Work Text:
He'd seen her before, in the Journalism building a few times, in the library once or twice. He thought she might be a Journalism major, too, but he wasn't sure, and there wasn't any way to ask without being a creep.
He thought she was pretty the first time he saw her, in jeans that fit her like a dream and a band shirt, faded and well worn, the cover of The Queen is Dead staring back at him. He had his own feelings on the Smiths but he couldn't deny that the album was good, and the shirt looked good too. Her blonde hair was up in a messy ponytail and she had glasses on, making her blue eyes big and wide and startlingly intense.
He didn't know her name or any of her friends, so he appreciated his little glimpses of her but left it there.
When she walked into that party, though. Goddamn. She was a stunner.
Her top was some kind of shimmery material, the straps so thin he was surprised they were doing their job, the dark blue color making her creamy skin glow, the short length of leather parading as a skirt making her legs look a million miles long, and Frank loved that she was in heels, towering over everyone around her. The confidence of a tall woman in heels was always astronomical, and he was so into it.
He heard someone call her Karen, and he felt that it suited her.
He had to leave early, to make his way to the station to host his Friday night show. He knew the party host would have it on as soon as it started; that was half the reason he'd reached out to Frank in the first place. David was a fan, and now he was kind of a friend, one of the few who didn't think it was weird how Frank was six years older than all the other students in his year. He'd done his time in the Corps, and was using his GI Bill to learn an actual skill for the real world, seeing as the Marines mostly taught him things he'd get arrested for out here with the civilians.
He’d needed a new job prospect when he started thinking about getting out, so he’d spent some time on his last deployments with the radio techs who ran the AFN stations, the Armed Forces Network being the only kind of “regular radio” they had out in the desert. He'd found he liked it, like the equipment and the routine of it. Liked getting to curate some music and put it together. So he'd signed up for radio broadcasting, and had eventually gotten a slot on the student radio station.
He'd always been told he had a face for radio, which may or may not be true, but he knew he had the voice for it.
He walked into the booth, digging through the crates of records he'd dragged in, looking for what he wanted and finding it with a triumphant “ah!”.
He had a minute or so left, and got set up, dropping the 7” on the turntable and pulling his headphones on, adjusting the mic to the height he liked--the guy before him sat, and Frank preferred to stand.
The light came on, signaling that he was live, and Frank leaned in close. “New York, I love you. How you doing tonight? This is Frank Castle on WNYU.” He let his voice drop to what his best friend Billy called his “Morning After Voice,” deep and gravelly, all bass. He knew it sounded good over the airwaves so he leaned in, let it stay down in the dirt like that and smiled to himself.
“I hope your Friday night is alright so far, NYU. Mine’s been pretty great, and it keeps being great. I was at a party before this, and now I get to spend an hour with you lovely folks, so turn it up, grab a drink, and let's get started, huh?”
He grabbed the mic and pulled it with him as he walked to the turntable, powering it on but not dropping the needle yet. “I told you I was at a party, right? Well, I saw this woman there.” He chuckled, putting some innuendo in it, flirting with the radio waves. “Gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. I didn't get a chance to tell her before I left. So.” He dropped the needle. “This is a song by my favorite Sheffield band. A B-Side that, like all of theirs, honestly, deserves more love. It's called ‘The Blond-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap’ and sweetheart, this one's for you.”