Frank shakes his head. "Nah, I was Marine Corps," he says with an understated fondness in his voice. Wouldn't that be nice, if they were just military buddies, if he'd stayed in the field and never come home to watch it all turn to shit. But that isn't what happened, and the fondness twists bitter on his lips.
"The news, they— they gave me one of them dumbass code names. Started calling me the Punisher."
That, he's guessing, will ring a bell. But in case it doesn't, or— what? He doesn't know what he wants to say here, still doesn't know how to talk about the things he does except to throw it out like barbed wire and let people cut themselves on it trying to fit it into a neat little box. Because it doesn't matter if he's conflicted, if he feels guilty, or whatever bullshit his lawyers are selling this week, he doesn't want anybody's sympathy.
"Guess because I put down a couple dozen pieces of shit in Hell's Kitchen," is how he decides to put it, because being an asshole has always worked so well for him before. He doesn't sound proud, exactly; more like he's letting that brutal honesty be his armor.
no subject
"The news, they— they gave me one of them dumbass code names. Started calling me the Punisher."
That, he's guessing, will ring a bell. But in case it doesn't, or— what? He doesn't know what he wants to say here, still doesn't know how to talk about the things he does except to throw it out like barbed wire and let people cut themselves on it trying to fit it into a neat little box. Because it doesn't matter if he's conflicted, if he feels guilty, or whatever bullshit his lawyers are selling this week, he doesn't want anybody's sympathy.
"Guess because I put down a couple dozen pieces of shit in Hell's Kitchen," is how he decides to put it, because being an asshole has always worked so well for him before. He doesn't sound proud, exactly; more like he's letting that brutal honesty be his armor.