastical near-misses: a simple shift of shoulder by degrees to miss the other man by a quarter of a centimeter at best, where sweatshirt fabric whispers in contact. "Oh, sorry, old chap," Brian says in polite apology as he spares the other man a glance.

Frank Castle has posed:
Frank's a big guy, six foot plus, broad shouldered. But this guy has him beat in both height and muscle...and he moves like he knows what he's doing with both. Rather like the footage of a certain other Captain that Frank's seen before.

Maybe it's the sense that this would be a hard one to take is what has Castle swallowing the snarky reply that first comes to mind. Or the knowledge that the better part of valor is discretion and that he's there on a mission where it won't do to be distinctive or memorable. But that glance is met with one of distinct hostility, even as Frank mutters acceptance of the apology. His gaze falls to the screen of the other man's phone, before he looks up again...now there's suspicion there, too. This guy isn't right for the area or the time....and as he paces on, heading for the corner that'll have him turning towards the Herald building (top of his list for a prospective sniper's hide), he's looking around him as surreptitiously as he can. This is an island with only a few ways off it, unless he can fly or swim back to New York. All too easy to make it a trap.

Brian Braddock has posed:
Brian knows the look of a trained killer when he looks into such a face. Sure, the face has seen a few blunt edges in its time, but the Brit hazards the owner of said face has dealt out some blunt edges of his own over the years. Onwards, the hoodie-wearing man moves on, and the tall blond slows his steps just enough to merit a glance over his own shoulder.

What's this one up to...? And why does that face look familiar.

You know what's nice about sneakers? They're sneaky. It's not hard for Brian to muffle his steps as he turns and meanders after Frank like some alley cat wondering if someone's going to drop a piece of sandwich. Again, his attention is visually on his phone, but otherwise? He's listening and with the skill granted by metaphysical powers. The next time Frank looks over his own shoulder?

Nobody's there...at ground level.

It might be both nice and conversely unnerving to see that it's entirely plausible for him to make it up to a prospective sniper's nest with no issue.

Frank Castle has posed:
He meanders like a man lost in his own thoughts, hands in the pockets of that hoodie. The hood itself Frank tugs down, though, like he doesn't want even that fractional loss in his hearing. His instincts say that something's wrong already...and having that big blonde more or less vanish helps not at all. Brian can hear his heartbeat tick up just a notch, though it's still vastly slower than that of most ordinary men.

It isn't the Herald building that he finally decides to climb. No, it's a few buildings down, almost at the other end of the block. One of the Falcone buildings, as a matter of fact. Gotham, like New York, is old enough that plenty of buildings still have the iron fire escapes. It's one of those Frank uses to get up - leaping up to grab the retracted ladder and climb to the first landing with the strength of his arms alone. Satisfied he hasn't alerted the whole block, he creeps up to the roof proper, staying low so he isn't silhouetted against the lights of the skyline.

Definitely up to something.

Brian Braddock has posed:
Up to something and not alone.

The whole block hasn't been alerted, but Frank's right if he never shook that feeling of being closely watched. Thing is? There's no footsteps behind him. No ring of hands gripping the fire escape or the subtle vibration of weight on any other metal architecture.

There is, however, someone hovering not too far back in the air behind him, dressed in a Gotham University sweatshirt and jeans and really nice...wait.

"I don't think I can convince you to fess up about what you're up to, Mr. Castle?" asks the Brit of earlier, his tone polite. There's no seeing his face now, not with the heavy throw of shadow from his hood. His hands are in the kangaroo pocket and he slowly undulates up and down in place like a buoy upon near-still waters. The night wind plucks at the strings of the sweatshirt.

Frank Castle has posed:
If he uses the pistol that he's got holstered just at the back of one hip, the noise will call attention; there's no silencer on it. The GCPD may be more corrupt than not, but that doesn't mean that no officers will show. Or worse yet, it'll bring a Bat down on him.

So it's a knife he goes for instead, turning and throwing in one smooth motion, aimed low. He doesn't know this one's intentions or alignment, so the prohibition against killing an innocent or a good guy is in effect. Wounding, though...not against the rules.

Brian's between him and that fire escape, but he knows there are others across the roof. There's the grit of a bootsole on the gravel of the rooftop, and Frank's sprinting across as fast as he can. He's got to get *down*. Preferably as far down as he can.

Brian Braddock has posed:
Brian blinks as the entire turn-about, rather athletic, ends with the well-aimed knife plinking off the magical force field about his person. He looks down at the clattering weapon upon the roof and thins his lips on the sound of a grunt.

"I should have expected this," he murmurs to himself even as he rotates in airy place to watch the rapidly-retreating figure that is Frank Castle in his beloved hoodie --

-- the hoodie which rapidly becomes an impediment as when Frank attempts to vault over the roof edge for the fire escape landing? He's scruffed up by it and his belt. Yoink, airborne, and within windy seconds, he's being lightly set down just about where this all started. The knife is within easy reaching distance.

"You're making a piss-poor attempt at convincing me you're up to no good, so...would you like to try again?" the Brit asks, again almost painfully polite where he hovers once more above the rooftop. "I'm not Superman, if you've concerns of this nature. I haven't had the luck of meeting him just yet."

Frank Castle has posed:
He's made it to the roof edge, got a hand down on the parapet, and he's vaulting over it to the fire escape landing he knows is below. Airborne, in fact. But instead of the clang of boots impacting rusted iron, Frank's being scruffed like a furious alleycat. Even as Brian lifts him he's got another knife in hand (how many does he *have*?) and is trying to turn and strike. Not that the first attempt did much good.

He's left standing, combat knife in hand, glaring at Brian. "Who the fuck are you?" he demands, in a voice that has all the melodious sweetness of a cement mixer.

Brian Braddock has posed:
"...not Superman," the Brit repeats with the spectacular dryness known to the accent. "Not anyone you should be concerned of unless you think to throw another knife or draw a gun. I'm not here to hurt you. I might be encouraged to help you if you can pull a modicum of manners out of your arse. You're Frank Castle. I know you from STRIKE reports and I know whom you generally seek."

Now his hands come into view to his sides in what must be a shrug. "Were you to have slung yourself down the side of the building, there are men waiting at the bottom." He cocks his head to one side, hovering still as he is above the rooftop. "...four of them, in fact. They think you a trespasser." Despite the heavy shadow of the hood, Brian manages the impression of an excellent arched brow.

Frank Castle has posed:
Brian gets a glower at that, from under those black brows. "Yeah, I figured that much, at least," he retorts. "We're a long fucking way from Metropolis and he doesn't have a poncey accent." Hypocrisy, thy name is Castle; angry, he's got a New York accent that could peel paint from a wall.

The prospect of being helped has him instantly bemused. "You want to help *me*?" He flicks a glance at the fire escape. "Well, I am," he concedes, sheathing the knife and stooping to pick up the other one. "What kinna guys? Security? Cops?"

Brian Braddock has posed:
Again, the Brit cocks his head and listens, still hovering there now with hands tucked back into his hoodie's pocket.

"...private security, if I had to wager," he decides. "Either for this building or this block. You're close enough to one of the Falcone buildings." The sense of a hidden smile can be heard in the man's words. "And not quick enough to avoid security cameras along street level. They're not speaking as if they know you're the legendary Frank Castle. They think you a clever transient at best. I offer my assistance because in the grand scheme of things, your efforts have bettered the world. Had they not? We wouldn't be speaking like this."

Frank Castle has posed:
There's a sigh at that. He missed some. "Legendary, huh?" There's a grunt of tired laughter at that. Frank's got an ear cocked for the sound of someone trying to climb the fire escape. "Well, that's refreshing," he says, "Usually I get a lecture at best or someone trying to wrap me up as a present for the NYPD. So. What assistance are you offering? And what's the price?" Because there's always a catch.

Brian Braddock has posed:
Legendary? Brian shrugs his broad shoulders soundlessly as he continues to hang there in the air, ever so gently undulating up and down. He chose that word without compulsion.

"I offer any assistance which will help you walk away whole. I suppose there wasn't going to be a catch until you brought it up, so..." The Brit's voice falls out as he appears to think. Now...now there's the hollow sound of someone fussing with the fire ladder to see about bringing it down to standard human level; nobody wants to pull the same stunt as Frank did earlier with a jump and grunge-climb. "Your help with an endeavor in the future. Tit for tat. -Does- the NYPD need to speak with you right now?" Asking for a friend, of course.

Frank Castle has posed:
"All right then, Peter Pan. Fly my ass away from here, please. Preferably off this island - I can make it back okay from the mainland." He sighs. Not a huge reader of fantasy, but he's read his kids enough fairy tales to know how well these bargains usually go.

Frank's lips twist, sourly. Nice work, Castle, played yourself. "Favor owed. Okay," He sounds dubious about ever being something a guy like this might need, but... The question about the NYPD has him looking up at Brian, not exactly guilelessly. "Need? Nah. Want to? Sure. A third of 'em want to give me a medal, a third of 'em want what getting the collar on me would bring, and the third or so that're dirty fucks want me buried in a landfill in Jersey. But if you've been around New York more than a few weeks, you know the work I do is necessary." He has not an iota of shame about it.

Brian Braddock has posed:
"I've been in New York for all of five days at most. You and your efforts, I know from files. I understand why the NYPD wishes to speak with you." Looking over his shoulder now, the Brit pauses.

SkreeeeeekCLANG. That's the fire escape ladder coming off its braking system to now be entirely accessible.

"However, I've no interest in giving you a reason to lose more knives or waste bullets and get on your bad side. You also pulled a modicum of manners out of your arse." Unseen brow flick. "Clench up, Knickerbocker."

Around behind Frank, he flits, and pauses in what must be impending repeat of earlier's hold pattern: hoodie and belt. "Unless you'd rather I carry you across my arms. Do decide, you've four seconds to do so, they're climbing now."

Frank Castle has posed:
"Files? How'd you get at my files already?" He knows that he has his very own drawer and whiteboard down at One Police Plaza and that they have their matches in New York's FBI office. "I don't shoot cops. Not unless they're dirty enough I'd visit 'em anyhow." This is an apparently necessary clarification.

Yeah, here they come. "Like what, a bride? I guess that'd be better than the alternative. Let's get out of here." Frank doesn't bother to warn Brian what collusion with him will mean. All he's done here tonight is trespass a little, anyway.

Brian Braddock has posed:
"Right. Clench up anyways." And that? -- is Frank Castle scooped up across the Brit's arms. He can immediately feel that he's thankfully going nowhere in a hold like this, even if he suddenly felt inclined to try to squirm and attempt escape. Those arms are like living straps for all they simply keep Castle in place.

And just in time! Even as they're gaining altitude, sharp eyes will catch the first security guard pouring onto the roof with arms oustretched before himself in an arrow pointed with a handgun. Where'd the transient go?! It's yet another magic trick in the Cauldron!

There's quiet laughter from inside the Gotham University hood. "They never look up," he says over the rush of the wind. They're already out over the choppy waters separating Gotham from New York City. "And I was privy to your files years ago out of idle curiosity. STRIKE." The European branch of SHIELD.

Frank Castle has posed:
"Before you ask, yes, that is an actual pistol in my pocket. I am not happy to see you." This is another necessary clarification, delivered in a tone flatter than a Kansas highway.

He is not lost in the wonder of free flight over the water. No, Frank's tensed up. It's not the height or speed that's frightening, it's being this close and this vulnerable to someone he knows can take him in a heartbeat. His expression's stoic, but his heart is pounding, as hard-earned instinct wars with new knowledge. "Huh," he says, not sounding terribly perturbed. "Thought I was too small scale for SHIELD to pay attention to. I mean, I don't fly or shoot lightning out of my ass or whatever."

Brian Braddock has posed:
"I would never dare to assume otherwise," the university student deadpans right back at Frank regarding the actual pistol in said pocket.

Brian is more than aware of the rapid beating of his current armful's heart. He doesn't hazard any reason other than nerves about heights over water; it's just as cruel to hit such a surface as it is to hit concrete this high up.

"I'm certain SHIELD has a small file on you given your base in the city. Despite your inability to walk through walls or create webbing from god-only-knows-where, you've pissed off enough people on my side of the pond as well." At this point, they're only a minute or two from solid ground at the New York docks.

Frank Castle has posed:
"Yeah, I guess Interpol does have a file on me," Frank's admission is grudging. He did take that little trip to Ireland. Mexico turned out to be unecessary. Time to talk to Micro about who knows what, have him do a little house cleaning.

"What're you doing here? Working for SHIELD?" His heartbeat's still accelerating. Might've made a choice to jump from frying pan to fire...but then, even if he'd gotten into the fight with security, Braddock's still there to deal with.

Brian Braddock has posed:
"Not in the least," the man replies of SHIELD. "This is a visit entirely diplomatic in its informality." Frank can probably hear the little smile again; the Brit had said these exact words to none other than Captain Steve Rogers himself not too long ago. "You'll forgive me if I'm less than forthcoming on matters. That you're aware of your Interpol file makes me less than inclined to share personal details."

Oh, look, it's the docks. Brian slows and pulls up gently to fully come to a forwards stop before dropping down at a measured pace. His sneakers hit the water-worn cement and then, Frank's set down and released. Supremely unconcerned, the Brit pulls his hoodie back into place on his broad-shouldered frame.

Frank Castle has posed:
There's a snort from the other man, but he's not so rude as to call it out any more directly than that. "Hey, no skin off my back," Frank says, easily. "And, well, I wouldn't still be walking free if I didn't know a few guys, y'know?"

Set down, he turns to face Brian. His eyes gleam with a wintry amusement as he looks at the Brit. "Thanks for the ride. "So, not Superman, you got a handle that you are willing to share?" He'll have to see if Micro can dig deep enough into STRIKE's records to find this guy.

Brian Braddock has posed:
Again, from in the shadows of his hood, Brian laughs quietly.

"Why, so you can look it up? You knew of your Interpol files. I doubt you have the correct security clearance. You've got a good friend at the keys somewhere." He rolls a step back, hands in his kangaroo pocket. "So...no, Mister Castle, I don't have a handle that I'm willing to share. Perhaps another day, another time, or not at all. We'll see whether or not you return the owed favor in the future first, I think."

On the next step back, he pushes off with the pad of his sneaker, lifting into the air. He continues most drily in his humor, "On behalf of your friendly British flight services, we thank you for flying Air Peter Pan and hope you'll look over your shoulder more than once when you're walking near Falcone Shipping."