( OPEN & CLOSED ) I tried and it's never enough.

[oorah]

» WHO? FRANK CASTLE & others.
» WHEN? JULY 8-11, JULY 12, JULY 13-31
» WHERE? Various! His room (6.19), Karen's room (3.19), Alex's room (6.25), Mess Hall, Observation Deck, Gym, Chapel, etc.
» WHAT? After the music stops, Frank is still struggling. And later on, he gets back to normal life on the Station. Feel free to tag in brackets I'll match!
» WARNINGS? dealing with disabilities; depression/suicidal ideations; minor injuries/physical & psychological distress, nudity/sexual themes, violence.

( 7/10 · FOR ALEX ) when you're free you can come for me

It's the third day in a row now of Frank coming to Alex's room at exactly 4 PM. Kamala contacted him when Frank's touch first left and asked if he'd be willing to check him for injuries every day, something Frank was too embarrassed to ask for himself even if he knew he needed it. He's still endeared by the way she said (typed) that he needed to find a guy friend to help him with this, but honestly, there was no one else that sprang to mind as quickly. No matter what mistakes they had made in their past lives and here on this station, he trusts Alex and he likes to think he's been trustworthy to the other man as well.

He raps the Morse code for S-A-F-E into the doorframe as had become habitual by now, but he hits a little too hard, still staring at the red mark across his knuckles as Alex comes to the door. His eyes are wide with fear and apology, but that's normal now. His new normal also has him evading any friendly touch to the arm or shoulder, given or received, sidestepping Alex entirely because he's too afraid of hurting the other man with even the simplest of physical greetings, from a handshake to a hug. He doesn't say anything aloud, but Max is sniffing at Alex's shoes cheerfully, always looking forward to visits with the kind man who sometimes fed him when Frank wasn't looking.

Though the first nights had been hard, today, Frank unzips his jumpsuit numbly (everything is numb now) and strips down to his briefs so that Alex can look him over. A fresh box of kitty bandaids is tossed to the bed in case he's bleeding anywhere and doesn't know it. As it turns out, there's a shallow cut on his back, nestled between old and new scars alike. He must have scraped himself in the shower this afternoon because there's a bloodstain inside his undershirt he didn't notice until now. The rest is all scratches and bruises, he had never realized how much you rely on being able to feel yourself just for walking around and doing simple tasks. He hangs his head and waits for Alex to get through his exam and get his attention.

( 7/11 · FOR ELEKTRA ) just say my name from day to day

Frank makes his way into the gym for his daily ritual, today he'd left Max with Karen intending to go harder than usual. He's finally feeling like he knows his limits (somewhat) with the clever use of timers and relying on the kindness of whoever else was in the space that day. It's strange, walking into a crowded place without all of your senses. Though he supposes, if this is his life now then these are his senses in full and that's truly terrifying. He pushes it aside and makes his way to a mat as he sets the first of several timers before starting out with sideways crunches.

There's a whistling sound whizzing past his left ear as he turns right and he frowns, wondering if he imagined it. But then he goes left and hears it on the right and his heart clutches. It's just like when he lost his hearing in measures that night except in reverse. There's the muffled noise of mag-boots and bare feet, people breathing all around him. Everything is in hyper-focus, but one sound forcibly pries his mind away from its task, an accented voice he instantly recognizes despite the way it's muffled now.

"Francis!" It's a booming call like he did something wrong, and when he looks up at her, he's well and truly cowed. Though he can't feel it, he can hear his heart pounding in his chest. This is somehow scarier than losing everything was. Elektra had been the one person he'd most been avoiding, not wanting to appear weak in front of her of all people. It doesn't take him but a second to steel himself and pop up onto his feet facing her.

"Present," he calls, swallowing past the lump lodged in his throat as he clenches his fists at his side and probably cuts into his palms with blunt nails. His voice sounds hoarse and softer than usual, his eyes wild as they meet hers. The alarm coming from his watch doesn't register at first, though he hears it. He thinks it's a residual ring like he sometimes gets, but he realizes his mistake and clicks it off with a frown.

( 7/11 & 7/12 · FOR KAREN ) i always jumped to hide when i needed your love

After his hearing returned, and Elektra and himself had had a sparring match turned vicious, Karen had been the first person he'd sought out even though he knew she'd be angry. Plus, she had his dog. So here he is at her door, rapping O-P-E-N-U-P into the frame in Morse code, frowning at the smear of his blood it leaves behind. He'd been teaching it to her before he'd lost his senses, and now it's like a strange holdover from a former life. Less than two weeks ago and already a different existence entirely than he's living. This has become routine, him coming to her room for a shower after the gym so she can set the temperature for him and make sure he didn't damage himself. But tonight he is damaged, breast heaving as he prepares for a shrill voice he hasn't heard properly since June. It's a little sick that he's looking forward to the argument, he knows.

He holds the bleeding hand with his other as she opens the door, watching as she assesses him. His broken lip, a scratch high on his cheek, a trickle of dried blood from one nostril. Both his eyes are black again and there are red-turning-purple bruises blooming from under his tank top and down his arms, the top of his jumpsuit hanging from his waist. He's ready for his lecture, looking so forward to hearing it even if he still can't feel a thing.

"Hi, Karen." It's bright, though his voice is dim and deep after that, smiling as Max barrels past her to sniff excitedly at his feet. He hasn't spoken to her aloud in days and soon his smile turns a little goofy, knowing it will only make her angrier but unable to tamp down on it in time.

( 7/8-7/11 · OPEN ) when i was young and stupid

Kamala had set him on a path towards coping with his new disabilities, setting his schedule and organizing helpers for him so that he could abide by life on the station without hearing or feeling anything. It isn't the life he had a week ago, it's hardly even a life at all, but he still has people who count on him against all odds. And Max, of course. He has to stay strong for them if not his own wellbeing. He has to do the same things at the same time every day, or he might hurt himself. In a lot of ways, it's like basic training. It's comforting for the routine but makes him nervous because he can't deviate from it.

At 8-00 he wakes up, and Karen has to be there to set the shower whichever room he happens to be in so he doesn't burn himself or give himself hypothermia. There was a fall one day so she's never far outside, something that's constantly on his mind now as he gets more and more cautious about his condition - not wanting to worry or scare her; or humiliate himself in the process.

Half 8 has him at the Mess Hall, sometimes with Max in his little mag-boots with him and sometimes without, sitting far away from the replicators and eating a protein bar and drinking coffee. It's a challenge to feed himself sometimes, but it's one thing he doesn't want to accept help for, so sometimes he bites his lip so hard it bleeds. Sometimes he spills coffee down the front of his jumpsuit. He's come to accept the consequences of doing things on his own.

9-00 sees him in the Gym to do his workout routine. He has to have at least one spotter even as he looks in the mirror to make sure he's holding the weights right, that his form is right. It's like watching someone else, he's detached from the experience entirely until his lungs start to burn from the effort and sweat pours down his face. That's when he knows it's time to strap himself and Max into the treadmills for dreaded cardio except actually, he doesn't mind as much as he used to. He can't feel his cheeks bounce or his legs cramp and it's no longer the chore it once was, running until the machine tells him to stop because he has to have set on a timer otherwise he'd just keep going and going.

11-00 is another shower with Karen's help and then he gets dressed and prepares to actually socialize, taking to the halls with the dog as they begin to relearn how to communicate with one another and also third parties. Max does better than Frank because he still has all his faculties about him, learning hand signals and to step in front of Frank when he needs his attention on something. It's slow-going, but it's good work, and they end up in the Observation Deck by 14-00 or so. They take a rest and count the stars and they practice the mag-locks on Max's boots, both on the deck and in the elevators.

It's back to the Mess for 15-00 where he usually meets Kamala or Karen for lunch, but he's alone sometimes too. He tries for something more ambitious every day and calls it a victory when he doesn't stab himself with his fork. After his meal, he doesn't leave, instead pulling knitting needles and a scarf he's started with maroon and gold stripes, trying to teach himself how again without feeling the motion. It's hard and often fruitless, but doing the task in public keeps him from giving into frustration or just giving up entirely.

16-00 is when he sees Alex so the man can check him over for all the various cuts, scrapes, burns, bruises, etc. he may have acquired throughout the day without noticing. He often leaves with a Hello Kitty bandaid stuck to his face or somewhere on his hands. And from there it's down the hall to Kamala's room for texting lessons. He had never been a great texter but now that it's his only mode of communication he has to try, even though it's hard not being able to feel the touchpad on his smartwatch.

At 17-00 Max and Frank travel to the Chapel which isn't a place one may have encountered them since he'd discovered the place with Karen. He sits in the center of the circular area and watches the lights in the atrium though there are no plants inside (yet.) He had never been a religious man, even a lifetime ago when he'd had an Italian Catholic wedding that could have put Tony Soprano to shame, the lump of a twenty-year-old crucifix visible through his tuxedo tailor-made for him. Praying had always felt like an empty practice, but today he has something to beg for: death. Mercy. If God were indeed merciful he would have let Frank Castle die a million times over by now, and yet now moreso than ever, he wants it. Not enough to float himself out of the airlock; not enough to claim responsibility for the people who will miss him - who somehow need him even now. But it's enough to sit in church and weep, sniffling quietly with tears rushing down his face he doesn't know are there until he struggles to breathe through mucus and saline.

From there it's to the Mess Hall one last time for a protein bar, but this one he takes back to his room, just as a timer goes off telling him to drink water. He doesn't really do social calls anymore, almost always in his room (6.19) or in Karen's (3.19) and if you knock on his door after 18-00 he won't be able to hear you but Max will, and the helpful pit will come get him to let you in. Max was supposed to be his rescue project and here he is saving Frank all over again.

( 7/13-7-31 · OPEN ) my love left to be a rock'n'roll star

Though his senses have returned, Frank is having a hard time unwinding the schedule set about for him during that time. He's quieter than he's been up until now, used to the eerie nonfeeling of his lips moving so when he actually does speak aloud he startles himself. Everything is another layer of relearning now, so used to being bereft that when his body responds the way it's supposed to it confuses him. He's trying desperately to remember what passed for normalcy before the music and all of this happened to him, but it's easier said than done; and he doesn't do much speaking in the early days of his hearing and sense of touch returning.

He can be found in the Mess Hall knitting or eating at all the same times, but he's back to his hypervigilance, knowing the moment someone approaches and who it is. Where before he went out of his way to be calm and friendly, however, now every noise sets his teeth on edge. If you catch him on a particularly bad day, sitting across from him might earn an apologetic look as he gets up and leaves abruptly with his dog.

The Observation Deck and the elevators are still where he's training Max, crumbled bits of protein bar innards in his pockets as they practice the locks over and over and over again. The pitbull is the only creature Frank doesn't think about talking to or touching, immensely grateful that he can again. When he's with Max is the only time he really smiles or speaks much above a whisper. Due to their diligence, Max is making serious progress with the boots and doesn't seem bothered by them anymore. Max seems happy to have his dad back too, often rubbing against his legs affectionately when he was once a much more stoic animal.

When he goes to the Gym to do his daily workout, he'll beg a fight off anyone he finds in there, just wanting to feel something -- even if it's only pain. Or maybe pain is what he wants most, honestly. Cardio is forgone for brutal beatdown sessions with anyone who will have him. And from then on, Frank is rarely if ever seen without bruises marring his face. Not like it's so different from before, though those fights had a more friendly tinge. Now he's really fighting to survive and not just to work out.

He still returns to the Chapel, though not as religiously. Twice a week, at most. There are no tears or prayers as he stands along the periphery and watches as others make their tribute. Frank can't help but wonder how many of them have a deathwish, the same as he does. Maybe he wants it even more than he did yesterday, or last week. Or when his family was killed. At least then he had a vendetta, a raison d'être. Now all he has is survival and he knows that has to be enough. Frank will only pop his head in for five minutes at a time, but it's enough to remind himself that he doesn't belong in here. He feels like an imposter even stopping by.

He'll be more reclusive, but it won't stop him from sending out a message on the Network as an open call for anyone who needs a haircut. The task seems to calm him, focusing his mind and hands both as he sets to work on the person in his chair. Max has taken to sitting or laying by him in the floor while he works, appraising each haircut and giving a chirping little bark of approval when the person gets up to leave.

Overall, Frank will be less likely to engage people in conversation and often tries typing on his device before remembering he can speak aloud. If someone touches him in any gentle way, they're likely to be shrugged off, his frame immediately seizing up in discomfort.

Comments

Chapel on 7-10. I just needed Connor to meet a dog honestly.

[rk800connor]

It'd been two days since the music had stopped and the station seemed oddly quiet in its wake. Still, he preferred it like this simply because everyone seemed to prefer it like this. Sleep was good. Humans needed sleep.

Connor had only been to the chapel once, to meet another android, and he'd been meaning to come back. Where he was from androids were not permitted in most religious spaces and his curiosity was boundless.

He quietly stepped into the chapel, which looked almost deserted until he zeroed in on the dog. He was immediately fed information about the breed and walked over.

"Excuse me, is that your dog?" He actually looked excited. It was android levels of excitement, but still excitement, "May I pet it?"

[oorah]

Frank can't hear Connor's approach, but Max can. He turns away from his dad, currently in protection mode, and pins his ears back as he assesses the creature before him. Looks human - doesn't smell human. Letting out a low whine, he sits back on his haunches with a metallic clack of his boots against the floor, waving his tail uncertainly as he looks sideways to try and grab Frank's attention.

He straightens up from where he'd been slumped over in his seat, praying to a God he doesn't believe in; or really anyone who would listen. Even if he can't hear, maybe someone out there could hear him. Blinking the water from his eyes without ever being aware of it, a tremulous if watery smile comes to his face as the man comes to Max. Frank is biased, but he can't blame Connor for being interested in him.

After a moment, he's able to tap out a message on his communicator and project it for Connor to read. He's getting better at this, he thinks. Not hesitating, just forging ahead even when it's hard to admit he isn't whole, especially to strangers.

go slow and he'll be fine. he's a rescue.

[rk800connor]

The lack of a response combined with the typed message, was the man mute?

Connor paused, looking from the dog to the man, LED flickering a bright blue in the dim light of the chapel as he processed what he was seeing. It wouldn't be completely out of the question to assume the dog was not a pet, but a service dog of some kind, though he wasn't wearing any indication that he was.

He sunk down gracefully to one knee and put out his hand, smiling at Max. The dog seemed very unsure of him.

From where he was, crouched by Max, he looked up at Frank and tried using sign language, speaking out loud as he did in case the man preferred to read lips.

"Would it help if I signed? What is your dog's name?"

[oorah]

Though Max hadn't started out that way, now he's helping Frank through his ordeal anyway. So maybe he is a service animal of sorts, which only makes him feel more indebted to the dog overall. Connor thinks he's accommodating Frank, but all he knows of ASL are key phrases and the alphabet. Though he does know "dog" because of course he does. Frank manages a shrug as Max sniffs at the man only to lean back in to lick his hand a second later in apparent approval.

M-A-X, he signs, after parsing through the rest of the words by reading Connor's lips and picking up context clues. Connor is close enough to read the brass plate on Max's collar bearing his name as well now, too. The smaller text below that asks anyone who might find him roaming to bring him to Frank's room on Deck 6 or Karen's on Deck 3. He taps out a new message while Connor is busy with the dog. i think he likes you

[rk800connor]

Connor smiled brightly when Max seemed to accept him, petting his head a few times like a person who has only ever seen one other dog... once.

It is fairly apparent, especially when Frank once again types to him, that the sign language hadn't really helped.

Raising his free hand to show Frank his palm, a crisp hologram appeared there. 'My name is Connor. Sorry for bothering you, I didn't expect to see any dogs on board the station. I like dogs.' He could have mimicked Frank and typed out a message on his smartwatch, but this was just easier, plus he could make the text any size he wanted.

[oorah]

The signing is difficult too because he can't feel his hands, texting lessons with Kamala had made that a smoother process, but his eyes open a little wider when the other man creates a message out of thin air rather than on his comms device. He nods, gaze flickering from Max and to Connor's face and back. He wonders if he's like Midnighter, cobbled together from spare parts, or if he's any part human at all. He supposes it doesn't matter if he's kind to Max.

F-R-A-N-K, he makes the effort to sign, watching his hands as they clumsily form the letters near forgotten a lifetime ago. Then he points to himself to drive home that that's his name, that's how Connor can call him by. He hasn't spoken aloud in nearly two days, but he opens his mouth to try, unsure if any sound will come out. He'll have no way of knowing if he's saying what he thinks he is, no feeling in his throat to assure he's speaking at all. But he's making the effort, for a fellow dog-lover. "I like dogs, too." It's soft, but it comes, the words obviously delivered by someone who can't hear them emerge.

[rk800connor]

Connor watches, programming easily deciphering the somewhat messy signs. The display on his palm changes in an instant: It's very nice to meet you, Frank.

By Connor's smile, Frank should know that he's made himself understood. This is my partner's dog: And underneath the text was a dopey looking Saint Bernard in clear crisp color. His name is Sumo.

He paused a moment, once again petting Max as he gave Frank a moment to look at the picture and then the text changed again, the picture disappearing. Did Max come with you? Or was he here?

[oorah]

His eyes go to the dog, a little frown on his face like it's the sweetest thing he's ever seen - because all dogs are tbh. He watches as Connor gives Max all the attention he wants, and it's a nice, simple moment. He doesn't have enough of those lately.

"No," he says, or really mouths, shaking his head anyway. He types: he showed up here about 2 weeks after i did

[rk800connor]

Interesting. Yet another thing from home that had appeared when someone needed or wanted it.

Connor gives Max one last pat before getting back to his feet and walking over to sit on the empty space of the bench beside Frank. He took another moment to glance again, making out a few words and verses here and there, able to match them to references in his database despite the dust and grime. Different languages and different faiths.

Do you think he likes it here?

The question was displayed on Connor's palm like the others. A bit of a non sequitur, it was also unclear what Connor meant. Here as in the station or here as in the chapel?

[oorah]

Frank watches Connor sit next to him, but he can't feel it. He wonders if he gives off heat like a person, idly. The question is a strange one, but it's something he thinks about too. He looks at Max then back to Connor, feeling selfish for having the dog with him not for the first time since his arrival.

he didn't have a good life back home so i like to think this is better

But it may not be, he doesn't know. He doesn't know where Max ends up after they part ways. Maybe the station had taken him away from finally finding a forever family to love him. Frank really hopes not.

[rk800connor]

"Max," The dog turned at the sound of his name, cocking his head to the side to look inquisitively up at Connor who gave him a soft smile, "Come here. Here. Sit. Good boy."

He motioned for Max to come sit on the ground in front of the bench, situated between them. It was definitely just so he could continue to pet the dog.

I'm sure he'd rather be with you. Even here. He seems happy to me.

Connor waited for Frank to read the message on his palm before offering him a soft smile as well.

[oorah]

He watches as Max does what he's told and it's like his heart's in a vice. It must not be a physical sensation though because he can feel it. The words give him pause, wondering what kind of machine Connor could be when he's clearly... anthropomorphizing his dog? It's bizarre, but not unwelcome. It's a comforting thought, albeit one Frank has no way of confirming.

dogs always seem happy. that's why they're so great

[rk800connor]

His characterization and treatment of dogs, and any animal, was based on his programming. Dogs had feelings and needs and, socially speaking, were higher on the totem pole than androids, which were considered nothing but machines with no wants, needs or emotions.

Is that true? Sometimes dogs look sad. Max doesn't look sad.

"Do you?" Connor asked the dog, who glanced up, tail thumping excitedly for a moment.

[oorah]

Frank tilts his head to the side, not unlike a dog himself in so many ways.

no he doesn't. i'm sure he likes you being here. i haven't been the best company lately

[rk800connor]

Connor's eyebrows raised in surprise and he turns to look at Frank.

"Me?" He asks out loud, not a difficult word to lipread, but he looks back down to his palm and the word appears there as well.

Lately? You weren't affected by the music, were you?

[oorah]

He just nods. Yes, you Connor. But then he's shaking his head at the question anyway, ducking his head again to reply.

no, it's this place. it hurts people. changes them.

[rk800connor]

Connor is quiet a moment, seeming to process this, wondering what Frank meant, wondering about specifics. After a few seconds, he nodded gravely as if he understood.

He was worried. Not about himself, but about his partner, who had just recently arrived.

How long have you been here?

[oorah]

He glances up, heart pounding though he can't feel it, can only feel the residual dull ache in his chest. Ticking off seven fingers, he flashes them in Connor's face then the five of one hand - Seventy-five days. Too damn long.

[rk800connor]

Frank may not notice it, but Connor immediately picks up on his increased heart rate. He glances over at Frank out of the corner of his eye, making an assessment. His conclusion: undoubtedly stress and anxiety in relation to his time spent on the station.

His eyebrows rise in surprise. It's much longer than he'd expected.

As far as you know, were there others who arrived before you?

It didn't seem likely that there was anything significant regarding the first people who arrived here, but it was worth looking into.

[oorah]

Slowly, Frank shakes his head. He's starting to feel like he's being interviewed - questioned? But at least that's its own sort of familiarity. He doesn't mind answering if it helps Connor somehow, or just helps in mining data to get them all home.

no. we were the first wave i guess. a group of about 80 or so. and then every week more people arrive, but only a few at a time now.