memezilla | Denny's Meme

[Karen lifts her hands up and shrugs, unable to find the right words for the moment. Honestly, she just came for pancakes and coffee. This was literally the last thing she’d been expecting.]

Can I join you or should I just... Order my food and try not to look at the back of your head?

[She almost winces. It came out a little more awkward than she’d meant, but this is a slightly awkward meet-up, so it fits. Karen lets out a quiet laugh and shakes her head, wishing she were more composed.]

[Frank waves her over to join him. Anyone else, he'd be happy to let them flounder awkwardly, but Karen is... Karen.

So it's different.]

Promise you won't get anything with eggs.

[He probably should have stuck with pancakes but he figured, how could anybody mess up a plate of eggs? They found a way.

At least their coffee tastes like coffee, which is all that really matters, in the end.]

[Well, that’s a relief. Karen smiles and gets up from her booth, moving to the seat across from Frank. She chuckles quietly at the remark about eggs.]

I’m strictly a blueberry pancakes girl. Tried the eggs once, but they were sort of runny.

[She makes a face. Eggs are better when they’re homemade, she finds, even if she does screw them up sometimes. Cooking is a gamble with Karen Page.

Karen eyes his plate of food and wrinkles her eyebrows.]

That bad, huh?

Worse.

[He's being a little dramatic. His mouth quirks, looking down at the plate without actually seeing it for a good, long moment.]

You're supposed to miss this shit. Yeah? It's what you're fighting for. The greasy food and, the sticky tables and—you know. The whole experience. America. [His nose wrinkles.] Denny's. [He peters off for a second, and then glances back up to her. He shrugs one shoulder, feels like if he says too much he'll crack open again, but he can't not say anything.] Shit, I'd almost take MREs back if it weren't for those horrible little 6 oz instant coffees.

[Her lips curl into a smile and she nods.]

Well, it kind of is worth fighting for, if you think about it, I mean, right now you don’t see it because it’s late at night, but people come here with people who are important to them.

[She leans in a little bit, looking more than a little curious.]

But now I sort of need to know. What do you eat over there? You know, in the military? Other than nasty instant coffee.

[Karen suspects that it’s nothing good. It seems like it would cost a lot of money to feed an army of soldiers amazing food and that doesn’t seem like something the United States government would do, cynical as it might sound.]

It was all instant shit, it came in a bag filled with a dozen smaller bags and an FRH—uh, you know, Flameless Ration Heater—to cook it all. Powdered drink mix, candy or fruit, usually crackers and little peanut butter and jelly packets, then one of 24 different entrees. It tasted like you'd expect food that comes in a bag to taste, you know? [He shakes his head, taking a long swallow from his coffee cup.] Yeah. Sloppy joes weren't completely horrible, but what they did to vegetable lasagna should be considered a goddamn war crime.

[Being extremely Italian, Frank might be a little bit biased on that front.]

And instant coffee, nah, if you got nothin else I'll take it. But it was 6 oz. [Which, one might guess, is nowhere near enough for Frank "10 cups is a good start" Castle.]

Well, there’s peanut butter and jelly, at least! You can’t screw up PB&J, right?

[She raises her eyebrows, looking hopeful. At least he had that. It’s kind of silly, but she hopes he at least had something small that was good in his tough situation. Of course, being over there wasn’t really when it got tough for Frank, was it? She sobers a little at that thought.]

Six ounces is kind of a pitifully small amount of coffee.

[Karen laughs and shakes her head. The waitress stops by and Karen rattles off her order for blueberry pancakes and her own cup of black coffee. Once the waitress is gone, she smiles at Frank again, raising her eyebrows.]

You know, I’m probably not going to finish my short stack. If your eggs are that terrible you can help yourself to some of my pancakes when they show up.

Yeah, those were fine. [He dutifully doesn't mention that the peanut butter and jelly rations were barely larger than ketchup packets. She seems too hopeful to just dash those dreams.

And it wasn't all bad anyway, he'd felt like he had a purpose, like he was doing something. He'd meant it when he told Red that the battlefield wasn't where his life went to shit. Bad food and danger, even watching his friends die, that hadn't ever been what could break him.

But sitting here, talking about it with her, starts to feel dangerously like putting pieces back together again. He clears his throat, watches the waitress when she comes by (wiggling his cup for a refill when she glances over to him) and pushes the thought away. All of them.]

We'll see. [He won't, but the offer is touching in ways he's just not even going to think about.] Working on another story, or do you just go to diners in the middle of the night for fun now?

Ah. I am. [She gives a smile and pats her oversized purse.] I actually brought my notes with me planning on working on it between bites, but I’ve got time later.

[The waitress shows up with Karen’s coffee and pours Frank’s refill. Karen eagerly takes a sip, but winces slightly as the too-hot liquid touches her lips.]

It’s actually nothing too intense this time, though it’s bound to make somebody angry. It’s about the schools and where the money meant for them may or may not be going.

[Karen pauses, looking off at an empty table thoughtfully.]

I guess that is sort of intense. [She shakes her head.] Anyway, I’ve got more than one source on this one. It’s bound to get some wheels turning. Maybe even get the problem at hand fixed, if there’s any good left in this city.

[After a pause her lips curl into a small smile.]

You know, I always felt like I was doing good at Nelson and Murdock, but now that I’m working by myself I feel... Kind of amazing. I don’t know if I’m doing as much good as a writer, but I’m definitely trying.

[He's not sold that the sort of defense lawyers who would take a client like Grotto (or like him) were ever capable of doing much good, but he's not exactly going to voice that opinion and ruin the decent moment they have going. Besides, she's out now, so it's fine.

He shakes his head, smiling just slightly. He prefers the sound of corrupt budget spending to the dangerous mess she'd found last time they talked—not that he's deluded enough to believe she's safe just because it doesn't seem as bad on the surface, but... still. Let him have his moment.]

Yeah. The new gig sounds more up your alley anyway, Nancy Drew. [He doesn't doubt that she's getting shit done, because she's Karen Page. The only thing she does better than piss powerful people off is find her way to the truth and force it out into the open (which has a little something to do with the pissing powerful people off, of course.)] Now, if only people still actually read the newspaper.

Nancy Drew. [She echoes and laughs, shaking her head. Coming from a friend, she doesn’t mind the nickname, but had it been someone else she probably would have shot an icy glare in his direction.] Yeah, I guess that’s me, now.

[At the comment that people don’t read the newspaper, though, she wrinkles her eyebrows and her lips twist into a displeased little frown. It’s unclear whether the expression is serious or meant as a joke.] Hey, now. Are you calling my work obsolete?

[She quirks a brow as if she’s daring him to say yes. This is dangerous territory, Frank. Tread carefully.]

Print newspapers? Yeah, I'm calling them obsolete, because I've been paying attention for the last decade. [Hey, he's Frank Castle and he's honest. Whether people want him to be or not.

Either way he's not worried about it. Karen has a way of getting information into the right people's hands (or the wrong people, depending on how you stand on the whole vigilante issue), even though it can't possibly be through her actual dayjob. As long as she's looking into the stories and getting a paycheck for it—since as far as he can tell she was just doing it for free before—that's all that really matters.] I thought everyone moved online by now.

[For a moment she stares at him in disbelief, but then decides that yes, he is Frank Castle and of course he’s going to speak his mind with her. Karen shakes her head and shuts the jaw that had been hanging open for a moment there.]

Some people still read the paper. I wouldn’t be receiving hate mail if they weren’t reading. Besides, some of the things I write do go up on the website.

[The waitress walks up to the two of them, Karen scooting back in her seat to allow space on the table for her pancakes. She gave a quick, appreciative smile to her waitress before the woman retreated back to the kitchen and then grabbed her fork to dig into her late night meal.]

So, you see, even if the paper is obsolete, my work is not.

[She raised her eyebrows, successfully fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at Frank. With her free hand, she drizzles some syrup over her pancakes.]

You’re sure you don’t want one of these after the disaster that was your eggs?

Denny's Meme

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