“Thanks”, Matt says and takes the croissant from Hope. He’s still sceptical that Hope is actually fine, but the savoury smell coming from inside the paper wrapping is enough to distract him for just a second and he unwraps it with a certain urgency, suddenly realizing just how long it’s been since he’s last eaten.
Once he’s bitten into it a few times he returns to his previous point and reaches out for Hope’s arm, feeling the thickness of his sweater. And almost drops his croissant into the snow. “There’s no way you’re fine, how long have you been out like this?”, he asks, already peeling out of his own jacket and handing it over. “This is how you get hypothermia, Hope.” It sounds more like a request than the statement that it is.
Hope can’t help feeling a glow of pleasure that his offer of breakfast is so well-received-- but it isn’t as if either of them has eaten in something like fourteen or fifteen hours, unless Matt went to get something from the kitchen after he left Hope’s room last night. He takes another bite of his own in the meantime: the cheese is a little cooler and more solid now, the bits of meat not quite sizzling on his tongue, but he barely notices amidst the decadence of flavor and texture.
His self-satisfaction vanishes over the span of a few heartbeats, though. “I’m okay!" he insists, wincing a little at the defensive note in his voice. He starts to push the coat back, but even as he does, guilt pangs in his chest at the plea in Daredevil’s voice. After a few moments’ hesitation, he begrudgingly takes it and tugs it on. It’s a little loose on Matt, thankfully, so it’s only slightly too tight in the shoulders. “I’ve been through worse, you don’t need to--” worry about me, he thinks, and feels his jaw clamp around the words. He shapes his mouth back into a sheepish smile, softening his tone back into playful argument again. “I promise I won’t freeze to death.”
Matt can’t help a self-satisfied smile when Hope comments on the smell, even as he has to concentrate to not let it overwhelm him. “I’m glad you like it”, he says, doing his best to sound humble. “Let’s hope the flavours live up to it.”
The way Hope uses ‘Force’, the way others might invoke a god gives Matt something to think as they enter the building, a rediscovered awareness of the fact that they are from completely different universes. For a moment he considers bringing it up now, but then decides to wait, at least until they’re sitting down.
Hope laughs again. “I told you, I’m not picky. But I’m sure it’ll be fantastic.”
He has to consciously resist the urge to hurry them into the building, as excited as he is to sit down and eat. His stomach twists as he keeps his steady gait, pushing open the door with his free hand and holding it for Daredevil, as the smell of food washes over them, almost palpable. Still, he isn’t all lost; he notes a back door to the kitchen down a hallway with signs for bathrooms, and eight other souls amidst the dining room and bar. Nothing remarkable. He feels safe enough in letting his attention revert back to the subject at hand, without any real concern for a potential ambush.
Hope lets his arm slip away as they reach an empty table, circling it to pull out a chair and leaving Daredevil to sit opposite him. He slides the menu towards himself and scans over it quickly, hoping for any words he recognizes.
It’s... less helpful than he would like.
“Do you have any recommendations?” Hope asks, glancing up again. “I don’t really know what most of the menu means-- it might be gibberish, but I’ve only had the food here,” a slight pause on the word to indicate Aldebaran, “so I wouldn’t know.”
Matt wakes up from the buzz of his holophone next to him. Before he can even fully come to he knows it’s most likely Hope, a suspicion the mechanical voice of his phone confirms after he’s unlocked it. The texts are confusing, at first, but he doesn’t think about it too much and just makes his way towards the bathroom to start getting ready for whatever Hope has apparently planned for them.
In lieu of anything better to do he checks the news only to be surprised by the announcement of holiday celebrations. Perhaps he should stop being surprised by the things that do and don’t happen in Aldebaran but the apparent existence of winter holidays is a big surprise, one that sends a jolt of melancholy through him. A reminder of just how far from home he is.
Before he can think about it too much he concentrates back on getting ready, putting on the warmest clothes he can find in his wardrobe and makes his way outside after sending a quick “On my way” to Hope.
As soon as he leaves the residential building he’s glad for the decision, the feeling of cold winter air rushing into his face is shocking, especially with the fairly mild temperatures he’s experienced so far. The next thing he notices is the layer of snow and the snowflakes that are still falling. Thankfully not enough to counter his radar, but he’s still careful as he makes his way to the marketplace,
The smells of it are ever-so-slightly different, the wares having seemingly changed to reflect the season. There seem to be a large number of candles spread all over the place. It doesn’t feel particularly religious and much more like a regional holiday practice, but it doesn’t help the pang of homesicknes and guilt Matt feels. The guilt at least is an old holiday companion - he hasn’t been in church for years at this point, not even for christmas.
Listening for Hope’s heartbeat helps distract him and his face lights up once he’s reasonably certain that Hope can see him through the crowd. He doesn’t speed up too much, still very aware of the layer of snow on the ground, even if it hasn’t been long enough to be truly slippery just yet.
“Hey”, he says, once they’re close enough to each other to reasonably talk to each other, still smiling. Then his expression becomes more serious as he notices the shiver running through Hope’s body. “Did you not put on a jacket?”
It doesn’t take Matt too long to arrive-- less time than he expects, actually, since he wasn’t even sure if Matt was awake when he sent the text messages-- but Hope can already feel the chill settling into his skin through the fabric of his sweater. He could have gone back, probably-- he might have even run into Daredevil on the way-- but he can admit to himself that he’s too stubborn for that. Besides, it’s kind of nice. There’s a pleasantness to experiencing cold as just a sensation, heightening the vividness of the overall experience of winter an holiday, rather than something life-threatening. It’s not like he’s going to freeze to death in the middle of town.
The grin that spreads across Daredevil’s face, dimpling his cheeks, makes Hope forget the cold for a few seconds.
Despite himself, he beams back as he watches Matt make his way over. Hope doesn’t bother to be surprised that Matt has no trouble finding him-- although the question about his jacket does send him off-balance for a brief moment. “Hey,” he answers once they’re only a few feet apart. “Um, no. It’s fine, though.” Before that can warrant any further examination, he adds, “I got you breakfast.” He untucks the paper-wrapped croissant from underneath his arm (it is still reasonably warm, fortunately) and offers it.
He’s been lucky enough to never be assigned to one of the arctic planets, where they’d need to rely on their suit thermal stabilization just to survive-- where your life was measured in hours before you ran out of charge and went into shock in minutes. He’s heard stories-- Omega Squad’s run on Fest comes to mind, with all the dark comedy of their special-issue matte black armor. (Commandos don’t wish each other ill, of course, generally-- but there’s solidarity in appreciating the irony and black humor of the shit they all go through.)
And he has seen snow, or something like it-- the frozen gray sludge that falls on ruined industrial meteors in the Rim, or the torrential sleet of the cold season on Kamino. None of the examples that come to mind evoke anything like a positive response in him, from the memory of the toxic snow sizzling on his boots to the abrasions Kilo would come back with after their cuy’val dar had them run training exercises in the sleet.
Hope’s never seen anything like this, though, not with his own eyes. He spends a good few minutes with his face pressed up against the glass of his room, feeling his forehead and nose and palms turn to ice where they make contact, watching the snowflakes flutter past with a combination of awe and suspicion. It hadn’t ever occurred to him that snow might be nice, rather than just a peculiar cosmic spite inflicted on him to make any given bad situation worse. But the sheets of blue-white are pretty, laid out like frosting on a cake, except where they’re marred by rambling lines of footprints.
Hope can’t quite name the emotion he’s feeling, bubbling up in him at the view outside. He supposes it might be excitement.
He checks his phone each morning when he wakes up, reviewing the official news and protocol correspondence as well as checking the residency lists to note the changes; this morning, he’s up a little later than usual-- nearly 8am-- owing to the fact Daredevil hadn’t left his room last night until two or three in the morning. His legs and abdominals still ache a little from all the combined exercises of the previous day, but the sensation barely even registers.
The sun is already out, glimmering on the waves of white outside, by the time Hope really starts to assess the situation. To formulate a plan.
[txt] Meet me by the market
[txt] ?
[txt] When you’re up
Hope has bought a couple sweaters over the past few months to safeguard against the capricious weather (he still remembers being snowed in inside the Palilicium with only a t-shirt), but he still hasn’t quite gotten the knack for dressing for the weather without his suit to adjust the temperature for him. Standing in the center of Clwaelymh, tugging his thick scarf closer around his neck with gloved hands, he is beginning to suspect that one sweater over a regular shirt was not enough.
Maybe it’s a moral failing that he couldn’t convince himself to wait for Matt to show up before he started digging into one of the breakfast croissants he’d bought them. It was going to get cold, though, just like everything else out here, so it’s probably excusable. He keeps the other tucked underneath his arm in a vain attempt to keep it from freezing completely-- or maybe to steal the warmth for himself, if he’s being honest?-- and lets himself savor the fatty taste of warm cheese as he wanders, surveying the situation.
The farmer’s market seems to be a hub of activity in the brisk morning air: he can smell the scent of hot wax and perfume from the candle-making stalls, the smell of some kind of rich hot beverage (not coffee-- he can’t quite put a name to the flavor) sold at a stall nearby, the vaguely humanoid shapes of some of the snow piles nearby. He wonders if they’re all attached to actual cultural practices, or just more nonsense that the Ark has cooked up to keep them occupied. Whichever it is, Hope has to admit he is completely absorbed. His knowledge of the concept of ‘holiday’ was nothing more than a dictionary definition before arriving here: the general sense of festivity and cheer is almost surreal, particularly since he can’t really identify the object of the celebration. Candles, ostensibly.
It’s all fascinating.
Not fascinating enough for him to forget to mind himself. Hope senses Daredevil approaching before he hears him among the crowd of laughing voices and contented moods, and turns expectantly to look for him on the street.
Matt looks at Hope with an expression of mock surprise. “What, you can’t?” Then he laughs and bumps him back, leaning his shoulder against Hope’s for a moment until he can feel some of the dampness creep into the fabric of his shirt.
“Someone told me something was rat on my first day here and I remembered. If I’ve ever eaten rat it was unknowingly.” The hypothetical isn’t as unlikely as he hoped, so he decides not to dwell on it, especially since he realizes the proximity to various food smells for the past half hour has been making him pretty hungry. “It should come up on the left side soon, if you can tell from the exterior? About five houses from where we are.”
Daredevil’s shoulder is warm against his, and Hope is inexplicably breathless at the pressure of the touch. It feels... natural in a way that he can’t explain, despite the assumptions of only an hour ago, of the past few days he’s spent thinking that they might not even talk again. It would have been fine, he reminds himself. It’s just nice to be close to him again, after last time. That doesn’t mean so much, either.
“It took me a couple days to even make it to Crises, never mind start exploring, so I didn’t even know for a while. Happier days,” Hope jokes, while he tries to spot the building with Daredevil’s uncannily specific directions. “Yeah, I think I see it. ‘Redbelly’?“ He squints, although he knows his eyesight is perfect and he isn’t reading the sign wrong from this distance.
Hope guides them along to the other side of the street-- not like there are any vehicles to worry about, at least-- as they start approaching the restaurant. The smell of cooked meat is agonizing. “Force,” he mutters, more to himself than for Daredevil’s benefit. “That smells amazing.”
Matt can’t help but smile at the tone of Hope’s voice. “Not always by scent alone, but generally yes. It’s useful when one of your main ways of identifying things and people is scent and sound.” He doesn’t add that it’s also a learned skill, being able to recognize and name as many scents and flavors as he does, and that it’s one he primarily picked up to impress women.
Not that it doesn’t seem to be working on Hope as well.
“A lot of it is experience, though, especially with food. It’s supposed to taste a specific way to people and I’m not that different. I can just tell from further away.”
Hope’s smile grows-- maybe it’s just that Daredevil’s smile is infectious when it blooms across his face, maybe it’s that he can’t help but find the whole prospect a little fantastical. After a few moments he pulls his eyes away from Daredevil to search the street ahead, trying to pick out which of the buildings is the little restaurant he mentioned. While Daredevil can probably point it out once they’re there, Hope doubts he could offer much insight into what it looks like. He gives up after a few moments-- half the stone-faced buildings here look the same, or at least aren’t clearly marked enough for him to figure it out at a glance.
“So do you know how to identify what is and isn’t rat from experience, too?” he teases, looking over with a grin and bumping Daredevil’s arm with his elbow.
One positive thing that Delilah can say about the Ark is that it’s given her a bevy of new experiences. New sights, new food. New people. The food part entices the hungry street urchin in her, though. Even back home– when she was able to eat well, she did. And she ate well. Extravagantly and heartily, something that Breanna had always felt the need to point out, as charming as she seemed to find it.
The latest stop in her ongoing tour of new foods is a small shop that advertises something called… frozen yogurt. It looks similar to ice cream, which intrigues her. She knows she’s seen yogurt before, but… frozen?
She’s taken a long look at the menu, but she’s still uncertain. She casts her gaze around instead at the people sitting on the patio that looks out over the oceans of Nectar. There’s a man sitting alone, with a cup of frozen yogurt of his own. Hm.
Moments later, Delilah pulls out a chair and seats herself across from the man, a cup of frozen yogurt in her own hand.
“Would you say that this… frozen yogurt is good?” She asks without preamble.
Hope has never had frozen yogurt before. He’s actually had almost nothing frozen before: most of the food in Tranquility is cooked or baked fresh, hot out of the kitchen, and he’s been too busy methodically going restaurant by restaurant there to really break into the offerings of either Nectar or Crises.
And, considering the risk inherent in sampling the cuisine in the Sea of Crises-- risks he’d admittedly rather not consider in any detail-- it makes sense to move onto Nectar next.
Hope is leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on the table, enjoying the sea breeze as he carefully picks at his yogurt, spoonful by spoonful. It’s a shock with each mouthful, completely possessing his attention: at once smooth and cold and sharp and sweet. If he tried to eat more than a bite at once, with a generous amount of time in between to recover, he thinks he’d black out.
His preoccupation is intense enough that he doesn’t notice the woman approaching until she’s nearly already at the chair-- stupid, can’t be careless like that, especially with such an open and exposed location, plenty of vantage points on the nearby rooftops even if you disregard the small crowd closer by--
His face is calm, without a hint of the criticism storming underneath, as he raises his eyebrows at his new dining companion. He quickly yanks his train of thought back to more productive questions, like why she gives him the feeling of sitting across the table from a predatory reptile.
Hope considers her question, as he lets the last of the tang melt off his tongue. “I haven’t had it before,” he decides, “so this isn’t an informed opinion, but it might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten, so yes.”
The Sea of Crises, Hilda thought, was the place she was most likely to find some sort of shooting range, but also the place she was most likely to get scammed. Still, she hoped to find somewhere she could practice that wasn’t just and alley with some boxes and bottles. She was certainly used to practising out in the streets, but that was back in the Brume, and the Ark — even Crises — was for the most part peaceful enough that she didn’t want to disturb anyone, especially since she hadn’t seen anybody else use a gun.
The rat she found after asking around seemed shady and kept dodging questions, and — well, Hilda was not surprised when the shooting range he promised to take her to was, in fact, a familiar setup of old tins on equally old boxes. He even had the audacity to ask for payment, and although the credits may be meaningless, Hilda still refused to give him any on principle. If you’re going to scam people, you should at least put some effort into it.
Frankly, she expected to draw somebody’s attention sooner or later. She’s not using ammunition and firing aether (which, she discovered, is greatly weaker here on the Ark than it was back in her world) is a bit quieter, but it’s still rather loud, and Crises’ streets like to carry echoes in unpredictable ways. So, she’s not surprised when a stranger pops his head out from behind a building, even if she is a little annoyed that she didn’t hear him approach.
“Target practice, aye,” she says to his question. “Just bought my gun back the other day; thought I’d try and see if I remember how to use the thing.” As she speaks, she lifts her carbine a little to show it to him, barrel turned towards a wall. “Sorry if I alarmed you. You don’t seem like one what’s easily startled, but I don’t think I’ve heard a gun here before.”
The stranger is steady and calm, especially considering Hope apparently surprised her: one problem with reconnaissance is that when you break stealth, people tend to get jumpy when they don’t see you coming. She doesn’t seem especially threatened, which-- today at least-- is what he wants. Still, she hasn’t seen his rifle yet, so he makes sure to keep his movements relaxed as he steps out from around the corner. It takes some persuading to keep his rifle pointing down.
The gun she holds up looks... strange, like something you’d see in a museum. Not a blaster-- slug based? Bizarre. Hope can’t pretend he isn’t curious; and he hasn’t heard an accent like that before, either, even considering the universal translation that seems to be automatic here.
"Neither have I, until now,” he says, taking a few steps forward to close the distance without taking his eyes off her. “I figured it was a good idea to keep tabs on who’s armed, just in case.” In case, you know, they’re some kind of murderer or Separatist or something. He offers an easy grin. “Making sure the rats don’t have guns yet.”
Matt relaxes when Hope doesn’t comment and takes his arm properly. It takes him a moment to adjust, mentally, like he wasn’t aware that of course there would be a difference between letting himself be guided by Hope in comparison to Foggy. Or any of his former girlfriends. The slight dampness of Hope’s skin doesn’t help, adds another layer of strangeness to the situation, but it’s one he can adjust to faster as they begin walking.
“I was looking for a distraction, mostly.” It feels strange to think back to that moment even now, just half an hour later, now that most of the frantic energy has left his body. Matt laughs under his breath, more at himself than anything else. “It’s one of the busier parts in town so it’s a good place to be when I don’t want to think.”
Before a pause could give those words more meaning than he wants them to have, Matt focusses back on their actual objective. “If we go right at the next opportunity there should be a small restaurant coming up, I think they have…” the smell is hard to untangle, made even harder by the close proximity of other edible good. It also doesn’t fully smell like any particular direction of cuisine he can immediately identify. He frowns, slightly. “Grilled stuff, mostly, a few different kinds of meats and vegetables, I can’t quite identify the spices but it’s good. No rat, either.”
Hope snorts a laugh. He’s impressed, of course, that Daredevil can identify the smell with so much specificity-- he can faintly smell food, too, even meat, but beyond that he’ll have to take the expert’s word for it. Maybe he’ll get used to the things Daredevil is capable of, eventually.
"That’s always a good start. You can normally tell what spices are in something?”
Hope doubts he could even identify spices by taste, so this seems especially impressive. As they reach the end of the row of stalls, where the crowd thins out, Hope steers them onto the road, heading right as directed. From here he can smell the meat. He has to put some effort into containing his excitement at the prospect described: he definitely has not gotten used to having real food readily available yet, even after a couple months.
“Right…. I think I can do that.” Matt nods, slowly. He’s still not always sure what to expect from Hope so this is a surprise. The implication that Hope seems to actually want to spend time with him is one he doesn’t know how to deal with, so he doesn’t, pushes it aside like the dawning realization that this is theoretically a date - that he isn’t entirely sure how to count the number of theoretical dates they’ve had.
“I haven’t been to a lot of different places before, or know their names, but I can find something.” He’s confident as he says it, well-aware of his years of experience in this specific application of his heightened senses. The next thing he does also comes fairly naturally to him as he steps towards Hope’s side, reaching up with his hand for his arm.
“We can walk like this, if you don’t mind.” There’s some hesitation in his voice, uncertainty about how Hope will react after having seen some of the things he does as Daredevil. “It’s a secret identity thing, mostly”, he clarifies.
The gesture takes Hope aback-- he’s finding that Daredevil does that more and more, each time they spend time together. It’s not entirely unwanted. He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t vocalize his surprise, instead silently moving his arm so that Daredevil’s hand can hold it loosely. (It’s stupid, isn’t it, that such a small touch can make him feel light-headed? He half expects to feel the odd material of Daredevil’s glove against his arm-- then again, maybe it is the memory of fingertips on skin that’s nagging at him.)
(The hand on his arm also serves to remind him that he is still kind of wet. Nothing for it, though.)
“Okay,” Hope says, only a little amusement cutting through his tone. He doesn’t argue. He starts along the de facto walkway amidst the stalls, guiding them out of the way of the haggling birds nearby.
“I’m not picky, so anything will be fine. Were you looking for something?” He glances over to Daredevil, and starts to gesture to indicate around here with his free hand before he thinks better of it. “At the market?”
Matt’s smile turns into a grin at that. “How thoughtful, thank you.” His tone is still teasing, but Matt means it, genuinely caught off-guard by the gesture. He likes it, even if the consideration of his heightened senses isn’t something he particularly needs.
Before he can allow himself to get too wrapped up in the moment, he changes topic to something at least slightly more practical.
“I don’t know if you had anything particular in mind, but there’s a few stands selling street food that seem promising”, he suggests, still sounding friendly but without the teasing edge from before. “At least if you wanted something quick.”
Hope’s eyes linger on the grin that lights up Daredevil’s face beneath his glasses, and can’t help smiling back himself, letting out a quiet laugh before he shyly glances away to the stalls near them.
“I”m not in a rush. Just... hungry. You want to pick someplace?” Hope looks back over. “I’ve tried most of them, but I’ve never heard of most of the food.”
He’s not sure that the cuisine is from Earth, but half of Aldebaran seems to be, so Daredevil probably has a better shot at figuring something out than he does.
Hope hangs up and Matt lets the hand holding his phone drop to his side, excitement and nervousness bubbling up equally in his chest. Twenty minutes feel like both an eternity and no time at all at the same time. It’s definitely not enough time to get back to his room, so he spends his time aimlessly wandering the farmer’s market instead.
Even with the many distractions on offer, it’s hard to keep his mind from wandering and he keeps catching himself not paying attention to what a particular merchant is telling him at the time and instead trying to pick out a particular heartbeat among the many non-human ones surrounding him. Which is by all accounts a perfectly normal reaction to have, they did make plans after all. And if there’s a chance that Hope is arriving earlier than he said, he wants to be aware.
After a while he does pick out what he assumes to be Hope from the crowd. He pretends not to notice as Hope’s vitals even out, just barely at the periphery of his hearing. Did he run here?
When Hope addresses him, he turns towards him, not bothering to act surprised. “Hey.” He smiles and tilts his head slightly as he takes in the smell coming from Hope. “Did you fall into a river?” His voice moves towards teasing as he considers the uniquely damp smell coming from both Hope’s clothes and hair.
Even as prepared as he is, Hope’s breath catches for just a moment as Daredevil turns to look at him.
His smile winds up somewhere between bright and sheepish at the teasing. “I rinsed off on the way,” he explains, and he tone does come off about as nonchalant as he would like. He teases back, “You should thank me. I was training most of the morning.”
Hope can’t pretend not to be impressed that Daredevil can pick up a detail like that-- he’s only a little wet by now-- but it is a little hard for him to grasp exactly how his abilities work. He can take it on faith, though, without too much reflexive suspicion. (Still-- he’s relieved he did wash off some of the sweat, if Daredevil can pick up the smell of river water.)
The implicit invitation surprises Matt, but not in an unpleasant way and he can’t stop himself from laughing, lightly. “I’m at the farmer’s market right now, if you want to meet up”, he suggests, trying to sound casual but not completely able to hide the growing excitement in his voice. “Or somewhere else, if you have something specific in mind?”
Hope bites his lip to restrain any more dramatic response to the melodic sound of Daredevil’s laugh over the comm-- the sudden energy in his voice.
“The farmer’s market is perfect,” he says, rubbing his mouth with his palm, trying to hide the inexorable smile. (From who...?) “I’ll be there in twenty.”
He clicks the call closed, and lets out a slow breath that turns into a quiet half halfway through.
-
Hope said twenty minutes; it’s enough time for him to swing by the fresh springs on his way, so he can rinse off some of the sweat and dirt he’s accumulated over the past four or five hours, and wring his shirt out a few times to get rid of the worst of it. The day is warm enough that, between the breeze and sun filtering through the trees as he jogs back into town, he’s only a little damp by the time he makes it.
(He resists the urge to run, but it feels like if he doesn’t burn off some of the nervous energy before he gets to the market, he’ll... he doesn’t know what. Embarrass himself, probably.)
Hope runs a hand through his wet hair again (trying to smooth it into a presentable shape, as if it matters) as he walks. The farmer’s market is set up on the outskirts of town, with an array of little tents to shade the various wares and foodstuffs from the mid-day sun. Most of the attendance is bears and other denizens-- he sees a smattering of brightly-plumed birds, a couple tigers and rats-- so it’s pretty easy to pick Daredevil out of a crowd. Hope is almost surprised to see him in civvies, but then again, a quarter of his suit is still tucked away in Hope’s room.
Self-consciously, he evens out his breathing and heart rate as he picks a path through the light crowd to where Daredevil is browsing.
“Hi,” Hope says, once he’s close enough not to need to raise his voice over the noise of the crowd. He supposes that Daredevil probably would have heard him anyway. His voice is cheerful, relaxed in a way he doesn’t quite feel. “Thanks for waiting.”
Due to recent events on Tumblr, the mod team have begun considering moving Aldebaran Sea off the site. We have prepared a test site on a Jcink to give a more concrete example of what ADB would look like if it were forum-based. You can find the test site here.
However, before we make any decisions, we would like to hear from you.
→PLEASE FILL OUT THIS SURVEY.←
More detailed reasoning for this change is under the cut.
The seconds of pause before Hope speaks again feel like hours to Matt, stretching out endlessly especially with the lack of the usual telltale body signals that are too minute to be picked up by the phone.
When Hope finally does speak, he can’t help but let out a relieved breath. When Matt speaks again, after listening to Hope’s reply, there’s a smile on his face he can’t quite explain away. Maybe it’s okay.
“It’s not you it’s me?”, he offers, a slight hint of humour in his voice that he can’t help. “It’s… complicated. A religious thing, more than anything. Catholic guilt.” He wonders if Catholicism exists wherever Hope comes from. Presumably not.
“But yes, I want to.” His voice is still soft, but emphatic as he says it, none of the indecisiveness he was feeling three days ago left.
Hope doesn’t know what ‘Catholic’ means, but it doesn’t sound very fun. His grasp of religion is hazy at best: the Jedi Order is a religion(?), so the notion seems a little suspect. He, charitably, decides not to tick that under the column of ‘reasons why Daredevil might be a Jedi’, at least for now.
(Even adjacency to the thought of having this conversation with a Jedi-- well, he veers away from that thought very quickly.)
Hope runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment to try to corral his thoughts. The voice on the phone is soft, warmer now that he’s accepted the offer. It strikes Hope suddenly that Daredevil was worried; that thought hangs on longer than it has any right to, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it.
“Okay,” Hope says, and finds himself smiling, too. He pauses again-- unclear where to take the conversation next. “I was headed back into town to get lunch.” He doesn’t take on if you want to join me, but his tone trails off in a way that implies it.
“Right”, Matt says, slightly awkwardly. The strange tone of resignation isn’t what he was expecting from Hope and it makes something in his stomach curl up in a way he can’t seem to put in words. Part of him wants to reach out, as if they were actually standing next to each other.
He considers for a moment how to put his next point, suddenly aware of his own very public location. Not that he can do much about that now. “I can still offer though? To, uh…”, he falters, very aware of the large number of bears in his immediate proximity. “repay he favor?” There’s a decent amount of uncertainty in his voice as he offers, fully aware of the awkwardness of their current circumstances, so he quickly amends: "It’s just an offer. But I do mean it, if you want to think about it?”
Hope stops pacing all at once as Daredevil clarifies, hesitantly, what he means.
It seems a little melodramatic to say he’s stunned. But it’s sure as hell not what he was expecting. Hope had accepted the fact that Daredevil only seemed to be interested in one-sided fooling around-- regrettable, sure, but nothing to get too broken up over. Sometimes all people are looking for is to hook up-- it’s not the end of the world if that’s the only interest Daredevil has in him.
Even getting these texts was a surprise: Hope had assumed whatever this had been was finished, after Daredevil left that night.
So listening to his voice over the comm link, soft and uncertain and maybe hopeful, as he suggests there’s more to it than that-- it requires some reassessment.
“Oh,” Hope says, because he has to say something once the silence begins to stretch out into seconds. He finds himself blinking rapidly. In the cool forest air, his face feels warm. “If-- that’s what you want?”
Now Daredevil isn’t the only one who sounds so uncertain. Hope breathes out, slowly.
“I mean-- yes, I’d love to, but I didn’t think you were interested.”
Hope doesn’t sound as angry or upset as Matt had assumed from his texts, which is enough to let him release at least some of the tension he’s been holding.
“Hi.” There’s a breathlessness he isn’t expecting to his voice, as if he just ran across the marketplace. “I didn’t know what to say”, he admits after a moment to collect himself. “But I did want to talk to you.” His voice softens as he says it. “Just not while I was… I had a small crisis. I didn’t want to inflict the rest of that on you. I’m sorry I know I’ve been-” a few choice words come to mind immediately. “An ass. On multiple occassions.”
I did want to talk to you, Daredevil says, and Hope breathes out involuntarily, like the words hit him in the chest. Can he hear him, even over the phone, Hope wonders-- if his heart beat faster listening to him explain, would Daredevil know?
It’s a moot point, he reminds himself. It doesn’t matter.
His fingers flex, then curl, then flex, in measured, careful movements. An exercise in how much control to exert, how much stress to release, to ensure a smooth movement each time. It gives his eyes something to focus on as he listens to Daredevil’s voice.
Hope doesn’t respond for a moment. This isn’t-- what he expected, and he finds he doesn’t know what to say, either.
“Maybe,” he says, breathing out a chuckle with the words, like a reflex. “It’s-- really okay. You don’t owe me anything.” He stares down at his palm, watching it relax out of a curled fist. “You shouldn’t worry about it.”
