#dcvilcomplex

to the beach -- @dcvilcomplex

‘This is what I get’ The young man thinks to himself while lying on the ground, being kicked and pelted from what felt like every direction ‘For trying to reason with a pair of half-witted upperclassmen’

He had been engaging in some 'friendly debate' with one of them when the other took the cheapest shot imaginable at him, knocking him to the ground. Under any other circumstances the boy may have received, at minimum a broken hand for his efforts, but, out in the open like this there's little Matt can do without revealing himself to be more then your average unassuming blind kid to his classmates.

And so he's forced to swallow his pride, endure the abuse, and hope they don't hit anything vital too hard, that is until...

The attack suddenly comes to a stop. Could hear some kind of scuffle happening, but that initial punch had sent his senses reeling so hard that he could barely tell up from down. Sitting upright had just started to get his bearings when he feels a hand brush against his face, smells the guy's breath, and hears his voice. Had he heard it before? Where in the world had this guy come from? Moves to straighten his glasses.

❝ Arghh... Um, yeah - I think ❞

College had been on fire thanks to the war -- protests happening all the time, anti-war students trying to give the government one million reasons to stop the battle in Vietnam. Frank usually didn’t care about the protests, but lately they had gained a lot of strength, capable of even ending the war. As a veteran who was about to return to the battlefield just next week for a third tour, already addicted to the bloodshed, Frank received a lot of hate from those college students -- veterans weren’t heroes to them -- so helping one of them could be a waste of time, even shooting himself in the foot.

Frank helped the guy to stand up, and that was the moment he realized the young man was blind.

“Very brave of you to stand against those guys.” He pointed out with a hoarse, low voice. The soldier sounded exhausted, though it was more because of the boredom that life was for him. He needed his battlefield again. His heart ached for war.

❝ Must have been a hell of one, your pulse is still elevated ❞

He points out. Still half-asleep grabs a couple of beers and takes a seat across from Castle. Popping the cap off of one, offering him the other.

❝ Don’t suppose it’s by any chance your conscience finally catching up with you? ❞

Was it? Frank didn’t even notice his pulse until now -- it was pounding hard into his ears, his chest aching. A hand grabbed the beer, he could drink some now. No mission for the time being, he could relax a bit.

“Nah. It wasn’t about conscience at all. It’s the worst kind of nightmare, in my opinion.” He paused to sip some of his drink.

  “Have you been avoidin’ me or somethin’?”