[The air out here is a hell of a lot nicer than New York. Even in the sweltering summer heat, when there's always a hint of smoke on the wind, either from a local grass fire, or a wildfire out on the prairies. The wind can carry that for hundreds of miles out here.
And after a stay in a Calgary hospital courtesy of a fake Canadian ID, how on Earth could Matt Murdock resist a town literally named Purgatory to spend his time recouping. I mean, really.
He won't even have to sign a postcard to Foggy if he wants to tell him he's alive. The postmark alone will be enough.
To bad the place lives up to its name a little too literally.
Which is why its local guardian devil is a little on guard when someone new is in town, white cane or not.
"Especially when he's got an ass like that," he might have overheard her say to Waverly when she excused herself from her spot at the bar to sit down at his table.
She smells like leather and whiskey, with notes of dried hay and dust- likely from a barn without any livestock (the smell of which does, unfortunately, cling a little to some of the other patrons at Shorty's). There's also a shock of something a lot more rare this side of the border- gunpowder.]
I hope you realized moving to this small of a town would mean being talked about a lot. Don't worry- I won't stay long, since talking to me for too long isn't gonna do you any favours.
[Don't mind her just kinda casually pointing Peacemaker at him under the table to see if the runes light up. Nope! Ok, not a demon. Cool. She's kind of counting on the whole blind guy factor to make this easier than it is normally. ]
[He had never thought of Canada as a warm place. More north, so surely it was supposed to be cooler. Right? The small town meant not nearly as much noise or as much distraction from the way clothes stuck to his skin more. And that's without the layer of bandages still on him at discharge. How he got here, how long ago and all that nonsense, well, shit. It's a bit of a blur. Half remembered promises and something about his safety. The whole weight of a goddamn building on him and the thought that that was the end.
And now this.
It's surreal to say the least. Quiet is needed. He would never have believed a town named Purgatory would be sleepy or small. A lot less of a lake of fire. Then again this is the newbie's assessment. At least they have a bar. And that bar has booze. The ice clinks in his glass as he sets it down.]
Uh. Hello to you too.
[The voice is not familiar. Nor the scent. He cannot fight the tension and the grip at his cane when it sounds like she has a gun.]
My name is Matt.
[And he's horribly, woefully, completely out of place.]
[Climate change is a bitch. Though if he stays long enough, he'll get to experience the other extreme when things get Hoth-level frozen.]
Right, yeah, sorry. Wynonna. [It's a name on the local's lips often enough to have been overheard, probably. And not usually spoken in the kindest of tones.
There's more than a little about her social skills to probably remind him of a certain Miss Jones. Definitely a similar ratio of whiskey to recklessness.]
Just figured someone should actually try talking to you before the whole town decides you're a serial killer. Which is totally unfair, our serial killers are all home-grown around here. [She's kidding, right? Right?]
[Trying to rid the immediate association between whiskey and a strong, independent woman is going to take more than a building falling on him. The flash of Miss Jones's memory is what keeps him more calm than he would be with a concealed weapon.]
Pleasure to meet you.
[...that's what a person not running would say. Ahem. Matt takes another sip of his drink.]
A....serial killer. [Just the way the words come out all smooth, casual. Just does not sit right. He still has the good sense to shrug and laugh a little.]
That would be the first time anyone's thought of me that way. [That he's aware of.] I'm not here to cause any trouble.
Well, it's the fist time anyone's ever been pleased to meet me, so I guess it's a night for firsts.
[There's a little shuffling and the sound of skin against warm leather, and a gun finding home in its holster at her hip.]
You're cute, so I'll take you at your word, Matty. [And Peacemaker's pretty convinced he's not a demon, so yay!] Lemme get your next round to make up for interrupting your drink.
[Somewhere in New York, Foggy is feeling a sense of foreboding that he can't explain. Matt no. No, Matt.]
[That either means that manners are dead and gone or Jessica Jones has a long lost sibling. Oh good. The gun is out of the way. Trust and believe that Matt makes a note of it's existence. Just in case.]
Ah, thank you. [The promise of more alcohol gets a sincere grin.] You uh usually welcome people this way, Wynonna?
[Tingling? Foreboding? For all his heightened senses and past blunders Matt...carries on the only way he knows how.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unraisehell) wrote2018-08-14 07:47 pm
no subject
And after a stay in a Calgary hospital courtesy of a fake Canadian ID, how on Earth could Matt Murdock resist a town literally named Purgatory to spend his time recouping. I mean, really.
He won't even have to sign a postcard to Foggy if he wants to tell him he's alive. The postmark alone will be enough.
To bad the place lives up to its name a little too literally.
Which is why its local guardian devil is a little on guard when someone new is in town, white cane or not.
"Especially when he's got an ass like that," he might have overheard her say to Waverly when she excused herself from her spot at the bar to sit down at his table.
She smells like leather and whiskey, with notes of dried hay and dust- likely from a barn without any livestock (the smell of which does, unfortunately, cling a little to some of the other patrons at Shorty's). There's also a shock of something a lot more rare this side of the border- gunpowder.]
I hope you realized moving to this small of a town would mean being talked about a lot. Don't worry- I won't stay long, since talking to me for too long isn't gonna do you any favours.
[Don't mind her just kinda casually pointing Peacemaker at him under the table to see if the runes light up. Nope! Ok, not a demon. Cool. She's kind of counting on the whole blind guy factor to make this easier than it is normally. ]
no subject
And now this.
It's surreal to say the least. Quiet is needed. He would never have believed a town named Purgatory would be sleepy or small. A lot less of a lake of fire. Then again this is the newbie's assessment. At least they have a bar. And that bar has booze. The ice clinks in his glass as he sets it down.]
Uh. Hello to you too.
[The voice is not familiar. Nor the scent. He cannot fight the tension and the grip at his cane when it sounds like she has a gun.]
My name is Matt.
[And he's horribly, woefully, completely out of place.]
no subject
Right, yeah, sorry. Wynonna. [It's a name on the local's lips often enough to have been overheard, probably. And not usually spoken in the kindest of tones.
There's more than a little about her social skills to probably remind him of a certain Miss Jones. Definitely a similar ratio of whiskey to recklessness.]
Just figured someone should actually try talking to you before the whole town decides you're a serial killer. Which is totally unfair, our serial killers are all home-grown around here. [She's kidding, right? Right?]
no subject
Pleasure to meet you.
[...that's what a person not running would say. Ahem. Matt takes another sip of his drink.]
A....serial killer. [Just the way the words come out all smooth, casual. Just does not sit right. He still has the good sense to shrug and laugh a little.]
That would be the first time anyone's thought of me that way. [That he's aware of.] I'm not here to cause any trouble.
no subject
[There's a little shuffling and the sound of skin against warm leather, and a gun finding home in its holster at her hip.]
You're cute, so I'll take you at your word, Matty. [And Peacemaker's pretty convinced he's not a demon, so yay!] Lemme get your next round to make up for interrupting your drink.
[Somewhere in New York, Foggy is feeling a sense of foreboding that he can't explain. Matt no. No, Matt.]
no subject
Ah, thank you. [The promise of more alcohol gets a sincere grin.] You uh usually welcome people this way, Wynonna?
[Tingling? Foreboding? For all his heightened senses and past blunders Matt...carries on the only way he knows how.]
no subject
[The drink comes quickly enough, as does Wynonna's next round. It's a different brand than Jessica's usual poison, at least.]
Should I leave you to your drink, Matt? Or should I try to be a little more neighbourly?