No Debriefs After Brooklyn
Roleplaying Log: No Debriefs After Brooklyn
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

After the raid on the metahuman trafficking center, four vigilantes talk about just about everything BUT their recent mission.

Other Characters Referenced: Max, Curtis Hoyle (indirectly)
IC Date: July 09, 2019
IC Location: Punisher Keep, Jersey City
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 11 Jul 2019 07:20
Rating & Warnings: Light R for Language
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

With the dust of the partially-collapsed YMCA still on them, and several of the vigilantes are packed into The Punisher's black van, along with eight meta refugees and one zip-tied, blindfolded, and duct-tape-gagged boss-goon. It is a flagrantly-illegal drive, with only two seatbelts to be had, and Frank has one of them in the driver's seat. But they make it back to Punisher Keep without attracting police attention — it's a grandiose name for a humble building, and Frank stops out front, tapping a command into his phone. The loading door opens, and Frank drives the van into the open area inside. "Everybody out." His hip is still bleeding a little, even if his nose has stopped, leaving him with a fan of blood over the lower part of his face, and his ribs ache like ice inside a tree trunk.

* * *

"Thank you for riding with the PunishUber Car Service. Please make sure you've got all your personal belongings. Don't leave fingerprints, blood, or incriminating evidence behind." Dinah opens the backdoor and hops out through the doors. "~Ding~", she sings, and starts helping people down from the car. She's in a good mood, despite a bruise or two. A good fight always puts a chipper note in Dinah's voice. "No pushing, no shoving, one at a time. Tips are welcome, put them in Batgirl's belt."

* * *

Babs didn't call shotgun because there's an older gentleman with a busted rib who really shouldn't be jostled. So, the wounded Batgirl sits in the back with the metahumans they pulled out of the YMCA, her head tilted back against the interior of the van and her eyes closed. Her suit is torn up nicely from the through-and-through bullet wound on her right shoulder, and it looks like she may have scraped her helmet against rough cement. She has other people's blood on her too — splattered and smeared. When Dinah announces that they are back at the warehouse, she has to smile a bit. She stays in the back as the seven metahumans pile out, and the eighth gets out the passenger door. Only when its cleared does Babs pull herself out, right arm held close against her side. She jumps down, using Dinah's shoulder as a brace, and then looks back toward her friend with a small smile. She squeezes her shoulder. "You alright?"

* * *

Having been sidelined by a dumb luck accident — she'd been carrying a potted plant for Dinah and turned her ankle — Huntress is there at the warehouse waiting for them all when they arrive. And watching the people disembark, she can't help but feel even more out of place and unhelpful than usual.

"Uh… anything I can do to help?" She's in proper costume with mask and all, but moving carefully to hide the fact that her ankle is still not up to snuff.

* * *

Frank grunts in pain as he twists in his seat to level a steady look at Dinah's cheerful chirping, then shakes his head and straightens out in his seat. He waits for most of the refugees to get out of the van, then hauls himself out too, grimacing as he goes. Look, being shot five times hurts, even if your vest somehow manages to soak four of the rounds. As he starts to go around to the back doors, he watches Babs get herself out, then snaps his head over toward the refugees, "Get the hell away from the weapons." One of them had drifted over to the wire-mesh-backed tables where his (relatively) small arsenal is kept. He points toward the back of the building, "Bathroom's back there." Babs knows where the first aid kit is. The big one. He leans into the back of the van, grabbing the Boss's foot and hauling the man out with a groan of effort. "You get to say hi to Max, asshole." That would probably be scarier if Max were as mean as he looks. He studies Huntress flatly for a moment at her offer, then shrugs, "You could get this asshole tied up with Max, or start on some food. There's MREs and chili in the cabinets." There's a whole lot more than that too, actual honest-to-goodness food, but that requires more effort than Frank is willing to expend at the moment, apparently.

* * *

"No, first, we patch up the two bullet sponges here," Dinah says, overriding Frank's words. She hooks Babs' arm over her shoulder and helps the Batgirl limp along. "Max will look after the Boss Asshole, here. The folks here will survive ten minutes more without dinner," she tells them, nodding. "Batgirl took a though-and-through and Punisher got tagged a few times," she says, nodding at Frank. "Let's make sure you two don't bleed out first."

* * *

Babs's hand touches Frank's arm, and it lingers there for a moment; then she's stepping away, looking to Dinah. It looks like Babs is about to give directions to everyone until Dinah is taking some wind out of her sails, and she gives a little smile to her friend. "Okay, but then we need to get some calls in to see if we can get these guys moved somewhere safe." Then she smiles over weakly to Huntress. "We did okay, but it wasn't exactly what I expected." She then turns to the freed hostages. "You will find rolls of mats and blankets over there." She nods her head where extra supplies are kept in rolls and straps. "Get comfortable. We will get you to a safe house soon." Then she gives Frank a look. "Don't even say that you're fine. You're getting patched up, or I'm calling your Corpsman."

* * *

Huntress looks from Castle to Dinah to Babs in momentary confusion, then decides that that she's on Dinah and Babs' side. So, she steps over toward Castle. "C'mon, GI Joe. Get it over with so they'll let you go back to doing whatever you normally do." She steps over to deal with the Boss guy so Frank can follow the other two. "If this douchecanoe gives me grief, am I okay to Gibbs-slap him into next week?"

* * *

Frank stops at the touch to his arm, and he glances over Babs, his eyes flickering to her shoulder and then back to her face. His hand starts to drift out toward her, and then drops away again under the eyes of strangers. "I'm f — ," Frank starts to insist in his gravel-road voice, only to be cut off by Babs. He's… mostly fine. There's just a little trickle of blood still seeping out of the graze at his hip, but it's the blunt impact trauma from the hits to his vest that are slowing him the most right now. "Don't need any stitches. I'll deal with it after we get Batgirl checked out, and…" he looks over the group of refugees, "we should check that rib, sir. And ma'am, that cut." One of the women has a slash from falling glass across the small, greenish scales covering one arm. But he's getting triple-teamed, and he grunts, looking from one woman to the other mulishly for a moment, then shakes his head and heads over to grab the first aid kit out of the bathroom, evidently giving in, "As long as he can talk and remember, I got no problems."

* * *

Dinah makes it simple; she tethers Max to the Bossman's ankle. "Max, if he tries to run, tear his fucking nuts off," she orders him, and then simplifies things by ziptying a leather sack over the man's head and forcing him to lay down in a corner of the room with Max towering over him.

Bandages are handed out and she moves to the sink to scrub up for emergency surgery. "Need the stapler, the biofoam injector, and some clean gauze and surgical tape," Dinah explains. She turns to look at Huntress from behind her domino mask. "You wanna learn how to staple GSWs?" she offers to the Italian bird. "Handy thing to know how to do."

* * *

Batgirl endures Frank Castle's dismissive demeanor until he crumbles. Three stubborn women apparently can out-mule a stubborn man. When Frank stomps off to get the first aid kit, she turns toward Max at Dinah's orders. She doesn't ruffle up his ears no matter how much she wants to, and instead goes into the kitchen area where there's a table so she can lower herself with a groan into a chair. She starts to unzip and ease out of her suit's jacket, revealing the black tank top and the bullet wound. "You make it sound so romantic," she tells Dinah before she casts Frank a look, still wearing her scuffed-up helmet and mask.

* * *

With the Bossman very neatly dealt with, Huntress moves to follow Dinah and Babs though just thinking about STAPLING an injury sounds decidedly unappealing. She can deal well enough with needle and thread, but staples? Eugh. "Not really, but I get the feeling that I don't really get to say no."

And perhaps as proof that she's willing to learn even if it does squick her out, she heads for the sink in the kitchen and takes a moment to pull off her gloves and wash her hands. Cleanliness and all that happy horse hockey.

* * *

Max looks up to Dinah as she approaches with the prisoner, tilting his head to one side and letting his tongue loll out. He's clearly looking for pats, even if he's not going to get them right now. The orders from the Canary — or at least the tone behind them — sets the Rotty mix growling at the bagged boss, who starts in surprise, evidently not having expected a dog with a chest big enough for a full-bass growl. Frank pauses to watch that interaction as he comes back with the first aid kit, which is actually a fishing tackle box. He blinks at Dinah, "Biofoam?" He looks between her and the kit, then back, "I just upgraded to get a stapler." He's only been doing this for a year, and only caring if he survived it for about half of that. Frank hauls the kit over to the table by Babs as she eases out of the jacket, setting it down and taking the jacket instead, a momentary hint of a smile touching his lips before he grunts to Dinah, "I've got Neosporin though." Totally not the same as biofoam. He really should wash his own hands, but hasn't bothered yet. While the two injured refugees hang around the kitchen area with the vigilantes, the other six have clustered by the van, somewhere between absolutely drained and full of nervous energy.

* * *

"Yeah, well. Any excuse to get your shirt off," Dinah tells Babs with a fond and incorrigible grin. "Frank too, he's turning into eye candy for an old man."

She picks up the kits and gets to work, showing Huntress what to do. Painkillers, general and local, are distributed as people take them. Barbara's first; the wound's unpacked and she jams an applicator syringe into Barbara's bullet wound. It expands in a spurt of pink foam, burning and numbing all at once. When the wound's packed with the biogel, she staples it shut with the surgical device.

Dinah hands the tools off to Huntress for patient #2, and sits back to watch Helena apply emergency aid to Frank's nasty (if not major) grazed bullet wound.

When it's done, she makes sure the two of them are off their feet and sets about disposing of the medical supplies.

* * *

Batgirl looks up at Frank when he mentions he doesn't have biofoam, and she tightens her lips to suppress a little smile. She glances up at Dinah now, and her eyes roll dramatically at the incorrigible words and their grin. "I can't believe you just said the words 'eye candy.'" She looks to Helena as if the Huntress may spare her a bit. But then she's being seen to, and she pops some painkillers at Dinah's encouragement before she takes a breath when Dinah gets out her own biofoam; the needle is a bit more than she'd like to admit, but she stares at Frank when Dinah inserts it. Then she is grimacing through the pinch of the staples, and she doesn't actually catch her breath until that jolt of emergency adrenaline passes. Then she winces as she pulls up to her feet, walking tenderly to the freezer to get the ice packs so she can pass them off to Frank for his bruises and aches. Then she sees to the two metahumans while Frank is being patched. She offers painkillers, ice, and wrap for the broken rib and some quick bandage sutures for the woman's cut before she bandages it up. Then she tells both how to get to the mats and blankets so they can maybe get some sleep.

* * *

After shrugging to Babs a bit helplessly at Dinah's honestly typical behavior, Huntress watches the first aid attentively enough, though she frowns in mild confusion at the needle. She's never seen the stuff before and is honestly uncertain about it even if Dinah makes it look like she just used a particularly weird neosporin.

And then, it's her turn. "Um, sorry in advance," she tells Frank, and follows Dinah's instructions with only a bit of hesitation here and there. When it's all said and done, though, she moves to help with the cleanup and tells Dinah sotto voce, "What the hell is biofoam?"

* * *

Frank unseals his trademark vest, poking at one of the bullet strikes and then dropping the heavy garment onto the floor alongside the table. He eyes Dinah for a moment, and then gives a pained little shrug and reaches up with one hand to pull off the long-sleeved t-shirt underneath. He pushes down one side of his pants a touch, exposing the graze just above the point of his hip. "Just for you, Canary." Using the code-names isn't natural for Frank, but he perseveres. Turning a gimlet eye on Helena, he adds, "You can keep that gel shit away from me." Mostly he's just grumpy, not really snapping at her. He holds Barbara's gaze as Dinah works on her shoulder, shifting a hand where he sits, but staying settled into his seat by the table. When she's done, he adds, "You need more Kevlar and stab plates, Batgirl." At least he keeps his voice low so that the prisoner and the majority of the refugees can't hear. He stands up when it's his turn to be tended to, crossing his left arm across his body to clear the area for Huntress. He winces at the stapling, drawing in a hiss of breath once, but otherwise keeping stoic. The ice packs are taken with a nod of thanks, and he wraps them up in his shirt, using the sleeves to tie it around his ribs with a slow groan. "Thanks, Huntress."

* * *

Dinah's helping to wash up, and doing most of the running since she's the only one without a bullet wound or bad ankle. She looks at Helena. "Biofoam? No idea, found it on a Chinese mail order site," she says. Loud enough for her voice to carry to Frank.

"I'm kidding. It's the hot shit US Special Forces are using," she clarifies. "Prevents bleeding, accelerates skin and vascular growth. It'll keep the wound from bleeding and it breaks down naturally over time. Cuts the recovery rate for bullet wounds down from months to weeks. It'll scar, but… well, it's not a giant leaky hole in your chest, either," she admits.

"And Batgirl needs to /stop getting shot/," she yells back over her shoulder. "It's not that hard! I didn't get shot once this time!"

* * *

Batgirl is suppressing a grin behind Canary as she works on Frank's hip, and then she looks over to Huntress as she works on the wound. Then she takes a breath once he's all stitched up. "She's just upset you didn't get shot in the butt, Frank." Each time Frank grumps, she flashes him a quick smile. Then at his suggestion, she huffs out a breath. "I've thought about that… I have something in mind. I just haven't had time to get it all put together." When Huntress is done, she steps up to give Frank the ice packs for his bruises. "Canary, do you need any TLC?" Look at how she sidesteps being chided by two people at once, though she does offer a bit more sheepish smile. "I didn't ask to be shot." Then she gestures everyone else into chairs, and she gets two folding chairs from the little corner so they can all sit. Babs keeps her eyes on the bossman and the metahumans.

"We need to get them to a safehouse. Frank, you got the van, can you get them to Metropolis?" Then she looks to Huntress and Black Canary. "I think it's time to talk to de Palo." She catches Huntress up. "Falcone's goons hit this place a couple weeks ago; they are muscle for one of his lieutenants — Zama di Palo. She owns that club over in the Diamond District — Noir. That guy," Babs nods to Bossman, "is one of her heavies."

* * *

Instead of settling in a chair with the other three, Huntress starts puttering about cooking something. She WAS benched today, after all, and feels like she's done a whole lotta not much. She listens to Babs has to say while she looks through the foodstuffs available and decides what to cobble together. She's got to feed the metahumans especially — she saw those nasty MREs and wouldn't be entirely surprised if Castle wants one of those over her cooking. Hm. A wide variety of random, and nothing in enough quantity to make any one thing.

Minestrone it is.

"This Zama di Palo, how far is she in with the local mafia?" she asks while dumping more and more seemingly random items into a large stewpot on the stove. She thinks of it like trying to fix something to feed all of her cousins when they were all not yet twenty and still have leftovers. That should be enough for a dozen /normal/ people, right?

* * *

Frank flat-stares at Dinah, then grunts amusement, "Pretty sure the Navy doesn't waste fancy shit like that on Marines." This is the benefit of being open with your identity — to go along with all the downsides — he doesn't have to dance around information from his past. "Pretty sure they only give the corpsmen aspirin in case they get hurt." This is patently false, but perfectly in keeping with the shit-flinging between services. The smiles from Babs seem to amuse him, a hint of a grin touching his lips before it fades away again. "Pretty sure you're gonna have to get it together now." Looking to Dinah a moment, he adds, "You want to see my ass, you're gonna have to kick it." There are multiple flaws in this statement, but at least he's sitting down now. The call to go to Metropolis, however, has him grimacing worse than his wounds, "Underoos City? Really?" But he grunts his assent. "Reports to Falcone," he responds to Helena, then adds, "There's garlic on the counter. Back-right. Onion in a bag under the counter." The kitchen is actually surprisingly well set up, although it's set up for cooking for one or two, not a full squad. There are real ingredients as well as the MREs, cans of chili, and packets of tuna.

* * *

"I dont' need to see it that bad, Frank. Babs talks about is too much as it is," Dinah advises the Punisher. She walks towards Babs and unceremoniously shoves her into a heavy-cushioned chair, then throws a throw blanket over her. Hah! You're trapped now, Barbara. If only we had a cat to lock her down…

She moves to the kitchen to help Helena with the food, or at least until she's ushered out by the Italian's cooking sensibilities.

"I can drive 'em to Metropolis in the morning. You two need to stay and rest," she advises Frank and Batgirl. "And I mean, rest rest, not 'go upstairs for some post-mission nookie' rest."

* * *

Babs relaxes into her chair — after being shoved! — and she watches Helena move around the kitchen. She ignores most of the back and forth with Frank and Dinah and instead focuses on the tasks at hand. She angles Frank a look. "It's the safest place for them. Metropolis hasn't gone anti-metahumanity." Yet. She takes in a breath, folding her arms slightly and then winces regretfully. She relaxes that injured shoulder. Then Dinah mentions post-mission nookie, and Babs at least pinks at the height of her cheeks. "Canary…" Then she shakes her head, rubbing at a cheek.

"She's high up there. I don't know if we can get to her, not right away. She probably has more than a handful of cops on her payroll." Most of the mafiose do. "But maybe that's where we start, and see if we can upset her power structure. Falcone is up to something — and it looks like it has to do with metahumans."

* * *

Dinah's presence in the kitchen is tolerated so long as there are onions to chop and garlic to smash and other very basic things to help with. But, yes, quickly enough she's chased off. "No, no screwing up dinner. Go be snarky over there."

And then, THAT bombshell is dropped. Huntress stops in the middle of stirring the stewpot's contents to stare at Dinah for two seconds, then flick over to Babs and Frank and back. "You're just talking out your ass, right?" Please say you are, or Helena's brain just might break a little.

But Babs saves the day by shoving the topic back toward that Zama lady. Thankfully. "Well, apparently my name hasn't completely been forgotten in this sh— craptastic town. I could try throwing out a line that way again?" Though Dinah at the least was there the last time Helena did anything mafia-facing. It didn't end well at all.

* * *

Frank snorts softly at Dinah, but let's the thread about his ass drop, starting to shrug at the offer to drive, even opening his mouth, then closing it again. He doesn't blush, but his lips do tighten. He looks over to Babs, then Helena, and then shrugs a little painfully, "I've been shot seven times in a week and a half." That should totally be reason enough not to have post-mission nookie… right? Also, he lowers his voice until it's a growl, and he adds, "There are fucking civilians here." His displeasure clear, he looks over to Helena, "Intel's good. But at some point, I don't care how many cops are on her payroll. At some point I'm gonna go in there and smash up this goddamn trafficking ring. It's liable to get messy, and I'll understand if you don't want in. And don't even give me shit, you know I'm gonna make sure there aren't civilians around." There's a pause, and then he squares his shoulders, sitting forward a little in his seat, "And if you got a problem about personal choices, you can…" he bites off a threat, just shaking his head.

* * *

"~Don't hate me 'cause you ain't me,~" Dinah sings, in response to… well, everyone. She looks like she's giddily high on endorphins. Helps she didn't get shot or stabbed, it seems, otherwise she'd be whinging as much as everyone else.

"We'll get it handled. You two get patched up. Then we can do this right," she advises the duo. The refugees are largely absorbed in their own world, napping or curled around one another on the other side of the room. She's at least not broadcasting state secrets.

"But… we should talk about this plan another night," Dinah advises Frank. She's switching to be the voice of reason— or at least to be the bad guy so Barbara doesn't have to. "Before we come up with a plan where you're blasting through a precinct. Full of cops."

* * *

Tension builds in Frank, and Babs regards him almost warily. "Our goal is to stop the trafficking ring from continuing. We're not about to let that slide because things might get messy." She glances toward Helena and Dinah before she takes in a breath. Her frown has settled into place. "I can't let you walk into a Falcone territory, guns blazing." Then Dinah mentions a police precinct, and she grimaces slightly. "If the payroll cops get involved, we bait them on patrol." Her eyes flicker up to Frank briefly, and then to Helena and Dinah. "Let them get some rest. We can move them in the morning. You good staying here, Canary? Huntress and I can get back to Gotham to see if we can start digging up some intel." She hesitates. "Tomorrow."

* * *

And her subtle mention about walking into a known mafia pub dressed like a Kardashian prepared to go Rambo on the mooks in there either goes unmentioned or ignored by Dinah. Maybe that's for the best, but it's the only way she can think of to gather intel on this Zama woman. Her cursed family name has to earn its keeps SOMEhow, right?

"I agree with holing up until morning, but you too, Ba—tgirl. We can head back in the morning too. Besides, the minestrone needs about twenty more minutes to heat though." She hooks a thumb at the stewpot.

* * *

Frank shakes his head at Dinah, "I'm not going through a precinct of cops. That ain't who I am." There's a little frustration behind the words, but he sinks back into his seat with a grunt of pain again, shifting the ice packs on his ribs. The chair creaks quietly beneath him as he presses into it, and then he shakes his head, forcing himself to leave it be. "There's a cot down here, my bed upstairs, and another room upstairs that we can throw mats and shit into." He looks to the array of weapons, "I'd feel better having them outta here, but I don't think anybody's got to drive four or five hours to Metropolis." Huntress gets a nod at her mention of the food, "When do we do a debriefing? Talk about how shit went down today?"

* * *

Babs wants nothing more than to slink upstairs and change out of her suit and into fresh clothes, but she takes a glance toward the metahumans in their care. Self-care will have to wait. Instead, she gets up and starts to get bowls and spoons for the soup. "Tomorrow." She nods to Helena. "We will get started looking into di Palo." Then she glances over to Frank, bemused. "Debriefing? Um." She glances at Helena and Dinah. "We usually… just do that while preparing for the next step." She gives him a slightly wearied, sheepish smile. Then she starts to step away. "I'm going to check on our guests."

* * *

Helena gets up when Babs does, checking on the cobbled together minestrone while the redhead gets the bowls and spoons. "I'm with her about that. You say debrief, and I get unpleasant flashbacks to cousins trying to pants each other at the beach. NOT something I enjoy remembering." Then she busies herself portioning out the stew into the bowls, having every intention of making sure the metahumans they brought get the first servings. She'll survive on a granola bar or two tonight if need be. She's done it before and she'll no doubt do it again considering how crappy school teachers are paid.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License