II. (open) i'm gonna fight with myself til i'm bleeding

[oorah]

featuring: hotdog castle & everyone (open to new arrivals too!!)
what's happening? frank feeding everyone venison dogs; frank fighting everyone; introlog spillover stuff + whatever else you want hmu
day: 11th nighttime (after all new arrivals are out and about/getting settled)
content warnings: ground meat, being a good neighbor, boyfights
notes: hit me up on PM or plurk hotdoge if you want anything else! happy to oblige

A. have you ever had a hot dog cooked by a guy named hotdog? this is going on instastories.

[ the time has come for frank to probably show all you losers what a hot dog is. for posterity or some such. he's been curing deer meat from a recent hunting trip with aloy and after their housemate reigen had soundproofed house six's kitchen, well. it seemed as good a time as any to put his plan in motion. not to mention he's in a good mood for once after encountering his best friend among the new arrivals.

early in the evening, frank will be piping his mixture into homemade casings with the doors to the back deck wide open for anyone to come pester him. and then later on of course he will be cooking them up with mustard he made and onions he found. he will also chop up pickles from the natives for anyone who gets down like that. none of y'all better ever ask him what a hot dog is ever again!!!

if you come in while he's cooking expect to be put to work, and did i mention he'll be downing rosé the whole time? e n j o y.

note: the kitchen is only soundproof when all the doors are closed. he will tell everyone on arrival this, so while he's cooking the doors will be shut but all other times feel free to mingle!! ]

B. the rules of fight club are bring snacks and make sure frank castle stays in bruises. tia for your contribution.

[ after posting up this little gem, frank has been steadily gathering members for his and mike's "club." his garage is a makeshift boxing arena and open for all any time they want to blow off steam or learn some new skills from punching bag himself. or from whoever else is lingering around. feel free to match yourselves and have a fight without him too, he'll ref!

the only rules of fight club are: bring snacks, agree with your partner on tactics: weapons/no weapons, fists only/every man for himself etc etc. AND when one person taps out or doesn't get up the match is over. the garage is approximately 80% soundproof. every fighter must wear wraps on their hands to muffle sound and agree not to shout or make loud noises, even in pain. soft-volume trash talking is allowed and perhaps even encouraged... ]

C. write your own starter or ping me for one!

Comments

[swill]

[Oh, Christ

for a moment there he'd thought the jackass was going to pull a piece on him. Just for a moment, a blink-and-miss-it jump of Hawkeye's hide as he cringes and... finds himself continuing to cringe, openly, at the sight of that gadget. Even if it is nice to know the man wants to laugh. He lifts himself enough to read over the words on the screen, mischief bleeding through the way he takes his turn to roll his eyes.

It's a bit of a spectacle to watch Hawkeye dig his own thingy out. He's got a careful, almost dainty hold of it. He somehow manages to get the screen entirely black (sleep), then flashing on again, and then he's working to remember which button leads to... and then he finds it (the fumbling lasts four seconds at most), a screen he'd explored and learned he could type his response into.

It isn't the same as Frank's, not exactly, but it looked something like:

from: md

to: ( public )

message:]

Hawkeye Pierce
i'll be here all week

[Don't worry, he's not dumb enough to press SEND before he flashes his phone to Frank. Howdy.]

[oorah]

[ he catches the look, but it's too late, something familiar and almost scared in his own expression for a moment. he misses guns, and grenades and just all manner of loud artillery. he doesn't miss talking, but he misses making noise. especially violent noise. that would've put a fucking end to kilgrave real fast.

attempting to shake himself out of the weird reverie he'd fallen into, frank squints to read the message, then shakes his head fondly. what a guy what a guy. username "md" huh? he's filing that one away. then he leans back in his seat again to text hawkeye directly just to show him how the syncing feature works so they don't have to lean across the table. apparently that whole act I warmed him up to not having to pull teeth to talk this way. his username comes over predictably as "hotdog." ]

and a lot longer than that probably [ his smile slips a little and he shrugs a shoulder. ] i've been here 4 weeks

[swill]

[It's like playing telephone, back when he was a kid and not everybody had one. Pretend you're miles away from your buddy who's standing a few feet away, whisper into the can, and watch the magic of message relay at work. Hawkeye's brows stay furrowed.

He'll learn this the same way he learned to operate the radio. And, just like then, he already knows he'll prefer not to. He'll muck something up, because some things are prime for a mucking. Self fulfilling prophecy? The hell izzat?

He drinks his wine.]

you should check your other line I think freud is trying to reach you

[Because clearly that's the important thing here.]

[oorah]

[ frank may have grown up in a different era, but it was still a world before proper cellphones. he still remembers talking into cans and learning morse code long before he ever needed to. he stares at the screen of his device a second too long, shooting hawkeye a look. is he offended or just pretending? he's such a drama queen it would be impossible to parse even if he knew the guy past a couple hot dogs and a bottle of wine. though a part of him is just glad someone in this place besides him has jokes. it's refreshing honestly. ]

that's the one who says all boys want to fuck their moms right [ frank shakes his head. they're barely a step into the real conversation phase of their relationship and it's already hideous. this is why he prefers the not talking. ] so what house are you in? [ for really real this time ]

[swill]

beats me

[Did you get... it...

Gosh darn it, HotDog isn't making it easy to be a straight shooter. Hawkeye flashes a toothy grin that's entirely too put-on and it's a relief to have it drop from his face a moment later. He reaches for his cup, remembers it's empty, and shoots Frank a look right back as he empties the last of the bottle for himself. See-- he needs to keep the theatrics or else he might actually look disappointed.

Just like he's all too transparent, wanting to sigh and unable to make it heard. Hawkeye is the kind of man who can't be serious without being exhausted, utterly and magnificently, as if both things were exclusive to one another. Fine. He'll be serious.]

Two doors that way [Gesturing to wherever "that way" is. House Four.]

i missed camping out under the stars and shouldn't be hard to miss. I will either be in a coma or attempting to put myself in one.

Holler if you ever need anything.

[oorah]

[ he bites his lip against another grin. this guy, this guy right here. frank doesn't protest or move to stop him when he empties the bottle, between this and the weird kool-aid shit he's had enough of whatever to feel good. thus the party. he nods at the admission, filing that away too. house 4 deck; hawkeye, m.d. he remembers everything always, even when it seems like he's paying no attention. which is most of the time, marines are fine-tuned in the art of playing dumb (if they aren't actually, anyway.) ]

you too

just don't actually holler [ he flashes another OK sign with a smile. ]