#next you're gonna tell him you believe everything The Bugle prints

[wardogsong]

[ HEADSHOT!     HEADSHOT! ]

Frank Castle does not believe in vampires. In fact, given a chance, he will steadfastly and stubbornly scoff at and refute the existence of something so ridiculous to him.

This is a man of the belief that those mythical creatures of the night are confined to fiction in all it's many forms-- the silver screen, the written word, the drawn pages of comic books and graphic novels. They're the kind of thing you save for an evening of Netflix and chilling; all the better for wrapping an arm around your significant other and nibbling on their neck a little to get the evening going spicy.

The long and short of it is that he simply has no cause to believe in them as real beings that walk among us, in spite of the fact that he inhabits a very strange world that only seems to get stranger by the day. Mind you, this is a man who has helped to bring two children into the world. That had to include all the usual appointments-- admittedly, because of his service, only some of which he was there for. Still, those check-ups and ultrasounds and blood-test filled days were bound to feature questions around his and his wife's medical history. Neither of them are carriers of the much discussed X-GENE-- something that is endlessly more real to him and easier to parse and accept. That's SCIENCE. It's in the vein of passing down hair and eye colors, bum tickers, and all kinds of other physical family baggage.

As far as he knows, you can't just pass down a case of the sparkles.

Hell-- he'd more seriously consider a case of demonic possession before he ever took seriously a flash of fangs and a confession of being beautifully undying. He's Catholic like that, even when it's been an eon since setting foot inside a church. Both cases would honestly make him suggest psychiatric help first, but the former. . . the former is close to home. He BELIEVES in the former. He KNOWS a thing or two about dark attachments of the soul.

But the Lord Ruthven shit? C'MOOON-- Polidori just had a bitter axe to grind against Byron. None of those dead guys are still prancing among us. Vampires make him think of Halloween, Hot Topic, eyeliner and My Chemical Romance band shirts with striped arm warmers. Scene kids and vampires are the same thing, right??

Now, from where does this bullheaded rejection spring? It's from the smallness of Frank's world. Truth be told, he's never been one for GRAND dreams. His were always local things-- even when they were as absurd as a child's glossy and romanticized desire to be a wiseguy in the style of Michael Corleone. Frank's world used to be Bayside, Queens to Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. He never really made plans to leave it-- not by further than getting out of his parents' house and someday into his own. Such small sights were never set on the rest of the world beyond or what lived in it. His was a world of old school by-the-slice shops, creeping bodegas, car-fixing garages where he might someday work for the legit side of things.

Enlistment and eventual deployment only narrowed his world even further, despite being responsible for sending him into the cradle of civilzation. In that place all that mattered was putting one foot in front of the next, checking his corners, doing the job and surviving the day and the incompetence of the United States Marine Corps.

There were no vampires for him to meet in Iran, Pakistan, or Afghanistan.

And afterwards? Afterwards there should only have been the smallness of HOME again. Of Maria tucked into his side, of Lisa held in his arms, of Junior at his knee.

Ain't that just the kicker though? After all that-- after all that happened to him, he could BE one of them. Maybe not beautiful, but definitely undying. Except he doesn't know that.

And still doesn't feel like he has any cause to BELIEVE.

                                                                                                               [ Tell ‘em closed case. ]

#ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ sᴘɪᴛ ɪᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs sɪɴᴄᴇ '08 #. ( ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs ) . #a study in bullheadedness #next you're gonna tell him you believe everything The Bugle prints