( Seems like a big ask of a guy who just fucking drowned, but hey, he's an Avenger for a reason, right? Hawk-guy, the one with branded lunchboxes. The one his son liked almost as much as Captain America because Captain America was a soldier like his dad — and he liked Captain America almost as much as Thor, because Thor's cool, or whatever. Easily the fifth or sixth best Avenger on the team.
If the guy wants to drive, Frank's not his babysitter. )
Suit yourself.
( Come the skeptical murmur, and with one last fleeting, assessing look, he peels himself out of Clint's car-tarp and hustles across the lot to his own ride.
The Punisher drives a grey-silver-tan-beige minivan. It's a fucking Chrysler Voyager circa 2002, the kind with the DVD players in the back. That's what Frank Castle piles into, and when he pulls out, there's a flash of an extremely ironic coexist bumper sticker for Clint to follow if he decides to keep pace.
Frank neither waits for him, nor tries to outrun him. If he's gonna follow, more power to him. If he's gonna sit in that parking lot and debate the merits of recovering soggy pills from a haunted office building, that's his prerogative. Either way, Frank puts miles of distance between himself and that place before he finally pulls over in the neon sign-illuminated parking lot of an IHOW.
Apparently it's international waffles instead of pancakes in this dimension. Go figure. )
no subject
If the guy wants to drive, Frank's not his babysitter. )
Suit yourself.
( Come the skeptical murmur, and with one last fleeting, assessing look, he peels himself out of Clint's car-tarp and hustles across the lot to his own ride.
The Punisher drives a grey-silver-tan-beige minivan. It's a fucking Chrysler Voyager circa 2002, the kind with the DVD players in the back. That's what Frank Castle piles into, and when he pulls out, there's a flash of an extremely ironic coexist bumper sticker for Clint to follow if he decides to keep pace.
Frank neither waits for him, nor tries to outrun him. If he's gonna follow, more power to him. If he's gonna sit in that parking lot and debate the merits of recovering soggy pills from a haunted office building, that's his prerogative. Either way, Frank puts miles of distance between himself and that place before he finally pulls over in the neon sign-illuminated parking lot of an IHOW.
Apparently it's international waffles instead of pancakes in this dimension. Go figure. )