undergrounds

Entry tags:

march

1) Laywer By Day (at his office, whenever)

[ No case is too small (no really) for Matt Murdock, Attorney at Law. His tiny private firm handles everything from civil cases like fraud to, well, murder. Really whatever you need. If your landlord didn't tell you your nice new flat was haunted, or you need to sue your boss for harassment, he's your guy. His office is small, and possibly as normal as could be. He doesn't quite specialize in 'normalizing' supernatural cases, but he's got some experience with it. But even minor inquiries are fine-- the door (and temporary sign) is always open for new clients. Maybe one of those new clients is you! ]

Hi. How can I help you?

2) Officially-Sanctioned Vigilante By Night (Redbright Outreach Group)

[ Matt's fairly new at this Outreach thing. Just the fact that people know he's a metahuman is still a bit bizarre if you ask him. But the work is good, and most people don't ask questions (like why is he wearing sunglasses at night, he's not that cool,) and the thugs have been either a) vanquished, or b) dealt with pretty swiftly. Overall, it's a good night. Things are winding down back at HQ, so to speak, when they make it back to Redbright.

He's still getting used to this whole "working with a team" thing, and while he can't say he's a huge fan of the idea, it's maybe not as bad as he expected. Maybe. At least they have a pretty sweet benefits deal, like letting him save lives and keeping people safe.

Except now the night's over and the rounds are done. Maybe you're grabbing him on his way out or at the lockers, maybe the dark sunglasses at night suddenly make sense as he unfolds his white cane. Either way, Matt's done for the night and heading home. Perfect time to chat, right? ]

3) When Does Matt Even Sleep? (In a bar)

[ On nights when Matt doesn't go out and break faces, he's actually pretty chill. Long nights burning the midnight oil can take their toll on a guy. (Might not get eye strain but you can only read so much braille before your fingers start to go numb.) Matt's not so studious that he doesn't know how to take it easy, and often times that means hitting the pub when he needs to unwind. Attractive guy like him tends to draw a few stares at the bar, but it's not like he can see them. (His senses tell him all he need, the state of inebriation of the other patrons, the smell of alcohol in his glass-- he'd know if someone tried to slip him a cheaper drink, but they don't do that to him here. Anymore.) He kinda just likes the atmosphere... and largely, the drinks. Definitely the drinks.

His secretary goes home after a couple; she offers him a ride home, but he declines. He's got time to kill if he's taking the night off. It's not even his bed time. ]

3.b) Bar Crawl, St. Paddy's Day Edition

[ Matt is not nearly as embarrassing as he could be on Saint Patrick's, but his dad always used to celebrate it which of course means Matt does too. By drinking liberally. So for a special drunk-flavored Matt, here's your prompt. How many pints of beer has Matt had at this point? Probably not enough to get him pissed, but he's up there. ~~A ninja is never drunk. No way.~~ ]

Here, lemme-- can I buy you a drink?

4) It's Sunday, do you know where your Catholic is?

[ Sunday morning, of course Matt is at church, present as ever while the rest of the parishioners go through the motions. He sits like he means to be invisible: silently listening in the back pew, hands held together in prayer throughout mass. When the service is done, the priest greets him by name. He's a regular, though he doesn't always make time for the whole thing.

He doesn't stick around for long after. Places to be, people to meet. But church is a safe place. He's at peace here. Maybe he'll actually talk, for once. What better way to know a man than through his relationship with God? ]

5) Wildcard!

[ if you have any ideas/want to plot anything else, totally ping me at

cantito ]

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[Maybe it's a little strange that a large, white dog appeared in the midst of the rest of the Outreach group in the middle of the night. Maybe it's even weirder that several in the group just sort of accepted its presence there, unquestioningly, and that it seemed to follow directions a little bit more exactly than even the most well-trained of canines.

Maybe it's weirdest that once they got back to Redbright the dog disappeared to be replaced by a young man in a bathrobe, rummaging through a pile of clothes his glasses (which are the regular kind and are, therefore, significantly less cool than Matt's).

Simon looks up sharply when Mr. Sunglasses comes into the locker room, clutching his robe even tighter. He's never exactly been comfortable with the public nudity aspect of his powers.]

Shit. Uh. Well done tonight...?

[is that what colleagues say to each other after committing acts of vigilante violence in the wee hours of the morning?]

[There's a few clues for Matt before Natasha speaks up. The sound of a woman in heeled boots. Smell of perfume, something expensive and smelling of crisp roses and warm clove to help cover the lingering smells of animal blood that clings to her. Her body isn't cold, but cooler than the others.

It's Natasha's first night going out. It's—well, it's different for her. Not because she hasn't worked with other people before. She even works well with them. She's a vampire. Vampires are social by nature. More importantly, before that she was KGB and they had to work well in a team. She'd been a woman working in the KGB in the late 50s and early 60s. There hadn't been a lot of room not to play well with others.

She actually has a hard time putting her finger on what makes it so strange. Something about the tone. Something about the way the people here interact. She held back during they're time out, observing.

It might just be because she feels like she doesn't belong here. Like she's faking it.

But if she's faking it, she might as well fake it well. When she happens to run into one of the "team" as she passes by the men's locker room, she pauses for a brief moment, then she says:]

Hey. Matthew, right? I overheard earlier.

[Faolan hasn't really been paying all that much attention to his surroundings. Certainly not to the people around him -- in fact he's rather been trying to ignore them as best he can, in favor of getting himself as drunk as he can so that it will make them easier to ignore or maybe he'll just reach a point where he'll stop caring.

He hasn't quite reached that point yet, but he's getting close. Saint Patrick's Day really isn't his favorite holiday, as an Irishman. As an Irishman with no living family, hardly any friends, and a chip on his shoulder the size of... Well. It's pretty big to say the least. Pairing it off with the fact that he's the Head of the Hillingdon Clan, and secretly a Guardian of the Night Council -- yeah. He's definitely got a lot to be drinking about. In his mind anyway.

So he doesn't notice the other man at first, nor the glasses or the cane when he'd first come in. And he's mostly startled at being addressed at all, never mind being offered a drink. He glances behind himself, to look if there might be anyone more worthy of the offer, but he's the only one in this corner of the bar. Still, he feels he needs to clarify. (Hardly anyone usually takes a notice of him in a bar, short, moody, and forbidding as he is.)]

I, ah... D'you mean me? [There's a slightly lilting accent to his words -- Irish, definitely Irish.]

[a ninja may never be drunk, but a baby lawyer-in-training who has been so good about not getting drunk at all is definitely #whitegirlwasted on this fair st. patrick's day. but even drunk as he is, he definitely still remembers the totally fine blind guy he ran into the other day (whoops) who is now offering to buy him a drink.]

Huh? I mean, I'm not going to turn down a drink.

[Oliver is absolutely going to regret this when he has to be up for work tomorrow, but on the plus side he's not going to be the only one. He lost track of his colleagues a while back, but they're still out there somewhere. Probably.

He startles at the voice next to his shoulder, drunk enough he doesn't stop to think that, no, he's probably talking to someone else at the overly crowded bar before he opens his mouth.]

Me?

[ While passing through the halls of the Institute, it is more than likely Matt would pick up the distinctive sound of high heels clicking against the floor, the rhythm sharp. He might also pick up the scent of expensive perfume--

and both the sound and smell are rapidly approaching, in the form of a petite woman, carrying a stack of heavy books that rise over the top of her head. And yet, she somehow manages to stop right before running into him. ]

Excuse me, I didn't know someone else would be here this late. [ Didn't she, though? It isn't like the Outreach group is a secret... for someone who works at the Institute, especially. ]

[It's not the first time someone's offered to buy Nancy a drink. Not the first time tonight, either, and when someone is offering you free alcohol, you accept it. Especially on St. Paddy's.]

Yeah, alright- whiskey'll be fine. [Make your jokes about the ginger drinking whiskey, go ahead, she dares you.] Thanks. Having a good night?

[Ringer almost walks past the little office while actively looking for it. She's heard some third hand stories of it floating around Hillingdon House and is taking a chance that maybe they're small enough that she can actually get the job she's looking for.

The girl opens the door, looking around the small space before her eyes come to rest on the man that greets her. She picks up the cues easily enough to recognize that he's blind, not offering her hand in greeting and instead walking forward to close some of the space between them. She's quiet in her movements, graceful, deliberate, and precise. Her expression is even and her tone dry.]

I want to learn some basic information about law and I heard your office was small. Will you hire me?

I never say no t' a free drink, luv.

[And she rarely buys hers.

She sounds young, and her tall, thin heels makes distinctive clicks as she shifts to take the barstool next to him without any further prompting.]

Shot of whiskey, neat.

[The Munster accent is thick, and she doesn't care about hiding it in the slightest.]

"Uh..."

Elizabeth looks behind her, behind the man, over at the faraway bartender--

"You mean me?"

Surely not her, she's just sitting here with her soda watching her totally human roommate get blitzed and proclaim herself 'Irish Today'. Elizabeth's the designated tube-guide for when she inevitably gets too wasted to know how to use her Oyster card.

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