<Snipped quote by webboysurf>
Dibs on Hell's Kitchen.
Shit.
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STATUS: Some of y'all are either too old to act the way you act, or too young to be taken seriously. Hard to tell some days. 8 mos ago
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Some of y'all are either too old to act the way you act, or too young to be taken seriously. Hard to tell some days.
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Shit.
I was close to apping Jessica Jones for another New York connection.
I like interaction. Please bring your interaction ideas.
No interaction. Everyone, pick your borough or neighborhood and isolate.
Half of this RP is in NYC. I love it.
Volume 1: Revelations
Chapter 2: Intercession
Chapter 2: Intercession
"Leather gloves? Damn it, Matt, don't tell me you're moonlighting as a chauffer."
He couldn't see Foggy's face clearly, but he could always hear the smile in his voice. Matt smiled back, hands still running over the braille pages. He was slower than usual, the thick leather muting the tactile paper. But the last thing Foggy needed to see were the bruises on his knuckles, so the gloves stayed on. "Hard to get away with the glasses at night." A faint, almost inaudible chuckle escaped Foggy's lips. He readjusted the papers in his arm, causing Matt to tilt his head.
Foggy paused, looking for the right words. That was never a good sign. "Doreen... she fell last night. At least, that's what she told me when she called. I already called a temp agency, seeing if they can send someone over to fill in." There was a hesitation in Foggy's voice. They both knew that something was wrong... and worse yet, they didn't have the money for a temporary assistant. Matt gave a small nod, standing up from his desk. He plucked his cane off his desk, walking towards the door. "Hey, Matt, where do you think you're going?"
Matt gave a small smirk over his shoulder as he nimbly squeezed past his partner. "Discovery."
12th and 45th was a less than pleasant part of the neighborhood. While the east side of Hell's Kitchen was more gentrified, the west side still bore the roots of old Manhattan. A smokestack or two, now crumbling and certainly a safety hazard. Old warehouses, a towing company, and an old boxing gym sitting over a couple boarded up storefronts. On first look, from the outside, it was easy to see why some of the buildings were getting torn down to their foundations.
Matt stopped into an alley way behind the gym, his hand reaching up to touch the walls. Where one there had been exposed brick, he felt his hand run over layer upon layer of crumbling old paper. The remnants of old fighting advertisements: boxing, music, farmer's markets. He didn't know what they looked like now. Maybe they yellowed... maybe they got replaced with newer fliers. Somewhere among the layers lived the memory of Battlin' Jack. Somewhere deeper, there was an older name.
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
He smiled faintly at the memory. The costume was ridiculous, especially on a heavyweight drunk irishman. The horns on the mask were made of card-board, Matt's own suggestion. It was all for a showy entrance, something to get the crowd riled up. For someone who looked down on the over-produced wrestling Matt sometimes watched on their old tv, Jack would have made a great heel. People loved to watch him fall.
But the Devil... the Devil always got right back up.
Its why his name was changed. Battlin' Jack was just a man.
The Devil was a force of nature.
Matt turned his head away from the posters, his mind focusing and rifling through the sounds ringing in his ear. A familiar voice, high-pitched and frustrated. Another familiar voice, deeper in tone and equally combative. Rent hike... buyout.
Doreen.
Matt lifted his cane up, quickly slamming it on the bottom of a suspended ladder to the fire escape. It was jostled loose, squeaking and squealing as it slid down a few feet. He folded up the cane, tucked it into an inner coat pocket, and jumped up. He kicked the wall on the way, propelling himself another few inches so he could just barely grab hold of the ladder's lowest rung. He scrambled up the fire escape, and into an unlocked window on the second floor. The apartment was empty... most were in the building. Empty rooms echoed the sounds of scurrying critters that had made their home here. Doreen was a floor above. So was her landlord, Frank. Matt stomped his feet on each step as he climbed up the apartment stairs, removing and unfolding the cane from his pocket to keep up appearances. The argument paused as the attorney entered into view.
"I'm sorry I'm late... My name is Matt Murdock. I'm Miss Doreen's attorney."
"You should consider recommending your client take the payout I'm offering, sir." The landlord's tone was short, with a strong whiff of disrespect and annoyance. Frank Farnum was a special breed of scum. He never truly had to work to maintain his dismal lifestyle. He had been given a few properties around Hell's Kitchen, purchased ages ago by a great uncle who had been able to swindle his way into a good deal. While Matt couldn't see the type of metal it was made from, the ticking of finely tuned gears was an indication that Frank was sporting a new watch. An expensive watch.
That was the play, then.
"How much did they offer you for the building?" A quickened heartbeat. A shot of adrenaline. Fear. The faintest whiff of stale sweat. He had to press it. "Certainly a lot more than the paltry sum you've offered my client to move out."
"Maybe it is." Farnum was getting confident. His heartbeat was fast, but his breathing more steady. Farnum's muscles were tensing. Fight or flight, and something told Matt he was the flight type. "It's the best deal she's going to get. Offer is still valid until midnight. I'll be waiting on your call." Farnum brushed past Matt, who remained firm where he stood. He was just another bully, and Matt had seen far worse.
Doreen's heart was beating fast. She took a quick look at her boss, before shaking her head. "He's right, Mr. Murdock. It's enough to hire some movers to help with my things, and cover a security deposit and rent at somewhere uptown."
Matt raised an eyebrow. Frank could have started much lower. If this was his starting offer...
"Doesn't sound like she's going to take it... her lawyer showed up, started asking questions. I gave her till midnight... no, I didn't say anything."
Matt's grip tightened on his cane and he ground his molars. He didn't want to be right... conspiracy was left for nutjobs in the Midwest, after all. But here, in his neighborhood, it was clear someone was pulling strings.
It was going to be a long night.
He couldn't see Foggy's face clearly, but he could always hear the smile in his voice. Matt smiled back, hands still running over the braille pages. He was slower than usual, the thick leather muting the tactile paper. But the last thing Foggy needed to see were the bruises on his knuckles, so the gloves stayed on. "Hard to get away with the glasses at night." A faint, almost inaudible chuckle escaped Foggy's lips. He readjusted the papers in his arm, causing Matt to tilt his head.
Foggy paused, looking for the right words. That was never a good sign. "Doreen... she fell last night. At least, that's what she told me when she called. I already called a temp agency, seeing if they can send someone over to fill in." There was a hesitation in Foggy's voice. They both knew that something was wrong... and worse yet, they didn't have the money for a temporary assistant. Matt gave a small nod, standing up from his desk. He plucked his cane off his desk, walking towards the door. "Hey, Matt, where do you think you're going?"
Matt gave a small smirk over his shoulder as he nimbly squeezed past his partner. "Discovery."
♦♦♦
12th and 45th was a less than pleasant part of the neighborhood. While the east side of Hell's Kitchen was more gentrified, the west side still bore the roots of old Manhattan. A smokestack or two, now crumbling and certainly a safety hazard. Old warehouses, a towing company, and an old boxing gym sitting over a couple boarded up storefronts. On first look, from the outside, it was easy to see why some of the buildings were getting torn down to their foundations.
Matt stopped into an alley way behind the gym, his hand reaching up to touch the walls. Where one there had been exposed brick, he felt his hand run over layer upon layer of crumbling old paper. The remnants of old fighting advertisements: boxing, music, farmer's markets. He didn't know what they looked like now. Maybe they yellowed... maybe they got replaced with newer fliers. Somewhere among the layers lived the memory of Battlin' Jack. Somewhere deeper, there was an older name.
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
He smiled faintly at the memory. The costume was ridiculous, especially on a heavyweight drunk irishman. The horns on the mask were made of card-board, Matt's own suggestion. It was all for a showy entrance, something to get the crowd riled up. For someone who looked down on the over-produced wrestling Matt sometimes watched on their old tv, Jack would have made a great heel. People loved to watch him fall.
But the Devil... the Devil always got right back up.
Its why his name was changed. Battlin' Jack was just a man.
The Devil was a force of nature.
Matt turned his head away from the posters, his mind focusing and rifling through the sounds ringing in his ear. A familiar voice, high-pitched and frustrated. Another familiar voice, deeper in tone and equally combative. Rent hike... buyout.
Doreen.
Matt lifted his cane up, quickly slamming it on the bottom of a suspended ladder to the fire escape. It was jostled loose, squeaking and squealing as it slid down a few feet. He folded up the cane, tucked it into an inner coat pocket, and jumped up. He kicked the wall on the way, propelling himself another few inches so he could just barely grab hold of the ladder's lowest rung. He scrambled up the fire escape, and into an unlocked window on the second floor. The apartment was empty... most were in the building. Empty rooms echoed the sounds of scurrying critters that had made their home here. Doreen was a floor above. So was her landlord, Frank. Matt stomped his feet on each step as he climbed up the apartment stairs, removing and unfolding the cane from his pocket to keep up appearances. The argument paused as the attorney entered into view.
"I'm sorry I'm late... My name is Matt Murdock. I'm Miss Doreen's attorney."
"You should consider recommending your client take the payout I'm offering, sir." The landlord's tone was short, with a strong whiff of disrespect and annoyance. Frank Farnum was a special breed of scum. He never truly had to work to maintain his dismal lifestyle. He had been given a few properties around Hell's Kitchen, purchased ages ago by a great uncle who had been able to swindle his way into a good deal. While Matt couldn't see the type of metal it was made from, the ticking of finely tuned gears was an indication that Frank was sporting a new watch. An expensive watch.
That was the play, then.
"How much did they offer you for the building?" A quickened heartbeat. A shot of adrenaline. Fear. The faintest whiff of stale sweat. He had to press it. "Certainly a lot more than the paltry sum you've offered my client to move out."
"Maybe it is." Farnum was getting confident. His heartbeat was fast, but his breathing more steady. Farnum's muscles were tensing. Fight or flight, and something told Matt he was the flight type. "It's the best deal she's going to get. Offer is still valid until midnight. I'll be waiting on your call." Farnum brushed past Matt, who remained firm where he stood. He was just another bully, and Matt had seen far worse.
Doreen's heart was beating fast. She took a quick look at her boss, before shaking her head. "He's right, Mr. Murdock. It's enough to hire some movers to help with my things, and cover a security deposit and rent at somewhere uptown."
Matt raised an eyebrow. Frank could have started much lower. If this was his starting offer...
"Doesn't sound like she's going to take it... her lawyer showed up, started asking questions. I gave her till midnight... no, I didn't say anything."
Matt's grip tightened on his cane and he ground his molars. He didn't want to be right... conspiracy was left for nutjobs in the Midwest, after all. But here, in his neighborhood, it was clear someone was pulling strings.
It was going to be a long night.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: Infirmary Courtyard, P.R.C.U. Campus
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Dance Monkey #4.009: Wing Life Away
Interaction(s): Haven @Skai
Previously: Rare Birds
As Rory approached, his eyes remained fixed on Amma as she left. He watched each movement with a careful glare, the sight of her laughter just moments before sending a chill down his spine. Only when Amma was out of sight did Rory’s gaze turn back to Haven. His eyes passed over her, scanning every inch to ensure no fresh cuts or scars had been formed from the outbursts of devastating power. His shoes brushed at the circle of decay left in the dragon’s wake. He paused briefly, his eyes falling finally upon his own scarred arms. ”I don’t understand her.” The statement was brief, but his small voice dripped with frustration and fear. He rubbed the marks on his arms softly. No amount of healing seemed to make them itch less. The scars would disappear, but they would never heal.
The smile that crossed Haven’s features was bittersweet as she looked up at her protector. Still, her brows furrowed in concern as she watched him soothe the phantom pain in his arms. Once again feeling conflicted with the presence of those faint scars. She reached for his hand, tugging gently so that he would sit with her once more. “I think I’m beginning to understand her… especially now.”
“She won’t hurt me, Rory. And she sure as hell wouldn’t dare to hurt you again.”
”I wouldn’t be sure of that.” He was weak to Haven’s demands, plopping himself down into the grass next to her. He rubbed his thumb over hers as he clasped her hand back, the feeling calming the turmoil in his chest. His eyes averted her gaze, unable to stand the concern in her eyes. ”I’m not the only one on the team she’s hurt… and in there, in the trials, she told me that. She told me while I was trying to help her. She…” His voice trailed off for a moment as his gaze fell on the black spot.
”She asked me to kill her so she wouldn’t hurt any of you.”
Haven was speechless as she felt her heart plummet into her stomach. Her gaze remained fixed on his expression as she sorted out the flurry of thoughts that blew through her mind. She allowed his soothing motions on the back of her hand to calm her. Her lips parted as she fumbled for words, until a thought crossed her mind. “You wouldn’t do it. Is that why she hurt you?” It was the only reason that made sense to her.
Rory shrugged. ”I… don't know. Maybe.” He furrowed his brow, lifting up a knee to rest an elbow against as he focused his thoughts. ”We had to learn about Jung for one of my classes… I don't know how much I buy into the whole archival types, but something about the way Amma talks about herself reminded me of that.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. ”She hasn't… self-actualized. I mean, most of us haven't. But she mentioned something about roles when we talked, and I think that's a defense mechanism. It distances herself from her actions. Like hurting me.”
He sighed, letting go of Haven's hand to run his fingers through his hair. ”What frustrates me most, though, is that she isn't bad. She goes out of her way to help others. But the second I tried to help her…” His voice trailed off again, his eyes focused on the ground in front of him. He left the last part unsaid. Haven certainly knew the feeling, as did he. Running came easier to some. Sometimes it was literal, sometimes it was emotional.
Haven tried to compare how she saw Amma with how Rory was presenting her now. It seemed like they’d both experienced different people, and yet Haven could see some similarities standing out. “She’s been through a lot,” Haven began softly as her hand returned to pick at the grass between them. She took a breath before continuing. “The man that took me… Amma escaped from him, too. She was one of his first victims.”
“I know we haven’t spoken about it yet, but,” she paused, looking at him as she tried to gauge how he would react to her words. “Amma knows how I’m feeling right now, so I can’t imagine how much worse it is for her. She keeps telling me she doesn’t need anyone each time I offer help. I think it’s because she was alone for so long, and put through such horrible things, that she acts this way. She’s defending herself each moment she breathes, and her ability is the unfiltered version of her emotions.”
Rory simply nodded, running his tongue along his bottom gums as he mulled over her words. The Amma that Haven knew was so incredibly different. Maybe she saw the Amma that Lorcán and Katja seemed to. He also couldn't help but feel his pride wounded slightly. Amma knew parts of Haven that he couldn't. She had been the one to truly save her, again. After a moment, he looked over and nodded. ”Just be careful around her, Haven. I know you both went through something I will never understand.” He paused, his eyes flitting to some middle distance past Haven for a moment. He could feel his breath catch in his throat. ”I care for you deeply, Wings. I just… if you could go more than a week without almost dying, that would mean the world to me.” He flashed a sad, weak smile as he looked back into her eyes.
She began with a slow nod with his first request, her eyes carefully watching his expressions. That guilty feeling creeped back into her chest for a fleeting moment. The kind that made her wish that Rory didn’t have to feel so worried about her. That made her heart ache for his shaking hands and distant expressions.
Yet his next words lifted the weight from her shoulders. The pain of his second request felt like a tiny pinch compared to the warm feeling that bloomed in her chest. Aching wings or not, Haven was inches away from his lips in a second, on her knees, and using his shoulders to hold herself up as she planted a tender kiss on his sad smile.
The IV pole he’d carefully set up for her tipped over into the grass, its bag nearly empty anyways. Haven paid it no mind, her thoughts on Rory and Rory alone. She slid one hand up his neck to run through his hair as the warmth in her chest began to spread elsewhere. She broke their kiss for a moment, her lashes fluttering as she returned his sad smile with one of her own. “I’d do anything for you, Rory.” Her words were hushed, yet they carried the weight of her heart with them.
He couldn't help but blush at the sudden display of affection. His thoughts and emotions were a whirlwind in his chest. His breathing suddenly felt shallow, and he could feel his heart beat faster in his chest. He lifted a hand to her cheek, rubbing his thumb along her cheek bone. His eyes flicked to the sad smile plastered on her lips. He hated seeing that. He leaned forward to close the distance, words not capable of expressing his feelings in that moment. He kissed her back, letting it linger before breaking it off and slowly lifting his eyelids. ”I know.” His words were also hushed and tender.
Though, after that moment passed, a smirk spread across his lips. That same smile he always got before telling a joke or a bout of playful bantering. ”Lot of power to give me, though. I guess my first request, if you're feeling up to it… He paused, letting the moment linger. Of course, his mind was far from anything lascivious or steamy, at least in this instance. He had something else he was looking forward to. ”I would like you to go to the dance with me.”
The slightest hue of pink covered Haven’s neck and chest left exposed by the white tank beneath her jacket as he gave her that spine tingling smirk of his. The pink crept up into her cheeks as he let his words slow to a stop. The playfulness of them reminding her of how he’d bested her in that tent. A small smile crept onto her lips as she waited, and with his request it grew into a smile from ear to ear; her dimples set deep as her eyes shone with a new light.
“Sure thing, Rory.”
Rory grinned like an idiot, his eyes fixed on her as a small exhale left his lips. ”It'll be nice to do something normal together.” Her slight blush wasn't lost on him. He debated teasing her on it… but given everything they had been through, his jokes and jests seemed to provide some small comfort and ease. ”Don't tell me you wanted me to make a more indecent request, Wings. We're in public.” He mimed being shocked, removing the hand from her cheek to cover his open mouth in fake surprise.
A full flush bloomed over Haven’s cheeks now. Her grin transformed into something coy, but she feigned disappointment in the way her shoulders slumped and her head tilted to the side. “I suppose we’ll have to be patient and wait until after the dance, then. That’s what dates usually do, right?”
A date with Rory. She’d forgotten that most people went on dates before becoming so intimate with each other.
Rory furrowed his brow for a moment, taking a moment to piece together Haven's riff. When he got it, his usual reaction of laughing and riffing was absent. He just smiled softly in response. ”Didn't stop us before the Trials, but I don't mind waiting.” He averted his gaze as he seemed to sort through his thoughts. ”I thought you would have given up on us dating after all this… the whole campus has been falling apart since we shared a tent, Wings.”
After a half a beat, he quickly stammered out a clarification, waving his hands as if in distraction. ”Not that I don't want to, or think that night had anything to do with… It's just been…” He wiped a hand over his face, brushing off freshly accumulating sweat as he floundered. ”It’s been a rough week. We haven't had time to talk about what this is since the Trials, and, well…” He lost his train of thought, and motioned vaguely with his hands his confusion and uncertainty. His eyes pleaded for help.
Haven’s brows lifted briefly, her smile fading as she noticed how nervous he became about the topic. She sat back on her heels, her shoulders adjusting to the discomfort that came as she relaxed her wings behind her once more. “We have a lot to talk about, really.” She began gently. Reminded of her IV, she carefully moved it off to the side before she rested her hands on her knees. She looked up at Rory, offering a small smile that promised she wasn’t upset.
“All of this… it’s just made me so glad to have you. I wish I’d known you this way long before this year.” Her eyes glanced between his as she felt her heart fluttering. “I’ve never had something serious before, or put a label on anything either, so you can call me whatever you’d like.” She smiled playfully as she continued. “Wings, Haven, Feathers, girlfriend, anything. As long as I can come home to you every day.” Saying the word “home” out loud, Haven bit her lip before she found the courage to admit one more piece of her heart. “You feel like home to me.”
Rory was silent for a moment, his fingers plucking at blades of grass absent-mindedly as he took Haven’s words in. Home was a strong word for him, and it seemed like it meant just as much to her. He wasn’t used to being on the same wavelength as anyone in regards to anything. He had almost missed girlfriend as his brain struggled to catch up. He smiled a little, taking a deep breath as he captured his thoughts. ”I am serious… about you, I mean. You make the dorm feel like home.” He looked over towards Haven, scooching a little closer and placing a hand over hers on her knee. ”Girlfriend is too long, though. It’s not on theme.” He smiled softly, turning over the birds he knew in his head. ”Can’t do those… huh… how about Dove?”
Haven was practically beaming, her eyes crinkling at the sound of his chosen nickname for her. “It’s perfect.” She breathed. Her fingers wrapped around his on her knee and then moved to intertwine their fingers together. “I’ll call you Hot Stuff for now, until I think of something more endearing. Though I do have you as Abs in my phone.” She giggled softly before she used his hand to tug him closer to her. “I promise I’ll come up with something better.”
Rory leaned up close to Haven as she pulled, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. He whispered softly into her ear. ”I don’t know… my name sounds pretty good when you say it.” He pulled back a little, just enough to look her in the eyes. He gave her hand a soft squeeze with his, a jolt of warm spreading over his chest at the sensation. His soft tone persisted. ”I do have a second request, if you're feeling up to it.”
Her grin greeted Rory as he pulled back to look at her. The flush still remained in her cheeks, his words tempting her to head straight for their dorm instead of returning to her room inside. His whisper had sent delicious tingles down her neck and spine. . She realized that having him so close, and so intimately, might be the release she needed after her horrible experience from the day before. The thought had her swallowing in anticipation before she spoke. “Yes, Rory?”
”Let's get you home.”
The smile that crossed Haven’s features was bittersweet as she looked up at her protector. Still, her brows furrowed in concern as she watched him soothe the phantom pain in his arms. Once again feeling conflicted with the presence of those faint scars. She reached for his hand, tugging gently so that he would sit with her once more. “I think I’m beginning to understand her… especially now.”
“She won’t hurt me, Rory. And she sure as hell wouldn’t dare to hurt you again.”
”I wouldn’t be sure of that.” He was weak to Haven’s demands, plopping himself down into the grass next to her. He rubbed his thumb over hers as he clasped her hand back, the feeling calming the turmoil in his chest. His eyes averted her gaze, unable to stand the concern in her eyes. ”I’m not the only one on the team she’s hurt… and in there, in the trials, she told me that. She told me while I was trying to help her. She…” His voice trailed off for a moment as his gaze fell on the black spot.
”She asked me to kill her so she wouldn’t hurt any of you.”
Haven was speechless as she felt her heart plummet into her stomach. Her gaze remained fixed on his expression as she sorted out the flurry of thoughts that blew through her mind. She allowed his soothing motions on the back of her hand to calm her. Her lips parted as she fumbled for words, until a thought crossed her mind. “You wouldn’t do it. Is that why she hurt you?” It was the only reason that made sense to her.
Rory shrugged. ”I… don't know. Maybe.” He furrowed his brow, lifting up a knee to rest an elbow against as he focused his thoughts. ”We had to learn about Jung for one of my classes… I don't know how much I buy into the whole archival types, but something about the way Amma talks about herself reminded me of that.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. ”She hasn't… self-actualized. I mean, most of us haven't. But she mentioned something about roles when we talked, and I think that's a defense mechanism. It distances herself from her actions. Like hurting me.”
He sighed, letting go of Haven's hand to run his fingers through his hair. ”What frustrates me most, though, is that she isn't bad. She goes out of her way to help others. But the second I tried to help her…” His voice trailed off again, his eyes focused on the ground in front of him. He left the last part unsaid. Haven certainly knew the feeling, as did he. Running came easier to some. Sometimes it was literal, sometimes it was emotional.
Haven tried to compare how she saw Amma with how Rory was presenting her now. It seemed like they’d both experienced different people, and yet Haven could see some similarities standing out. “She’s been through a lot,” Haven began softly as her hand returned to pick at the grass between them. She took a breath before continuing. “The man that took me… Amma escaped from him, too. She was one of his first victims.”
“I know we haven’t spoken about it yet, but,” she paused, looking at him as she tried to gauge how he would react to her words. “Amma knows how I’m feeling right now, so I can’t imagine how much worse it is for her. She keeps telling me she doesn’t need anyone each time I offer help. I think it’s because she was alone for so long, and put through such horrible things, that she acts this way. She’s defending herself each moment she breathes, and her ability is the unfiltered version of her emotions.”
Rory simply nodded, running his tongue along his bottom gums as he mulled over her words. The Amma that Haven knew was so incredibly different. Maybe she saw the Amma that Lorcán and Katja seemed to. He also couldn't help but feel his pride wounded slightly. Amma knew parts of Haven that he couldn't. She had been the one to truly save her, again. After a moment, he looked over and nodded. ”Just be careful around her, Haven. I know you both went through something I will never understand.” He paused, his eyes flitting to some middle distance past Haven for a moment. He could feel his breath catch in his throat. ”I care for you deeply, Wings. I just… if you could go more than a week without almost dying, that would mean the world to me.” He flashed a sad, weak smile as he looked back into her eyes.
She began with a slow nod with his first request, her eyes carefully watching his expressions. That guilty feeling creeped back into her chest for a fleeting moment. The kind that made her wish that Rory didn’t have to feel so worried about her. That made her heart ache for his shaking hands and distant expressions.
Yet his next words lifted the weight from her shoulders. The pain of his second request felt like a tiny pinch compared to the warm feeling that bloomed in her chest. Aching wings or not, Haven was inches away from his lips in a second, on her knees, and using his shoulders to hold herself up as she planted a tender kiss on his sad smile.
The IV pole he’d carefully set up for her tipped over into the grass, its bag nearly empty anyways. Haven paid it no mind, her thoughts on Rory and Rory alone. She slid one hand up his neck to run through his hair as the warmth in her chest began to spread elsewhere. She broke their kiss for a moment, her lashes fluttering as she returned his sad smile with one of her own. “I’d do anything for you, Rory.” Her words were hushed, yet they carried the weight of her heart with them.
He couldn't help but blush at the sudden display of affection. His thoughts and emotions were a whirlwind in his chest. His breathing suddenly felt shallow, and he could feel his heart beat faster in his chest. He lifted a hand to her cheek, rubbing his thumb along her cheek bone. His eyes flicked to the sad smile plastered on her lips. He hated seeing that. He leaned forward to close the distance, words not capable of expressing his feelings in that moment. He kissed her back, letting it linger before breaking it off and slowly lifting his eyelids. ”I know.” His words were also hushed and tender.
Though, after that moment passed, a smirk spread across his lips. That same smile he always got before telling a joke or a bout of playful bantering. ”Lot of power to give me, though. I guess my first request, if you're feeling up to it… He paused, letting the moment linger. Of course, his mind was far from anything lascivious or steamy, at least in this instance. He had something else he was looking forward to. ”I would like you to go to the dance with me.”
The slightest hue of pink covered Haven’s neck and chest left exposed by the white tank beneath her jacket as he gave her that spine tingling smirk of his. The pink crept up into her cheeks as he let his words slow to a stop. The playfulness of them reminding her of how he’d bested her in that tent. A small smile crept onto her lips as she waited, and with his request it grew into a smile from ear to ear; her dimples set deep as her eyes shone with a new light.
“Sure thing, Rory.”
Rory grinned like an idiot, his eyes fixed on her as a small exhale left his lips. ”It'll be nice to do something normal together.” Her slight blush wasn't lost on him. He debated teasing her on it… but given everything they had been through, his jokes and jests seemed to provide some small comfort and ease. ”Don't tell me you wanted me to make a more indecent request, Wings. We're in public.” He mimed being shocked, removing the hand from her cheek to cover his open mouth in fake surprise.
A full flush bloomed over Haven’s cheeks now. Her grin transformed into something coy, but she feigned disappointment in the way her shoulders slumped and her head tilted to the side. “I suppose we’ll have to be patient and wait until after the dance, then. That’s what dates usually do, right?”
A date with Rory. She’d forgotten that most people went on dates before becoming so intimate with each other.
Rory furrowed his brow for a moment, taking a moment to piece together Haven's riff. When he got it, his usual reaction of laughing and riffing was absent. He just smiled softly in response. ”Didn't stop us before the Trials, but I don't mind waiting.” He averted his gaze as he seemed to sort through his thoughts. ”I thought you would have given up on us dating after all this… the whole campus has been falling apart since we shared a tent, Wings.”
After a half a beat, he quickly stammered out a clarification, waving his hands as if in distraction. ”Not that I don't want to, or think that night had anything to do with… It's just been…” He wiped a hand over his face, brushing off freshly accumulating sweat as he floundered. ”It’s been a rough week. We haven't had time to talk about what this is since the Trials, and, well…” He lost his train of thought, and motioned vaguely with his hands his confusion and uncertainty. His eyes pleaded for help.
Haven’s brows lifted briefly, her smile fading as she noticed how nervous he became about the topic. She sat back on her heels, her shoulders adjusting to the discomfort that came as she relaxed her wings behind her once more. “We have a lot to talk about, really.” She began gently. Reminded of her IV, she carefully moved it off to the side before she rested her hands on her knees. She looked up at Rory, offering a small smile that promised she wasn’t upset.
“All of this… it’s just made me so glad to have you. I wish I’d known you this way long before this year.” Her eyes glanced between his as she felt her heart fluttering. “I’ve never had something serious before, or put a label on anything either, so you can call me whatever you’d like.” She smiled playfully as she continued. “Wings, Haven, Feathers, girlfriend, anything. As long as I can come home to you every day.” Saying the word “home” out loud, Haven bit her lip before she found the courage to admit one more piece of her heart. “You feel like home to me.”
Rory was silent for a moment, his fingers plucking at blades of grass absent-mindedly as he took Haven’s words in. Home was a strong word for him, and it seemed like it meant just as much to her. He wasn’t used to being on the same wavelength as anyone in regards to anything. He had almost missed girlfriend as his brain struggled to catch up. He smiled a little, taking a deep breath as he captured his thoughts. ”I am serious… about you, I mean. You make the dorm feel like home.” He looked over towards Haven, scooching a little closer and placing a hand over hers on her knee. ”Girlfriend is too long, though. It’s not on theme.” He smiled softly, turning over the birds he knew in his head. ”Can’t do those… huh… how about Dove?”
Haven was practically beaming, her eyes crinkling at the sound of his chosen nickname for her. “It’s perfect.” She breathed. Her fingers wrapped around his on her knee and then moved to intertwine their fingers together. “I’ll call you Hot Stuff for now, until I think of something more endearing. Though I do have you as Abs in my phone.” She giggled softly before she used his hand to tug him closer to her. “I promise I’ll come up with something better.”
Rory leaned up close to Haven as she pulled, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. He whispered softly into her ear. ”I don’t know… my name sounds pretty good when you say it.” He pulled back a little, just enough to look her in the eyes. He gave her hand a soft squeeze with his, a jolt of warm spreading over his chest at the sensation. His soft tone persisted. ”I do have a second request, if you're feeling up to it.”
Her grin greeted Rory as he pulled back to look at her. The flush still remained in her cheeks, his words tempting her to head straight for their dorm instead of returning to her room inside. His whisper had sent delicious tingles down her neck and spine. . She realized that having him so close, and so intimately, might be the release she needed after her horrible experience from the day before. The thought had her swallowing in anticipation before she spoke. “Yes, Rory?”
”Let's get you home.”
Volume 1: Revelations
Chapter 1: Confessions
Chapter 1: Confessions
"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since I last confessed."
The confessional smelled of old sweat, rotting wood, and mothballs. It was dark, which was not unusual this late into the evening. Candlelight faintly gleamed in through some wooden slats on the doors leading out. The old priest who sat on the other side of the divider couldn't see the confessor through the shrouded mesh grate. "What troubles you, my son?"
The response was immediate. "I hurt people this week."
"Well, that is part of being in relation with other-"
"I beat them."
The silence was deafening. Matt could hear the priest shift uncomfortably in his seat. His heartrate began to sky-rocket. The smell of sweat was more potent. "You... assaulted people?"
"The cops aren't doing anything to stop it. When they do, charges aren't sticking. Abusers go back home to their wives, gangs are still flooding the alleys... I had to do something."
Realization. Fear. Adrenaline. "You're... you're telling me you're..."
"I tried everything, father. The last thing I wanted to feed that anger, that evil... but the system failed. So I'm doing things my way."
"You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen..."
"I am. And I am sorry, father, for what I must do."
The confessional smelled of old sweat, rotting wood, and mothballs. It was dark, which was not unusual this late into the evening. Candlelight faintly gleamed in through some wooden slats on the doors leading out. The old priest who sat on the other side of the divider couldn't see the confessor through the shrouded mesh grate. "What troubles you, my son?"
The response was immediate. "I hurt people this week."
"Well, that is part of being in relation with other-"
"I beat them."
The silence was deafening. Matt could hear the priest shift uncomfortably in his seat. His heartrate began to sky-rocket. The smell of sweat was more potent. "You... assaulted people?"
"The cops aren't doing anything to stop it. When they do, charges aren't sticking. Abusers go back home to their wives, gangs are still flooding the alleys... I had to do something."
Realization. Fear. Adrenaline. "You're... you're telling me you're..."
"I tried everything, father. The last thing I wanted to feed that anger, that evil... but the system failed. So I'm doing things my way."
"You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen..."
"I am. And I am sorry, father, for what I must do."
♦♦♦
"Confess."
The bloodied man's sobs were overwhelming. He blubbered and wailed, occasionally gurgling on blood in the process before he spit it onto the ground in front of him. The faint smell of urine and iron permeated the air. The drum of that man's heartbeat rang in Matt Murdock's ears as blood dripped from his bruised knuckles. He reached forward, grabbing the man by his hair as he dragged him across the alleyway. The remnants of hair gel clung to his fingers. The man tried to claw at the ground, but he was too disoriented to find any purchase.
"You know what you did. Say it!"
The man drooled into the curb his face rested on, blood and saliva running together. He closed his eyes, trying to focus through the pain and delirium. "I... I don't know what you're-"
Matthew Murdock lifted his foot and smashed it down onto the man's head. The sound of teeth shattering rang in his ears like church bells. The howl of pain that erupted from the man in response echoed in the alley. Matt could hear the jingling of metal rushing his way... the fabric they brushed against sounded familiar.
A cop.
Matt looked back to the man, pushing him over with his foot. His face was covered with a white bandana, hiding his hair and eyes. He wore an old running outfit: black running pants, a black longsleeve, and gloves. His boots were now slick with his target's blood, smearing it into the pavement. "You're going to tell them what you did. You're going to plead guilty and not take a deal."
The man sputtered in confusion. "Wh... what?"
"You're going to tell the officer what you do to your wife. Do you want to know why?"
The man's cry was muffled as he buried his face in his hands. It sounded faintly like a question.
"You're safe in prison, because I'm out here."
The cop rounded the corner, finding it empty. Empty except for a battered young man who was wailing in pain. The officer took a deep breath, reaching up for the walkie mounted to her shoulder. "Dispatch... we've got another one."
Static came through the walkie for a moment, before a voice cut through the interference. "Another what? Over."
The cop sighed, pressing the button again. "Another damn vigilante."
The bloodied man's sobs were overwhelming. He blubbered and wailed, occasionally gurgling on blood in the process before he spit it onto the ground in front of him. The faint smell of urine and iron permeated the air. The drum of that man's heartbeat rang in Matt Murdock's ears as blood dripped from his bruised knuckles. He reached forward, grabbing the man by his hair as he dragged him across the alleyway. The remnants of hair gel clung to his fingers. The man tried to claw at the ground, but he was too disoriented to find any purchase.
"You know what you did. Say it!"
The man drooled into the curb his face rested on, blood and saliva running together. He closed his eyes, trying to focus through the pain and delirium. "I... I don't know what you're-"
Matthew Murdock lifted his foot and smashed it down onto the man's head. The sound of teeth shattering rang in his ears like church bells. The howl of pain that erupted from the man in response echoed in the alley. Matt could hear the jingling of metal rushing his way... the fabric they brushed against sounded familiar.
A cop.
Matt looked back to the man, pushing him over with his foot. His face was covered with a white bandana, hiding his hair and eyes. He wore an old running outfit: black running pants, a black longsleeve, and gloves. His boots were now slick with his target's blood, smearing it into the pavement. "You're going to tell them what you did. You're going to plead guilty and not take a deal."
The man sputtered in confusion. "Wh... what?"
"You're going to tell the officer what you do to your wife. Do you want to know why?"
The man's cry was muffled as he buried his face in his hands. It sounded faintly like a question.
"You're safe in prison, because I'm out here."
The cop rounded the corner, finding it empty. Empty except for a battered young man who was wailing in pain. The officer took a deep breath, reaching up for the walkie mounted to her shoulder. "Dispatch... we've got another one."
Static came through the walkie for a moment, before a voice cut through the interference. "Another what? Over."
The cop sighed, pressing the button again. "Another damn vigilante."
I was forced against my will to use that villain
Sure you were.
@webboysurf is our Daredevil
Nelson and Murdock is open for business... can't wait for all the legal requests to roll in.
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