sixthiterationlogs | 004 { A life you don't live is still lost

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004 { A life you don't live is still lost

WHO: Jo & THE COMMUNITY AT LARGE
WHERE: The Pub & Inn
WHEN: July 27th, Midday through Night
OPEN TO:Everyone was invited personally
WARNINGS: Jo's Better At This Than She Means To Be
STATUS: Open To All; Threads w/ Jo, w/ Others & Threadjacking Welcome

Jo told everyone she saw yesterday to come by the Inn & Pub today.

Anytime after midday, and to pass on the message to anyone and everyone else they saw. That it wasn't a meeting per say so much as something everyone was going to need everyone's help with and something everyone should probably get in on. But without clarifying much else.

She spent the rest of yesterday stealing nearly a half dozen curtains from houses that hadn't been claimed by anyone, and then acquiring enough charcoal to fill two small baskets. It's not paper and pens or pencils but it's going to have to do until someone has a better idea or finds better supplies.

The morning of the 27th, Thorfinn helps her get them tacked to two different walls of the main room of Inn & Pub using her knives to cut holes and then sharpened bones, from earlier meals in the month that she hadn't been aware had been saved even, banged into the wall to make them hold high and sturdy enough.

On one side of the room, three curtains line the wall and it says at the high top MAP & LANDMARKS. In the center most piece there are sketched bits for the buildings they can all recognize, the center most being the fountain, and in the distance the river, certain bits of forest, canyon wall, but there's a lot of white space in every other direction, too.

On the other side of the room, one curtain goes up, marked only at the top with FOR TRADE. For the moment that one is entirely blank, but sooner or later she going to end up writing Fresh Meat, with her name and Thorfinn's next to it. There's a second curtain for that wall folded behind the bar, for when and if it's needed.

For now Jo's sitting on a table, again, feet on a chair, elbows on her knees, hair loose on her shoulders, looking at the maps' ocean of white, waiting to see what else might get filled in by those who show up today. Or at least having a better idea of where they should still be looking that hasn't been covered half a dozen times already by everyone else.

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Sam had been keeping more to himself than he'd like to admit. For all his talk in the beginning of team work and working together, he'd sure done a bad job of it. Not that he wasn't trying to help. No, he'd gone back into the forests a few times for food and for exploration purposes. They needed to know this place, but it never seemed to give them any answers.

So when he had caught wind of a meeting, even if it wasn't a formal one, Sam had decided he should make an appearance. He was dirtier than he would have liked, returning from another venture into the woods and making a bee-line for the pub. However, he also wasn't disappointed by the contents of the inn either. His eyes immediately landed on the curtains transformed and the few people milling around.

The one thing this place hadn't claimed yet was his sense of humor so he spoke up as he entered, "I like what you've done with the place."

Jo has a fair enough smile for Sam. Face she remembers, on someone who had agreed from the beginning about the kinds of things they needed to focus on first. Getting the lay of the land, and getting people together. She respected that. Even respected his windblown, dirt cover, look, like he'd just come in from doing that, again. Some people got lost for a while, and some of them didn't stick near the group, and Jo got both of those well, too.

The smirk that finds her lips is friendly and teasing. A touch proud, because it seems to be going well so far, for the few who've milled in, and she doesn't mind the compliment. "Well, I had to do something besides sunbathe and paint my fingernails in all this free time, right?"

Sam was already moving closer to the curtains as he entered. He'd done as much as exploring as anyone else and there were probably some spaces on it he could add detail to. He kept his bag with him, though it showed weight that meant he'd probably been collecting some things while he was out.

He smirked at Jo's response, "Glad you could spare some time." His eyes roamed over the map and then he looked back to Jo, "Seriously though, this will be pretty helpful if we can get it fleshed out more. Maybe even help us figure out this flooding nonsense."

It's easy to drop the sass like it might have almost never been picked up, though it is nice to receive a smirk in return. Good to see there are still some who can shotgun some appreciation for, and return fire, levity into this crazy situation even a month later. It's a good look on Sam, and Jo appreciates that, herself. That the people on her side with these things aren't stuck in the mud. Not even the ones who've been making far fewer appearances than everyone else.

She looked toward the walls, with their multiple fill-ins and list since she started this morning. "I'm hoping."

"It'd be nice to finally have an idea what everyone knows, and on top of that what everyone still has no clue of out here." Where to start going forward from here. "I was even thinking, if this worked out, that people could choose sections to explore and go in pairs, or groups, depending on how far it was. But they could leave some kind of note saying where they are going, so it's even more organized for where and when as we cross off more of spaces left without doubling up accidentally."

Sam's picked up a piece of charcoal, starting to mark some areas that were blocked by the canyon wall and a small cave he'd seen but hadn't explored yet. It was disappointing that they couldn't even find a way out of this small village. It made the idea that they were being brought here for a nefarious reason all the more likely. As far as he knew the river didn't even lead anywhere -- just underground at one end and then started from a waterfall that was proving to be difficult. The river had seemed the most obvious form of escape and even it was against them.

He paused in his drawing as an idea occured to him. "You know, I'm not sure what plants would work...but we could probably add some color to these maps if we were to mash up some of the inedible berries out there. It'll help with marking areas of importance or even where known edible plants and some of the animals tend to be...or where people tend to hunt." He knew that discovery had been helpful, though like him he had a feeling not everyone was great at being able to TELL what was edible from what was likely to kill them.

He shakes his head. "But, yeah, getting a system started of keeping track of where people are at would be good. If something were to happen...well, let's just say I'd hate to be stuck out in those woods without knowing someone could come rescue my ass."

He hadn't thought of it until now, but it'd be very easy to get injured out there and get stuck. Until now he'd mostly been considering the various ways they could end up poisoned with their food supply. Or inner fighting and injuring each other. He hadn't really considered just pure accidents.

"Probably shouldn't mark that on a map though...we could tear up more curtains and start a log book of some kind. You could also set up the map as a grid so we could use short hand."

"Yeah. That might not be a bad idea," Jo said, as she watched what he was adding it. Thinking about colors. It was simplistic right now. The simplest, but it could be copied, and things could be added to it. The charcoal could be brushed or dusted off. Lines and edges reshaped and changed. She had to wonder about the colors. Maybe they would be more dye-like from plants. More solid and unmoving. There were at least one or two people she could ask about that.

"I think it's smarter and safer if we do start knowing where everyone is, and where they are going. Having some figure on when they are supposed to be back, and ability to figure out something might have happened before they die of a broken leg and starvation--" Not to mention being killed or eaten by something else if they are alone. "--all the rest of that jazz."

"A grid and log book might be nice. We might need more curtains. This place is lacking in even paper, pencils, chalk..."

Her tone makes it obvious this list could go on and on a bit. That she'd actually been looking around before it became curtains and charcoal. She was using what they had and she'd go on using what they had as long as she needed to. But it didn't mean she didn't want supplies that were no where around here. Like paper. Like a gun. (Like her father's knife.)

Sam hated to think about that kind of thing. It bothered him even more the blunt way Jo put it, but at the same time he knew she was right. There was no escaping the fact that any of them could get injured or worse in a situation like this. It wouldn't help anything to sugar coat it. Sam was just going to have to readjust to that mentality -- he'd lived it before and he could do it again.

"This place lacks a lot of things. Hey if we run out of curtains we can always start carving into the walls -- I'm honestly not worried at this point what any past residences might say." If they didn't want them carving on the walls then they damn well could have left paper or not brought them here at all.

"Or future." Beat. "Or present." Jo's in a blanket agreement with that one.

Whatever whomever had left at their device was something they could make use of. The only rules were the ones they brought in with them. Everything else had the air to be forgotten, but in a way that just prickled at her too much, because they were brought here, specifically, too. "The houses down by the river were pretty flood damaged when I got these originally, it might make sense to even gut it for supplies."

Her comment makes him smirk a little at the idea of really "sticking" it to whoever brought them here with property damage. Although "future" had some problematic implications. How much longer would they be here? They still had so few answers that it didn't seem possible that they'd find a way out any time soon. It troubled him, so most of the time Sam avoided thinking about it.

"Yeah. It would make sense to take stuff from them first. I've noticed we have a lot of buildings around that aren't being used...we've just all kept coming to the inn if we need to gather somewhere."

Frank hasn't exactly been avoiding Sam. He'd helped with the initial exploration, and after that he hadn't been around town much, or seen the guy around when he was. So far, every trip he's taken out into those woods has taught him more about trapping rabbits than how to get out. But he could have sought Sam out, and might have, if there had been a particular point. Either the guy recognized him, or he didn't, and if they were going to get out of here tomorrow it didn't much matter to Frank which was true, so long as he didn't do anything about it.

Here, looking at the sheets going up on the walls, the gathering of their small number and the idea of trade circulating like they were settlers on the frontier instead of lab rats in a well-forested terrarium, is when it really starts to feel like they're going to be here a while. And one of these days, Sam will recognize him. He'll do whatever he's going to do.

Why not today. Frank waits, watching people come and go from the sidelines a while, until it seems like Sam has done most of what he came here for, before he approaches.

"Wilson," he says with a nod of his chin in greeting. "You got a minute? We should talk." Frank bobs his temple toward the kitchen, for at least a little bit of privacy.

It has been nearly a month and Sam hadn't seen the man in about that much time. They just keep missing each other -- despite being a part of a significant talk in the Inn on that first day and then both partaking in the first excursion out into the woods. Sam was grateful for that help, even if he felt like he still knew so little about his fellow survivalists. He has at least learned that the other man's name is Frank. He is also still certain he recognizes the man from somewhere, though it's not nearly as strong as that feeling he'd gotten with Peggy.

He wonders why the man is calling him over. It's further curious since the other is gesturing to the kitchen to have this talk. Sam thinks about the last time he had a conversation in the kitchens. He hopes this goes a little more smoothly.

"Sure thing," he says, walking towards the door that will take then behind the pub part of the inn. He's still a little thrown off by how old everything is here, but he's at least more comfortable around some of the kitchen implements. As soon as they're in semi-privacy, Sam leaning against one of the counters he asks, "So what do we need to talk about?"

"If we're all gonna play house here, I figure it's time to clear the air," Frank answers, striding into the kitchen in a vague arc, his shoulders tight. He's not nervous exactly — what the hell has he got to be nervous about anymore — but he has a certain respect for the other man on reputation, which has so far only been supported by experience, and this talk is a little different from chaining some nut-job in red pajamas to a rooftop to try to make him understand. (And even then, he'd cared enough what the Devil of Hell's Kitchen thought of him to try.) He steels his spine as he turns to face the other man and tries not to care half as much how this goes. There's nothing to be done about it now.

"I know who you are," he says, with a nod to Sam. "The Falcon. One of the Avengers. We're from the same place — me, you, and Carter." That's the easy part, and he settles his feet shoulder width apart, chin up, before he adds the rest.

"Which means I gotta ask you if you know who I am." A beat. "Last name's Castle."

Sam hadn't been aware the air wasn't clear, but he holds his tongue until Frank says his peace. After all, unlike most of the people he seems to go toe to toe with, Sam knows when to keep his mouth shut.

He's not necessarily surprised when Frank reveals he knows about Sam's current occupation. Sam hadn't exactly kept a low profile back home and Peggy had already been proof against what Jo had said. Jo made it sound like other people being here from your home world was rare, but Peggy had already proven to him that it was likely to happen. Granted, she was from several decades before he'd even been born, but that was beside the point. No, that wasn't so surprising -- even if the chances did seem slim in such a small group as it was.

No, the surprising bit came when Frank said his last name. Sam lets the name roll around in his head: Frank Castle. He frowns, because like the man's face the name is familiar. However, Sam had been through a lot before coming here and now he'd been here for a month without access to the internet or even a damn newspaper. Frank Castle. It was something big, or at least, big for domestic news. Maybe he'd been hanging out with the big leagues too long.

Finally he admits, "The name's familiar. You'll have to forgive me if I don't remember...even before we got here things were a little crazy on the whole Avenger front." And that wasn't even counting his whole side quest of locating Barnes for Steve.

He is looking at Frank more closely now, not necessarily studying him or anything, but just trying to place the face. His thought about the news does seem like the right track though, "You were in some kind of news story...I thought I recognized your face from somewhere when I first saw you, though at the time I wasn't sure if it was from back in my active duty days or not."

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.

Punisher. Okay, now that reminds him of something. Even in all the madness of finding Barnes and dealing with normal Avenger missions he'd had the time to read about that trial. He doesn't remember the exact details, just that some guy (Frank) had killed several people in the name of justice. They'd tried to get him off on insanity, but Sam remembers he'd plead guilty. Probably against the advice of whoever had been representing him.

Honestly, a few years ago Sam would have been wanting to distance himself from this. Even as a former VA worker he wanted to make excuses for the man before him and what he had done. Before the Avengers and the Accords the world had been pretty black and white for Sam. Then Captain America had shown up on his door asking for help. First, it had been help against HYDRA, but that had turned into helping him save his best friend. A best friend who had hands probably stained redder than Frank's.

Sam is quiet for a long time, processing this. He keep his expression neutral. Frank is admitting to this for a reason instead of waiting for Sam to put the pieces together and finally recognize him on his own. There had to be a reason.

He sighs, "Right. I read about that case. Think the news was a bit more graphic than how you just euphemistically put it." He levels his gaze at Frank, eyebrows raised, "You're not planning on repeating that now, are you?" It's the best way he can figure how to ask 'why are you telling me this?' without being so blunt about it.

Euphemistically earns a begrudging grunt of acknowledgment from Frank. Yeah, all right, fair enough. Somewhere, some altar boy in a red suit is yammering on about meathooks.

"Not planning on it," he agrees, which. isn't actually any kind of promise that he won't, but, "I only hurt people who deserve it, alright. The people out there," with a nod back out into the pub, "They got bigger things to worry about right now than killing each other."

And if that changes, well. That'll be an interesting day. But he doesn't miss the broader implications in Sam's question, either.

"Look, the way I see it, you and I got bigger things to worry about too. But I don't get to make that decision for you. If who I am and what I do is going to be a problem for you, that's a problem we ought to sort out now, not another month from now when we're in the middle of the next shitstorm and you figure it out on your own."

Sam's at least a little reassured that Frank isn't planning on a rampage. He answers most of Sam's unspoken follow up questions as well.

"Okay. Well, we're in agreement there. I'm not too concerned right now with what you did back home. To be honest, I just finished rescuing a wanted terrorist and getting on the U.N.'s shit list before getting here so I don't think I have a lot of room to judge other people at the moment. Besides, what am I going to do to you here? This place has us both locked up if you think about it."

Sam may not have put people down in the streets, but he has a feeling a lot of people back home aren't exactly seeing him and the Captain as heroes at the moment either. Not after what happened with Barnes. As for this place, Sam is so far out of his jurisdiction and league it's not even funny. Even if he WANTED to put Frank away or whatever where would he even do that? Not to mention he probably wouldn't get any support in the endeavor.

Besides, Sam could tell Frank was good at surviving. They'd need people like him to make it through this mess. And, like he'd said, he didn't have a whole lot of room to judge. Frank hadn't killed nearly as many people as Barnes had, whether Barnes was brainwashed may be a different matter but still.

"Basically...it's not going to be a problem. At least not right now."

That Sam Wilson is on the UN's shit list is news to him, but Frank manages to keep a neutral expression about it. All told, this is going better than he'd expected — and if part of him is a little disappointed by that fact, he doesn't take the time to analyze that fact.

"Not right now," he repeats, agreeing. It's a tenuous sort of truce, based as it is on necessity more than any kind of common ground, but maybe necessity is common ground enough. They both understand the impracticality of locking him up right now, and, he hopes, the need to keep everybody here safe first and foremost. Frank can help with that.

"All right." He nods and raises his hands palm-out in an understated That's it. "If that changes, you'll know where to find me." He's not planning on hiding, is what he means. Fugitive or not, he's not interested in behaving like one.

In this sort of scenario it's common ground enough. Sam doesn't have the backing, the jurisdiction, and a heck of a lot bigger problems than The Punisher at the moment. If some of the other Avengers get here or that Devil of Hell's Kitchen, well, they can come back to this bridge and cross it. Hell, even if you didn't count Barnes they still had an ex-con on the team, even if Scott Lang was only put away for burglary.

"Sure. Glad we could have this chat," Sam says, because honestly what are you supposed to say?

The Avengers don't have any members who intentionally and unapologetically murdered more than seventy people in the last three months, but Frank doesn't have too many illusions about earning a membership card here. Being taken at his word instead of labeled a mass-murdering psychopath right out the gate is a nice enough change from the usual, he appreciates it, even if it's out of necessity more than anything else.

Frank nods, with a slight, sympathetic quirk to the corner of his mouth. "Yeah." Sorry about this is crazy-ass situation, Sam. Except how he's apparently not sorry enough to try to make it less weird.

"You need any food, either, turns out I'm all right at hunting animals, too," he adds as he moves for the doorway again.

Sam isn't sure he likes what he's agreed to. But, again, he doesn't have much choice and he has to keep reminding himself of that. Maybe that's what he'll have to tell himself to get some sleep tonight. He just hopes he doesn't come to regret it. So far they've gotten along as a community and Sam hasn't heard anyone say anything negative about Frank. It might not last though, there was no telling who could come through that fountain and this was evidence of that.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts in time to catch Frank's parting words. Sam tried not to think too much about that statement. "Not sure if that's reassuring or not," but he's reminded of how few options they have here and adds, "but thanks."

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004 { A life you don't live is still lost

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if you wanna wrap here i think that works?