2017-01-29 Murdock and May
This scene is rated Everybody
Warning: N/A
Players: Daredevil, Melinda May
GMed by Who GMed?
Title: Murdock and May

It's Tuesday evening, and Matt Murdock is still at Nelson and Murdock. His partner and secretary have already gone home for the evening, but they've been keeping longer hours in the hopes of garnering clients who might not be able to visit them earlier in the day. So, Matt Murdock had tonight's 'watch' and he couldn't be more bored. In fact, he was bouncing a rubber ball. He threw it, it ricocheted off the wall, against the desk, onto a filing cabinet, another wall, and then back into his hand. He was getting very creative in his ways to try and kill time, but it wasn't working out too well.

With likely quieter steps than would be considered normal, someone enters the simple but inviting office and pauses, possibly listening to the sound of the ball bouncing around the room and returning to its owner's hand. Then after a moment the door is closed again as quietly as is possible without being blatant about it and the soft-footed person steps further into the reception area, their movements carrying quieter than normal rustling of fabric and the creak of well-maintained leather. … and a few very faint metallic clinks?

It's fortunate that Matt has his superior senses. Because if not for little things like body scent, a heartbeat, he would never have known that the woman had approached. The bouncing ball stops, and it allowed to drop onto the table, bouncing a few times before stopping against a stapler. But whoever it was, they were trying to remain quiet, so as not to reveal his identity, he remained in his office, with the door open, but he did grab hold of his cane, just in case he needed to use it to defend himself.

Already aware of the person in the office because of the bounding ball, the woman isn't trying to be stealthy intentionally. It's long-ingrained habit. She walks across to the receptionist's desk by the direction of the extremely quiet footfalls, and then there's the soft scrape of a business card being taken from the desk and held momentarily — and the Braille portion even examined with one finger — before it's muffed by the rustle of fabric as it's put into a pocket presumably.

Then, finally, she offers a single word, spoken not too loudly or too quietly. "Hello?"

Matt rises from his chair at the woman's voice announcing her presence. He has his cane with him, using it while in his own office, in case she actually had come in, or rather, she saw him. It was always good to start his deception before he came into sight. Once he steps out, he says, "hello, my name is Matt Murdock. How may I help you miss…?"

The woman turns when she hears Matt approaching from his office, but her heart rate doesn't fluctuate at all — he didn't startle her. "May." She doesn't clarify if that's a first or last name. "I was hoping to set up a retainer." She's a bit conservative with her words, and while standing seemingly completely still she's carefully visually studying the man with all of her SHIELD-trained skills.

Matt Murdock is a surprisingly calm and collected man. His heart rate is steady. He has extremely good posture. And he is clearly blind. Not just in that he can't see, but he gives off all the other signs of a blind man. The way his face doesn't seem to track her, his expressions don't necessarily mirror her own. He reacts to audio stimuli, but not so much to everything else, at least that's how it appears.

"I don't see why not. But, perhaps you'd like to speak to my partner or I before committing?" It was unusual to find someone so eager to become a client. It concerned him, but he was doing a good job of showing it. Not perfect, but good.

"No need for that. I've already vetted your law firm." Now the woman sounds like law enforcement. Possibly military. "You have a reputation for considering your cases honestly and fairly before choosing to accept or decline them instead of taking only the almighty dollar into account."

He was fairly certain that she was a professional, just what he wasn't sure about. "Why, thank you… that's, one of the nicest things that I've heard in some time." On the bright side, he was sure that she was telling the truth, even if she was harder than usual to read. "In that case, is May your first, or last name. I will of course need your full name, and for you to sign some documents." He did have access to them, even without a secretary. There were some in his filing cabinet with Braille headings.

"Melinda May." She's still standing completely still, possibly waiting for the lawyer to move first. Or something. She's still visually studying the lawyer, though now her eyes are focused on the cane. Is it just a regular white cane, or is there something more to it?

The cane appears to be ordinary. It's obviously an expensive cane, with a thicker top than it probably needs to be. There are two carvings on it. One side has the face of an angel, and another the face of a devil. It has a few seams, which could be part of usual construction, or perhaps suggest other purposes. It's hard to tell from any distance, but it is a very nice cane. "It's nice to meet you Miss May. Would you like to step into my office, so we could discuss things further?" He wasn't giving in to her, but he did gesture with his hand towards his office.

"All right." May does finally move forward toward Matt's office, still with that strangely quiet way of moving. When she moves closer, the scent of gun oil and … sandstone? join the scent of leather and a rosemary-based shampoo.

Matt will move back into his office, though he does hang around long enough to get a good whiff of the rosemary-based shampoo. Once inside his office, he'll move with deliberate precision until he goes around his desk, pulls out his chair, and takes a seat. He will at that point open up a filing cabinet inside his desk, flipping through the Braille headers, until he finds the correct document. "Here is a standard legal representation form. What kind of a retainer were you thinking of putting us on? And, do you have any specific upcoming legal needs that you are aware of?"

May waits until Murdock has sat back down at his desk before slipping forward and settling into one of the chairs facing the desk. "The standard form should work for now. I don't have any specific eventualities in mind, just covering my bases here." She watches him pull the paper then her eyes glance over the objects on his desk. Anything of interest there?

Matt Murdock's office is surprisingly Spartan. He has a computer, with what appears to be a standard keyboard. But then, keyboards have been standard since they were invented, so once someone learns to type, they don't need to know where there characters are. The lesser used keys, like the ampersand / seven, or dollar sign / five, do have raised Braille markings on them that he can feel, but the rest don't. It actually makes typing harder to have raised sides to the keyboard. He must have been blind, and blind for a while.

He had a computer, which had a refreshable Braille display. There was a notepad, and pen, so he could write notes for other people, like Foggy. There was a stress ball, which he had been bouncing against the walls. A plastic fern. A filing cabinet. There were decorations, like paintings, though they were for any prospective clients, rather than the occupant. His room was the one with the worst view. But it was unusually orderly and tidy. "In that case," he extended the contract to her, "there are tags where you'll have to sign or initial. I'd happily help… if I were able. Usually, I have my secretary go over this."

If May is amused by Matt's admission of a limitation, she doesn't give any audible indication. Her voice is as level and calm as it has been since she arrived. "That's fine. I'm sure I can figure it out." She takes the contract from his hands and clearly spends several minutes reading the contents, based on the faint shuffling of the paper every now and again.

Finally, she says, "This looks adequate." The papers are set on the table with a swish, and then there's the sound of her pulling something from a pocket followed by the faint scraping that could be a threaded cap being removed from an object. She resettles the papers on the desk and the pen she starts using to make quick short strokes and longer more complicated lines sounds… not like a fountain pen. It's scraping lightly along the paper, and the pitch of the metal point changes subtly as if it's responding to the pressure of her writing.

Matt does try to explain the contents of the document, so that she'll understand it, but it sounds like she's already prepared to go through with it, and the contract really is standard, boilerplate stuff. He smiles when she signs the relevant documents, and actually knows that she's signed them all, as he knows exactly where each one has to be signed. He may not be able to sense the writing on the paper without his fingers, but he can tell where the clips are, and how many times she signs or initials.

When she seems to sign the last one and hands it over, he'll take the document, looking for the clip that has some Braille on it to say he has to sign, and he'll put his own signature to it. Curiously for a blind man, he has a lovely signature. Impeccable handwriting, really. "So, now that you're officially a client, was there anything you wanted to discuss that you couldn't otherwise?" Sometimes people won't talk about a situation until they officially have client attorney privilege.

"Yes, actually. What are the chances of a response if a person of interest were to be followed into Hell's Kitchen?" Again, no change whatsoever in her voice. She could be speaking about the weather for all of the interest in her tone. Her jacket creaks slightly and there's the faint metallic undertone when it sounds like she leans back in the chair.

If he understood what she meant, he wasn't going for the bait. "I don't believe I follow?" He was calm and measured, not reacting in any overt manner. If he was lying, he was good, very good. He still has the bearing of a man in his element. This isn't just work, it's his life, well… one half of his life.

Sitting back in her chair, May merely raises an eyebrow. "I have it on good authority that a vigilante named Daredevil frequents the surrounding area known as 'Hell's Kitchen'. Being uniquely placed as you are, do you think said vigilante would be likely to interfere if the enforcement agency that I represent were to follow someone into this area?" She isn't so much as fidgeting, though the movement of her torso as she breathes is causing something presumably inside her jacket to shift repeatedly.

His reaction was impressively, especially if May had conclusive proof that he was Daredevil, for he displayed no sign at all. No shock, no change in pulse, body language, it as if she had asked him if there would be a problem if LeBron James visited Hell's Kitchen. "You'd know better than I would, Miss May. I thought he was a myth." So, he had heard of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Of course he had. Everyone had. But those stories meant little to a blind man.

It's like playing poker back to back with someone, visual cues are not going to work. May watches Matt for an extra moment before adding seemingly mildly, "Well then, it seems my expectations of the rumour mill in Manhattan are being disappointed."

Matt was about ready to let her go, to drop the line of questioning, but, perhaps he does possess a small amount of ego. He may just have given away his hand, but he asks, "and what did the rumour mill have to say, I wonder?" Ah, curiosity, it killed the cat. Naturally, there are easier ways to blow his cover. A sharp object hurled at his head might do it. Dodge and be proven to be something special, or let it hit him, and possibly be disfigured. But did she have the conviction, or the guts, to try such a dangerous stunt?

"All sorts of things." And, Murdock just tipped his hand. Now it's time to prove it. "Most things I can believe. I mean, there's a Norse god that visits Manhattan every now and again, a billionaire who built a suit of high-tech armour, and even a supposedly resurrected hero from World War II. A red devil that punishes the wicked? Not that much of a stretch." She shifts in her seat as if moving to get more comfortable, and in the same motion she pulls that something metallic from inside her jacket, while her other hand, below the level of the desk, and drops a small transmitter/tracker from the jacket's cuff into her fingers.

He did, and he knows it. What's worse, he's fairly certain that she does too. It's one of those things, when confronted by a person of equal skill, you just have a certain, strange, camaraderie about it. He listened to her list of metahumans, superheroes, or whatever you want to call them, and he heard the transmitter. He had actually heard it before hand. This was a man who could tell you what you ate… three days ago, so, hearing the little buzz of transmitter wasn't exactly difficult for him. All electronics gave off a certain hue to his senses, in terms of heat, energy, noise, and wavelengths. They were easy. "With all of this going on, it's a wonder nobody's paid a visit to the North Pole or Easter Island."

"The North Pole was boring, and Easter Island is too high profile now that the archaeologists have realised that the statues have more underground than above." May idly toys with the metallic object in her hand while still keeping the transmitter palmed. "Besides, I'm more interested in the home turf and everyone here." She debates hinting at the possibility of Winter coming, but opts not to. That may be intel that Rogers does NOT want spread around. She's already skated a bit too close to that line as it is.

"Of course, especially with the melting of the ice caps, there's hardly anything to do up there anymore, and tourists, you can't live with them, the economy hurts without them." He was of course making light of her mock complaints, though his was with considerably more energy. "Protecting one's turf is important. I definitely agree with that. But I do wonder, what would a young woman," he could actually tell ages, but that was more about fitness than chronology. He was certain she was a young woman by the way her heart bet, the strength he could tell in her muscles, the way she moved, it was obvious to him. "Be dealing with gunpowder, machine oils, dendrotoxin, and… is that silk?" If he had blown his cover, he might as well go all out and find out just who she was. "By the way, are you going to leave the tracer," he's guessing that's what's in her hand. "Or not?" He sat there, calmly, still looking as blind as ever.

Okay then. If cards are going down, she can deal with that. "Don't mind if I do." And she moves to stand in one smooth motion. Since he knows the tracker's there, why be subtle? She reaches over and sticks it to his white cane up near the handle where the little dark-coloured dot would be obvious to any passersby. She knows he won't leave it there.

"Now we're back to my original question," May adds while tucking the metallic object (a steel letter opener) back into her jacket. "Will we have to plan for interference from Daredevil if one of our missions takes agents into or through Hell's Kitchen?"

"From what I've heard, I'd count on it. He, seems to take an unusual amount of interest in the goings on in the Kitchen. Our own little dark knight, or nightmare. The jury's still out on that. But, I'm guessing he does more good than harm. Just a hunch, you know, from what I've heard." He was fine having the tracer on his cane, where she put it, for now. That wouldn't last long. Most likely it'd go down a toilet somewhere.

May nods, still standing by Matt's desk. "I can't make any promises, but would a bit of advance notification, if it's possible, help with making sure there are no unfortunate misunderstandings?"

"It's certainly possible," he replied. "From what I've heard, you can reason with angels and demons. It just doesn't always work out the way one would hope. I do wish you luck in that."

Gee. Thanks. "Unless you have any questions for me, I think I've taken up enough of your time." She's doing the standing entirely still thing again. Though now that she's standing a bit closer, the aroma of a black tea of some sort is managing to get past the smells of leather, gunpowder, and oil.

"Melinda… what is that delightful aroma? Some kind of black tea?" He did like tea. And he was trying to place it. He stood, and walking around the table, not really using the cane. He didn't need it in his own office. Most blind people could walk their own home or familiar areas with ease.

Finally, finally Matt catches May by surprise, though her only outward reaction is to blink quickly a few times and recoil the tiniest amount. "Yunnan Imperial." When he steps out from behind his desk, rather than expected tensing up, May actually seems to relax a little further than her neutral stance. Of course, anyone with enough martial arts knowledge will know that means a combatant is preparing for violence at any second.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License