maskormenacelogs | oh, if I could only coax you overboard,

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oh, if I could only coax you overboard,

WHO: Matt Murdock and Lillian Crawley-Jeffries
WHERE: by the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea...
WHEN: March 23 (backdated like whoa)
WHAT: Not-a-date lunch date
WARNINGS: Two adults who should know better being ridiculous?

[Matt's not really sure what he's doing, to be honest. He should be spending his lunch (and maybe his afternoon) into cases and research, trying to figure out a starting point for the plans he needs to put in motion. He'll need to give Frank a target soon, a goal; he'll need to figure out a solution for Harvey slightly more permanent than loose conditions. At some point, he needs to get back together with Kate; he needs to take the bar and get out of this government-handout job (an ugly way to put it, but he can't think of a better one, sadly.) And yet here he is, propositioning Lillian Crawley-Jeffries for lunch. And not just lunch: an adventure lunch.

The justification of course would be that she's having a difficult time, and he should be a good friend (with no Foggy here to point out how utterly selfish he can be at times.) Or that he needs to blow off some steam (again, no Foggy here to point out how unlike him that is, quite like this, how he used to be grim and serious and far off from the time he might have casually invited a woman to the beach.) But this is Florida and he can take a few hours off to go do something that's not work. A few hours are not going to make a difference in a case like this.

So he hangs outside the sandwich shop, jacket and tie abandoned back at the office, shirt sleeves rolled up, the picture of casual loitering. Except for how he's listening through the crowd for the sound of her heartbeat, waiting to catch a scrap of the smell of her perfume. Been awhile, since he'd done that.]

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[It's not even like Matt goes out of his way to be impressive...sometimes. It's true he's a smug piece of shit, at times; it's true that he's got an ego and he's reckless and devil-may-care (ha) at times, when not brooding. But he's always been good at a show, and charming has always been part of that. What good is a show if the audience doesn't get into it, anyway?

Flirting is just the same.]

It's not that big of a surprise. Surely you can guess.

[Who doesn't want a beach picnic?]

[ Honestly, it's hard to remember the last time took her on an outing even remotely like a beach picnic. She just isn't young anymore -- and somehow, anything remotely resembling romance mostly fell by the wayside, somewhere between the complications of a failed marriage and the sacrifices every superhero makes.

She watches Matt a moment, tilting her head slightly as they walk side-by-side.

Finally, in that same mild tone, words touched with a certain lightness that keep them from sounding entirely serious: ]

Romantic walk down the beach? Might be a cliche, but it's a good one.

[It's not like either of them are young anymore. It's not even like Matt's life has left a lot of time for dating, let alone romance. At least, ordinary people romance, not the sort where you come to someone's window at night in costume.]

I can certainly put that on the agenda, if that's what you want.

[With no shame, no hesitation. Not even missing a beat for the inclusion of the word romantic, something they have less than subtly been skirting around here.]

[ She'd tried for ordinary people's romance years before -- forgetting of course, that it was meant for ordinary people. Despite her humble origins, she was decidedly not one of them. Still, this was nice. Almost normal, and pleasant in that way. ]

That's real sweet of you.

[ Teasing praise. ]

Charmin', handsome, an' thoughtful. Surprised y'ain't got gals lined up on your doorstep.

[Boy problems. Don't forget. Don't overstep, don't overthink it, it doesn't have to mean anything. But he has his ego, same as anyone else. It's nice, to be liked.]

And yet, I'm unattached. Surely there must be a reason.

[Bullseye. There's a reason.]

But I assure you, my intentions are just friendly.

[Mostly.]

Guess there must be.

[ She responds easily enough, unfazed by the line of their discussion. It's comfortable for her to just be walking and talking like this, regardless of the subject matter. She's always been fairly shameless and blunt as a conversationalist anyway.

There's just a hint of wryness when she goes on: ]

Y'hidin' some kinda dirty secret or somethin', Mr. Murdock?

[This is the moment of truth. Does he tell her, that he's Daredevil? It's not so much of a dirty secret anymore. But it would be a shame to ruin a friendship that's been left uncomplicated by the need for secret identities.]

Everybody has a couple of skeletons in their closet. I wouldn't blame somebody for turning away if they stumbled on one of mine.

[Because he can't just lie about it; if he said he had none, that would be obviously untrue. Everybody has something.]

You're not going to find any on the beach, though. Or in the picnic basket.

[Which is subtly rigged with one of those gadgets you can get from inventor friends to tase anyone who might think of stealing it before he can get there, even though there's practically no one around.]

[ Oh. So that's it. She can forgive the less-than-subtle subject change, because there's something a bit endearing about the idea of a beach picnic that just tickles her. Maybe it was all that time in the concentration camps, but it's always simple, uncomplicated things like this that make her happy. It coaxes her smile to grow big and pleased. ]

Matt.

[ Lil gives him a playful, fond little smack on the shoulder. ]

That's so sweet.

Edited 2014-05-08 20:58 (UTC)

[Little by her standards, or little by normal people standards? He's well equipped to survive, either way, and to bump her back with the offended shoulder quite easily.]

Don't get carried away. I just got tired of the view from my office, and you're the only person I know who'd actually walk out for lunch just because I asked.

[But he's pretty pleased with himself nonetheless. And pleased that she seems pleased. And not even being subtle about it.]

Who's gettin' carried away, huh? Y'went t'alotta damn trouble jus' t'avoid the view from your office.

[ Still, she easily puts one arm around him, giving him a gentle squeeze before she lets go to wander ahead a few steps. She does have to admit, the view from here is pretty hard to beat -- even if she isn't much of a swimmer these days, she can appreciate the waves lapping against the shore as much as anyone else. It's a beautiful day.

Glancing back at him, she adds mildly: ]

Not that I'm complainin', 'course.

Well, normally, I don't get the chance to go to the beach. I figure I should take advantage of the opportunity while I can.

[He's busy taking off his shoes at the edge of the blanket, and then casually rolling the legs of his pants up to his knees. Really going to need to invest more in shorts. Which you can't wear to the office. Ah, well, can't win them all.]

And when I do get somewhere with a beach, I usually spend all my time working instead of just listening to the waves.

[And with that he settles himself down on the blanket to "watch", casually undoing one more button or two on his shirt as well.]

[ She lingers a moment to appreciate the sight of the beach and the smell of sea salt from the water before she finally turns to join him. Her shoes -- beach appropriate, at his suggestion -- get left by the side of the blanket. Absently folding her skirt under her with her hands, she sits with her long legs tucked to the side. ]

When I was livin' on Utopia, y'could always hear the ocean. Wasn't like this though -- y'know, nice an' warm an' pretty.

[ She'd also been fairly busy having shouting matches with her husband, at the time. ]

Gotta say, I think I like this better.

[Every time they talk, he learns little more pieces of her life. But he knows enough about Utopia (and has been there, in a rather shameful episode with the Avengers) to know he doesn't really want to pry into this. Better to let her tell about him.]

Much quieter, I'm sure.

[He's managed to find somewhere fairly secluded, not really wanting to deal with the smorgasbord of smells and sounds that come with a crowded beach today. It would take away from...whatever this moment is.]

I'd say I make much better company, but I have no evidence of that.

[Lightly, in the manner of a joke. He doesn't actually believe that.]

[ "Utopia" had certainly be an ironic name for the place. She didn't miss it much. Her memories of the place, up to the point that the Porter had taken her, were full of frustration, disappointment, and emotional pain. She knows she's days or even hours from death there. She tries not to think about it too much -- especially not now, when the day is beautiful like this.

Her attention lingers on the scenery another moment before that self-depreciating joke of his draws her eyes back. There's a certain plain, straight-forward kind of honesty in her voice when she answers: ]

Good enough company for me. [ She believes it. ] Y'really make me happy sometimes, y'know that?

[Matt hums under his breath a bit. Shifts his shoes out of his way to the very corner of the blanket, so that he can stretch out with his arms behind his head and his feet pushing into the sand.]

I can sort of guess. [That's an understatement; things like that are so incredibly obvious to him. Like so many other things. It's almost not fair, knowing things like that, but he's never shied from using it. He wants her to be happy. That's what you want, for your friends.

He grins up at the sky.]

You're not very subtle, you know.

[ Subtle, she is certainly not. It's a fair enough observation -- the woman has next to nothing in terms of tact, but she doesn't seem to mind being called out on it. She's always worn her heart on her sleeve. In response, she just shrugs her shoulders a little, not the least bit self-conscious about it. ]

If y'minded that, we wouldn't be here right now.

[ Idly, she flicks a little sand at him. ]

Y'ain't such a hard read y'self, Matt Murdock.

[Oh, dear, sand. He puts an arm up defensively, but how can he possibly stand against such an onslaught?]

I am a mystery wrapped in an enigma, or so I'm told. [So Danny Rand pretending to be Matt Murdock said.] And you know it, Lillian Crawley.

[ A mystery wrapped in an enigma. She has to keep herself from looking too amused at that, pressing her fingertips to her mouth to suppress an entertained smile before lightly clearing her throat. ]

Guess there is a lot I dunno about you.

[ Though, she does know enough to consider him good company. That's what matters, at the moment. It's obviously joking when she goes on: ]

Y'could be a serial killer or somethin'.

A blind serial killer?

[His eyebrows raise over the rim of his glasses, mock-dubious. But god, stranger things have happened. Stranger things have happened to him.

~~They involve killing more than he'd like.~~]

What would be my motive?

Somethin' tragic, maybe. Or revenge. Ain't it always revenge?

[ Lil shrugs a little, idly toying with the idea in her mind. Not that she actually believes it at all -- though it's true, stranger things have probably happened to them both -- but it is sort of fun to think about, if only because it's completely ridiculous. ]

If y'are a serial killer though, I ain't gonna be much fun for you. Not alotta ways y'can kill an invulnerable gal, y'know?

Revenge. As if it ever did any good.

[No amount of striking back ever made the hurt any better. Not even when it was truly deserved. No matter how much he wanted it to. Defeating, killing Bullseye, destroying the Kingpin...none of it brought back anything or put it to rest.]

Maybe you wouldn't be a victim, though. Maybe-

[No. The more he thinks about it, the less funny it becomes, all of a sudden. He shakes his head.]

No. You wouldn't be. Anyway, let's talk about something else.

[ It's a path of conversation that suddenly seems to have shifted from idle and implausible fantasy into the realm of reality. She doesn't ask him to finish what he was saying, mostly because she suspects -- and while she isn't ashamed of the things she did in her wild and varied past, bringing up the fact that she once did prison time for being manipulated into the highly villainous act of aiding in the murder of a nationally loved superhero seems like it might ruin the mood. Just a little bit.

So, instead, she exhales a bit, shrugging a little for a second time. ]

If y'want. Murder's a little grim for a nice day at the beach anyway, ain't it? [ Though hanging out with Lil in general is always a touch morbid, with her expiration date, but. ] Y'want me t'ask y'about somethin' less morbid? Favorite color? Favorite food?

[Contrary to what Harvey seems to think about Matt Murdock...he's no saint himself. If his capacity for forgiveness can be great, it must at least help that he's fallen fairly far, even without demonic influence pushing him along. He was the Kingpin of New York. Maybe not a Wilson Fisk...but not much better, either.]

Favorite color is red. [He waves that question away gracefully.] What I remember of red. I don't think much about things like color anymore. It's more important what things smell like, or feel like. How they sit in a room.

[ That would be an insensitive question to ask a blind guy, wouldn't it? She forgets sometimes, that he's blind at all. Besides the fact that the man is more functional than most, it seems almost beside the point, given how much she's come to think of him as things other than blind -- like her friend. A good one, too.

Still, it's nice of the man to answer her the way he does. She appreciates that, even if she doesn't apologize outright. ]

Don't think I'd like haven't t'count on what things smell like. Seems kinda funny t'me. [ It isn't any more sensitive of her to say that either, but it seems mostly joking, especially when the way she leans over to give him an audible mock-sniff. ] Sometimes, I even kinda like not bein' able t'feel things as good.

[It is frankly amazing that Matt manages to function at all. Especially after all the things that have kicked him back down again. And yet, here he is, and being blind is the least of his problems, once he learned how to use what he had left.]

Oh, it can be awful. I don't think most people really think about what they smell like. They don't notice themselves at all. But I do. You learn a lot about someone that way. Not all of it terribly pleasant. And there's nothing in the world that truly doesn't have a smell, once you start paying attention to it.

[And he can talk about it- as long as they're not being too specific- without ever explicitly having to discuss his hypersenses. Not that Matt's really hiding his power, or his identity. They've never talked about it, though, and he's not sure if she even wants to know...or if she'd prefer to let all of that sort of thing lie.]

It can be just as vibrant as color, in its way. Or what I remember of color.

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