There's a moment of hesitation--a fraction of a second, hardly discernible--as Alan mulls something over. Sometime in the halls, shuffling to grab some coffee, right by the common room, he'd heard it. Lined it up.
His head is starting to hurt. Stress headache, pressure headache, some strange malevolent force still clinging to him--he's unsure. But it's enough that he winces and brings his hand up to his forehead, and when he puts down his hand he's glancing over at those knuckles again.
Matt knows he's missing something. There's the sound of clothing moving that anyone could hear as Alan moves his hand for a moment, and Matt's smart enough to know there's something else going on. The frustration at senses being dulled down so much bubbles back up.
And then there's that question. Innocent enough, except that Matt isn't just a lawyer. There's no reason anyone here should know that or even suspect that, and immediately his defences are raised.
Matt presses his lips together. He's not sure he's going to like what he's about to hear, but he's not unreasonable. He'll hear Alan out, mostly because he wants to know what Alan knows and how, exactly, Alan knows it in the first place.
"Okay." Well, there's only one way to go about this. Alan presses his hand to his temple, wincing. Headache's getting just a little bit worse.
"I can see things. Kind of. Bits of people, bits of stories. Not often and not always--I use them for inspiration and to guide me. At least I thought they were just inspiration, but they're a lot more than that. Snippets. Visions."
There's a moment where Matt feels a slight prick of agitation. It's not exactly equitable that Alan, an inmate as well, is still able to see things while Matt's literally running blind here. As fast as the thought comes, it's replaced by the feeling that Matt probably deserves it. Definitely deserves it. If anything's unfair here, it's not Alan's fault.
"You weren't being a lawyer," he says simply, pushing onwards almost immediately after. "I didn't catch much. A fight at a hospital of some sort. You were blind, but it was almost like you weren't." He trails off for a moment, lost in the recollection.
Well, that doesn't necessarily narrow it down much, but it does let Matt know that it seems pointless to keep pretending around Alan. He presses his tongue between his lips and clears his throat.
"This is going to seem like a weird question, but in this snippet, what was I wearing?"
That's good. Matt's aware that he probably has to provide an explanation, but he doesn't want to really get into the whole devil costume just yet. In his ideal world, no one here would have to know about Daredevil at all, but he's not stupid. This small of a space, secrets are bound to come out one way or another.
Hell, it's happening right now, and not even intentionally.
"When I had the accident that blinded me, it gave me ... I don't know what you'd call them. Super powers, enhanced senses, you get the idea."
Matt reaches up to rub the back of his neck.
"They're gone here. But back home, it's better than seeing."
And, well, Alan's got a glimpse of how Matt puts that to use.
It's about the easiest way to explain it. Matt doesn't want to get into the details of how acute his senses are. It makes people uncomfortable, usually.
'Something like' is such a non-answer that Alan blinks a few times. He's about to ask Matt to elaborate when the other speaks again, and he frowns slightly.
"You sound like some sort of vigilante." No judgement. Just a statement.
There's a smile, so it's not like Matt is taking the whole 'I know about your shit, hey, sorry' too badly. It makes sense from what little Alan knows of the other, but he still feels a sense of relief.
"That's a pretty punchy nickname. Sounds more like a serial killer than a defender of the innocent."
"You're also probably not the first person to say that, either."
After all, there's plenty of discourse around not just Daredevil, but all of the heroes that seem to swarm New York. Especially the street level ones like him.
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Listened.
"Your work as a lawyer, right?"
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"Yeah. Civil defence, mostly."
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His head is starting to hurt. Stress headache, pressure headache, some strange malevolent force still clinging to him--he's unsure. But it's enough that he winces and brings his hand up to his forehead, and when he puts down his hand he's glancing over at those knuckles again.
"Just a lawyer?"
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And then there's that question. Innocent enough, except that Matt isn't just a lawyer. There's no reason anyone here should know that or even suspect that, and immediately his defences are raised.
"A very good lawyer."
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"Okay. Humour me for a second?"
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"Sure. I'm all ears."
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"I can see things. Kind of. Bits of people, bits of stories. Not often and not always--I use them for inspiration and to guide me. At least I thought they were just inspiration, but they're a lot more than that. Snippets. Visions."
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Though it's still frustrating.
"What snippet did you get of me, exactly?"
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"You weren't being a lawyer," he says simply, pushing onwards almost immediately after. "I didn't catch much. A fight at a hospital of some sort. You were blind, but it was almost like you weren't." He trails off for a moment, lost in the recollection.
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"This is going to seem like a weird question, but in this snippet, what was I wearing?"
It's an important question.
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"It was definitely you. In a suit--not a full one, but a jacket at least."
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Hell, it's happening right now, and not even intentionally.
"When I had the accident that blinded me, it gave me ... I don't know what you'd call them. Super powers, enhanced senses, you get the idea."
Matt reaches up to rub the back of his neck.
"They're gone here. But back home, it's better than seeing."
And, well, Alan's got a glimpse of how Matt puts that to use.
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"So you're not blind, except that you are. Like some sort of superpower?"
It sounds like a Night Springs episode. Alan doesn't bother to hide how intrigued he sounds about it.
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It's about the easiest way to explain it. Matt doesn't want to get into the details of how acute his senses are. It makes people uncomfortable, usually.
"It ... Helps out my day job."
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"You sound like some sort of vigilante." No judgement. Just a statement.
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"I think that's the word for it, yeah."
He pauses for a moment, then exhales, but the slight smile still stays on his face.
"A newspaper called me the Devil Of Hell's Kitchen."
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"That's a pretty punchy nickname. Sounds more like a serial killer than a defender of the innocent."
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After all, there's plenty of discourse around not just Daredevil, but all of the heroes that seem to swarm New York. Especially the street level ones like him.
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Matt would know.
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"So's punching paparazzi. Still fine to do."
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Matt looks amused, though, like he's pleased to learn that Alan's scrappy.
"Was it a good punch?"
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"It was a satisfying. I ended up in jail for a few hours." A beat.
"I really don't regret it, though."
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Matt laughs.
"I'm sure he had it coming."
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"So did the others."