"I'll keep that in mind. Though it's probably more imperative that you try to stay out of prison than worry about me. I hope you have a good attorney, at least." Seemingly not if jail has been a repeat occurrence for Michael. Is he offering services? Maybe, in a roundabout way, but it will likely depend on circumstances that, thus far, have not revealed themselves completely.
The mention of parents forces a small half smile at the corner of his mouth that holds no humor in it. "It was just me and my dad growing up," he answers, "It was hard on him. He worried about me a lot initially but I adjusted some before he died, so that was something." His father's murder is outside the real detail of the story but it has influences over every part of his life.
He sips his beer and adjusts the angle on his elevated leg. "Not one of a kind. I know someone else who had it too. He's dead now so you can't ask him but it's not unique to me. How and why he got it or learned it, he never shared with me. He liked to keep his secrets." Stick's senses were as attuned as his own, if not moreso, but those gifts had come differently. "It's not vision, but I can know more of an area or details of movement more than you can but I don't see color or texture the way you do."
"Well, prison is never the goal, Mr. Murdock. The last time I faced a jury, Jennifer Walters was assigned. I still feel terrible she got stuck with defending me. She is an excellent attorney, though; I only served five years." Yes, he knows she's She-Hulk, but he doesn't know who all knows, so he wasn't going to share that. "I do hope not to repeat that, however; it does hinder my research. Even if I did deserve to face more time, I am more use in a lab than behind bars."
"It seems we share that in common, raised by a single parent. Mine was my mother, though my grandfather helped a lot. Someone had to; my father was of no use. Though, I am truly sorry to hear about his death; that must have been awful for you to deal with after everything else." He was thankful he was an adult before his mother passed.
Nodding as he shifted the stippled, claw-like nails on the neck of the bottle, thinking more than not. "That is understandable; the people who know the most often keep those secrets. It is curious that someone else had your same gift. Certainly fortuitous that they found you and helped." Nodding again, not as worried that he might not know what he's done. If the power worked as he suspected from the description. "More like the idea of something than true sight?" He inquired. "As for colors, my vision is beyond messed up for colors. Since my eyes turned red, colors have never been the same. Everything is tinted. Though, I see very well in complete darkness, so I can not complain."
"She is an excellent lawyer. I went up against her once. Granted, her client was a complete idiot so that didn't help her in that case," he responds. Matt knows plenty about her, given that they had crossed paths in the way that they did but he doesn't elaborate either. He doubts there's any need and really, it's her prowess as an attorney that matters here. "For some cases, the best thing that a lawyer hopes for is to get a reduced sentence, especially if the client is dead to rights guilty." Which it sounds like Michael was by his own admission.
It's not a pleasant club to be part of, having grown up without a parent, so he just offers a faint smile in return. "It was difficult. I got through it." That's the important part by his estimation. He'd come out the other side of it. "I still miss him though. I still carry it."
How fortuitous it was or how Stick found him remains a mystery and there's no one to ask about it now that he's dead and gone. "He had his own reasons," he answers. The war that Stick talked about. He knows the why of his training, even if the way Stick found him is unclear. "Sort of. If you imagine an image in your head, you can picture it, right? It's like that, except it's not imagination. It's just the input of everything that paints it on my brain. Not sight, not really anything except just knowing." There's no set of words that will really give it the weight it deserves. "Red, huh? What else, other than seeing well in the dark, did it do for your senses? You said your hearing is better."
"Indeed she is; it was a rather complicated mess that led her to defending me. I tried to argue against it, but, well, she is very compelling once misunderstandings are cleared up." He had helped make a formula for her just from a blood sample given that helped with her changing between. One of the other lawyers leaked it before she knew, and Michael had been furious, thinking she offered due to the cure he made. "I certainly was dead to rights, but five years for multiple counts of involuntary manslaughter is certainly better than life for all of those that sated my hunger before I learned control."
The guilt is still in his tone, and he knows he still slips up. These days it is murderers and the worst people he can find that keep him fed. He only kills if they are not worthy of redemption. Accidents happen, but he tries not to kill when he can help it. "Yes, I can see that. You are a very strong person, Mr. Murdock, not just in body, I mean." Finally taking another drink before adding. "Yes, I would expect you would. My mother has only been gone three years, and I still miss her constantly. I could not imagine losing her when I was young. You have my sympathies there."
Listening as Matt explained, curious as always. "They usually do." He didn't ask for a name; he doubted it would do any good anyway. "I see; that does paint quite the picture when compared to picturing an object." With the question that followed, he leaned forward, finding a coaster if there was one to sit the beer down for now so he could lean back and cross his arms. "Yes, my hearing has vastly improved, along with my vision. I certainly was on my way to needing glasses before the change. What changed the most was my sense of smell. It almost feels insulting, but one of the other Midnight Sons compared it to that of a bloodhound. I can track people with ease. A useful advantage when I must only drink from the wicked these days. I have not noticed a difference in taste or touch."
Matt's experience with killers, and those who do or don't repent for it, allows him to sit without immediately jumping to the sort of condemnation that he might have once. This isn't something Michael asked for, from all tellings of it, and there is a guilt that carries in him that does not need Matt Murdock to put more weight onto it. There's no millstone greater than the one that a man puts around his own neck.
"It's not necessarily strength. One thing I learned a long time ago is that the only way out is through. I can't linger in it. But you have my sympathies for your loss. It doesn't really matter when it happens. It still hurts." It might be more difficult in youth when there is no other support system but Matt doesn't think that it stings any less in adulthood. Pain is comparable even if the experience isn't.
He can track from scent alone if it came down to it, though he relies more heavily on sound, so he understands that particular trait. "You're fortunate that you didn't get an enhanced sense of touch. It makes fabric feel itchy and rough, for one thing. Even the softest materials aren't as soft to me as they might be to you. And taste. I can taste differences in things that most people can't and it's not always pleasant. Knowing if someone at a restaurant washed their hands before preparing a meal is the sort of thing it's nice to be oblivious to, I'd imagine."
The guilt alone was why Ghostrider let him keep living. The weight of all he has done since the experiment weighs on him, and he would have it no other way. If he didn't suffer for it, those deaths would be in vain.
"That is quite the insightful way to look at it. Thank you; I never quite know what to say to things like that." A small, self-deprecating laugh. His mostly isolated childhood sometimes caused his social skills to be lacking.
Scent was more than often used to find those wicked souls he feeds on now. Heavy narcotics, gunpowder, and such, and then observations. "That must be miserable, so every sense is enhanced to such a degree? Well, I for one am now glad my sense of taste didn't change; it is bad enough I still have to eat. To have that on top of having to taste blood would be pure misery."
"There usually isn't a great response to it. I never know what to say when sympathies are extended either, just because I've heard it so often that after a while, even without anyone's intention, it starts to ring hollow. Not false, because I'm sure it's well meaning, but it's never much of a comfort." He recognizes that sometimes he's perhaps too dismissive of it but having endured a lot of loss in his life, it starts to feel like an echoed refrain.
Matt shrugs, "I wouldn't say miserable. I know how to handle it now. I can tune in and filter as necessary. It's a lot of inputs at the same time and maybe not all of them are inherently pleasant, but that's just how the world is. The way I view it, I'm experiencing everything that anyone else is, just more of it, so maybe that connects me more to everything around me." It's a more comforting thought anyway. "Blood tastes like copper to me. Metallic. I don't know if that changes with the whole..." Vampire thing, he punctuates it with a wave of his hand.
"I am inclined to agree. I felt the same when people would give sympathies for my sickness. It rang hollow, as you say, despite knowing it was not. I confess I found myself more irritated by it in younger years than not." Michael's isolated childhood was a major factor behind a lot of his oddities, but he tried so hard to keep some part of the man he was alive. Even when the pseudo-vampire within made it hard.
An amused sound followed as he watched Matt, listening. "So much like your hearing, you can filter with taste as well? Fascinating. I believe that is an excellent way to look at it from what you have described." Matt being more connected just made sense, more so with him staying in Hell's Kitchen—at least it did to the scientist. The question made Michael freeze up for a second, stippling his claw-like nails against one of his biceps, where his arms were still crossed. "Yes and no, I am very aware that it still tastes like copper, but as soon as I smell it or have not imbibed in a day or more, it is all I can think about. The taste is richer, better than anything I've ever tasted when the hunger is upon me." Silently reminding himself he has already fed tonight, don't think about the blood.
"I did too. People telling me they were sorry I lost my dad or sorry about the accident. I always wanted to ask them what they were sorry about--they didn't kill him or splash chemicals in my eyes, so what did they have to apologize for? I know that's just petulant though," he shrugs. It doesn't mean that he doesn't still sometimes feel it when sympathies are lobbed his way, particularly in the wake of so many losses in his life. It becomes a long-exhausted refrain in his head.
He nods in the question about his senses and the way that he takes in taste. He's aware of everything on his tongue but some things become more overpowering than others. "I've gotten accustomed to the taste of my own blood but I can't say that there's anything appealing about seeking it out." It sounds like a miserable part of Michael's experience, and to have such a drive for something like that is something Matt can't necessarily understand. He has whims and desires but never so strong that it overcomes everything. "What happens when that hunger strikes you?"
"Yes, exactly that. No one ever seems to get that. It is not an insult to them; merely there is nothing for them to apologize for. They did not do these things to us." Making a silent promise to himself that despite how much he tried to be polite, he would not do the same again. At least not to one who understood the frustrations.
"Given how some other scientists we both likely know are, I promise I am not asking these things in some cloak-and-dagger way of planning any experimentation or kidnapping on you. I am merely curious." Michael has been kidnapped enough to find it distasteful, more so when someone welcomed him into their home. He knows he has a bad reputation due to the blood on his hands. "Do you get hit hard enough to bleed often?" He asked, still curious. "I can say before the accident, I hated the taste of blood. Now? When the hunger strikes, as you say. I lose all sense of myself; it is like seeing my body move without me. Nothing else matters in those moments but quenching that thirst. The longer I go between feedings, the more likely I am to kill again. I would rather not do that, if I can help it."
"My priest told me that it's customary and that I should have grace when people offer it. The fact that I can't do a good job of it is probably indication enough of why I needed a priest to tell me in the first place." There is nothing to be gained from their sympathies or apologies and it used to gnaw at Matt every time he got one. There is no undoing what is done so he just wishes that no one would draw attention to it. He always preferred people like Foggy or Elektra who didn't treat him with kid gloves.
"If you were to try, I wouldn't make it easy on you so I would advise against it anyway," Matt replies. He doesn't know if he could win in a fight, but he's not a slouch in that department. "I'm awash in scars under this very nice t-shirt from my law school and I do get hit a lot. It's just part of the gig. Fighting hand to hand means that you put yourself in range of fists and hands." He's not complaining. It's just part of what happens over the course of any night spent out on the streets. "What happens if you don't drink blood? Other than the desire for it being a lot? Physically, I mean."
"Mine said much the same, though I confess it was my mother telling me if I had nothing nice to say to say nothing at all that cemented more." Though he had almost gone to the clergy it was his mother's rules that had shaped his early years. "I would think it is more those who extend such platitudes do not think of how often people like us have to hear the same thing. Like a band being asked to play their best single every night, it just gets old, but none are at fault."
That at least got a chuckle out of him. "Well, good thing I have no intention of doing so. I have heard enough tales of what you are capable of, my friend." Who knew who would win, either way he did not want to find out, not when he was enjoying the others company. "Yes I suppose it would put you in very close quarters, so no advanced healing with your gift?" He prompted, before taking a second to try to figure out how to explain.
"My body rarely lets me go more than two days before I start to feel my control slip, but I can feel the pain I used to live with returning, but magnified. Plus I feel like I am starving, not just for blood but as if I had not eaten anything in days. I have also been told I appear much more ghastly than normal as well. It is not very pleasant."
"I would expect that you're right. No one who says those things probably thinks about how many times we've heard it. Hundreds. Maybe more at this point for me. I don't know. I don't keep track. I'd probably drive myself crazy if I did." People mean well. Matt has always believed that and his annoyance doesn't change that truth. He knows that they don't mean harm so it's probably the only thing that stills what can be a rude tongue sometimes.
Matt merely shrugs at the mention of stories of his exploits. Whatever they are, he knows that they tell about a skilled fighter who has won fights he should have lost. He doesn't know how it would come down if it came between the two of them but he's often underestimated by people stronger than him. "No. No advanced healing. I have to explain a lot of scars to the people I bring home," he says, flashing a quick smile.
Matt absorbs that and nods. "What do you actually look like then? You mentioned red eyes. I am aware of the structure of bone but what else is going on that you're referring to?" he asks.
Weighing his thoughts, Michael lets it pass, knowing he would walk them back in a circle if he spoke more on it. Having finally met someone who agreed and understood was enough to stop himself from overthinking everything.
"How unfortunate." The living vampire spoke. Red eyes on Matt again as he uncrossed his arms and lifted the bottle once more, sitting forward. "Yes, I suppose you would. I take it it causes many questions?" An amused sound passed his lips then. "Do you think James Bond ever got asked about his scars?" He had never read the books, despite growing up in a bookstore, but he did love the movies.
"Me?" He asked, a touch uncertain, part of him considering describing how he used to see himself, but no. "Well, I am probably the worst person to ask; I have never been much to look at, if I am honest. The change flattened my nose in a rather odd way, much like a bat's. My skin is as white as a sheet of paper, and the eyes? They both widened and glow now, aside from the color. While my face sunk in some, I gained quite a lot of muscle mass I did not have before. I would say all that didn't change is my hair. Still black, I keep it to my shoulders, and it unfortunately gets wavy when wet." The scientist in him caused him to ramble out the facts rather than try to describe them better. "My fangs never retract, which has caused a slight lisp, I confess. Lastly," Michael stippled his claws on the bottle again. "My nails are about two inches now, pointed and razor sharp. I cannot cut them; I have tried. When I am starved, my face becomes rather corpse-like. Is this more what you were asking?"
"I like to think that the people I bring back to bed are having a good enough time not to notice, and I leave the lights off, but yeah," he says with a shrug. He still gets questions that are easier to deflect than to answer. "I got into it with a ninja with the Hand before I had a good suit. Tore me up pretty bad. Those alone would be bad but add in a decade of injuries here and there that manage to get through the armor and it's not great. Some fade, I guess, but some don't." He can feel them but he can't really know what they look like.
He takes in the description and faintly nods when some portions that he picked up on as a difference are noted. It makes sense of the things he could tell, like the flattening of the nose, but the other parts are obviously more stark. "So how do you move around in the world with that?" he asks. Maybe Michael doesn't, or keeps to shadows, but with a description like that, it seems like he would stand out. "It's what I was asking. I don't really know what a vampire looks like and I've just got what sound bounces off of to calculate it. I could tell about the nails though. They click on the bottle."
"I would hope not; it seems rather rude to bring it up if they are having a good time." He replied with ease. He couldn't imagine leaving the lights on the rare times he's taken someone to bed since his accident. "Ahh, yes, those fights in our early days before we all learned to wear better costumes." He mused. While his costume still kind of looks the same, the materials have changed over the years. "I take it the new armor helps a lot more? Furthermore, if you don't find it odd in my saying so, I can't imagine anyone thinking you would not have a great look, scars or no."
"I rarely move about in the day, despite often being up. If I must, I have taken to wearing a hooded jacket and sunglasses. It helps somewhat. Flight also helps keep me out of sight of most. Though, that has its drawbacks as well. Spider-Man and I have never been on the best of terms." Taking a drink before nodding again. "I am not sure how much the sounds would help; I can say that real vampires are beautiful, my friend. Their beauty makes their hunting easier, as people do not run from them. Sorry about the nails; it is a nervous habit I have never shaken."
"The material deflects a lot of things. It won't stop a bullet or a stabbing motion, but it's good for deflecting blades. Which I very much could have used that first time around when I was just wearing fatigues, boots, a long sleeve shirt and a ski mask." Lessons were obviously learned and upgrades were made along the way. "It's more that they're sort of difficult to explain," he elaborates and to punctuate the point, he lifts the hem of his shirt up to above his collar bones so Michael can see the cascade of scars crisscrossed over his abdomen. "They could be surgical scars, but there's no surgery there. So it's hard to see them as anything but blades." Once he's finished, he lowers the t-shirt again.
"Any reason why you've made an enemy out of him?" he asks about Peter. "Surface level beauty tends to be lost on me in a way. I have bone structure to work off of but usually the things people find alluring like eyes or the like are somewhat lost on me by comparison. So how would I be able to tell someone's a vampire if I were to come across one?"
"Mmm, I do wonder if there isn't something to reinforce it. Perhaps some kind of magical lining. I preface that thought with, Yes, I am a scientist, but I am also a member of the Legion of Monsters. I have seen things that make me more open-minded these days." Technically he's the leader of the Monstermetropolis half the time too, but he keeps leaving the underground city to try to live a somewhat normal life. "So I see; granted, I do not think they look that bad. For all anyone knows, you could have had many accidents over the years."
"Well…" That tone sounds a bit guilty. "I have tried to eat him a few times. In my defense." Oh, look, there is a touch of fire when he said it. "His blood did cure me once, for a few years. It was that or the lightning that struck us at the same time, but it worked. Otherwise, we are like oil and water; we are just destined to never mix." A lot of bad blood there, despite all they had in common. "Yes, I can see how that would make sense with the bone structure. Now, with vampires, I can help with that. You can hear my heart, I am assuming, and that I breathe? They do not. True vampires also tend to have a slight scent of decay to them from where they died."
"I have no use or interest in magic. Whatever of it that I've encountered has been overwhelmingly negative and I like to keep my problems a little more focused. Introducing any of that tends to lead to bigger problems than I know how to handle on my own." It always feels like an invitation to cross some kind of line and Matt is far from eager to do that. The supernatural as a whole is something that unsettles him, whether it's because of his faith or just the way it never seems to herald anything positive. "It's a lot of accidents to write off. More than the normal person has."
Matt arches his brow at that. "Yeah, I can see why he might not be your biggest fan if that's the case." Matt himself certainly wouldn't be forgiving if he was in Parker's position. "Yes, I can hear your heartbeat and your breathing. I've had experience with fighters who had no breath and no pulse. They weren't vampires. But the smell is new. So that will be helpful, should I ever encounter one, I guess. I'm not looking to. I'm guessing that they're stronger than I am."
Another nod was given as he listened to the very sound reason. The empty bottle was placed back down as he folded his hands together, sitting back again. "No, that is very logical. The deeper I fall into it, the more complicated situations get. Either way, I do hope you do not get grievously injured in the future. That offer from earlier stands, as I mentioned." If Matt needed a doctor, he would come. It helped that most of the Monstermetropolis connected through the old tunnels under the city; he could get anywhere quickly if the skies were not an option. Friends were rare, and he would do a lot for someone who was kind to him. "I would assume so, yes. But in the end, is it truly any of their right to ask to know where the marks came from?"
When it came to Spider-Man, it was not so much guilt; they had bad blood. Still, Michael knew he was mostly to blame for that. "Might I add that I have tried to apologize more than once?" Michael didn't expect forgiveness; he just accepted that in order to make up for that, he needs to keep showing up the few times Parker has asked for his help. "Curious, were they undead of some kind?" That was not expected. "I would also advise, should you come up against vampires, to keep holy water on you. It works on true undead. Most are enthralled to their masters, so even if you take them down, there are likely more around."
The sound of the empty bottle on the table prompts Matt to get up from the sofa and return to the refrigerator to get one for himself and another for his guest. "It seems like magic is a complication in general and one I'd prefer to avoid if I can." Maybe that's just because of his previous run-ins and the fact that there are people who are meant to handle that sort of thing and it's not him. He's not an Avenger, he's not a sorcerer supreme or anything like that. He's just a guy who tries to protect his part of the city. "I do appreciate the offer. I hope I don't have to take you up on it but injuries are kind of part of the job." To say the least. "People think they're owed some truth of your life, especially if you invite them into bed." That seems to be his experience anyway.
"I've had plenty of people try to kill me and if they apologized to me? I'd still tell them to fuck off so I kinda gotta side with him on that one." That's not exactly something that's easily forgiven. "I don't know what you'd describe it as. I just know that my girlfriend was dead and they brought her back to life and they didn't have heartbeats." Some of his distaste for magic is probably made a little more obvious with the explanation. "Does that kill a vampire? Or just hurt?" Because now he has to deal with the moral qualms of killing when it relates to the undead. That doesn't seem like as easy a question to answer for him as it usually is.
Tracking Matt as he walked, before being distracted by his phone buzzing from the small pocket built into the wing-like fabric that connected his arms and ribs. Taking it out before firing a brief message back and placing it down and aside. "I do not blame you there. If I had a choice, I would not be near it myself. It seems rather an oxymoron, a doctor who knows magic to be real, besides, obviously, Doctor Strange, of course." A small amused noise escaped him at that. "Here is hoping, but I do not mind all the same. I know how often heroes get hurt." Michael nodded again, those eyes back to the vigilante. "I suppose that would be true for most." Martine had known him before everything. Marie and Susanna had both tricked and used him for nefarious ends, so he didn't really have that problem. Though, they were why he tended not to bother with romance anymore.
"I am not saying he should forgive me; I did attack him. More than once. I doubt that bad blood will ever be cleared up. It is what it is, as they say. I just try to do better these days." Well, that chased his thoughts from Spider-Man. "Well, now that is certainly curious." That certainly wouldn't help the magic. "And aside from being returned but with no heartbeat or breath, does she seem fine?" That tone? He's got the scientist interested now. "Oh no, it will just hurt them unless they ingest it, much like garlic. Sunlight, stakes, and beheading will kill a proper vampire."
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," he quoted with a shrug before returning back to the couch with the extra bottle and handing it over to Michael. "I just have no need or want for it." It was a fairly closed subject for Matt Murdock when it came to the supernatural because his experiences hadn't exactly been favorable, to say the very least. "I've never been altogether comfortable with that terminology," he mentions, "I'm just someone who can do something for my neighborhood and my city that other people can't." He has never appreciated the term vigilante either, because it seems to harken back more to men like Frank Castle but it still feels somehow more appropriate than hero.
He does regret bringing up Elektra. These are questions that either he doesn't have the answer to or he doesn't particularly want to think about. "She lost her memory. Had no recollection of who I was. She got some of it back but she wasn't the same. She's dead so I don't know if it would have gotten better over time. She was different." There's still pain in those memories and he'd much rather just discuss what he should do if he happens upon a vampire. "Am I supposed to kill a vampire? In theory, I mean. Are they people, in the way that I would recognize?"
"Hamlet?" He asked, just a touch amused, but it did seem the perfect way to get him to let the topic be. Taking the offered bottle. "Thank you." Spoken once he had taken it. "Perhaps that is why I find speaking to you easier than others. Many are so quick to call themselves one or the other." As it was, he was one who agreed with what Frank does, but his associations with Frank Castle are limited by design, even if he did think the man could be the hero the Monster Metropolis needed.
"I see." He replied to the response. "I am sorry, my friend. I am not sure what would cause that. I could consult the books, but it does sound like it was in the past." That and getting his hands on those books was never an easy task for one who floated between the natural and supernatural worlds. "Not always. It is complicated; younger vampires often lack the willpower to not kill everyone they feed on. Some older vampires just enjoy inflicting pain. There are others who have broken free of the control of their makers and try to live peacefully. It is typically a case-by-case basis. So, yes, they are people, but it is complicated. There are many vampire hunters and groups who handle those kinds of threats , though; you should not have to worry much about that here."
"Calling myself a hero feels like putting on an ill-fitting suit. I help people the best I can, and I don't always to it right or do right by everyone. It feels like if I was a hero, I'd do better than I am," he replies before taking a sip of his beer. He's harder on himself than anyone else would be, of course. That could be easily attributed to Catholic guilt or all of the mistakes that he has made along the way. Those decisions had consequences, some deadly, and he doesn't ignore those failings because it's convenient.
"It was all a long time ago," he replies. Better to leave it all in the past where all of that pain and loss belongs and so it can't haunt him further by digging up the corpses of old memories. He'd rather concentrate on the present, and just what the hell he's supposed to do if he encounters a vampire. It was not a problem he expected to potentially have but this conversation has changed that focus. "Yeah, see the problem is, people tell me that I shouldn't have to deal with things and then it comes up anyway. Just my bad luck, maybe. I don't kill, so if these are still people in some kind of way, I guess it's off the table for me anyway. Complications pretty much remove that option from the equation for me and that pesky sense of morality that I have."
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The mention of parents forces a small half smile at the corner of his mouth that holds no humor in it. "It was just me and my dad growing up," he answers, "It was hard on him. He worried about me a lot initially but I adjusted some before he died, so that was something." His father's murder is outside the real detail of the story but it has influences over every part of his life.
He sips his beer and adjusts the angle on his elevated leg. "Not one of a kind. I know someone else who had it too. He's dead now so you can't ask him but it's not unique to me. How and why he got it or learned it, he never shared with me. He liked to keep his secrets." Stick's senses were as attuned as his own, if not moreso, but those gifts had come differently. "It's not vision, but I can know more of an area or details of movement more than you can but I don't see color or texture the way you do."
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"It seems we share that in common, raised by a single parent. Mine was my mother, though my grandfather helped a lot. Someone had to; my father was of no use. Though, I am truly sorry to hear about his death; that must have been awful for you to deal with after everything else." He was thankful he was an adult before his mother passed.
Nodding as he shifted the stippled, claw-like nails on the neck of the bottle, thinking more than not. "That is understandable; the people who know the most often keep those secrets. It is curious that someone else had your same gift. Certainly fortuitous that they found you and helped." Nodding again, not as worried that he might not know what he's done. If the power worked as he suspected from the description. "More like the idea of something than true sight?" He inquired. "As for colors, my vision is beyond messed up for colors. Since my eyes turned red, colors have never been the same. Everything is tinted. Though, I see very well in complete darkness, so I can not complain."
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It's not a pleasant club to be part of, having grown up without a parent, so he just offers a faint smile in return. "It was difficult. I got through it." That's the important part by his estimation. He'd come out the other side of it. "I still miss him though. I still carry it."
How fortuitous it was or how Stick found him remains a mystery and there's no one to ask about it now that he's dead and gone. "He had his own reasons," he answers. The war that Stick talked about. He knows the why of his training, even if the way Stick found him is unclear. "Sort of. If you imagine an image in your head, you can picture it, right? It's like that, except it's not imagination. It's just the input of everything that paints it on my brain. Not sight, not really anything except just knowing." There's no set of words that will really give it the weight it deserves. "Red, huh? What else, other than seeing well in the dark, did it do for your senses? You said your hearing is better."
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The guilt is still in his tone, and he knows he still slips up. These days it is murderers and the worst people he can find that keep him fed. He only kills if they are not worthy of redemption. Accidents happen, but he tries not to kill when he can help it. "Yes, I can see that. You are a very strong person, Mr. Murdock, not just in body, I mean." Finally taking another drink before adding. "Yes, I would expect you would. My mother has only been gone three years, and I still miss her constantly. I could not imagine losing her when I was young. You have my sympathies there."
Listening as Matt explained, curious as always. "They usually do." He didn't ask for a name; he doubted it would do any good anyway. "I see; that does paint quite the picture when compared to picturing an object." With the question that followed, he leaned forward, finding a coaster if there was one to sit the beer down for now so he could lean back and cross his arms. "Yes, my hearing has vastly improved, along with my vision. I certainly was on my way to needing glasses before the change. What changed the most was my sense of smell. It almost feels insulting, but one of the other Midnight Sons compared it to that of a bloodhound. I can track people with ease. A useful advantage when I must only drink from the wicked these days. I have not noticed a difference in taste or touch."
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"It's not necessarily strength. One thing I learned a long time ago is that the only way out is through. I can't linger in it. But you have my sympathies for your loss. It doesn't really matter when it happens. It still hurts." It might be more difficult in youth when there is no other support system but Matt doesn't think that it stings any less in adulthood. Pain is comparable even if the experience isn't.
He can track from scent alone if it came down to it, though he relies more heavily on sound, so he understands that particular trait. "You're fortunate that you didn't get an enhanced sense of touch. It makes fabric feel itchy and rough, for one thing. Even the softest materials aren't as soft to me as they might be to you. And taste. I can taste differences in things that most people can't and it's not always pleasant. Knowing if someone at a restaurant washed their hands before preparing a meal is the sort of thing it's nice to be oblivious to, I'd imagine."
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"That is quite the insightful way to look at it. Thank you; I never quite know what to say to things like that." A small, self-deprecating laugh. His mostly isolated childhood sometimes caused his social skills to be lacking.
Scent was more than often used to find those wicked souls he feeds on now. Heavy narcotics, gunpowder, and such, and then observations. "That must be miserable, so every sense is enhanced to such a degree? Well, I for one am now glad my sense of taste didn't change; it is bad enough I still have to eat. To have that on top of having to taste blood would be pure misery."
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Matt shrugs, "I wouldn't say miserable. I know how to handle it now. I can tune in and filter as necessary. It's a lot of inputs at the same time and maybe not all of them are inherently pleasant, but that's just how the world is. The way I view it, I'm experiencing everything that anyone else is, just more of it, so maybe that connects me more to everything around me." It's a more comforting thought anyway. "Blood tastes like copper to me. Metallic. I don't know if that changes with the whole..." Vampire thing, he punctuates it with a wave of his hand.
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An amused sound followed as he watched Matt, listening. "So much like your hearing, you can filter with taste as well? Fascinating. I believe that is an excellent way to look at it from what you have described." Matt being more connected just made sense, more so with him staying in Hell's Kitchen—at least it did to the scientist. The question made Michael freeze up for a second, stippling his claw-like nails against one of his biceps, where his arms were still crossed. "Yes and no, I am very aware that it still tastes like copper, but as soon as I smell it or have not imbibed in a day or more, it is all I can think about. The taste is richer, better than anything I've ever tasted when the hunger is upon me." Silently reminding himself he has already fed tonight, don't think about the blood.
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He nods in the question about his senses and the way that he takes in taste. He's aware of everything on his tongue but some things become more overpowering than others. "I've gotten accustomed to the taste of my own blood but I can't say that there's anything appealing about seeking it out." It sounds like a miserable part of Michael's experience, and to have such a drive for something like that is something Matt can't necessarily understand. He has whims and desires but never so strong that it overcomes everything. "What happens when that hunger strikes you?"
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"Given how some other scientists we both likely know are, I promise I am not asking these things in some cloak-and-dagger way of planning any experimentation or kidnapping on you. I am merely curious." Michael has been kidnapped enough to find it distasteful, more so when someone welcomed him into their home. He knows he has a bad reputation due to the blood on his hands. "Do you get hit hard enough to bleed often?" He asked, still curious. "I can say before the accident, I hated the taste of blood. Now? When the hunger strikes, as you say. I lose all sense of myself; it is like seeing my body move without me. Nothing else matters in those moments but quenching that thirst. The longer I go between feedings, the more likely I am to kill again. I would rather not do that, if I can help it."
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"If you were to try, I wouldn't make it easy on you so I would advise against it anyway," Matt replies. He doesn't know if he could win in a fight, but he's not a slouch in that department. "I'm awash in scars under this very nice t-shirt from my law school and I do get hit a lot. It's just part of the gig. Fighting hand to hand means that you put yourself in range of fists and hands." He's not complaining. It's just part of what happens over the course of any night spent out on the streets. "What happens if you don't drink blood? Other than the desire for it being a lot? Physically, I mean."
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That at least got a chuckle out of him. "Well, good thing I have no intention of doing so. I have heard enough tales of what you are capable of, my friend." Who knew who would win, either way he did not want to find out, not when he was enjoying the others company. "Yes I suppose it would put you in very close quarters, so no advanced healing with your gift?" He prompted, before taking a second to try to figure out how to explain.
"My body rarely lets me go more than two days before I start to feel my control slip, but I can feel the pain I used to live with returning, but magnified. Plus I feel like I am starving, not just for blood but as if I had not eaten anything in days. I have also been told I appear much more ghastly than normal as well. It is not very pleasant."
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Matt merely shrugs at the mention of stories of his exploits. Whatever they are, he knows that they tell about a skilled fighter who has won fights he should have lost. He doesn't know how it would come down if it came between the two of them but he's often underestimated by people stronger than him. "No. No advanced healing. I have to explain a lot of scars to the people I bring home," he says, flashing a quick smile.
Matt absorbs that and nods. "What do you actually look like then? You mentioned red eyes. I am aware of the structure of bone but what else is going on that you're referring to?" he asks.
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"How unfortunate." The living vampire spoke. Red eyes on Matt again as he uncrossed his arms and lifted the bottle once more, sitting forward. "Yes, I suppose you would. I take it it causes many questions?" An amused sound passed his lips then. "Do you think James Bond ever got asked about his scars?" He had never read the books, despite growing up in a bookstore, but he did love the movies.
"Me?" He asked, a touch uncertain, part of him considering describing how he used to see himself, but no. "Well, I am probably the worst person to ask; I have never been much to look at, if I am honest. The change flattened my nose in a rather odd way, much like a bat's. My skin is as white as a sheet of paper, and the eyes? They both widened and glow now, aside from the color. While my face sunk in some, I gained quite a lot of muscle mass I did not have before. I would say all that didn't change is my hair. Still black, I keep it to my shoulders, and it unfortunately gets wavy when wet." The scientist in him caused him to ramble out the facts rather than try to describe them better. "My fangs never retract, which has caused a slight lisp, I confess. Lastly," Michael stippled his claws on the bottle again. "My nails are about two inches now, pointed and razor sharp. I cannot cut them; I have tried. When I am starved, my face becomes rather corpse-like. Is this more what you were asking?"
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He takes in the description and faintly nods when some portions that he picked up on as a difference are noted. It makes sense of the things he could tell, like the flattening of the nose, but the other parts are obviously more stark. "So how do you move around in the world with that?" he asks. Maybe Michael doesn't, or keeps to shadows, but with a description like that, it seems like he would stand out. "It's what I was asking. I don't really know what a vampire looks like and I've just got what sound bounces off of to calculate it. I could tell about the nails though. They click on the bottle."
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"I rarely move about in the day, despite often being up. If I must, I have taken to wearing a hooded jacket and sunglasses. It helps somewhat. Flight also helps keep me out of sight of most. Though, that has its drawbacks as well. Spider-Man and I have never been on the best of terms." Taking a drink before nodding again. "I am not sure how much the sounds would help; I can say that real vampires are beautiful, my friend. Their beauty makes their hunting easier, as people do not run from them. Sorry about the nails; it is a nervous habit I have never shaken."
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"Any reason why you've made an enemy out of him?" he asks about Peter. "Surface level beauty tends to be lost on me in a way. I have bone structure to work off of but usually the things people find alluring like eyes or the like are somewhat lost on me by comparison. So how would I be able to tell someone's a vampire if I were to come across one?"
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"Well…" That tone sounds a bit guilty. "I have tried to eat him a few times. In my defense." Oh, look, there is a touch of fire when he said it. "His blood did cure me once, for a few years. It was that or the lightning that struck us at the same time, but it worked. Otherwise, we are like oil and water; we are just destined to never mix." A lot of bad blood there, despite all they had in common. "Yes, I can see how that would make sense with the bone structure. Now, with vampires, I can help with that. You can hear my heart, I am assuming, and that I breathe? They do not. True vampires also tend to have a slight scent of decay to them from where they died."
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Matt arches his brow at that. "Yeah, I can see why he might not be your biggest fan if that's the case." Matt himself certainly wouldn't be forgiving if he was in Parker's position. "Yes, I can hear your heartbeat and your breathing. I've had experience with fighters who had no breath and no pulse. They weren't vampires. But the smell is new. So that will be helpful, should I ever encounter one, I guess. I'm not looking to. I'm guessing that they're stronger than I am."
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When it came to Spider-Man, it was not so much guilt; they had bad blood. Still, Michael knew he was mostly to blame for that. "Might I add that I have tried to apologize more than once?" Michael didn't expect forgiveness; he just accepted that in order to make up for that, he needs to keep showing up the few times Parker has asked for his help. "Curious, were they undead of some kind?" That was not expected. "I would also advise, should you come up against vampires, to keep holy water on you. It works on true undead. Most are enthralled to their masters, so even if you take them down, there are likely more around."
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"I've had plenty of people try to kill me and if they apologized to me? I'd still tell them to fuck off so I kinda gotta side with him on that one." That's not exactly something that's easily forgiven. "I don't know what you'd describe it as. I just know that my girlfriend was dead and they brought her back to life and they didn't have heartbeats." Some of his distaste for magic is probably made a little more obvious with the explanation. "Does that kill a vampire? Or just hurt?" Because now he has to deal with the moral qualms of killing when it relates to the undead. That doesn't seem like as easy a question to answer for him as it usually is.
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"I am not saying he should forgive me; I did attack him. More than once. I doubt that bad blood will ever be cleared up. It is what it is, as they say. I just try to do better these days." Well, that chased his thoughts from Spider-Man. "Well, now that is certainly curious." That certainly wouldn't help the magic. "And aside from being returned but with no heartbeat or breath, does she seem fine?" That tone? He's got the scientist interested now. "Oh no, it will just hurt them unless they ingest it, much like garlic. Sunlight, stakes, and beheading will kill a proper vampire."
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He does regret bringing up Elektra. These are questions that either he doesn't have the answer to or he doesn't particularly want to think about. "She lost her memory. Had no recollection of who I was. She got some of it back but she wasn't the same. She's dead so I don't know if it would have gotten better over time. She was different." There's still pain in those memories and he'd much rather just discuss what he should do if he happens upon a vampire. "Am I supposed to kill a vampire? In theory, I mean. Are they people, in the way that I would recognize?"
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"I see." He replied to the response. "I am sorry, my friend. I am not sure what would cause that. I could consult the books, but it does sound like it was in the past." That and getting his hands on those books was never an easy task for one who floated between the natural and supernatural worlds. "Not always. It is complicated; younger vampires often lack the willpower to not kill everyone they feed on. Some older vampires just enjoy inflicting pain. There are others who have broken free of the control of their makers and try to live peacefully. It is typically a case-by-case basis. So, yes, they are people, but it is complicated. There are many vampire hunters and groups who handle those kinds of threats , though; you should not have to worry much about that here."
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"It was all a long time ago," he replies. Better to leave it all in the past where all of that pain and loss belongs and so it can't haunt him further by digging up the corpses of old memories. He'd rather concentrate on the present, and just what the hell he's supposed to do if he encounters a vampire. It was not a problem he expected to potentially have but this conversation has changed that focus. "Yeah, see the problem is, people tell me that I shouldn't have to deal with things and then it comes up anyway. Just my bad luck, maybe. I don't kill, so if these are still people in some kind of way, I guess it's off the table for me anyway. Complications pretty much remove that option from the equation for me and that pesky sense of morality that I have."
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