sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Great Shakes

[MINGLE] Great Shakes

WHO: EVERYBODY
WHERE: EVERYWHERE
WHEN: 13 July (afternoon, main quake) - 14 July (morning, last aftershocks)
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Potential injuries, PTSD, and anxiety

The sun is still high when the earth begins its initial, almost benign sway, but seasoned villagers know well enough that what follows will be far from gentle. Vibrations ramp up swiftly, exponentially, until within the space of a few seconds, the whole world is shaking — Dishes pinging down from shelves, young trees sifting free of the earth, shingles dislodging and tumbling like rain.

After 20 seconds, the worst is done, and after 30 the shaking has ebbed completely. Some will have escaped relatively unscathed, but others will not have been so lucky...

...and the aftershocks are still to come.

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One eye closes briefly in something like a lazy wink, shrugging a second later. "I know a guy." Not really. But it sounds cooler than he stole it. He pours her a cup and slides it over in case she wants to join him in his cool guy lean, or like, sit at the table like a normal human. At the message question, he hesitates, but then nods. "I saw it. Sorry I didn't reply... that didn't go so well for me last time." So that bourbon is still making him real honest, apparently. He grimaces then hides it behind a long drink.

The admission elicits a soft and sudden huff of laughter. "No, it really didn't," Karen allows, and steps over to retrieve her cup. She leans, not feeling like she particularly wants to be seated and looking up at him, but keeps a couple of feet between them for her own sanity.

The coffee is blissful before she even takes a sip, the cup held up so that she can close her eyes and just breathe it in like she's a bad actor in a Folger's commercial. She doesn't look back to Frank until she's taken that first sip, her eyes narrowing as she catches a hint of something beneath the scent of the coffee.

"...are you drunk?"

He laughs, a stilted sound as he holds onto his cup with both hands so he doesn't spill it. Is he being obvious? Oops. "No," he protests, but it isn't even well executed. "Maybe a little."

There's a beat as he takes another appreciative sip, closing his eyes like the Folgers guy took it a little too far in his audition tbh.

"Blame Kira."

"Of course," Karen replies, pressing a little smile against her cup as she takes another slow sip. Publicly, she'd swear Kira was a terrible influence, but in actuality, she's glad Frank has somebody around who can get him to genuinely relax, even if it takes cajoling and moonshine to get there.

"Had you ever been in an earthquake before?" she asks, wondering if that hadn't been part of the allure of booze, his seemingly unending parade of traumas just waiting to rear their ugly heads.

He doesn't feel relaxed, just exhausted, both mentally and emotionally. And maybe stone cold sober after this coffee, so even more tired if that's even a thing.

"Uh. Yeah, overseas." The first one had scared the shit out of him, but he was just a kid then. "Aurora was pretty freaked out, we were down in the cellar."

A beat as he remembers himself enough to ask: "You okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Karen assures him with a quick nod. "I was actually outside, which I think may have been the better place to be since I've taken a look at what happened inside," she adds, motioning to the state of the room with her cup. She doesn't ask if he's okay. He's always his version of okay even when he's not.

The room begins to gently sway again, and she stiffens, both hands clamping around her coffee cup as the dishes begin gently clattering where they've been stacked on counters and in the wide bowl of the sink. The aftershock is a fraction of the intensity and length of the main quake, but it still puts her stomach in hard knots, and she doesn't realize she's held her breath until she sighs it out again as the motion ebbs.

When the room starts to shake, Frank sets his coffee down and sets a hand over it before grabbing the edge of the sink and holding on. His stupid super-senses are going haywire, but then it's over as quick as it started, the hairs on his arms laying back down under his jacket.

"Never a dull moment in this place, huh?" He's starting to get what she meant now, cocking his hip against the counter and taking a long drink before they can get another quake.

"I hate it," Karen quietly bites out, frowning down at her coffee. "Like we didn't feel helpless here enough."

And, well, that isn't really the sort of thing she's supposed to admit to Frank, just because Frank worries about her enough as it is. It really doesn't help that she can't tell him why she feels so helpless, either — Would never risk sending him into an existential crisis like she's had to shoulder herself since that day she and Kira met. He takes on enough, would take on everything from everybody if he could, she thinks — The same sort of personal penance as Matt, just a different shade of red.

He, predictably, hates that answer. His eyes well up with empathy before he's forced to tear his gaze away, afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing to set her off like he apparently had Kira and Jessica just by existing. Suddenly he feels all too sober for this conversation.

"Yeah, you know, I didn't think anything about it. You told me this place was safer than Reims and I just ran with that." Not like he blames her, it's just a different kind of fear encapsulating his life now. "I started to let my guard down, thinking I was some sorta goddamn expert." No, as always, he's mad at himself.

"I've got these superpowers, this place is goin' to shit all the time, and I don't even have-" A friend. He was about to say a friend. He blinks himself out of it, and effectively the water in his gaze goes with it. Frank abandons his cup altogether and looks up at her, and he thinks he's figured it out. Why people keep walking away. "I'm a fucking asshole, aren't I?"

Blame or not, the words sting — Karen falters, deeply hurt, kept in place only by how twisted up he looks when she might have otherwise walked away like all the others. He'd only promised her no bullshit, not to treat her, this, with care. But god damn it, it's implied.

And she's thinking about walking away anyway, swallowing down this new flavor of frustration as she slides her cup back onto the counter top — There's really only so much of the Frank Castle Pity Party a person can be expected to take, even when that person is Karen Page. But then in true Frank fashion, he falters and backtracks and finds something true, and when she looks up again, his expression has changed.

Swallowing, she nods. "Yes," she agrees. "Sometimes you really are." Pressing her lips into a thin line, she slants her gaze away.

"It can't always be on me, Frank. At some point you have to meet me halfway. And at some point you're going to have to stop feeling sorry for yourself and actually look at what's in front of you."

He doesn't think he's wallowing, he's been trying to pick himself up and move forward the best he can even if she can't see that. Maybe she hasn't had a chance to because every time they're together it's some crisis or another.

"I know," that he's a dick. It wasn't really anything but a statement just shy of a hypothetical. He doesn't doubt that she'd be better off out of his orbit, but neither of them can keep their distance in a place like this so he has to try to be better for her. That's what Kira had said anyway. Frank scratches the top of Aurora's head when she comes back around and sighs, trying to let go of some of the tension pooled at the top of his spine. "And that's never been on you, Karen. I'm sorry if I make you feel that way."

It's sincere, his voice soft as ever as he forces himself to meet her eyes with more than a wandering gaze. She doesn't have to accept the apology which is something she knows, but at least he means it. He's reaching out, should she choose to bridge the rest of the emotional canyon they both had a hand in digging between them.

If she keeps looking at him now, she'll just fall completely to pieces; the soft, earnest sound of his voice is already more than enough to get the job halfway done, thanks.

"I love you, Frank," she says before she can think to stop herself, her focus on the floor, expression pinched. "I'm not going to act like that's an easy thing, or ever has been, but trying to change it really doesn't—" She pulls in a breath, eyes falling closed. "No, that's a lie. I've never tried to change it. I cared about you before I even met you." A fleeting peek up at him, then another glance away.

"I want you around. I care what you think. I would like to see more of you, to know if you're really okay. It would be nice to know for a fact that when you show up on my doorstep, it isn't just for my dog. I would like to feel like this isn't an uphill battle— And I know some of that is on me. I get it. But if the problem is things not being said plainly enough, now you know."

Wait. What? How did they go from apologies to... love confessions? He looks alarmed and confused and hurt all at once because that's what he is and as ever wears his heart directly on his stupid sleeve. When it all conglomerates, it's hard not to be angry - he feels like he's being manipulated, like a certain response is expected and she knows he can't stand to be boxed in. He had confided in her, he'd been mind-controlled. He'd lost so much of himself before he came here and maybe she thinks she loves him, but she hasn't done much to show it herself. Glass houses and all that happy bullshit.

"I see you every goddamn day if you wanna say something to me," he points out, more of the hurt coming through than the anger when he finally speaks. An uphill battle? What kind of a path does she think he's been on? Is there smooth even pavement beneath his feet because he thinks they're both going up a fucking rocky cliff and she just pushed him down his side only to say his path was easier so he should've seen it coming. "You don't want me around, Karen. You want me to be someone I'm not anymore."

And for that he really is sorry. Reims apparently made him unrecognizable to her, and it's a shame. He'd tried so hard to put her first, time and time again. To make sure she was safe, to be physically available even though they both knew he always sucked at the emotional kind. She used to just break through, force him to see another side. Here it seemed he wasn't even worth the effort in this state, and in the end he can't even fault her for it. Who knows, maybe Kilgrave broke him in a way he can't come back from, the same way he had Jessica. The thought makes his lip curl in disgust and he shoves his coffee cup away. He's not giving someone else the chance to walk away from him tonight.

His eyes flash with something else, fear probably. He's always so damn scared. He'd told her that, goddamnit. He keeps going back and trying to blame himself, but this time he did what he was supposed to do. She hadn't once asked to help himself or Kamala - and that's fine. Because maybe they don't need each other the way he thought. Maybe this time it's Frank who needs some space.

"Good night, Karen," he says gruffly as a courtesy and turns to walk out the open doorway. Aurora catches on a second later, crashing into his legs on her way by; but his gait remains undaunted and steadfast. A moment later, she'll hear the front door to the Inn shut heavily, not quite a slam.

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[MINGLE] Great Shakes

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