The city sounds different from above. Sounds that should be distinct begin to blur a little around the edges and blend into the background, while those that he would normally filter out without even thinking about it when he doesn't need them, such as the sound of the wind blowing between the buildings, suddenly becomes one of the defining features of the city's soundscape.
He knows his corner of the city well from ground level, but this perspective feels like discovering it anew; like suddenly experiencing high definition. He has done this before, of course, but it has been a long time; too long. Like a forgotten piece of music from his childhood suddenly rediscovered, it takes him back in his mind; to nights when he had crept out unnoticed into the city when the nuns thought he was sound asleep; to days spent exploring with Mike in the sun, pushing the limits of what either of them should be able to do.
He takes a deep breath. The air tastes different so high up, the pollution diluted by the expanse of openness before him. The sun beats down hard on the back of his head, bringing with it the distinctive but subtle scent of heated concrete from the buildings around him. He closes his eyes, and corrects his posture before breathing out slowly, releasing the anger and the frustration in the way that he had been taught. It has been a long time too, since he had taken the time to meditate, and he realizes now that that had been a mistake.
***
When he feels as though he has centered himself enough to reduce his anger to a more manageable level. He takes a final, cleansing breath before turning his body so that his feet no longer dangle hundreds of feet above the street below.
He stands on the ledge, the tips of his toes right up to the edge, and feels completely safe. He can’t help but wonder whether his lack of fear is down to some inmate courage or simply to the fact that he cannot see the drop below him He can sense it though; the expanse of emptiness below him, but he understands exactly what his body is capable of and what it's limitations are. He could no more fall from here than he could from the curb while crossing the street. No matter what anyone else might think.
He dismisses that thought as he takes a step backward, bending his knees as he drops the three feet to the roof of the building. Mike had never said that about him. He had never implied that Matt was less than capable of looking after himself. All he had done was try to look after him, like a big brother was supposed to do; make a sacrifice, put himself second.
Somehow, that feels worse. If it had been about his ability to look after himself, Matt could prove him wrong. As it is, there is nothing he could do. Mike is as stubborn as he is, it is a trait they had inherited from their father, and once he makes his mind up about something, no amount of reasoning will change his mind.
Which, now he thinks of it, is probably part of the reason that he is still refusing to admit his existence to Foggy.
Matt runs to the opposite end of the building and leaps back up onto the ledge, using it as a springboard to jump to the fire escape of the neighboring building. He grips the rail with both hands and swings himself around to plant his feet firmly but almost soundlessly on the on the metal platform. He climbs down and begins to make his way back to the dorm with a quick stop to pick up his cane on the way.
When he walks back into the dorm room an hour or so later, he finds Foggy still in bed. The banana that he had left for him has been opened, half eaten and left on the table by his bed, the water and the aspirin were gone.
He crosses the room swiftly and opens the window. The smell of the banana masks the one of stale booze that had permeated the air that morning, but it isn't much better.
As the cool air begins to filter into the room, Foggy, stirs a little. He flings an arm dramatically over his face and groans.
"Morning." Matt smiles.
Foggy groans again, reaches for his glass of water and turns it upside down over his mouth to capture the last few drops. "How the hell are you up and about already? You had at least as much to drink as I did."
It helps if you're not the person that was actually doing to drinking, but it's easier not to go down that route again, especially not right now. Besides, Mike hadn't been exhibiting any signs of a hangover either. Matt opens the mini fridge and retrieves a bottle of water, he drops it onto Foggy's stomach and forces a grin. "I guess you're just a lightweight, he says.
Re: Where Matt has a real identical twin named Mike who is sighted and is Daredevil
He knows his corner of the city well from ground level, but this perspective feels like discovering it anew; like suddenly experiencing high definition. He has done this before, of course, but it has been a long time; too long. Like a forgotten piece of music from his childhood suddenly rediscovered, it takes him back in his mind; to nights when he had crept out unnoticed into the city when the nuns thought he was sound asleep; to days spent exploring with Mike in the sun, pushing the limits of what either of them should be able to do.
He takes a deep breath. The air tastes different so high up, the pollution diluted by the expanse of openness before him. The sun beats down hard on the back of his head, bringing with it the distinctive but subtle scent of heated concrete from the buildings around him. He closes his eyes, and corrects his posture before breathing out slowly, releasing the anger and the frustration in the way that he had been taught. It has been a long time too, since he had taken the time to meditate, and he realizes now that that had been a mistake.
***
When he feels as though he has centered himself enough to reduce his anger to a more manageable level. He takes a final, cleansing breath before turning his body so that his feet no longer dangle hundreds of feet above the street below.
He stands on the ledge, the tips of his toes right up to the edge, and feels completely safe. He can’t help but wonder whether his lack of fear is down to some inmate courage or simply to the fact that he cannot see the drop below him He can sense it though; the expanse of emptiness below him, but he understands exactly what his body is capable of and what it's limitations are. He could no more fall from here than he could from the curb while crossing the street. No matter what anyone else might think.
He dismisses that thought as he takes a step backward, bending his knees as he drops the three feet to the roof of the building. Mike had never said that about him. He had never implied that Matt was less than capable of looking after himself. All he had done was try to look after him, like a big brother was supposed to do; make a sacrifice, put himself second.
Somehow, that feels worse. If it had been about his ability to look after himself, Matt could prove him wrong. As it is, there is nothing he could do. Mike is as stubborn as he is, it is a trait they had inherited from their father, and once he makes his mind up about something, no amount of reasoning will change his mind.
Which, now he thinks of it, is probably part of the reason that he is still refusing to admit his existence to Foggy.
Matt runs to the opposite end of the building and leaps back up onto the ledge, using it as a springboard to jump to the fire escape of the neighboring building. He grips the rail with both hands and swings himself around to plant his feet firmly but almost soundlessly on the on the metal platform. He climbs down and begins to make his way back to the dorm with a quick stop to pick up his cane on the way.
When he walks back into the dorm room an hour or so later, he finds Foggy still in bed. The banana that he had left for him has been opened, half eaten and left on the table by his bed, the water and the aspirin were gone.
He crosses the room swiftly and opens the window. The smell of the banana masks the one of stale booze that had permeated the air that morning, but it isn't much better.
As the cool air begins to filter into the room, Foggy, stirs a little. He flings an arm dramatically over his face and groans.
"Morning." Matt smiles.
Foggy groans again, reaches for his glass of water and turns it upside down over his mouth to capture the last few drops. "How the hell are you up and about already? You had at least as much to drink as I did."
It helps if you're not the person that was actually doing to drinking, but it's easier not to go down that route again, especially not right now. Besides, Mike hadn't been exhibiting any signs of a hangover either. Matt opens the mini fridge and retrieves a bottle of water, he drops it onto Foggy's stomach and forces a grin. "I guess you're just a lightweight, he says.