Elektra smiled faintly, “I think I’m bored and even the slightest challenge would be welcome entertainment,” The smile grew just a little more, “And looking at you, the challenge might be more than slight.” Damn well carried himself like he might be, had the carrying of someone who knew what battle looked like, who had survived it more than once. Who had made the first kill and no longer carried the fear of it around. She knew that look - remembered it, saw it only in seasoned fighters. Survivors.
It made her curious. Especially at the very succinct appraisal of her. Elektra found herself laughing, oddly pleased in the strangest way. She’d been a mystery for so long there was an odd amount of - appreciation, perhaps? Appreciation to have someone who didn’t bother with the games, who simply saw her and engaged. Being a mystery, playing the kunoichi and the femme fatale mantles that were placed on her grew old. Like called to like, tore past the playing and for once, she felt fine being just Elektra in front of someone new - someone who wasn’t looking for the assassin, wasn’t looking for the dead woman. “Accurate assessment. And you? Are you looking for an adrenaline fix in the fight, win or lose?”
“I am Elektra, if you’d like a name.” Felt more like he wanted a challenge, a sparring match, but a name might be useful all the same. “Do you train hand to hand only, or do you use a weapon?” She had trained with more weapons than she could count, such was the way of the Hand. Proficiency in whatever was available, whatever might become useful on a mission. Knives were her preference, but she could adapt if necessary - and it was polite to let the other pick the weapons.
Her honesty - though he did not show it - was appreciated. Though he supposed, given that their common interests seemed to be rather violent involving engaging another in a fight to the death, there was really no need to lie. She could have, of course. Frank didn’t need to be looking at her to know she was sussing him out in return; that was only fair. He wasn’t here for entertainment, naturally - he’d never seen what he did as fun. It wasn’t the worst thing around but it wasn’t... jovial. It was hard, took a toll. Not as much as it once had.
“No,” Frank’s simple reply fell from his lips before he’d had a chance to think about it. His head tilted up slightly, dark eyes meeting hers. “I’m not a kid; adrenaline’s not bad, I’ll give you that. Helpful, more than anything but I’m not a dog chasin’ a stick.” Truth be told the Punisher wasn’t after a fight, really -- it was something to do though and Elektra seemed more than eager. Who was he to pass up an opportunity that was all but thrown in his direction?
He nodded stiffly, sitting up a little straighter on the bench. “Frank.” The Marine Corps were thorough - knife training was doled out along with the words ‘ if you can find a way to avoid a knife fight, do. you WILL get hurt, they WILL get hurt. ’ knives were a pain in the ass. “Whatever you want, ma’am.” Even if Elektra chose something he wasn’t overly familiar with ( which was unlikely ), Frank was a quick learner.
