"Well, I figure flies and honey and vinegar is an adage for a reason and being a dick about it myself isn't going to do anyone any good," he replies, smirking back.
He offers a nod while he gets up from the couch to start picking up everything to put the dishes away and to put the remaining few slices into the refrigerator. Depending on what, if anything, he does out in the suit tonight, sometimes he shoves some food in his face before he falls asleep. "I don't work weekends--during the day, anyway. So I can come out. I might lean on you to arrange transportation. I don't really leave the city much unless I have to so whatever you think is the most pragmatic way." The question sparks another short laugh. "I know what you look like in a way that's hard to describe easily. Every movement you make, every sound that's in the room, it all bounces off of you. Like an echo. It paints a picture of you, like you're made of flame. Everything in my world 'looks' like it's on fire. You included. Do you want my observations?"
"You mentioned disliking flying." Which makes sense given Matt's senses and echolocation. "That leaves the train if you're being stubborn, a private car and driver," or him, "if we're trying to be discrete, or a limo if we want it to be very visible."
That out of the way and onto more interesting things. While he stands up and moves the coffee table back to its original position. "Would you recognize me based on that imprint alone, or would your other senses need to be in play?"
"The pressure is hard for me. The popping sound that you feel, or the way that it muffles your hearing? Multiple that by a hundred," he explains with a shrug. "I'll leave that up to you as far as private car vs. limo. I can avoid the train and not be stubborn in this scenario." He thinks, anyway. He's been around money before with Elektra so it's not wholly foreign to him and she would have sooner lost a kidney than taken a train.
"Once I'm familiar with someone, I can recognize their heartbeat, for one thing. What their skin and hair smells like. The rhythm of their breathing. But yes, if I were to come across you on a street surrounded by strangers, I would be able to pick you out. It's not sight. It's like radar, I guess is the best description."
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He offers a nod while he gets up from the couch to start picking up everything to put the dishes away and to put the remaining few slices into the refrigerator. Depending on what, if anything, he does out in the suit tonight, sometimes he shoves some food in his face before he falls asleep. "I don't work weekends--during the day, anyway. So I can come out. I might lean on you to arrange transportation. I don't really leave the city much unless I have to so whatever you think is the most pragmatic way." The question sparks another short laugh. "I know what you look like in a way that's hard to describe easily. Every movement you make, every sound that's in the room, it all bounces off of you. Like an echo. It paints a picture of you, like you're made of flame. Everything in my world 'looks' like it's on fire. You included. Do you want my observations?"
no subject
That out of the way and onto more interesting things. While he stands up and moves the coffee table back to its original position. "Would you recognize me based on that imprint alone, or would your other senses need to be in play?"
no subject
"Once I'm familiar with someone, I can recognize their heartbeat, for one thing. What their skin and hair smells like. The rhythm of their breathing. But yes, if I were to come across you on a street surrounded by strangers, I would be able to pick you out. It's not sight. It's like radar, I guess is the best description."