Denny's Meme

[memezillamods]

 It's late. Like, 3 AM late.
You're hungry. You're bored.
But nothing is open.
Except Denny's.


RULES

1. Post to the meme.
2. Find somebody to eat with. Figure out why you'd do this to yourself.
3. What even is "Moons Over My Hammy?" 

Comments

[brutalize]

[See, that's why he likes her. While the coffee is busy trickling very slowly out, he tugs the bowtie off and leaves it next to her jewlery pile, draping his suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs just to be rid of it.

He leaves the shoulder holsters and mini uzis strapped inside them on.]

Well, as long as it's for a good cause.

[He finds the little bottle of Irish whisky—not nearly enough to get someone his size drunk, but enough to give a pot of coffee a good kick—and tears the seal open with a thumbnail.]

Where'd you learn to fight?

[He makes it a point to not care about people's pasts or their dayjobs, in this business, but he can't help but be a little curious about her.]

[thecanarylives]

[She takes a swig of champagne, eyeing him curiously as he unravels himself from the uptight tuxedo get-up. He's a little more in his element now, and it shows - he wears it well, anyway.

It may not seem like there are many places to hide weapons under the sleek black gown she's wearing, but Sara's managed well enough. She tugs off a few holsters at her thighs, knives tucked into the sides of her dress and even her cleavage.]

Here and there. Southeast and central Asia, mostly. Kind of a long story. [It's easier to hand-wave than go into details about being marooned on an island with a mercenary and joining the League of Assassins, anyway. Besides, he doesn't seem the type who appreciates a sob story.

You were military, right? Gotta be. Marines?

[brutalize]

[He doesn't pry because people (in their line of work) generally don't like prying, but he doesn't totally mind listening, either. To certain individuals, anyway: she'd get a pass.

Especially since she guessed the branch right and everything. Inter-military rivalries demand he be personally, deeply insulted every time someone dares to assume he's Army or Air Force, or even just regular Navy. Marine Corps or bust, oorah. He fights down the urge to smile, not entirely successfully.]

Yeah. Scout sniper, couple tours. [More than a couple, but who's counting?] Guess I just still can't believe there's so much ninja shit in the middle of New York City. [Listen, ranged fighting with guns is by far the better option let him talk you into that shit Sara.]

[thecanarylives]

[If she were the prying type, it'd be easy enough for her to dig into the life and times of Frank Castle. Most of it had been aired out in the press during his trial, anyway, but Sara isn't much for the media. Spending the bulk of the past 5 years underground - literally and figuratively - will do that.

In any case, it's nice to unravel a story like his the old fashioned way. He reads like a battered novel, unexpected and unpredictable.

She can't help but smile back at him, sipping at her champagne and swinging her legs playfully as they dangle over the bartop.]

We ninja like to travel. Got some pretty awesome frequent flyer miles out of it, anyway. [She grins, eyeing him curiously.] Think you could take a former ninja assassin in hand-to-hand, soldier?

[brutalize]

[Frank snorts. He always excelled at MCMAP, and nobody sane ever tries to corner him in a fistfight, but that ninja shit is something else.]

Maybe. I wouldn't put money on it. [He's got an ego, but it's not about that. And even if it was, Red would have kicked it into submission by now, all that goddamn flipping around and shit. For looking like such ridiculous asshole in his little devil costume doing somersaults through the air, he packs a mean fucking punch.

But Frank proved that he can ring his bell with a .380 perfectly fine, whether or not he's outclassed with bare hands.

He smirks, dumping his little bottle of whiskey into the coffee pot and finding the supply of Styrofoam cups, pouring himself one.] If most combat took place within ass-slapping distance I'd be more worried about that. [Or he'd just fight dirty and hide handguns in his shoes, you know, like you do.]

[thecanarylives]

[That snort puts a grin on her face, and she knocks back the rest of her champagne bottle before jumping off the bar to her feet.]

C'mon, let's see whatcha got. [She may be quite a few inches shorter than him, and a hell of a lot more petite, but based on the fight earlier tonight she can still do her fair share of damage.

Just to punctuate her point - and, maybe his - she reaches out to tap his ass with the back of her bare foot in a playful rendition of a spin kick.]

No weapons, just arms and legs. You could stand to pick up a few things for the next time The Hand decides to drop into Hell's Kitchen.