Mike slips into the lecture hall as unobtrusively as he can, but still he notices the eyes that would ordinarily pass over him in a second lingering for that little bit longer, watching him with undisguised interest before being dragged away. He wonders whether Matt notices that. He hopes not.
He holds Matt’s cane above the ground to avoid the telltale sound of it touching the hard floor of the room. It isn’t quiet in there, the class hasn’t started yet and the room is filled with the chatter of dozens of voices discussing their plans for the weekend. He scans the room quickly, his eyes sweeping from left to right, over the heads of the students, Matt’s - his - classmates. He keeps his head completely still as he looks, with his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses, all anybody will see is Matt starting at the door to the lecture hall. He locates Foggy a couple of rows ahead, dictaphone in his hand, inexpertly experimenting with the buttons.
Mike can’t help but roll his eyes as he slides into the first seat on the back row. In his haste to blend into the background before Foggy turns round and notices him, he allows his carefully maintained facade to slip just slightly, neglecting to locate the chair with his cane, or to check that it was unoccupied before sitting down. It was a sloppy move, one that someone watching him might have noticed even without having suspicions. Luckily, all the eyes have now turned away.
He places the bag on the desk in front of him and pulls out Matt’s laptop. As he does, he keeps his gaze firmly focussed on the back of Foggy’s head three rows below him. It helps him to resist the urge to look down at what he is doing. When the laptop is in position and switched on, he breaks character again, just for a moment, to visually check that the volume is turned down before the screenreader starts broadcasting his every keystroke to the room. That done, he calls up the word processing program. Again he has to look at the screen for that, and use the tracking pad instead of the hotkeys. There is no way around that; he doesn’t know the shortcuts. He makes a mental note to learn them, ready for next time.
He gets lucky again, nobody appears to notice. Not that they would, he doesn’t expect many of them to be familiar with the details of how Matt uses his computer. The only student who might realistically be able to realize something is wrong is sitting too far in front of him to see. When it comes to actually making the notes, this won’t be a problem, he thought himself to touch type years ago, not long after Stick’s next level training had begun. He had thought himself to do a lot of things without vision, and over the years it had come very useful.
Mike pulls up hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and slouches in his seat, hoping that he looks suitably sick, as he awaits the start of the class. Nerves minge with excitement at the prospect of being there. He will never be able to do this for real, but just for today, maybe longer depending on how long Matty is stuck in bed, he can pretend.
***
In retrospect, Foggy realizes, he should have asked Matt how the dictaphone worked before he took it out with him. He had assumed it would be easy to figure out, and probably it is, but he would hate to do it wrong and accidentally erase something Matt needed. He pushes a few buttons experimentally, making sure that they do what he expects them to do. Suddenly, loud enough to be heard easily in the room filled with pre-class chatter, the voice of another professor giving a class from the week before begins to play.
Panicked, Foggy stops the sound, then glances around the room, red cheeked and apologetic, so see how many people are staring at him. That is when he notices Matt on the back row. His head is covered by a green hoodie pulled right up so that it partially obscures his face. He slouches in his seat, the bottom of his face hidden behind the screen of his laptop, but it in unmistakably him.
Foggy stares in his direction, in disbelief. Part of his wants to get up, march to the back of the room and ask him what the hell he thinks he is doing. The other part realizes that that is a stupid idea. If Matt decided he felt well enough to go to class, that was his business. Of course, if he decided he didn’t trust his roommate not to mess up the recording of the class, that was… he looked at the item in his hands and sighed. That might be accurate, now he thought of it.
He glances at Matt again, feeling a little guilty for staring at him without his knowledge. He looks paler even than he had in the dorm room as he raises a hand to his mouth and coughs quietly before pulling a kleenex from his pocket and blowing his nose a little too theatrically. Foggy’s eyes narrow, is Matt wearing makeup? He can’t tell for certain from this distance, and it could be the glow of his laptop on his face, but he is sure that he can see a marked difference between the skin tone on his face and neck, like he hadn’t blended properly.
Well, of course he hadn’t, the guy couldn’t see what he was doing. He was probably trying to make himself look better and wound up doing the opposite. Foggy sighed and turned back to the dictaphone as the professor entered the room. If Matt fell asleep halfway through or was too sick to concentrate, he still would appreciate a recording.
Re: Where Matt has a real identical twin named Mike who is sighted and is Daredevil
He holds Matt’s cane above the ground to avoid the telltale sound of it touching the hard floor of the room. It isn’t quiet in there, the class hasn’t started yet and the room is filled with the chatter of dozens of voices discussing their plans for the weekend. He scans the room quickly, his eyes sweeping from left to right, over the heads of the students, Matt’s - his - classmates. He keeps his head completely still as he looks, with his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses, all anybody will see is Matt starting at the door to the lecture hall. He locates Foggy a couple of rows ahead, dictaphone in his hand, inexpertly experimenting with the buttons.
Mike can’t help but roll his eyes as he slides into the first seat on the back row. In his haste to blend into the background before Foggy turns round and notices him, he allows his carefully maintained facade to slip just slightly, neglecting to locate the chair with his cane, or to check that it was unoccupied before sitting down. It was a sloppy move, one that someone watching him might have noticed even without having suspicions. Luckily, all the eyes have now turned away.
He places the bag on the desk in front of him and pulls out Matt’s laptop. As he does, he keeps his gaze firmly focussed on the back of Foggy’s head three rows below him. It helps him to resist the urge to look down at what he is doing. When the laptop is in position and switched on, he breaks character again, just for a moment, to visually check that the volume is turned down before the screenreader starts broadcasting his every keystroke to the room. That done, he calls up the word processing program. Again he has to look at the screen for that, and use the tracking pad instead of the hotkeys. There is no way around that; he doesn’t know the shortcuts. He makes a mental note to learn them, ready for next time.
He gets lucky again, nobody appears to notice. Not that they would, he doesn’t expect many of them to be familiar with the details of how Matt uses his computer. The only student who might realistically be able to realize something is wrong is sitting too far in front of him to see. When it comes to actually making the notes, this won’t be a problem, he thought himself to touch type years ago, not long after Stick’s next level training had begun. He had thought himself to do a lot of things without vision, and over the years it had come very useful.
Mike pulls up hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and slouches in his seat, hoping that he looks suitably sick, as he awaits the start of the class. Nerves minge with excitement at the prospect of being there. He will never be able to do this for real, but just for today, maybe longer depending on how long Matty is stuck in bed, he can pretend.
In retrospect, Foggy realizes, he should have asked Matt how the dictaphone worked before he took it out with him. He had assumed it would be easy to figure out, and probably it is, but he would hate to do it wrong and accidentally erase something Matt needed. He pushes a few buttons experimentally, making sure that they do what he expects them to do. Suddenly, loud enough to be heard easily in the room filled with pre-class chatter, the voice of another professor giving a class from the week before begins to play.
Panicked, Foggy stops the sound, then glances around the room, red cheeked and apologetic, so see how many people are staring at him. That is when he notices Matt on the back row. His head is covered by a green hoodie pulled right up so that it partially obscures his face. He slouches in his seat, the bottom of his face hidden behind the screen of his laptop, but it in unmistakably him.
Foggy stares in his direction, in disbelief. Part of his wants to get up, march to the back of the room and ask him what the hell he thinks he is doing. The other part realizes that that is a stupid idea. If Matt decided he felt well enough to go to class, that was his business. Of course, if he decided he didn’t trust his roommate not to mess up the recording of the class, that was… he looked at the item in his hands and sighed. That might be accurate, now he thought of it.
He glances at Matt again, feeling a little guilty for staring at him without his knowledge. He looks paler even than he had in the dorm room as he raises a hand to his mouth and coughs quietly before pulling a kleenex from his pocket and blowing his nose a little too theatrically. Foggy’s eyes narrow, is Matt wearing makeup? He can’t tell for certain from this distance, and it could be the glow of his laptop on his face, but he is sure that he can see a marked difference between the skin tone on his face and neck, like he hadn’t blended properly.
Well, of course he hadn’t, the guy couldn’t see what he was doing. He was probably trying to make himself look better and wound up doing the opposite. Foggy sighed and turned back to the dictaphone as the professor entered the room. If Matt fell asleep halfway through or was too sick to concentrate, he still would appreciate a recording.