Owner	Pose
Frank Castle	Jake is on an errand of some sort, possibly getting himself set up with more needle candy. It's not a nice or safe area. His phone rings. On the other end, a calm, pleasantly threatening voice. The kind of voice an interrogator uses--if he's good. "Hello, Jacob."
Jacob Walker	The cliche answer is "How did you get this number?" But his number's out there, now, for this identity. The VA databases for one. All the data we trail behind ourselves, unseen. Jake's silent for a moment, even as he steps off into the relative shadow of an alley's mouth. Walking and yapping like some distracted tourist is never a good idea, but especially here. "Hello," he says, putting the appropriately uncertain lilt to his voice. "Who's this?"
Frank Castle	"A friend. A friend of a friend, you could say." The ruffling of papers. "Here. Take a look at this," as if he was showing Jake a fun meme. But it's not. A photo pops up. It's Jake, in uniform. Civil War uniform. "You look great in that, Lieutenant Walker, or was it Captain, by then? Oh, and here's this." Jake is in uniform again, but this time it's WWI. "Hard to keep track of a name so bland, but that *punim* makes up for it. People remember you."
Jacob Walker	Should his interlocutor be watching him, somehow - via any possible local CCTV, or even the selfie camera on the phone he's holding, he'll be able to see what little color Jake has disappear, leaving him that unpleasant shade of gray. But he forces a laugh into his voice, that low, husky chuckle. "What, you been rummagin' around on Ancestry.com? Those're my ancestors that I'm named for - we got a long family tradition of both Army service and using that name. I'm the...sixth? Seventh? that I know of with that name. And it was Captain Walker, if I remember the family stories right. Not many men from Georgia fought in the Union Army." He's leaned himself against the grimy brick of the alley, the better to steady himself.
Frank Castle	"Mmm, hmm, yeah," the voice says absently, oh he's not interested, he's just burner-phone calling Jake and accusing him of being a couple hundred years old, "just little Jake Walkers down the line, right? right. What's going on, Mr. Walker. Why don't you tell me. Just tell me. Make it easier for all of us."
Jacob Walker	There's an impatient little noise from him, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Listen, Mister Whomever," The drawl's as thick as molasses now, "what are you trying to say here, and why? What is it that you want? Because you've called me up out of the blue asking me to cop to being some sort of immortal, and that makes no damn sense." Jake hastily swipes sweat off his forehead with the cuff of his sleeve. "And who's this 'us'? You and the squirrel in your pocket? If you can find those old pictures, you can find the ones of the actual me, the ones from Afghanistan and Iraq. And maybe my real records, y'know, birth certificate, high school diploma, all that." All those patently false things he's tried to backstop this identity with. But the one who constructed it is nowhere near equal to the man on the other end of the phone.
Frank Castle	"I figure you're not a vampire." But the other man doesn't say why. "Well, see, the thing is, Frank happened to mention you to me, and I have a little policy. Anybody Frank mentions, I do a quick check on them. Now here's the important part, okay, pay attention." Real annoyance seeps into his tone, or is it real? Feigned, to get Jake to snap to order? This guy has to be a spook. "The important part is that I haven't told him anything yet. I'm doing you a favor, sir. I'm keeping your little secret for you. I *like* secrets. Now I don't keep them from Frank too often, but I'm using my better judgement. You may or may not be *something*, I'll give you that. But it doesn't matter. I point Frank at you and pull the trigger, we'll see just how your trick works."
Jacob Walker	It doesn't seem possible at first glance, but Jake's gone that shade that borders on green. Frank. This guy knows Frank, great. "Why...Frank wouldn't do anything to me," Jake retorts, with a force he doesn't feel. "We served together, and I've not done anything since then to wrong him. You tryin'a tell me he's turned into Van Helsing since he got outta the Corps?"
Frank Castle	A pause. "You don't know Frank anymore." A tap, and there's the dialtone.
Jacob Walker	No, no, he doesn't. The certainty that he'll come back from whatever they might do to him doesn't negate the knowledge of what Frank was capable of back when....and that aura of dark violence he's seen so recently. Even his passenger is uncertain, uncertain enough to raise the fine hairs at his nape in sympathy. Which explains why Jake takes the phone, pulls out a pocket knife and sets about prying the simcard out of it. Once that's done, he drops the phone and grinds it to shards under a boot heel. The card ends up dropped down a sewer grate on his way to the subway - all thoughts of trying to score forgotten. He'll have to make do with the VA-issued pain killers tonight.