Stand Your Ground: I Frank was maybe focusing more on adventuring the basement then on the mission they'd been pressed into. He was well past following orders these days, seeing where that had gotten him over the years. No, the basement was something new and curious, and Frank wasn't letting that slide. Not when there might be answers down here.
He could be found, at the moment, rifling through one of the various boxes. Never mind why he'd come down to the basement with his duffel bag, that wasn't important. Or that he was definitely putting some things that he'd found into the bag. It's resourcefulness.
Reach Up High: I Frank didn't like this. It was no better than when he'd arrived himself and been forced to share memories with people. At least neither of them were trying for the door this time. But Frank didn't want to hurt someone, even if this was Hell and they all surely deserved to be there.
For what it was worth, Frank wasn't picking up one of those knives. He wasn't carving his sins into another person's flesh, even if he let them do it.
Follow Me Down: I Frank had been trying to avoid drinking in Hell since the first night he'd been there, but there were just some points where you had to give in to one thing or another. The bar, though, had been relatively safe for him so far, so he wasn't too worried about it.
Plus, there was karaoke. Should he be getting up and singing? Maybe not. He had a decent voice, but this was fucking ridiculous. That was alright. Sometimes, you just needed something that was a little ridiculous to get through everything else.
Frank got up a few times throughout the evening to sing.
II Probably, Frank should be avoiding the club. The last time he was here, there had been some poor life choices made. Those choices were made, though, and there was no taking them back. And he kept making them, repeatedly, with relish. He was no better then some of the men he'd gone after, he supposed.
He was considering that drink that was making the rounds. He'd avoided it so far, leery after his last encounter at the club. And besides, he'd been drinking at the bar, and now here, so it wasn't like he needed extra steps to let go.
At any rate, he lingered on the edges of things, watching, sipping scotch for the moment.
Wildcard [ Hit me up with whatever you'd like! Can also plot with me at besosde. ]
Frank Castle | The Punisher | OTA
Frank was maybe focusing more on adventuring the basement then on the mission they'd been pressed into. He was well past following orders these days, seeing where that had gotten him over the years. No, the basement was something new and curious, and Frank wasn't letting that slide. Not when there might be answers down here.
He could be found, at the moment, rifling through one of the various boxes. Never mind why he'd come down to the basement with his duffel bag, that wasn't important. Or that he was definitely putting some things that he'd found into the bag. It's resourcefulness.
Reach Up High: I
Frank didn't like this. It was no better than when he'd arrived himself and been forced to share memories with people. At least neither of them were trying for the door this time. But Frank didn't want to hurt someone, even if this was Hell and they all surely deserved to be there.
For what it was worth, Frank wasn't picking up one of those knives. He wasn't carving his sins into another person's flesh, even if he let them do it.
Follow Me Down: I
Frank had been trying to avoid drinking in Hell since the first night he'd been there, but there were just some points where you had to give in to one thing or another. The bar, though, had been relatively safe for him so far, so he wasn't too worried about it.
Plus, there was karaoke. Should he be getting up and singing? Maybe not. He had a decent voice, but this was fucking ridiculous. That was alright. Sometimes, you just needed something that was a little ridiculous to get through everything else.
Frank got up a few times throughout the evening to sing.
II
Probably, Frank should be avoiding the club. The last time he was here, there had been some poor life choices made. Those choices were made, though, and there was no taking them back. And he kept making them, repeatedly, with relish. He was no better then some of the men he'd gone after, he supposed.
He was considering that drink that was making the rounds. He'd avoided it so far, leery after his last encounter at the club. And besides, he'd been drinking at the bar, and now here, so it wasn't like he needed extra steps to let go.
At any rate, he lingered on the edges of things, watching, sipping scotch for the moment.
Wildcard
[ Hit me up with whatever you'd like! Can also plot with me at