17843/Bring the Pain

Bring the Pain
Date of Scene:	04 May 2024
Location:	Vacant Lot -- Queens
Synopsis:	Frank and Gwen meet up in a vacant lot somewhere in Queens. There's a couple tense moments, but a mission is offered to the mercenary. A mission big enough that it'll require at least two people and Frank's going to need more trigger fingers. That's where Gwenpool comes in.
Cast of Characters:	Frank Castle, Gwendolyn Poole

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Frank Castle has posed:
During their last meeting, The Punisher had given Gwenpool fairly specific instructions for a future meeting. Queens. Graniteville Diner. 8am, sharp. There had been talk of Frank paying for breakfast if Gwen was expected to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed that early in the morning. Unfortunately the young woman is in for an awakening; perhaps not rude, but at least near to it.

Her arrival at the diner at the appointed time finds it surprisingly devoid of Frank Castles or Punishers. Further down the aisle of the small, classic diner an old payphone begins to jingle and jangle its alarm. An incoming call. It's one of the waitresses that answers it first and seems to lock eyes with the blonde-haired young woman with the pink tips. A nod and 'uh huh' later, the waitresses is calling how, "Hey, it's for you..."

When Gwen finally does get around to accepting the call, a voice tells her simply: "Manhattan. Saint Vincent Ferrer Roman Catholic Church. Go there. Fourth pew from the back in the center. Instructions will be under the far right side of the pew."

So it goes, a dizzying array of dead drops and false meeting places. Much of the young mercenary's morning and afternoon is spent trekking up and down Manhattan, following one instruction after another in a bid to meet with the ever-elusive Frank Castle. Of course for Frank it is done for the sake of his - and Gwen's - security. Ensuring that neither of them are followed to their final destination.

As the day wears on Gwen receives instructions that send her back into Queens, though it doesn't take long for her to find her final point in her grand - sometimes circuitous travels - three blocks away from the Graniteville Diner. The vacant lot illustrates the dregs of society and the lowest point that many could fall. The homeless population hasn't come out quite yet to make use of the space, though the evidence of their stay in the evening past is still evident. Broken bottles, the burn barrel with fresh ash, none too few syringes and vials scattered about in places. Deplorable conditions, but when the sun goes down, for some it is home.

A lone figure stands at the rear of a pickup truck. The evening chill has began to creep across the city on account of the water far to the west. This has resulted in the lone man in the vacant lot wearing a light jacket, a baseball cap pulled low, and one hand casually thrust into a pocket of his jacket. The other hand is out of sight behind him, acting as padding as he leans back against the pickup truck, awaiting the arrival of a special guest.

Gwendolyn Poole has posed:
Gwen is not really at her best in the early morning, groggy and grumpy and generally unhelpful. She schlumps into the diner, still blearily rubbing at her eyes as she starts looking around for Frank. She squints when she notes that he doesn't seem to be there. Almost immediately building up a good head of MAD. It isn't helped when the waitress tells her she has a call. Her eyes narrow at the phone even as she takes it.

"I am so shooting you when I get to you..."

The phone is hung up as soon as he gives the instructions, with Gwen dragging her feet over to the counter and flopping onto a stool. She orders coffee, black. Also waffles. With syrup. And bacon. Lots of bacon. Like.. three sides of bacon. And she proceeds to take her time with breakfast. Consuming food and coffee at a leisurely pace. Lingering over the last cup for a few extra minutes while she chats up the waitress. Paying for the food, she leaves a good tip and heads out with waves and good-byes for the diner.

Following the instructions, she arrives at the church to find the next set of instructions... and promptly seeks out a priest to engage in conversation, offering to buy him a cup of coffee at a nearby diner if he's free. When that doesn't happen, she'll shrug and smile and head out, taking the most circuitous route she can find. Eschewing cabs or subways, walking, skateboarding, biking... she even climbs up fire escapes to get to the roof so she can parkour across for awhile before heading back down to street level to cross the street.

It takes all day, in part because Gwen chooses to make this into a Billy map from a Family Circus strip. She seems incapable of walking a straight line, often veering completely off course, or even backtracking, just to waste more time. She stops frequently for drinks or snacks, gets a hot dog from one of the street vendors, even ducks into the zoo for a bit when it seems like she's getting close to the meetup place.

By the time she arrives, she has a balloon, a cotton candy on a stick, and a drink hat that's funnelling soda into her mouth with each sip.

She's still noshing on the cotton candy as she strolls up to him, slurping on the soda and watching him with lifted brows. "This was necessary? I mean, I get the paranoia to a point, but fuck. This whole day has been wasted traipsing around the city. Next time, just send me a fucking email, yeah?"

Frank Castle has posed:
The lone figure shifts slightly at the approach of another. It's barely noticeable, but the hand acting as his cushion against the tailgate of the truck shifts slightly. No doubt the man in the workman's jacket with the baseball cap had something there and he's just taken a hold of it. The approach of the young woman results in the man's head lifting, revealing his stubbled face. No doubt in the process of growing out a beard again. More than likely to hamper being easily identified without it, at least until his next mission. The ball cap rises up and Frank's face becomes visible, along with the man's blue eyes. There is a momentary flash of surprise in them. It's the sort of surprise someone may exhibit when they see something or someone familiar, after a long, long time. Someone they hadn't expected to see. He doesn't speak at first, but simply stares back in answer.

Somewhere deep in his mind he takes a brief journey. A trip that to his consciousness feels like it lasts the span of minutes. In reality it lasts all of two or three seconds before Frank's eyes snap away and toward the rest of the vacant lot. Ensuring that she was not followed, Frank's attention finally snaps back to the young woman before he continues, "Cut the bullshit. It was necessary and you prolonged it by being a smart ass". The answer is harsh, sure, but it's also truth. It also doesn't seem to be something that Frank's about to dwell on, because he quickly drops the more confrontational beginnings and promptly moves onto more important matters.

"Listen, you did good over in Gotham and I wanted to get an idea of who you are. You seem to know something about me, but I don't know who you are. What's your name?" the question is asked Frank seems to focus on Gwen, quite sternly. He's watching her for any hint or indication of deception. Not one for humor these days, Frank's jaw is set and his stare heavy. The hand at the small of his back does not move anymore. Not yet, anyway.

"Why were you after our mutual acquaintance?" comes a follow-up question. Establishing an identity and a purpose for their previous encounter.

Gwendolyn Poole has posed:
"Oooooo, someone just got caught in a flashback," Gwen knows that thousand yard stare into the sudden lookaway. She slurps down a bit more soda and grins at him, "Soooooooooooo... who do I remind you of? Ex-girlfriend? Your mom? One of the kids?" Because she's nothing if not callous to others' feelings! Well, sometimes. She might also still be a bit miffed at being dragged around Manhattan literally all day.

Slurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp.

The mention of her being a smartass just makes the grin bigger, a shrug lifted at him, "Play silly games, win silly prizes." She pulls a piece of the cotton fluff off the stick, popping it into her mouth as she watches him. Still not entirely sure she shouldn't shoot him for all the back and forth. Then again, he might want to team up again. So she should probably not go that route.

"Gwendolyn Poole. Gwenpool, if ya nasty." Her tone is flippant and irreverant, but the information checks out well enough. "And you won't find much else about me because this isn't my run. I'm from a different place, but I'm here for now at least."

Lifting a brow at him, she shrugs, "Told you then. Golino had something someone was willing to pay me big bucks to get. Dead or alive was optional as long as the item was intact."

Frank Castle has posed:
The talk of flashbacks and memories, specifically identities tied to those memories, results in a scowl from Frank. The flippant nature and overall irreverent behavior only seems to deepen the grimace from the accomplished killer. If murder were an Olympic sport, Frank would take the gold every year. The fact that he hasn't shot Gwendolyn - or Gwenpool - yet is a testament to either his self-control or her willingness to use her as an asset. For the moment they seem to have similar goals.

"Your run? Where're you from? Philly? Upstate? Baltimore?" The cities roll off of the man's tongue and he seems to continue studying Gwen, regarding her both her place of origin and the matter of her connection to Golino.

He gives another brief glance around. All without turning his head. His eyes move. It tends to escape notice more and look far less suspicious than craning your neck around, scoping out your surroundings. The hand in his pocket slips free and he turns. The pistol at the small of his back is released and his hands move to lower the tailgate. Duct taped to the inside of the tailgate, and thus out of sight, is a sawed off shotgun. Frank doesn't reach for it.

Instead reaches deeper to pull a package wrapped in a strip of tarp, from beneath a pile of wood boards and planks. He sets the tarp on the tailgate and steps aside, lifting his chin as he gestures Gwen forward, "Can you swim?" An odd question, but asked quite seriously.

The tarp-wrapped object itself - once unwrapped - appears to be a Beretta Model 93R. It appears to have been recently cleaned and serviced. "I saw what you were packing on that mission," Frank begins with a slight upward tilt of his chin, "figure you like machine pistols. It's yours if you want it."

Gwendolyn Poole has posed:
"Oho, I have struck a nerve! That means I'm close. Okay, so... if I remember correctly, your side of the family was mostly Italian, and while there ARE blonde Italian genes, they're pretty rare. Soooooooo... I'm guessing wife or daughter. Since you aren't looking at me like a starved man, I'm going with daughter." Gwen's insight is eerily on point, one might almost think she has inside information! Not enough to know for certain, but enough to make an educated guess!

"Nah, I'm from New York City just not... *this* New York City. If you get me. There's.. well, lets just say it's a VERY big world out there." Gwen lifts a shrug and tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat.

She isn't going to mention the glock she has inside the coat, or the SMG in the backpack she's wearing. She's never without weapons of SOME kind, and there's probably more hidden away in her clothing. But she admires the sawed-off all the same. Because she can still appreciate a fine gun! Looking at the tarp, she lifts a brow at him, and his question. ""Yeah, I can swim."

Her face lights up when he opens the tarp to reveal the gun, and she gives a nod, "Hell yeah I do! Long range single shot is all well and good, but if you get within ten feet of multiple goons, spray and pray is still one of the best options." She looks at him again, squinting, "Did you put a tracker on it?"

Frank Castle has posed:
"Kid?" Frank speaks, clearly intending to garner the attention of Gwen as she continues on about her guess in relation to his family and his personal history, "You said you were a big fan, right? Then cut it out". The subtle undertone is a simple one for someone that knows Frank Castle. Things might get spicier if his wishes aren't respected.

The emphasis on *this* New York City does earn a glance from Frank, to which he asks simply: "Which Borough?" The question is left to be answered or ignored.

He does turn his attention back toward the bed of the truck and glances toward the tarp when Gwen unravels it. The question earns a stern sidelong glance from Frank and he seems to consider the words spoken by Gwen, along with the young woman herself. Maybe it's an indicator of Frank's personal code of honor. Especially when dealing with someone that he's potentially working with again. He nods once, his tone gruff and low, "I did. Keep it there until we're done working together. That way if things go south at any point, I can find it. If I can find it, you likely aren't far off."

Then the question of swimming comes full circle, because Frank begins to lift the tailgate again in a bid to close it. The sawed-off is still left there, untouched and even acknowledged by Castle, "Golino's family is coming over in two days. Their emails indicate they'll be holding a gathering at his mansion the night before the funeral. Social gathering, mourning period, all of that". Frank's gaze shifts to the truck as he reaches into the bed, adjusting the planks and boards to conceal whatever might be kept beneath them once again. The clatter and thump of wood being shifting about interrupts anything further. Only when he's satisfied with the adjustment does Frank's hard stare return to Gwen, at which point he offers the conclusion, "We'll approach with a small boat and oars. We ditch the boat, swim ashore, and that gets us on the property quietly. We clean up. We egress with one of their vehicles and lay low for a couple days. I have a spot selected and arranged out of state already," Frank explains in simple, but effective fashion. Direct and to the point, without a lot of meandering in the simple part of presenting a plan. Then he adds a little icing to that cake he's baked, "You take what you can carry as your fee."

Gwendolyn Poole has posed:
Sighing as he fails to really react AGAIN despite her needling, Gwen's limited attention span doesn't allow for her to continue poking at the obvious sore spot, so she just flaps a hand at him as she picks up the Beretta and looks it over, locating the tracker he's put on it before giving a nod. "Fine. But I'm pretty sure you won't be able to follow it anyways. Where I go isn't somewhere you can just walk, drive, or fly to."

Tucking the machine pistol into a pocket, she turns away from the truck and looks back to him with a shrug, "Brooklyn. Not that you'll find any evidence of it." If he's going to be candid, she can be, too!

She leans in against the side of the truckbed and folds her arms over her chest, watching him as he explains why he asked his weird question. Lifting a brow, Gwen gives a nod and asks, "Want me to bring the rocket launcher, then? Also, I may have Jeff with me. He's with a friend right now, but he'll be going on vacation and Jeff can't go with him. Just a heads up. Not that I think it will be an issue. He's a good boy." She keeps it cool for approximately three seconds before gleefully rubbing her hands together and smiling broadly while she murmurs to herself, "I'm bringin' the duffelbag that night. Be amazed how much of whatever I can carry when I'm motivated!"

Pausing briefly, she looks him over, debating, then giving a small nod, "Yeah, that should work. My weekend is pretty open."

Frank Castle has posed:
A squinted sidelong glance is cast toward Gwendolyn, both at her remark regarding the tracker and having no evidence of her to be found in Brooklyn. He doesn't comment, but that scrutinizing glance seems to say more than enough. Then again if one were to try to look up Frank Castle's current residence it's not as though there'd be much to be found. Again his hand dips back into his pocket before his chin lifts and his head tilts a nod toward truck's cab, "Get in. I'll take you a couple blocks away from where you need to go. Better to get moving before we start drawing more attention".

Frank doesn't delay or await confirmation. He begins to move around the vehicle and toward the driver's side door. He does continue their discussion however, sparing another glance around their position to ensure that they weren't being directly and acutely monitored. Passive notice was one thing; someone openly watching with intent was another. "Bring whatever you need to get the job done. We'll be encountering a target rich environment, but with the potential for a lot of plain clothes security on the property. They're not just here to pay their respects," Frank practically growls, "they're coming to stake their claim. I want to make sure they don't stick around or get back home."

The driver's side door opens and soon enough Frank begins to climb into the cab. Once he's seated and settled, the attentive passenger may notice he doesn't move the pistol from the small of his back. Which likely indicates he's got more on other parts of his body that would, under present circumstances, be considerably easier to reach.

Gwendolyn Poole has posed:
Thumping the bed of the truck with one hand when Frank says to get in, Gwen straightens from her lean and gives him a nod, "Sure thing." Not that she has anywhere specific to be. She's staying in Gutter Space at the moment, so really, she doesn't need a ride anywhere, but saying that gets weird looks and worse questions. So she just gives a nod and starts around the back of the truck. She knows her way around the city, she can direct him somewhere that's a few blocks away from a couple different apartment buildings, then jump the panel when he isn't looking.

Pulling open the passenger door, she's quick to hop up and in, moving lightly. Sprightly, even! Pulling it shut behind her, Gwen leans back against the door to watch him, then grins, "Oh, I will. I ask about the rocket launcher because it's very... well, destructive. Might stroy some of the stuff we could otherwise grab." Nodding, she grins at him, "No worries. We'll kill 'em all and get away clean. Lay low for a few days until they've stopped looking quite so actively, then part ways as firends, of a csort."

Again with that near-prescience! She isn't exactly SAYING that's what will happen, it could totally be just the confidence talking! But it could also read as a prediction. Not that it makes much difference either way. But if she keeps being right, it might cause a bit more side eye. Gwen smiles brightly at him and motions, "Head north, take a right in three blocks." Since he offered to drive!

Frank Castle has posed:
"Bring what you need to do the job, but remember the louder we get the faster the response time usually," Frank answers on the matter of Gwen's desire to bring a rocket launcher to the mission. Which he doesn't outright deny, but merely cautions about. It's likely that he just as likely wants a rocket launcher brought for the mission. Explosives may be sloppy, but they do sure make a statement.

The engine turns over before growling to life. Once it's started and put into gear, Frank begins to drive. He doesn't spend too much watching his passenger, but instead on the road and traffic. His hat's pulled low again and he keeps the collar of his workman's jacket a tad higher. "You've got the gist of the plan. In, out, lay low. Part ways. Great friends," he says with about as much enthusiasm as someone with a toothache facing down a dentist.

The conversation trends toward staying about the mission and loose planning. A time and place to rendezvous is provided. Which will without a doubt be another false-start, intended to ensure first that she's not being followed before directing her to the true meeting place.

The truck turns north and travels that direction for three blocks. That's just the beginning of their journey deeper into New York City and Gwenpool's eventual destination.