( OPEN ) I hope you're comfortable in that quiet plastic grave.

[oorah]

WHERE: Fountain Park, The Inn, wherever
WHEN: June 18
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: tl;dr (sorry), near-drowning, sad bro times, panic attacks idk

---

it's only water

He comes to with cool water rushing all around him and his heart immediately seizes with panic. The last thing he remembers is stepping through his apartment door after four long months in a city that shouldn't exist. Reims - or was it Rouen? It says something about him that as he looks around even deep underwater he isn't sure whether New York or that silent place was the dream. In a fucked up way, he's banking on New York. It was a kindness he wasn't owed, to see his friends go home after their shared nightmare.

It's taking him too long to get to the surface, he can see the light, he's so close, but he's afraid to splash. What if he's back? Or in another Sound Eater haven? He's trying to remember the list he had compiled. Perth, Yokohama, Bogota, Tehran, Karachi, Moscow, Bangkok, Frankfurt... With every city, he's getting closer to the surface but he's losing oxygen fast in trying to stay silent. However he got here, he doesn't have to get everyone nearby killed because of his fuck up.

Eventually, and it feels even longer than the reality, he spills out of the fountain with a loud slap against the stone, his body hanging over the edge, prone for entire moments. Suddenly - involuntarily - he sputters, puking up water from his lungs and slowly coming back to full consciousness. He blinks rapidly to clear his eyes too, trying to remember dying, but also knowing it never works that way. This isn't the Reset Room, and there's no red dust. Something that becomes all too apparent when he grabs a handful of dirt from the ground sprawling out in front of the fountain. The monsters aren't here yet, so he upturns himself and slips over the side of the fountain as silently as he can.

It's only then that he feels the weight of the pack on his back, missing the familiar shelter of his combat boots when earth sticks to the bottoms of his wet feet. He feels behind him at the backpack, but it's closed with a zipper. He'll have to find a soundproofed place to know what's inside. Hopefully it isn't a bomb???

He dutifully makes his way into the village on silent feet, scanning the area as he goes for anything that seems familiar. Istanbul, Lima, Rio de Janeiro... Nothing. This isn't France, though, not either version he's familiar with. That's honestly the most jarring part, somehow. There's no Constance to greet him, no one shushing him. Just wide open space. He doesn't think he's ever been so terrified in his life, and this coming from a guy who's seen combat. Who's waged it, personally.

The first person he sees will be met with the full brunt of his concerned stare, and it's a doozy. Fear is clearly reflected in his gaze as it darts around, like a wild animal who's been cornered. Similarly, he might bolt any minute, so approach with caution. Or don't, YOLO.

it's only fire

Some wandering and strategic shaking later and a dryer version of the Mayor finds himself inside the Inn where he makes quick work of opening the bag, doing it silently though there are sounds all around him. Soft talking and shuffling that assaults his delicate senses like a category 6 maelstrom. Socks and boots are donned in an instant, just as quietly as he continues to drip on the furniture. This place has to be soundproofed, he reasons, or somehow he's made it far enough away from the monsters...?

In something of a daze, he finds his way to the roaring fireplace and resigns himself to sitting by the flames until he's at least moderately less soaked. He doesn't turn enough to see who comes in, but every time the door opens his face moves towards the sound. It's so - normal. Maybe this is the dream, that would make the most sense of all. Frank pulls his teal scrub top away from his body to help it dry faster, closing his eyes for just a moment. Just one... He nods off, just like that, sitting in front of the fire with his expression deeply furrowed. His eyes twitch like he's dreaming, though it's only been a few moments. Not enough time has passed for REM, but his mind is supplying him images anyway, and if the twitches in his frame are any indication none of them are particularly pleasant.

If he's woken either purposefully by a second party, by someone making too much noise near him, or merely by his own cruel thoughts pushing him back to consciousness, he'll start awake, eyes flying open wide. Though his mouth opens into a gasp, that too is silent. He's dry and warm now, and it's time to move on. He gets to his feet one inch at a time, trying to avoid the crackle and pop of tired bones though one dislodges in his neck anyway and earns a grimace from him. It wouldn't have been enough to get him killed, even in Reims, but any sound is deafening now after over 100 days of consecutive silence.

He shoulders his pack and makes his way back out to the square, and the cacophony of villagers gathering outside causes bile rise up his throat in dread. The wheels on carts and the soft stomp of trudging feet carrying the louder din of voices and laughter have his heart pounding fast all over again. Something is very, very wrong and he doesn't have the data to get to the bottom of it. He'll be frozen there in the middle of the causeway for some time before carrying on to find a quiet place to be alone.

it's only love

Frank will be wandering the 6I/7I village(s) for most of the day until someone directs him more specifically. Feel free to encounter him anywhere along the way.

Comments

[oorah]

It sounds stupid aloud, even he can admit. What had started out as a short-lived joke had quickly spiraled out into something much larger than himself. Postings on the network. Find the man they call Hotdog he'll help you. To say nothing of the Mayoral election - what a bloodbath. His brows knit together when he gets confirmation that she doesn't remember. With everything else about this place, it shouldn't be the least believable part and yet it somehow is. R-E-I-M-S. Then a second later, France. And that one he knows is the same in both languages. Claire hadn't learned the Native sign beyond a few words, she hadn't been there long enough. But admittedly, it's helping to hear her anyway - someone familiar even if she only knows his image from the news. That's beyond surreal - her knowing him as the man who botched his trial and who got let out of prison to avenge his family but also to thin the heard for Kingpin. That doesn't even feel like him anymore, to himself, a life and an identity so far removed from his own he scarcely recognizes it.

We're friends. It's insistent, his eyes imploring her to believe him. He feels crazy, being the only one signing in the middle of the Inn. In the whole village, seemingly. He continues on in Native sign now because he doesn't know the ASL for this phrase. He knows she might not understand, but it's clear whatever he's saying holds equal weight for him. You helped me. If only because the word for help and save are the same, otherwise he may well have used the latter. And by saving Frank she had rendered Kilgrave defenseless. She along with his other nurse friend Dorothy were the only ones besides Jessica who ever dared stand up to that dickbag. Who ever could. It's strange, to admire someone so much for doing something they don't even remember doing.

[theluckygirl]

Dark eyes followed the signing again, repeating the letters back in her head that once together don't make sense or sound familiar until he continues. Claire's face shifts as she glances back up to his eyes. Of course, she can't help but look confused. How can she not remember being there? There was more to that story, obviously.

"France?" Claire repeated, only her voice is low and quiet while she follows the signing again and begins to nod in understanding. "We're friends." It was neither a direct or rhetorical question, but a confirmation because that much she felt without realizing it the moment he got out of the chair in front of the fireplace and came to stand in front of her.

And then the last part, which shouldn't surprise her and yet it did. She had told her mother once that she wanted to help people like Matt and Luke, but that didn't mean she would stop taking care of anyone else who needed it. Even him.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember," she tells him, tone apologetic, however, it's clear in her eyes that she wishes she could. "But I can still help you. When did you get here?"

[oorah]

He nods, once for France and one for friends. She may not know him, but he knows his reputation doesn't paint him as a jokester. Even if the opposite is what earned him the moniker Hotdog. Frank tamps down on the urge to reach out for her again and instead points to the floor, mouthing Now. He just got here, so don't feel bad Claire. You haven't actually missed anything. If he's sad that she doesn't remember him (he is) then he doesn't show it, instead pointing to the kitchen next. Coffee? That word is more ASF than ASL flavored but he accompanies it by miming drinking a cup off an invisible saucer. If he has to endure this the least she could do was offer him some sweet caffeine tbh.

[theluckygirl]

Without ever even meeting Frank, Claire knew he wasn't one to lie or joke around and he had Karen to thank for that. Not that their shared friend had to convince her. They both knew that there were different people under the bad reputations of those they knew. Frank just happened to have it the worst back home. Here? None of that mattered and she wasn't one to make any sort of judgement.

But something told her that he knew that already. If that wasn't clear in her eyes, then the reassuring hand on his forearm should convey that message pretty easily. It slips away when he gestures to the kitchen. Claire suddenly remembers.

"Yeah, you definitely need some. Sit down, I'll grab you one."

[oorah]

The relief on his face is palpable, both for the steadying hand on his arm and the easy acquiescence to waste some of her coffee on him. He nods even when her grip falls away. He stoops to pick up his bag and then he's following a pace behind on silent feet. He's ever vigilant even though this place seems harmless enough - most do, at first. Frank weighs his options once they step through to the kitchen, frowning when the soles of the hiking boots tap against the tiled floor. If he had his combat boots they wouldn' make a sound.

Taking the utmost care to pull the chair from the table as quietly as possible, he drops into it like a box of rocks. The pack is deposited just as quietly next to his seat before allowing his shoulders to really droop down and feel the exhaustion of everything he'd just been through. He can't rest now, not when something else is clearly just gearing up. Coffee will help him push aside his body's needs as ever, and it smells divine. He flashes her a grateful look and signs Black though people usually take one look at him and guess that's how he takes his anyway.

[theluckygirl]

As Claire moves to the cupboards to fetch a couple of mugs, she glances behind her to watch how he was behaving and how premeditated some of it was. She knew soldiers, primarily Marine Corps, or SEALs, were trained in stealth tactic. But with Frank, the things he was doing seemed different. His movements weren't because of his military training, they were taken further than that.

Pouring the coffee, she brings them to the table and sets it down in front of him with a smile. "No wonder we're friends," she says, moving to the chair next opposite him.

When she's comfortable, Claire takes a sip and leans back. Her question to him is weighed carefully, but only on how direct she wants to be and opts for pretty blunt and straightforward.

"What happened in Reine? Why won't you talk?"

[oorah]

The concession gets a mild upturn of lips out of him, generously it could be called a smile, but either way it drops away just as fast. He looks down at the coffee and then up to her, steeling himself for the question he knows is next. Frank trusts her, implicitly. With his life, with Karen's though he doesn't know they're close yet. He notes the way she says 'won't' and not 'can't.' It's technically true, but also not. Frank feels like if he opened his mouth to speak at this point, only a red dust cloud would come out.

He wraps big hands around his mug and looks down into it, not sure how to explain in sign language or really any other. Frank doesn't even know Claire is from the same world as himself and Karen, he isn't sure how she'll take the information either way. Working his jaw, he stalls by taking a long, but silent sip. It burns his mouth, but he doesn't protest. It's a kind of comfort nothing else can bring.

Scary. He signs the one word after a moment. He doesn't know the word 'dangerous' though that's more in line with the meaning. Frank wracks his brain for another that might fit. N-O-T S-A-F-E, he spells out before taking another stabilizing drink. It's the simplest way he can explain that something as simple as speaking aloud or walking on tile would get everyone in radius killed where he'd just been.

[theluckygirl]

It doesn't take much to guess that whatever happened in Reine wasn't good. Then again, she guessed that seconds after they started speaking (or she started speaking) in the other room. Asking him directly about it now gives an uneasy feeling and it's only made worse when he starts with that word specifically. Frank could have used any other word and that's the one that he decides to use? And not only that, but that word coming from him isn't anything she would have guessed beforehand.

Dark eyes follow his fingers and the words they spell out. By then she's getting a rough picture but she pushes another question at him gently.

"How is it not safe?"

[oorah]

His eyes lock on hers and there's easily legible fear in them. Every time he pauses or closes his eyes he can see their awful faces, monsters shambling from the Eiffel Tower as their bones crack and rearrange, terrible screams carried to his campsite the ridge above. Frank swallows, both hands on the cup again to hide the way they tremor.

"Monsters," he says, though it's barely aloud, in true. His voice crackles behind hoarse, obviously worn ragged from unuse. He doesn't know the word in ASL and just signing or saying Sound Eaters feels ridiculous in a world where everyone carries on as usual. It had been like the brief glimmer he'd been back in New York, scarcely real and impossible for him to cope with.

[theluckygirl]

"Monsters" was a pretty diverse word and could range from humans to animals to a combination of both. Each person she'd talked to from other worlds had a variation of it, which hardly made one worse over another. Still, Claire kept her focus on Frank and studied him and the way his eyes told the story.

It had to be a nightmare.

Her hand reaches across the table and sets down gently on his wrist.

"You're safe from them here," she told him, almost willing to promise that because she was sure they would have seen them by now, which they hadn't. Sure, the place had their whacky stuff and weirdness but it was far more annoying than scary.

It may not be much of a reassurance and Frank would need to come to realize that on his own. But she'd help him.

[oorah]

His eyes track to the hand on his, but he doesn't try to pull away, instead going completely still before his eyes dip up and crash into hers all over again. He has to believe her because she's never lied to him, but also because the alternative is truly maddening. His sanity has been tested far beyond its reach time and time again, but he's still here for however long he is. He has to make it count for something.

She tells Frank he's safe, but he doesn't care about that. His gaze flicks downward to his cup and he has the sudden urge to smash it on the ground. Or yell out - anything to make the most noise he can. But as ever, he stays silent and still, turning his head this way and that like a broken doll. Eventually, he gently lifts his hand, turning it to put his fingers on her wrist in turn. He taps out a message in morse code and he doesn't care if she understands. H-A-V-E-2-K-E-E-P-U-S-A-F-E.

That's it, that's the game. He has a whole new group of hapless people to protect. His expression hardens, determination slowly rolling through to encompass the fear that had already been steadily waning. Whether she wants it or not, The Punisher as Mayor Hotdog is now her strongest ally, and no one is harming a hair on her head without getting his fist through their jugular.

[theluckygirl]

Little did he know, but there had been a short lesson by a male figure in her family. Someone important to her, but someone long gone. And those taps made her stop in her tracks and look at him long and hard, her eyes brimming slightly with held back emotion.

Come on, mija, let’s go. I need to keep you safe.

Claire’s eyes lower down to that contact and she steals a minute before nodding in understanding.

“Okay.”

There was obviously a reason he needed to tell her that and though she hadn’t met him up until then, she can look up and take those words and believe them.

let's cap it?

[oorah]

Frank nods resolutely. He can tell there's something else going on in her head, but he's in no position to delve into it. Either way, he knows she knows Morse code and that's one more tool he has for being silent with her. It only strengthens his bond to her in the end.

Good, he signs, finishing the rest of his coffee in silence. All the while, he watches her carefully; but when he's done he doesn't hesitate to leave. It isn't her responsibility to take care of him just because he's new. He's got it from here.