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[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

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~ knightbynight

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

[From here]

I can't imagine. I've had injuries but my spine has been relatively okay by comparison. Fucked up my pelvis something fierce when the building fell on me, a lot of broken bones and thought I was losing my hearing. That last one was my nightmare scenario.

Strangely, this might end up being the opposite of a self destructive stunt. He might be proud of you.

I know I should. The problem has always been the explanation. I got sliced to shit by a ninja a long time ago and even ten years on, the scars are still there. I can't explain that to a normal doctor. There's no surgical uniformity to them that might come from medical procedures and "fell in a woodchipper" seems like it'd prompt questions.

Re: ~ knightbynight

[knightbynight]

You need to find a way to come here at least once. I can even arrange the wedding to happen in New York but you need to meet Alfred, and Leslie - the doctor - so you can find someone closer to you to handle emergency medical scenarios and keep their mouth shut. Anything too dire, we can transport you but there's a lot of room between what you can handle yourself and 'you need surgery and an MRI'.

He will probably ultimately be proud of me and happy about it. He'll just need to see and hear that first hand. Fortunately, it's Superman. Knee jerk responses aren't typical for him. And you can probably work in teaching him a thing or two about grounding his senses at some point.

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

It's not that far from New York so I can manage that with a little time to figure out train schedules. I hate flying because of the pressure changes on my hearing so I tend to avoid that where possible. I feel some measure of guilt when I'm not out at night but I recognize that there are times when I can't be and I can accept that so I can travel. This is usually the part where I say I'm fine and say I have an order of nuns who can take care of me discretely but I recognize that doesn't carry a lot of weight.

That's understandable. It's kind of a big bomb to drop on someone as a surprise. I've never had to teach anyone that part before. The guy who taught me was an asshole so at least I know I'll be nicer about it.

[knightbynight]

It carries plenty of weight. It's not enough and there are gaps that I'd like to fill to the best of my ability and that you'll allow, but it's not without weight. Most of my basic medical care comes from a retired special services butler or myself. I just also have someone who can prescribe antibiotics and has hospital privileges. That's something I'd like to work out for you if I can.

We're still both going to end up bleeding to death in a gutter - if we're lucky.

He just needs some guidance in finding something that's not relying on me or his parents.

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

The issue was primarily a need for anonymity rather than my self destructive tendencies and not having a good lie for strangers. I can only be 'mugged' so many times or fall down so many stairs before the stories stop adding up. A friend once worried the bruises was a sex thing and even that fell apart pretty fast when the real injuries piled on. Accepting help isn't my strongest suit but I'll do my best not to bitch too much about it and take what's being offered. For the minor things, I'll retreat to my overstocked first aid kit and do my own stitches but if it's more, I'll allow it.

I always assumed it'd be in a dumpster for me. A gutter is probably a step up in the world.

I understand that. I don't know where I'd be if I had to figure out all of this on my own.

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

[From here]

Yes, I am very much figuring out just how insane it is right now. Which is my way of telling you that I'm obviously not in my apartment anymore.

Just give me a cross-street at least.

Lost this one in my inbox but DW's inbox had it!

[smartass_captain]

...Why?!

[Haha, not so cool when someone Else does it, is it Jim? Is this how his people feel every time there's a Situation??]

I can see the sign for 50th St station across the way. There's a car hanging out of a boutique front window so mind the broken glass.

[In this case cooperating means he'll be able to get Matt somewhere safe quicker too. He sure as hell doesn't know his way around the area so running off to find the blind man? Not smart.]

stupid inbox!

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

It's...kind of what I do. Just. You're going to have to trust me on this one.

[With this kind of chaos, Matt wouldn't have been able to sit it out anyway but now? Yeah, no chance. Sorry Jim, you're just going to have to deal with it.]

Alright, I'm on it. Just stay safe and I'll find you. I might have some explaining to do when that happens but just keep an open mind.

[smartass_captain]

Not giving me much of a choice BUT to trust you in the moment.

[He just hates that feeling of his heart being jammed up into his throat trying to imagine Matt and his cane navigating out here while he's taking cover with this poor guy behind the half overturned car.

At least they managed to get out of the window finally. The webbing has the rest of the car firmly held upright.]

[athambia]

( continued )

It is beyond fucking audacious, what he's just done. Has Lonán Burke actually managed to convince Matthew Murdock that he's never heard of him before? True enough that he'd played the bumbling fool through most of his undergraduate, demurring his firmly-held convictions behind pauses and false starts, trying desperately to conceal the sanctimonious tendencies he'd been accused of through most of his private school career. But it's a role Lonán has rarely returned to since — the sucker, caught totally unawares.

Still, this is not a lead cooked up by the Bureau and dropped into his waiting lap. He's got no reason to suspect that Matthew can or will offer anything of concrete value. So why the hell is Lonán so nervous as he checks the ETA on the Lyft WAV ride he's booked to the dive bar? Likely because he's actually enjoyed their conversation. He feels a certain — undoubtedly unearned — kinship with the other man, and thinks if he could eventually convince him of the real good he's trying to do at the BAR, they could develop policy that might change the tide of public and legal opinion on metahumans and vigilantism.

Maybe, just maybe, even introduce him to Daredevil.

But he's getting far ahead of himself. For tonight, just a drink. The prospect of getting to know each other a little better. And hell, Lonán could use that too. It's been a long several years since he's been back in the city, and he'd forgotten how actively inhospitable it feels. Or maybe he's just older now.

Even though he'd scheduled a ride to get him to his destination well before the appointed meeting time, everything always takes longer than expected. So it's a few minutes after 8:00 PM when Lonán pushes into the bar — dressed casually and smelling of his usual cologne — and looks around for Matthew.

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

Matt Murdock doesn't really do nervous when it comes to meeting people; affable and easy charm takes over most of the time and a calm way with others means that it doesn't make his heart pound or his palms sweat. A misfired text led to an interesting conversation and here he is, with no real ulterior motives to speak of except curiosity. Even the suggestion that Lonán has an interest in metahumans is a backburnered thought, particularly since he has no intention of aligning that part of his life with this side of it. He's not entirely sure where some field taxonomy of that sort of thing would even put someone like him anyway and Lonán, like everyone else, is never going to find out, so it hardly matters.

A night at the bar means an evening without putting on the suit and honestly, he probably needs it. He'll never stop burning the candle at both ends until it leaves him exhausted but he can spare an evening away from rooftops and thrown punches. He does come directly from the office even if it's late by traditional measures of a working day so he's still wearing his suit and tie, loosened around the collar as some kind of indication that he's finished with the office. A dive bar in Hell's Kitchen attracts all kinds and he doesn't stand out except for the folded cane and the red glasses over his eyes.

He's gotten there early enough and first so he's already secured a table near the back in whatever might be considered the quiet part of the bar, away from the line of stools around the solid oak plank and from the jukebox. He's moved the opposite chair out of the way, making the nearby two into a three-seat for the duration since he arrived early.

Matt already has a beer in his hand, though still three-fourths full, when he picks up the sound of wheels on concrete outside and then on the bar's tile. He schools his expression as he always does, never giving away what he already knows.

[athambia]

There's a moment after he's scanned the faces of those perched on barstools and clustered around the jukebox that Lonán allows his shoulders to sag in misplaced relief. He detests being late, but time so rarely feels like it's on his side. The prospect that Matthew has not yet arrived doesn't fill him with the same annoyance he reserves for himself; instead, he's grateful for the chance to gather his bearings. A couple of those heads swivel to give him the up-and-down assessment he's so used to, but before he can even contemplate getting his hackles up it's the bartender who's addressing him.

"In or out sweetheart? Unless you're comping my electric this month."

Lonán realized he's stalled just inside the doorway and angles in a semi-free spot behind an unoccupied barstool. "Pint of whatever ale you got on tap, thanks." The man does not think he sounds particularly Chicagoan, but the voice would betray him if the wheels had not already done so. He sits back as she pours and lets his gaze scan the place more thoroughly. It's only a few moments then before he sees Matthew sitting at that far table already arranged for his arrival.

The bartender slides the glass across the oak top and Lonán nudges his card for the exchange. "Let's start a tab, please." He nestles the beer between his knees and turns to greet the other man. If his voice sounds unhurried he doesn't know it's betrayed by the fact he's tugging his pushrims at about twice the pace as he had outside. "Hey, Matthew?" There's a quiet thunk of a full pint being set on the table. "It's Lonán. Sorry I'm late; I misjudged traffic. Rookie mistake, I know."

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

He hears the whole exchange and he does consider going to give Lonán a rescue but ultimately decides against it when he's apparently spotted. He'd hate for him to think that Matt was either late or had stood him up so at least that is cleared up quickly. He does get a quick comment out of Josie but she's, as always, good natured about it even if it might seem abrasive to some who are unfamiliar. She means no harm and he's sure Lonán can tell as much.

A tab is started and Matt waits for the arrival and the introduction. When it comes, he offers an easy, winning smile in response.

"Real rookie move there. Everyone knows there's always at least five obstacles at any given time in New York traffic because it's chaos at any given time. But I'm inclined to forgive you."

He takes a sip of his beer and sets it back down on the table. "I told you it wasn't going to be fancy," he adds of the bar they're sitting in now. It seems to suit both of them well enough, given that they both decided to go for the beer on tap instead of something from even the middle shelf on the wall.

[athambia]

( continued )

Clinton Church in the heart of Hell's Kitchen boasts a certain charm, with its red doors and stone façade. Situated as it is next to an orphanage, anyone who passes by its wrought iron gate is confronted with the Biblical imperative of James 1:27 in action — Religion that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their affliction...

At this time, the long shadows cast from the bare branches overhead give the city the impression of being a whole lot smaller than what it is. Lonán has all the time in the world to sit and admire the dancing beams tripping each other over the sidewalk. Once he'd convinced himself to come, there was no chance he'd risk being late. He hasn't informed Matthew of his intent to join for Mass, though. It's not because he's hoping for a repeat ambush; Lonán just doesn't want to give the other man any false hope in case he feels like he has to bail partway through the liturgy.

He is not, of course, aware of the fact that if Matt is present, he already knows. Lonán is wearing the same cologne as always. Just before he'd left the hotel he'd taken a shot of liquid courage, so while he's absolutely certain no one else can tell it, there's a layer of whiskey coated on his breath. Out of respect more than nerves or hesitation or guilt, he stays at the back of the church where he hopes his internal version of the prayer postures won't pull attention to him.

When the time comes to receive the Eucharist, Lonán does not join the procession. Not for the first time, if Matthew is present he may notice an increase in the other man's heartbeat. A moment of panic or guilt or something raw and gripping. Whatever it is fades in short order, but by the time the priest is offering his final blessing and words of dismissal Lonán is still not entirely sure whether or not he's glad he came.

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

Matt holds no particular expectation that Lonán will attend Mass in spite of his invitation or suggestion toward it. He recognizes that it's one of those things that falls further out of fashion as time passes the the median age of the clergy inches closer and closer toward geriatrics as the years go by and the church is often filled with the scent of medications and the kind of perfume that is only acquired by old ladies at Christmas. Everyone has better ways to spend Sundays, or so they say.

Of course, he notices. He picks up on Lonán's presence when he's still out on the sidewalk but he shows nothing that would give it away. Matt takes his seat but an approach doesn't come. It leaves him vaguely curious if Lonán might not even come up to him at all after the priest dismisses his flock. Presumably, he would think he can get away with it and that Matt Murdock would have no way of knowing that he was there at all. After all, he might well have taken the invitation to church solely as one made in concern for his soul instead of a social call, and if that's true, he has no qualms with it. Faith is its own tricky thing, made particularly evident in the times when the other man's pulse quickens.

For the moment, he offers nothing to indicate that he knows what he knows. Instead, he follows his own ritual even knowing that he's likely being watched while he stands and waits at the end of the pew after it has emptied. Sister Maggie makes her approach and pats his arm in the way that is always on the wrong side of awkward and the right side of affection. He smiles at her because he's come to Mass without a mark on him so he knows he'll be spared the usual murmured comments about how he has to take better care of himself. It's always a little more complicated when she has cause to worry.

The conversation is short. She's busy on Sundays and Matt doesn't need her in the way he once did. That she checks on him is enough for now and after he hands her a package in a cardboard box that he brought for her, she gives his arm another squeeze.

Now he stands alone and unfolds his cane with the intention of leaving. Now or never, he figures for Lonán to approach or fade to the departing crowd.

[athambia]

The longer he goes on idling there in the row behind the last row of pews, the harder Lonán knows the approach will be. He can almost hear the man's derisive accusations in his mind — if Matt will take the delay as proof this is nothing but a reconnaissance mission. But Lonán couldn't fight against the sea of minnows swimming toward the exit if he wanted to, so he holds his position and tends to the nervous habit of massaging his left palm.

Of course he earns a few eyes as others stop for brief conversation or make their way out into the crisp evening air. That he's a stranger, he tells himself. They're double-taking because he's a stranger. One shot of whiskey has not caused his eyes to go bloodshot. He's dressed as he would for work: matching charcoal suit and a blue sweater-vest, so he doesn't look like someone who stumbled in off the street sorely in need of absolution. But every glance feels like pinpricks of judgment when he knows half of them are now realizing they would've remembered if they'd seen the guy in the chair receive Eucharist.

It's enough to distract him from keeping a close watch, and it's the sound of the cane on the near-empty church floor that brings him back to himself. "Matt—hew," he calls before the man reaches him. Embarrassingly, Lonán loses his breath after the first syllable and the second is pushed out of deflated lungs in a rasp. Get a grip, he admonishes himself. It's a church; not a public gallows. "Hey."

Real smooth.

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

Matt figures that the odds are fifty-fifty at best that he walks by Lonán and receives no indication that he's there at all and they pass like ships in the night as might be the other man's design. He's been inside the church for a little while, talking to Sister Maggie, so the crowd has considerably thinned in that time. It puts him on the pathway to go directly by but his expression offers up nothing of what he knows. He might have some thoughts on the man's intentions if no words are exchanged, but he also had noticed that the leap of his heart was associated with the Mass and its parts instead of anything to do with Matt.

He's prepared for silence and maybe he's pleasantly surprised to find that's not the case. His voice holds less of the confidence that it had in the bar. A kind of nervousness, maybe, and perhaps that's deserved after everything went badly or maybe it's the location that has Lonán on his backfoot this time.

Still, his expression gives away none of the fact that he was already very aware of the man's presence and he offers a smile. "You made it. Sorry, if you'd told me you were actually going to come, I would have found you." He means that; while he's more than accustomed to sitting alone at Mass, he did extend the invitation and he would have further extended the olive branch if circumstances had allowed him to. "And if I made you wait," he makes a motion back to where he had been standing with Sister Maggie.

[doesnotsparkle]

[ From here. ]

Once Michael had the address, after he locked away his laptop for the evening. Paper notes are rarely used these days with the number of times villains have stolen his notes to create monsters. Occasionally, he can learn from his mistakes. Though leaving it behind in the little fireproof safe probably wasn't much better.

It took about twenty minutes before he touched down outside the building. He most likely shouldn't have worn the V-neck disco suit he always seems to wear when he's "working." Flight was just so much better in it than anything else he owns. Michael had always had a love of retro fashion.

Stepping inside to find the apartment. Knocking upon the door instead of trying to come in, wanting to at least give the man notice that he had arrived.

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

Matt is aware of Michael's arrival long before he knocks on the door. The sensitivity of his hearing has already provided him plenty of advanced notice, which is advantageous since the injury does make him a little slower than he would like. It's a fresh break and while he's annoyed that he can't be on the streets, it has allowed him the free time to extend the invitation.

He does answer on the knock, standing in his college t-shirt and pajama bottoms that very much indicate that he had no plans tonight, and offers a smile.

"Come on in," he beckons, stepping aside. He presumes that the whole vampire-invitation thing is the kind of foolish folklore that someone invented for the sake of a story but it's just polite. Once Michael is across the threshold, he closes the door behind him and makes a line to the refrigerator.

"Want a beer?"

[doesnotsparkle]

Michael should have assumed that even touching down from the way he glided across the air would have been heard. Yet, despite their talk, it had not crossed his mind. Simple manners were why he had knocked on the door rather than look for roof access or a balcony.

"Thank you, Mr. Murdock." The pale Grecian spoke with that thick accent, making his way inside; no invitation was needed, as he was not a supernatural vampire. He had many of the perks and so few of the disadvantages of vampirism. "Columbia?" He asked after seeing the shirt.

"Oh yes, thank you, that would be lovely." The living vampire spoke, red glowing eyes taking in the apartment as he followed Matt for a moment, stopping near the couch.

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

Matt presses his hand over his chest briefly to remember which of his ratty shirts he has on. "Oh, yeah. It's where I went to school." He doesn't say it in a way that suggests bragging and maybe there's a little self consciousness at the thought that it might be taken that way.

He pulls out two beers from the refrigerator, flicks the caps into the trash can and carries them over to the couch. He hands one over to Michael before making his way to the sofa. He extends his leg to put it up on the coffee table to give it some elevation to avoid swelling that has been a recurring problem with past injuries because he doesn't have a tendency to rest them as long as he should.

"Make yourself at home."

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

[from here]

The AI is unnerving. Maybe he should be more progressive about the use of technology like that and all, but it's definitely strange to be watched in a way that he can't really register. There's no whirring camera like cheap CCTV, there's no heartbeat that attaches to prying eyes. It's odd, but he lets it go.

He ultimately decides against the robe since he's already closed to being dressed again and he's presuming that he's going to be leaving sometime this morning after they have the promised coffee.

He follows the sound of Stark's returning heartbeat out to the kitchen where he sits down in one of the chairs to wait for the coffee to brew. When the plastic is dropped, he extends his hand to catch it before it hits the table. "What is it?" he asks.

[starkingenuity]

“It’s going to read all of the data on your phone so I can better track you,” Tony says as he rolls his eyes. He pushes his hand against an upper cabinet and it gently swings open to let him take out the coffee tray. Espresso will lift from the counter in a few moments after it’s been properly prepared by the machinery housed inside the pristine counters.

Tony leans his elbow beside the tray, making sure the spoons lie neatly on their napkins.

“It’s a tactile interface for your phone. Braille, picture outlines. Tap for a keyboard.” This isn’t a new material, though Tony certainly has made improvements to its uses. But this is a new application. “Give it a spin.”

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

"Prepare yourself for a pretty boring data read in that case. No saucy pictures, for one thing," he answers with a quick smile back. None of the information on his phone speaks to his other activities either, obviously. He doesn't trust the machine to be anything resembling private for all kinds of reasons.

Still, he turns over the piece of plastic in his fingers and presses it against his phone. He can tell that it's working similarly to the text converter that his laptop uses, at least when it comes to reading the words on the menu screen that Matt occasionally struggles with. Picture outlines is certainly new.

"And you whipped this up in...how long was I asleep?" He doesn't really know what time it is. Morning, clearly, but he hasn't bothered to check. Well, apparently he can now do that on his phone. "Is that what you do all night? Jus take some random stranger's complaints about technical limitations and make new inventions?"

[starkingenuity]

Tony has no idea what time it is. No alarms are going off, no one has come to get him, so it’s not important. He ignores the question.

“Basically, yeah. That’s what I do all night. And take credit for the idea,” Tony answers. Some stranger. The comment makes him bristle. He knows Matt’s (supposedly) most intimate secret, fucked him twice and let him sleep over.

That’s not stranger behavior. Tony will wait for the sting to leave before he answers the faint ding behind him that informs him of the espresso being ready. Two identical cups wait for him to take them. He sets both on the counter before he grabs a few cold cheeseburgers from the refrigerator.

One gets pushed over towards Matt, Tony knowing he barely needs to react at all to capture it.

This new case vibrates slightly as Matt fiddles with it, catching notifications that would normally have to be read out loud and translating them into braille. Once read, the bumps smooth out back into the case, though they be accessed again by the menu that raises up along the edges so as it not hog valuable ‘screen’ real estate.

“Tell me if you need tweaks. I work on it when I get bored or have a boring meeting.”