Hell's Kitchen Vigilantes and Mercs
Roleplaying Log: Hell's Kitchen Vigilantes and Mercs
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Trish and Amelie run into Frank as he's finishing up a job.

Other Characters Referenced: Jessica Jones, Matt Murdock, Luke Cage
IC Date: July 29, 2019
IC Location: Hell's Kitchen, NYC
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 30 Jul 2019 08:23
Rating & Warnings: R for language
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

ch other, and by a dedicated killer (or an army of them if you believe some boogieman rumors) called The Punisher — but there are always more fish out to get a bite, so it's really not any safer than it was. Gangs aren't getting wiped out wholesale anymore, but the man in the skull vest is still seen from time to time. Right now he's leaving a closed-up construction site, dabbing at blood flowing from his nose with the back of a long, gray sleeve of the shirt he wears beneath the vest. He doesn't seem to be carrying any massive military weapons, just a heavy-bladed knife at one hip and a pistol at the other. Not long ago, there were screams coming from inside the construction site, but it's silent now, perhaps ominously so.

* * *

The itch to do some good in this city has become more and more strong. And with newly acquired enhancements to her physiology, Trish Walker feels the need to use them more and more. The only problem? She can't go many places without being recognized. It doesn't help that even when she's not immediately recognized, she usually has the look of someone who's relatively well-to-do.

Tonight she's made the attempt to dress a little more low key. More 'everyday person' than 'hey look, I have money'. She carries a smaller purse than she had last time, but still big enough to hold certain things she's using to help hide her identity, should she find herself in a situation where she could help someone.

Her paper plate mask and cat ears, the items she's using to help disguise herself for now, are almost brought out as she hears screaming from a nearby location. She rushes in its direction, finding herself near a construction site, though now the screaming has ceased. Though quiet, her curiosity is still piqued.

* * *

Sometimes the villain, sometimes the hero, even Amelie wasn't really sure what she qualified as. Battles of the war had been easy, but immortality and isolation did have its strains for the girl. Life as a mercenary offered excitement, engagement and most of all? The simple 'grey area' of taking payment for tasks rather than picking ideology. Tonight? She was wrapped in a long dark blue 'pea coat' that obscured most of her outfit beneath. Any weapons she carried? They too seemed to be concealed as she walked through Hell's kitchen, but there was no missing the suitcase she held clasped in her left hand. She'd been shopping in the stock of some unsavoury characters around here.

One of the best things about America really, at least to the French assassin; how much easier it was to obtain replacement and disposable weapons. Well, that and some of the food.

The screaming? It earns a tilt of her head and a slight turn of her path. Curiousity attracted more than cats tonight.

* * *

Frank looks up at the hurried motion as Trish rushes into sight, reaching over to grab a long black trenchcoat draped over the open chain-link gate to the site. He looks over to her quite flatly, his own feline tendencies showing themselves as he looks right at her and unhurriedly puts on the trenchcoat, covering up not just the pistol that is illegal to openly carry in the city, but eventually also the blatant white-on-black spraypainted skull on the front of his bulletproof vest. He's not hiding who he is. He might even be silently daring her to scream, to call the cops, or to turn and run. Or maybe he's just waiting to see if she's going to. But look, there's another woman walking through Hell's Kitchen at night, this one carrying a suitcase. He looks from one to the other, then pitches his voice up slightly to carry, "Ma'am. It ain't really safe bein' out after dark 'round here." Yeah, it basically sounds like he's been smoking a pack a day and drinking a fifth of whiskey a day since he legally could. Definitely 40 miles of rough road, and gravel road at that.

* * *

Stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of the man, Trish eyes him and his trenchcoat. She isn't sure what to make of him at first. Anyone in this neighbourhood, especially at night, automatically brings suspicion to her mind. At the appearance of the other woman, and the words of the man, she slowly starts to walk toward him. She keeps an eye on both people, as you can never be too safe.

"Yes. You're right." She nods to Frank. "It is a dangerous place. For everyone." She glances toward the construction site.

"You didn't happen to hear the uh…" She glances between the two others and the construction site. "You know what? Must have just been my imagination."

As she gets nearer to Frank, she squints her eyes and tilts her head. "Do I know you from somewhere?" She says after a moment of silence.

* * *

Amelie's figure drifts around the corner, a few steps back in the dark of the night. Perhaps in another circumstance it might be intimidating, but Frank has her well and truely beaten in that. With the mention of the scream, the French assassin drifts a little closer, but her own gaze flicks over his blatant skull and the weaponry he was carrying. One doesn't need super perception to spot those threats. Did she recognize the Punisher? Not by face, but enough rumors had come through her contacts about that skull.

Either this was the real deal, or a menacing copycat. "Dangerous indeed," she speaks, her accent carried in her tones. "Menacing characters out and about."

* * *

Frank shrugs a little helplessly at Trish's comment and glance toward the construction site, but the question that follows causes him to snort out a huff of breath, a crooked smile touching his lips for just a moment before it falls away again, "I got one'a those faces." And it was shown on TV news stations for a while. Armed and Dangerous. Most Wanted in connection to a shooting at a law enforcement conference and the death of the New York DA. Sure, he was eventually cleared of both of those, but that word wasn't spread as far and wide. "Everybody always says they've seen me on TV." He looks back over to Amelie, nodding a little, "Worse than that. Cops should be here in about ten, twelve minutes." The nearest precinct isn't far, but it's definitely busy.

* * *

"Menacing characters. They do tend to wander, don't they? Especially at night?" Although, isn't that what they're all doing? Including her? Wandering, at night? Though Trish doesn't dwell on that for too long. "I guess a gal, or a guy, just needs to know how to protect themselves. Or have someone nice and strong enough to protect them."

"I." She pauses with the single short word. "You're the flower shop guy! From…from Gotham." She gasps a little. "Nooo. I mean, yes. That was you, but weren't you also just…" She laughs. "Could it be?" She looks over to the nearby young lady with the accent. "I think he and I fought together not too long ago!" She looks back at Frank. "I mean, not against one another, but like…side by side. Those military guys? Glowing eyes?" She raises an eyebrow. "I was wearing a paper plate as a mask? And uh," She holds both her hands up to the sides of her head in a fist, with the exception of the index and middle fingers pointing upward. "I also had cat ears? Remember?"

* * *

Well…this was certainly a more interesting night than Amelie had expected. She'd begun with a decent discount on some military-tech and now? She'd walked in on what appeared to be the strangest flirtation she'd seen in her life between this woman and the apparent Punisher. Paper plates and cat ears? Whatever floats your boat. His mention of the cops however? It has her tilting her head and quirking a smile. "How fortunate then, non? For us to be so well protected by law enforcement?"

* * *

The initial recognition from Trish doesn't seem to bother Frank, but when she comes up with 'the flower shop guy,' he stiffens, feet shifting under him and his eyes flickering left and right, narrowing as they come back to the two women, "Yeah, I was there." It's an admission that he apparently doesn't much like to make, and he moves quickly on to the alley fight, "Yeah? That was you?" His lips tighten, "Might want somethin' that doesn't show up so bright at night." Like he's one to talk about the un-tactical-ness of bright white. At least the skull is covered by the trenchcoat now. "It's a meta drug. The eyes. Give someone powers for a while. Can burn you out though. First time I've seen it in like eight months." Amelie's comment causes him to snort faintly, shaking his head and glancing back toward the construction site, "Yeah. They try. They do some good. Not enough."

* * *

"Ha! I knew it! Booyah!" Trish clears her throat. "Sorry, that's a phrase I don't usually say, and don't intend to say again." She smiles widely, though. "I guess we were too busy fighting military guys the other day for me to recognize you but, wow." She suddenly goes serious raises an eyebrow. Now those news stories are flooding back. But he was later found innocent, or at least that's what they said.

"I've uh…heard of similar drugs that do similar things. I was curious." She doesn't quite explain where she's heard of similar drugs, but this world is a place full of scientific research. "The paper plate and cat ears are, well, just temporary. I intend to get an actual outfit made." She explains.

"As for the police, the police. They do try just so darn hard." She clucks her tongue. "And they do seem to want to make a difference!"

* * *

"Of course," Amelie speaks, apparently seeming to have recognized the man and moving herself into the conversation despite the fact she didn't share in the history of the meeting. "Many of them would happily see -you- in jail or dead, Mr Castle." Neither of them were exactly being subtle, so why should she? Of course, she wasn't announcing her own identity just yet. After all, there was a slight chance she might find herself immediately shot for it. That being said, the mention of the meta-drugs does have her tilting her head.

"But that is interesting…attempts at similar have been made in the past, non?"

* * *

The police shootings… cleared of investigation. Gangland killings? Kitchen Irish, Mexican Cartel, Dogs of Hell? Not so much. Frank lifts his brows a moment at the effusive reaction from Trish, pressing one hand into the other palm just short of popping his knuckles and his eyes glancing around. "Mask's a hard thing to wear. Easy to lose yourself behind it." The telltale sound of sirens touches the ears, but they're still a long ways out. Then something about Trish catches Frank's attention again, and his eyes shoot back to her, narrowing sharply, "You got a familiar voice too. You goin' public with Paper Plate Girl?" Amelie calls him out on his rocky relationship with the police, and he nods slightly, "Yeah. They got their reasons. And I don't know what sorta shit people've tried to do with that in the past. I just know that a ship with some of that shit on it blew up in Gotham Harbor…" he pauses, "Shit, about 10 months ago. Thought that was the end of it. Seems like it's back."

* * *

"It seems there have been quite a few attempts." Trish nods to Amelie. "I only know of one company, myself, that's done experiments and made drugs to enhance a person." She admits. "But it doesn't surprise me that there are others."

She chuckles at Frank. "You know, I get that all the time." She mentions about her voice. "And no, I don't think Paper Plate Girl is quite the persona I want on the streets of New York. I've got something else in mind." She offers a shrug and a smirk and leaves it at that.

"Gotham Harbor?" She murmurs. "I think I heard about that. Didn't realize that's what it was about." That's said mostly to herself, though it does leave her curious.

* * *

"Ever since Captain America," the French woman shrugs, "perhaps before even." Another off-hand comment perhaps, but Amelie had opinion even if she did not have a history like the other two did with each other. Mention of the harbor and the explosion earns a curious tilt of her head, she might just go looking back at the reports in her spare time once she gets back to her suite. Speaking of which, those sirens -were- getting closer and she was holding a briefcase of extremely illegal weaponry.

That being said, she might be less noticable standing next to a man far more wanted than she in the form of Frank, anonimity had its perks.

"I wish you both luck then," Amelie offers, making to turn away from the pair. "Mr Castle, 'Paper plate girl'? Au revoir."

With that, she turns away to disappear into the night.

* * *

Frank's features harden at Trish's commentary on the explosion in Gotham Harbor, "It wasn't what it was about." It was about the killer of his dead family — at least as far as he knows. Anger signals are clear in his features and stance, his shoulders square, his right index finger twitching slightly, his features tight and eyes slightly widened. He masters that rage, however, working his jaw loose and letting out a little breath. He looks back to the French woman, and he gives a tight little nod, "Except these shits ain't no Captain America. That man's a fucking icon." But he nods again as she takes her leave, looking back to Trish, "Don't much want to be here when the cops get here for the shitbird up there. You got somewhere you need to be, or you out lookin' for trouble?"

* * *

"Nighty Night Miss…Miss." Trish raises her hand to wave to the mysterious French woman. You never quite know the types of people you'll meet out on the streets of Hell's Kitchen, especially at night.

She raises both her hands defensively as Frank's anger seems to raise. "Okay. If you say so. I just know what the news says. It's not like we're on Trish Talk or something and I'm reporting it as fact." These words themselves may be enough for Frank to click in to who she is.

"Well, I figured I'd see if anyone needed help. The cops probably wouldn't hold me here, but uh, it probably doesn't look good, anyway, walking around at this time of night." She looks around. "I've got a sister, a PI, that has an office that I think isn't too far from here. Maybe I should head there, lay low for a bit, and then head back home." She ponders. "Of course, maybe I should just find the most direct route home without running into the police or more trouble."

* * *

"I know a PI in the area." Frank's metaphorical feathers are still ruffled, but it just means his heavy brows are lowered and his gravelly voice a little rougher, "But I don't think Snow White is Trish Walker's sister." Sometimes he's just a pain in the ass with the nicknames. To be fair, he's actually not trying to be one — this time. "You want to keep her safe, you might want a real mask." It's a grudging admission, as he starts to walk slowly down the sidewalk, heading north, perpendicular to the direction the sirens are coming from. "You gotta be sure you don't become the mask though." Which might be why he doesn't wear one. "Me, I'm just gonna get a couple blocks out and then keep goin' while they're settin' up a perimeter behind me."

* * *

"Snow White?" Trish can't help but laugh at the comment, not realizing for a moment that he could be talking about Jessica. That moment quickly fades, however, as does the smile on her face. She starts walking along with him. "You're not talking about Jessica Jones, are you? Because, I mean…she does sorta have that pale skin, dark hair Snow White look about her. 'Cause that's who I was talking about." Yes, the sister she referred to is definitely Jessica Jones.

Glancing back at the block they were just on, she shakes her head. "I think for tonight, I'd rather not be in their perimeter either. I guess it's true what Dorothy said in Oz…there's no place like home."

* * *

Frank starts to nod at the question, and then his brows raise at the name, his surprise cracking his anger, "Jesus Christ." The shake of his head is dryly amused, "Yeah. I work at Luke's." For now, at least. With the big man out of town and his time being caught up in Gotham more frequently, that might change. "Snow White and I got off to a rocky start. We tolerate each other now. She don't like my methods, I don't think hers do the job." As they walk, there's a natural tendency for Frank to turn partially toward Trish, a polite sense that he's actually listening even as his eyes flick around the area, searching for threats as the sirens creep closer.

* * *

"Huh. Luke's?" The way Trish says it, it's obvious she's heard. She's even had Jess staying at her place, making sure she's okay. "The people you don't know you're connected to, huh? Screw the whole 'six degrees of separation' thing. I never thought there'd be one degree of separation between me and…'The Punisher'!" She lowers her voice for dramatic affect as she says his nickname. "You two definitely have different ways of doing things, from how I understand it." She nods. "But Jess, I mean, she's trying to do things…" She doesn't want to say 'legit'. On some level, she can maybe understand why Frank does what he does. "You both have your own ways of doing things, I guess. What's important is the people you help. At least in my opinion. But then, I'm not out here on a daily basis."

* * *

"People she and Hornhead bust, they're back on the streets in a couple months, a year or two. The people I deal with?" Frank shakes his head, but he's not arguing as passionately as he might. He's had this discussion too many times already. Still, he finishes the idea, "The ones who deserve it, they don't come back." His brows knit slightly, "Pretty hard to be out here every night as a celebrity. You got shit you need to do. I get it. But you handled yourself pretty well with those merc assholes in the alley. Then again, maybe we shoulda all stepped back and let junior Iron Man deal with 'em."

* * *

"She's probably hearing my annoying voice in her ear saying, 'Be careful. Don't hurt them too bad. Let justice do its thing.'" Trish chuckles, grinning a bit. "Honestly, there was a time when I could be a bit, well, annoying." And she pushed Jessica right into being a superhero for a while. "You're kinda two sides of a coin. In a way." She leaves it at that, though.

"Thanks." She'll take the compliment. "Though I did kinda freeze." She admits timidly. "It was my first real time in that sort of confrontation. But, I do have some sort of fight, self defence training in my arsenal." She explains. "I guess I just sorta used that to my advantage." She conveniently leaves out, for the time being, having her own physiology changed, might like the men they went up against did.

* * *

"You're out here without powers, you gotta go hard and fast. Gotta incapacitate them before they get a shot off. Only way to come out alive." Frank taps his ribs, the gesture thumping solidly into the bulletproof vest with its stab plate inserts beneath his coat, "And get yourself some protection. They sell slimline vests with stab plates for a couple hundred bucks. Then again, if you're Snow White's sister, maybe you got yourself powers." There's a pause, then he adds, "It gets easier. First time you see some shitbird drop someone you care about, it gets real easy. Some people just don't have it though. Military works hard to find the people who do."

* * *

"I guess I see your point, there. When you have powers, depending on the powers, you don't always have to pay attention to the same things those without them have to." Trish agrees. She just offers a coy smile to the mention about being Jess' sister and having powers. However, those vests catch her interest. "Slimline, you say? A vest with a stab plate, that could be useful." She makes a mental note to add those to any suit she may end up getting.

"I think I just need more practice." She tells him. "I know I got this. Yeah, my life keeps me in the spotlight, which makes it a bit difficult at times, but I want to make a really difference out here, you know?"

* * *

As sirens finally pass them a couple of blocks away, heading for the construction site, Frank stops at a corner, pointing off to the left, toward the water, "That's me. I figure that ain't you." Since the docks are even worse than most of Hell's Kitchen. "You want to make a difference, you gotta be trained. You want to learn how to use a knife, a gun, or put someone down hard…" he shrugs, "I might be able to help you out. You want to go the Mask and Cape way and throw 'em in a fuckin' day spa for a couple weeks, I might know someone who could help out." He digs into a pocket, coming up with a card and a pen, scratching a number on it then offering the card out, "Drive time's already boring as fuck without losin' a voice you can recognize."

* * *

As the nearby siren goes blaring away, Trish glances toward where Frank pointed. "Nope." She shakes her head. "That's definitely not me." She shrugs. "I mean, I don't quite know what my style is, though I'm leaning more toward the hand to hand type of thing. So knowing how to just take someone down could be useful. I mean, I've taken krav maga, but the fact of the matter is, learning in a classroom is a lot different than learning on the streets." She sighs softly. She figures she has a lot to learn on this journey. Smiling again, she accepts Frank's card. "Thanks." She glances over it before slipping it in her purse, and swiftly pulling out her own card. "And if I can ever be any assistance to you…I'm not sure how, but if I can…" She holds out her own card to Frank. "The second number, next to the c in brackets, that's where I'm most likely to be reached."

* * *

Frank nods, "It is. You gotta learn to do it for real if you want to make it work out here." They exchange cards, and he glances down at hers at her comment, knocking the nail of his middle finger against the card held between his thumb and index finger, "You mean the cell number? Never woulda guessed." For a moment, he sounds dryly amused, "I ain't that old." Then he gives a little salute with the card and turns toward the waterfront, "Good huntin' out there."

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