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abraxaslogs2022-09-18 11:35 am
( while matt had wanted to go to libertas and see what helped he could provide, he hadn't planned on going with frank castle, of all people. but, he knows that there's no changing things up now and they're both stuck.
which would either make this a very quiet trip because they both refused to talk to each other or they'd end up fighting each other well before they got to help anyone else. matt remembers the promises he's made to wanda and he also knows that his issues with frank are not important right now.
the people of libertas are and that's what he tells himself over and over.
frank, at least, seems to have a handle on the dog they've been given which is good since matt's gotten the feeling that it doesn't really like him.
he rubs a hand over his eyes before settling his glasses back down. )
Suggestions on where to start first?
( is he talking to frank or the dog? matt's not going to specify. )
( ever since he took on the task of helping the refugees from libertas, his free time has been scant. he tells himself that it's worthwhile, that he's able to actually do something helpful for those that need it and that he's able to use the degree he went to school for.
but it takes a lot of work. between having to learn an entirely new system of law and then spend hours on paperwork, he finds himself working long hours and sleeping less and less.
when he falls asleep in mag's in at a table downstairs, he's none the wiser about things going on around him. his cheek is pressed against sheafs of paper and he sleeps fairly soundly for him.
the nap doesn't last long though before he's awake and trying to focus back on what he was doing once more.
at other times, he'll find out and around cadens, maybe sitting on a bench with a book open on his lap or moving briskly, walking stick sweeping out in front of him with folders tucked underneath his arms. he spends a lot of time going in and out of official buildings in cadens, trying to file paperwork for various libertas refugees before he heads right for the library to sit and study some more.
he falls asleep in the library too. he falls asleep everywhere but his goddamn room, honestly.
despite his busy day, when night falls and the moon hangs high over cadens, a different version of matt comes out. the mask comes on, tucked low over his face and he moves almost silently, going from rooftops to alleys.
when he comes upon someone standing over one of the refugees, threatening him, that's when he steps in, grabbing at him from behind and throwing him into a wall. paying no attention to the other man, he follows the perpetrator with a flurry of fists and kicks, pressing his face into the brick of the wall, teeth scraping against the rock. he can feel the man's blood on his hands, moving down his wrists and when he feels the man go limp, matt let's him drop.
he's not dead but he's unconscious and he's going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up. matt leaves him there and disappears. some nights, he just finds himself on top of one of the buildings of cadens, standing on a ledge, head tilted down while he listens to the sounds of the city.
sometimes, nothing needs to be done. but those nights are rare. )
( fogwell's. he doesn't know why that place finds its way into his thoughts but it's such a strong memory, one that he can't shake that when he makes his way to his horizon, it's to the gym that he'd spent so much time in as a child and then as an adult.
he'd watched his father train in that ring and, after he'd been blinded, just listened to his father fight.
he's not dressed to train but he finds himself in the middle of the boxing ring anyway, leaning against the ropes and closing his eyes. this isn't fogwell's, he knows, but it's close enough.
matt's hands curl into fists as he stands there, imagining what his father might have felt while he was training, what might have been going through his head, how he dealt with a son like him and trying to keep things afloat.
he blows out a sigh and then slides down, leaning back against the corner of the ring. )
[ Jo's finds herself back at Mag's late for who knows what night in a row this is. She's been out in Libertas since they opened the roads almost all her free time. Helping find those still alive. Bringing out the dead bodies for identification. Clearing rubble. Helping guard other groups from looters and bandits thinking this was their time.
She passed the guy asleep with hardly a look, all of her mind on a hot bath. Scrubbing off the newest layer of dirt, ash, and blood from her skin. Like each time didn't reveal even more scrapes and bruises on her skin. Like there'd ever be enough soap to get the smell of it out of her hair.
When Jo's headed back down—hair pulled up messy on top of her head and still dripping, semi-clean clothes—the dude is still there. Still asleep. And Jo frowns. Even if she feels too exhausted for more, she's down her trying to get food, and obviously, she's not the only one feeling that way. She holds in the urge to sigh and, instead of ordering first, walks over to the guy.
There's a moment she raises an eyebrow at what are obviously law books everywhere across the table under and under the guy. Then, there's a hand, lightly touching on fingertips only, to shake his shoulder. ]
Hey, you probably don't want to sleep here.
No matter what the table is saying, it lies.
Sure, I totally believe you.
[ Except for absolutely not on her life. Between that sudden jerk-snap awake that any hunter knows better than their salt (her hand had pulled away instantly as soon as he started moving) and the woozy way, he didn't seem to be able to focus or hold himself straight. ]
But, like I said, the table's here telling lies about your honor.
[ Beat. ]
I was about to get a coffee. You want one, too, or is this more an 'I should be shooing you off to wherever it is you have a bed that you definitely don't need, why would you ever be asking, Jo'?"
[ Jo's got a rye expression for that. The shuffle of papers. The amount of all there is to shuffle through. Need to organize. The way he started straightening that shirt all rumpled up even worse by the table, that she bets been getting a run for its money while he was doing whatever this is. ]
I'll get it. Just try to keep your eyes open over here.
Do jumping jacks or whatever.
[ Jo being Jo, she walks off toward the bar, not waiting for his answer or his permission. She'd asked; he hadn't answered but said he needed it. And she did, too. To calm her nerves before she decided to turn in for an hour or two before repeating the whole cycle at some point not too long after dawn. When she gets to the counter, she orders two, strong, black.
Then, a side tray of anything they have that can be added in. For him. In case. ]
[ He's standing by the time she turns and walks back, and there are glasses now. Yeah, she hadn't missed that, but it was interesting. He oriented without any issue on where she was coming back at. ]
Could still take the wallet, too.
Never know what someone might get for it.
[ Beat. ]
I didn't know how you took your coffee, so I brought a little of everything.
[ Jo took a drink of her coffee and closed her eyes, letting out a breath similar to the one she had let out when she first sunk into the hot water of her bath. Hot water. Clean. Coffee. They are very tiny things compared to the hell still clinging to her, and that she'll head out into tomorrow morning. It's the small things. They ground you. ]
Jo Harvelle.
And what exactly are you reading, for someone who looks like they wouldn't be, at least not this prolifically, without the glasses?
[ There's no insult in the phrasing. Just the same acknowledgment he placed into correcting to recognizing her voice rather than her face, and hers to upping to the level of what this research level would entail in his not-so-obvious, but entirely unmissable to her right now, skills. ]
[ Jo's not new to a table, or even several tables pushed together, covered in materials, whether for research or even just the accumulation of even more study into something that's driven someone, for better or for worse.
This at least looks like an attempt at the for better category. ]
You got plans on what you're going to do with it once you have?
[ Jo is as surprised for a moment—as her gaze shifts back to the world of books piled everywhere on that label, open and not—as she isn't. If she finds it strange, specifically because he's blind, it's a jigsaw trying to put itself together in her head. ]
That's probably good.
I haven't heard much of what people are doing for them on this end.
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