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Ivan meets GI Joe!
Logfile of Vesper and Daredevil.
Logfile from Project Infinity.
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Today's Weather:
The wind whips silently thru the streets and concrete canyons, smacking flesh like a blast from an open freezer. The scuff of dirty snow drifts under the wind's whip, blocking the visibility of drivers and pedestrians alike. The sky above is clear and blue, but the hunched and scurrying pedestrians don't stop to admire and everyone else is inside where it's warm.
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Vesper
Six feet tall and nerdly-pale, with silver wire-rimmed circular glasses and sparkly bluish silver lipstick and the most damnably impractically long black hair ever, Vesper's always a fairly striking figure. Her hair hangs down to mid-thigh, and usually remains braided; there's a streak of bright green at one temple and a streak of deep blue at the other.
She's wearing a tight-fitting white mock-Oxford shirt with a checkered necktie, a pair of bright orange boot-cut trousers that ride rather low on her hips, black rubbed-out combat boots, and a soft black sweater with a hood and pockets; it zips up the front. Her hands are scarred.
Daredevil
Dark red leather, or a material that greatly resembles it, covers this man from head to foot. The colour is uniform, darker than blood, seeming almost black under shadowed lighting. The man himself is about six feet tall, an athletic build suggested where leather hugs to his form. Gloves meld almost seamlessly with the jacket, which is zipped up the front, parting to a rising collar which shields the back of his neck but leaves the throat slightly exposed. A mask covers his head, smooth red leather leaving only the lower half of his face uncovered - a strong chin and a day's worth of dark stubble. The mask is relatively plain, without eyeholes - some black, semi-reflective material shapes two glaring eyes instead, contours of leather suggesting a frown. Two very short, blunt horns are sculpted at the forehead.
The boots are sturdy, rising to just below the knee, buckled straps marching up the sides. A belt of the same dark red hides the join of jacket and pants; a loop of leather is fashioned into a kind of holster for what looks like a short staff of some kind, not more than a foot long.
High on the left side of the chest is a small, embossed symbol, two interlinked upper-case Ds.
Badlands
Southland Drive leaves the City Circle to the north and begins to work its way though the thick urban development that has earned the name "The Badlands" by city residents. Huge towering housing projects, like monolith of steel and stone, cast long shadows over slum ridden side streets. Old hotels, once the pride of a grow city, are worn down and broken, serving as low income housing or rented by the hour. The side streets off of Southland are narrow, broken affairs, with the occasional burned out lot along the side standing as mute testament to the problems this area has. Many businesses lie empty and abandoned, the economic boom blessing much of the rest of the city seeming to leave this area untouched. Southland continues south, working its way free of the stagnating currents of too many people living in too small an area.
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The current virtual time is: Fri Mar 14 20:17:39 2003.
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It's nighttime. Never a good time to zizz through the Badlands. Add to the time of day that it's also fricking cold out and anyone dumb enough to be out in the first place has to be bundled practically immobile, and the fact that most people who zizz through the Badlands do it in cars that have *heat*, and you get a fairly frozen scooter-riding tall girl who looks like the abominable snowman. Oh she's tempted to run the red light here, but she already got warnings about the cops and she can't quite stomach the idea of bribing them to fail to ticket her. So Vesper stops, putting one cold foot down on the asphalt and adjusting her gloves fumblingly -- and then the engine stalls. "Merde."
It's turning out to be a pretty quiet night, attacks by psychopathic teenagers aside, and Daredevil is pacing Vesper along the rooftops purely out of boredom when her scooter stalls. He pauses, crouching at the edge of the roof above, watching the girl outlined in engine noise. She's...tall.
She certainly is. And she's also magnificently irritated. With a vicious turn of the key, Vesper tries to start the engine again. "Avance! Come on, you stupid--" Rih rih rih rih rih, goes the starter. Rih rih rih. "Argh." A glance around - no one in the immediate vicinity. Good. She gets off the Lambretta and wheels it over to the sidewalk, muttering things that sound vaguely obscene, then drops the kickstand and fumbles with the latch on the back compartment. "Sonofabitch."
No one in the *immediate* vicinity, no. But there's a group of drunken guys two streets over and somebody who thinks he's stealthy two blocks up, and that's too many potential threats for Daredevil to be happy with. He sighs, rolls his eyes unseen behind the mask, and jumps off the roof. A couple of complicated catches and spins are executed on the way down, and then he lands crouched about half a block down from Vesper and her stranded scooter. The thump is quiet, but by no means silent.
Typically for Vesper, the thump of Daredevil's landing happens at the same time as she's thumping the metal just below the latch on the back of the scooter, which remains the absolute best way to open the damn thing. And then she's pulling out an enormous Maglite and biting off her one glove, scowling. She completely did not notice the leather-guy behind her. "I swear! I treat you so well, only the best care - you betray me in the *cold*. Were you one of my cigarettes in a past life, Lucinda? Were you? Is this why you do this to me? You can be such a bitch." Oblivious-girl, Vesper.
Lucinda? Daredevil smirks briefly, and remains crouched, watching in his way. Will she notice? Any second now. Surely. She'll notice any second now. Who is he kidding? Standing, he remarks, "If the muggers didn't know you were there before, they do now." Way to curse at your scooter in public.
Well, Lucinda's the scooter's *name*. Straightening and spinning on one booted heel, holding the flashlight as though it were a crowbar, the girl's wide green eyes -- are, er, obscured by prescription goggles. The effect is something like she's a really big bug with a huge army parka. And a Maglite. "...don't /scare/ me like that! Christ on a pogo stick!" Sounds Canadian. "It's not like the whole fucking neighborhood couldn't hear me stall, anyway." French-Canadian. "Do you have a cellphone? I forgot to charge mine." There's a pause, and she straightens further. "Aren't you cold?"
Cellphone...actually he does, because there *are* pockets, but he's not about to get it out just so this girl can call a garage or something. Daredevil doesn't react much to the indignance, just standing there. The goggles took him a second to figure out. "It's lined." Because leather alone would be just freezing. "Are you gonna throw that at me?"
"No, dumbass, it's a flashlight. I need to see what I'm doing if I'm going to get this thing running. If you don't have a cellphone, I mean. Except even if you do, nevermind, because he hasn't been around and I don't want to teleport out and leave Lucinda here, she'll turn up missing bigtime. But he hasn't been around anyway. So nevermind. Are you just gonna stand there in your lined leather and watch, or what?" That was all in one breath, and delivered conversationally, with an accompanying minor kick at one tire when the scooter's name was mentioned. Vesper reaches up and pushes the goggles up on her head, and reaches into her parka pocket as she's talking to pull out her glasses, one-handed. They get put on, and the flashlight gets twisted to life.
Behind the mask, Matt blinks. Huh. "Unless you need help diagnosing the problem." Wonder who 'he' is. Little early in their acquaintance to ask. He moves a little closer, and if Vesper kicks the scooter again, he'll watch the sound dissipate through the machine, checking for anything loose or cracked. Just in case.
"No, I know what the problem is. The problem is Lucy here thought if we went south she'd be nice and toasty. Silly bitch didn't notice we're still far enough north that the cities are /evil/ with cold. But you can hold the flashlight! That way I have two halfway-functional hands, and maybe I can pretend the two of them together make one warm one." Vesper's holding the flashlight out with one hand and digging in the back compartment with the other, then dragging out a little toolbag. "So why are you dressed like that? There a club around here I didn't know about? Not that it'd be too hard. For me to not know about it yet, I mean."
"If you have to ask that, you haven't been in this city long." Daredevil steps forward, though, to take the flashlight. It's like a kind of spell Vesper casts, it's bizarre. Sure, I'll hold your flashlight, goggle lady, I wasn't patrolling the night or anything.
"Well, I'm trying to figure out if you're a fetishist, a superhero, or a two-bit villain with a devil hardon. And implying the leather and bondage thing generally gets the best responses," explains Vesper, crouching down next to the scooter and holding the toolbag under the light for a second, clanking about a bit. She pulls out a plastic-handled screwdriver and reaches up with her other hand to position the flashlight, then begins poking around inside. Apparently the screwdriver's being used as a ten-foot pole at the moment. Of sorts, anyway. "And no, not *that* long, but long enough. Couple months, anyway. How long've you been here?"
It's difficult for Daredevil to aim the flashlight, so Vesper's assistance is appreciated. He does manage to keep it very still, if that's useful. "Must be all of two weeks now. You get used to the place quickly." His own accent is much harder to place, Hell's Kitchen schooled out of his voice by college years.
Not that Vesper's much with placing accents anyway. The stillness is very useful! She pokes deeper into the vehicle's side, finally graduating from crouch to genuflect, and pulls off her other glove. "Two weeks, huh? You don't go around dressed like that in the daytime, do you? I keep hearing it's a really bad idea. I mean, like, hi! Target! You know? People don't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock if you look weird, generally, but if you wear a /costume/ that means that you /expect/ trouble. I think, anyway. You don't need an observational philosophy lecture, sorry. Point it about five centimeters to the left?"
The flashlight beam moves exactly five centimetres to the left. Which takes some concentration and internal geometry, so it's a moment before Daredevil says, "I don't dress like this in the daytime." His slight smile is more audible than it is visible, and looks all wrong with the fierceness of the mask's expression anyway. "I feel like I should comment about your goggles at this point."
"Feel free to! I'm actually pretty proud of 'em. The frames are vintage RAF leather and steel, and I got the lenses done prescription /and/ anti-flare. Ace for driving in, rotten for close work because of bulk. And thanks, that's perfect," she says, trailing off a little as she pokes fingers in between metal parts and squints, hunching up. "Oho. Little bastard /wire/!"
Oh, good, she found the problem. "They're nice," Daredevil offers, after a moment. He's not really sure what Vesper looks like, but she sounds like she might be pretty, and that's good enough for him. "Will you be able to fix it out here?"
"It came loose again. I couldn't see it - hold on a second." Obscene mutterings from Goggle Girl. "My *hands* won't *work* right!" she wails, "it's too COLD. I can fix it, I can fix it - just - gnnf." Sitting back on her heels, Vesper starts breathing on her hands a lot. And working them. "And thanks! About the goggles, I mean. Not a proper Mod, but *some* of the style's good enough for me. Hands'll work in a second, I promise."
"I'll do it if you tell me what to do," Matt offers, hardly believing the words he can hear himself saying. He can feel through lined leather well enough for delicate work. "Mine are working now."
And the big V doesn't even need a charm power like Remy! "Ooh, really? Okay. There's a black wire in among a bunch of others, different colors, but it's the only black one. Its end is - mm. I can point it out? One end's come loose of the screw again, it's gotta be unscrewed and stuck back behind and then screwed in again. Here, I can hold the flashlight."
Um. 'The black one'. Heh. Daredevil passes the flashlight over, just hoping he can pick out the wire with the loose end. "...this one?" Aha, a screw, okay. Screwdriver is applied. "This happen a lot?"
"Only when I *really* don't want it to. Oh, you *rule*!" Happy happy Vesper! "I ought to just weld the damn thing on. Thing is, if I did, the starter solenoid would go. And that's harder to fix and more annoying because I'd have to send away for the part. Where did you get your outfit? Think I could get a pair of gloves like yours? I could use usable hands." Pause. "You're ridiculously well-built. Unless that's the lining."
Yet again, Daredevil can't help but grin. At least this time he's faced away from Vesper, who is doing serious damage to his creature-of-the-night credibility. "That's me. Largely. And thank you." There's no really cool way to twiddle a screwdriver, is there? "I'll look into it, if you like." Gloves, that is.
If there is one, it's positive Daredevil just managed it. "Gloves? Or lining? And anytime. Hey, by the way," says the girl as she's getting up and switching the flashlight off, "I'm Vesper Antagonist. If you ever need any computer foo done, look me up at the university. I owe you one."
"That's the best name I have ever heard in my life." Daredevil pats the scooter, affectionate now that he's made it better, and offers the screwdriver back to Vesper again. "I'll bear that in mind. I'd tell you my name, but it'd defeat the object of the whole costume thing."
Okay, that gets a /really/ big grin from Vesper. "Thanks! I mean, about my name. Half the people I tell don't believe me." The screwdriver gets fumbled back into the toolbag, and bag and Maglite both get put back in the back compartment of the Lambretta. "And that's cool, I dig. Feel free to make up a name, though. I mean, when I don't feel like arguing about my parents' crackheadedness - they're not, just eccentric - I give a made-up name. Plus that way you get to pick one you like instead of having the one you were saddled with at birth."
"I like the one I started out with. But the newspapers back home liked to call me Daredevil." And he didn't exactly object, judging by that little 'DD' logo on his chest. Matt can't help smiling again. "Are you always this friendly?"
"Unless you hack my servers, yeah," affirms the girl, tugging her gloves back on and taking off her glasses. She puts them back in her pocket and grins again; she's the kind where it's definitely audible. "Daredevil, eh? That'd be the DD, then. Oh and hey, look me up anyway, okay? If you can't find anything under my real name, check under Holly Maimon, because that's the one I use when I'm tired of arguing." She's getting back on the scooter, pulling the goggles down again. It's, you know, /cold/.
A light shrug. "Sure I will." He will, too, though probably under the pretext of needing something accessibility-related from the university. Daredevil finds the lawyer thing needs more complicated equipment than the superhero thing. "Don't go by Aveline. There's a fight about to break out down there." Yeah, it's a few streets away. He's not showing off.
"...wow. Okay," blinks Vesper, putting one foot down as she kicks up the kickstand. "Is that like Spider-Senses but not evil? Because Spider-Man's evil. Or did you just come from there?" Notice she doesn't disbelieve. Oy. A couple /months/ she's been here? Maybe she just has phenomenal luck.
Hey. "It is not like Spider-Senses. That guy gets all the damn attention." Daredevil doesn't want press attention, exactly, but jeez, Spider-Man this and Spider-Man that. Stupid Daily Bugle. "I have good ears, that's all."
"Well, that's *better* than Spider-Senses. I mean, sheesh. You're about to get hit in the head by a piano. You suddenly have a burst of gut-wrenching panic. At least that's how I think it's supposed to work. So while there's this piano falling on your head you're all like, oh my god, something terrible is about to happen to me. _So_ not useful." There's a pause, and Vesper turns the key - this time, the engine sputters for a second and then roars to life. "Yay! And besides, attention's bad. I mean, if you're a crimefighter. I *like* attention."
"It's a matter of principle." Daredevil grimaces very briefly when the engine starts up, but at least it's not Harley-Davidson loud. He'll survive. "Spider-Man is overrated. Even where he's not evil."
Not even close to Harley-Davidson loud. But it /does/ go vroom. There's a grin and Vesper's eyebrows lift; she leans back slightly. "If it's any consolation at all, your costume is /much/ better. Leather, rowr."
Again that smile, at odds with the mask. A lopsided, self-satisfied kind of smile, but not without its charm. "Actually, that makes me feel much better. Thanks."
Vesper, she likes that smile. Another grin, but it's quickly stifled. "Hey - again, anytime. Do you need a ride somewhere or are you all good with your prowly rooftop thing? I mean, if that's what you're doing. Generally. Obviously not right now since you're down here."
"You know, I would, but I think I've compromised my mysterious and enigmatic cool enough just by messing with the engine. I'll look you up, promise." Daredevil does *not* intend to get on that damn bike. "Want me to follow you, or are you okay now?"
"Nah, you've just added 'practical' and 'even more manly' to the mysterious and enigmatic. And yeah, do! And no, I'm cool now, I mean, unless you didn't screw it in well enough. But I positive-jinxed that by adding 'even more manly'. So I should be fine." Vesper holds out a hand, both feet flat on the ground and other hand on one handlebar. "Thanks a lot!"
The hand is accepted, red leather feeling distinctly cold. Daredevil is still smiling, because she's flattering him and he's a sucker for ego-stroking. "Hey, you're welcome. Yell if you want me. I'm like Superman without the tights."
Part of the motion is Vesper pulling the hand toward her, then wrenching around slightly and lifting her head up - all a natural sequence - and she goes to kiss him, once on each cheek. "Ears are that good? /Wow/. I'll try it."
...well now. Matt needs a shave, and he probably smells mostly of leather. And there's that grin again, and he holds onto Vesper's hand rather longer than he has to. "I'd be obliged. Drive safely, Vesper."
"Will!" Vesper grins, and as soon as she has her hand back it's on the other handlebar. She kicks off and revs, and then she's away - the exhaust isn't as bad as that of a Harley, either. Vroom.
What a cool girl. Wonder what she *looks* like. Entirely pleased, this encounter having made up for any amount of being stalked by Connor, Daredevil climbs swiftly back up to the roof again so he can watch Vesper's departure.
Logfile from Project Infinity.
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Today's Weather:
The wind whips silently thru the streets and concrete canyons, smacking flesh like a blast from an open freezer. The scuff of dirty snow drifts under the wind's whip, blocking the visibility of drivers and pedestrians alike. The sky above is clear and blue, but the hunched and scurrying pedestrians don't stop to admire and everyone else is inside where it's warm.
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Vesper
Six feet tall and nerdly-pale, with silver wire-rimmed circular glasses and sparkly bluish silver lipstick and the most damnably impractically long black hair ever, Vesper's always a fairly striking figure. Her hair hangs down to mid-thigh, and usually remains braided; there's a streak of bright green at one temple and a streak of deep blue at the other.
She's wearing a tight-fitting white mock-Oxford shirt with a checkered necktie, a pair of bright orange boot-cut trousers that ride rather low on her hips, black rubbed-out combat boots, and a soft black sweater with a hood and pockets; it zips up the front. Her hands are scarred.
Daredevil
Dark red leather, or a material that greatly resembles it, covers this man from head to foot. The colour is uniform, darker than blood, seeming almost black under shadowed lighting. The man himself is about six feet tall, an athletic build suggested where leather hugs to his form. Gloves meld almost seamlessly with the jacket, which is zipped up the front, parting to a rising collar which shields the back of his neck but leaves the throat slightly exposed. A mask covers his head, smooth red leather leaving only the lower half of his face uncovered - a strong chin and a day's worth of dark stubble. The mask is relatively plain, without eyeholes - some black, semi-reflective material shapes two glaring eyes instead, contours of leather suggesting a frown. Two very short, blunt horns are sculpted at the forehead.
The boots are sturdy, rising to just below the knee, buckled straps marching up the sides. A belt of the same dark red hides the join of jacket and pants; a loop of leather is fashioned into a kind of holster for what looks like a short staff of some kind, not more than a foot long.
High on the left side of the chest is a small, embossed symbol, two interlinked upper-case Ds.
Badlands
Southland Drive leaves the City Circle to the north and begins to work its way though the thick urban development that has earned the name "The Badlands" by city residents. Huge towering housing projects, like monolith of steel and stone, cast long shadows over slum ridden side streets. Old hotels, once the pride of a grow city, are worn down and broken, serving as low income housing or rented by the hour. The side streets off of Southland are narrow, broken affairs, with the occasional burned out lot along the side standing as mute testament to the problems this area has. Many businesses lie empty and abandoned, the economic boom blessing much of the rest of the city seeming to leave this area untouched. Southland continues south, working its way free of the stagnating currents of too many people living in too small an area.
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The current virtual time is: Fri Mar 14 20:17:39 2003.
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It's nighttime. Never a good time to zizz through the Badlands. Add to the time of day that it's also fricking cold out and anyone dumb enough to be out in the first place has to be bundled practically immobile, and the fact that most people who zizz through the Badlands do it in cars that have *heat*, and you get a fairly frozen scooter-riding tall girl who looks like the abominable snowman. Oh she's tempted to run the red light here, but she already got warnings about the cops and she can't quite stomach the idea of bribing them to fail to ticket her. So Vesper stops, putting one cold foot down on the asphalt and adjusting her gloves fumblingly -- and then the engine stalls. "Merde."
It's turning out to be a pretty quiet night, attacks by psychopathic teenagers aside, and Daredevil is pacing Vesper along the rooftops purely out of boredom when her scooter stalls. He pauses, crouching at the edge of the roof above, watching the girl outlined in engine noise. She's...tall.
She certainly is. And she's also magnificently irritated. With a vicious turn of the key, Vesper tries to start the engine again. "Avance! Come on, you stupid--" Rih rih rih rih rih, goes the starter. Rih rih rih. "Argh." A glance around - no one in the immediate vicinity. Good. She gets off the Lambretta and wheels it over to the sidewalk, muttering things that sound vaguely obscene, then drops the kickstand and fumbles with the latch on the back compartment. "Sonofabitch."
No one in the *immediate* vicinity, no. But there's a group of drunken guys two streets over and somebody who thinks he's stealthy two blocks up, and that's too many potential threats for Daredevil to be happy with. He sighs, rolls his eyes unseen behind the mask, and jumps off the roof. A couple of complicated catches and spins are executed on the way down, and then he lands crouched about half a block down from Vesper and her stranded scooter. The thump is quiet, but by no means silent.
Typically for Vesper, the thump of Daredevil's landing happens at the same time as she's thumping the metal just below the latch on the back of the scooter, which remains the absolute best way to open the damn thing. And then she's pulling out an enormous Maglite and biting off her one glove, scowling. She completely did not notice the leather-guy behind her. "I swear! I treat you so well, only the best care - you betray me in the *cold*. Were you one of my cigarettes in a past life, Lucinda? Were you? Is this why you do this to me? You can be such a bitch." Oblivious-girl, Vesper.
Lucinda? Daredevil smirks briefly, and remains crouched, watching in his way. Will she notice? Any second now. Surely. She'll notice any second now. Who is he kidding? Standing, he remarks, "If the muggers didn't know you were there before, they do now." Way to curse at your scooter in public.
Well, Lucinda's the scooter's *name*. Straightening and spinning on one booted heel, holding the flashlight as though it were a crowbar, the girl's wide green eyes -- are, er, obscured by prescription goggles. The effect is something like she's a really big bug with a huge army parka. And a Maglite. "...don't /scare/ me like that! Christ on a pogo stick!" Sounds Canadian. "It's not like the whole fucking neighborhood couldn't hear me stall, anyway." French-Canadian. "Do you have a cellphone? I forgot to charge mine." There's a pause, and she straightens further. "Aren't you cold?"
Cellphone...actually he does, because there *are* pockets, but he's not about to get it out just so this girl can call a garage or something. Daredevil doesn't react much to the indignance, just standing there. The goggles took him a second to figure out. "It's lined." Because leather alone would be just freezing. "Are you gonna throw that at me?"
"No, dumbass, it's a flashlight. I need to see what I'm doing if I'm going to get this thing running. If you don't have a cellphone, I mean. Except even if you do, nevermind, because he hasn't been around and I don't want to teleport out and leave Lucinda here, she'll turn up missing bigtime. But he hasn't been around anyway. So nevermind. Are you just gonna stand there in your lined leather and watch, or what?" That was all in one breath, and delivered conversationally, with an accompanying minor kick at one tire when the scooter's name was mentioned. Vesper reaches up and pushes the goggles up on her head, and reaches into her parka pocket as she's talking to pull out her glasses, one-handed. They get put on, and the flashlight gets twisted to life.
Behind the mask, Matt blinks. Huh. "Unless you need help diagnosing the problem." Wonder who 'he' is. Little early in their acquaintance to ask. He moves a little closer, and if Vesper kicks the scooter again, he'll watch the sound dissipate through the machine, checking for anything loose or cracked. Just in case.
"No, I know what the problem is. The problem is Lucy here thought if we went south she'd be nice and toasty. Silly bitch didn't notice we're still far enough north that the cities are /evil/ with cold. But you can hold the flashlight! That way I have two halfway-functional hands, and maybe I can pretend the two of them together make one warm one." Vesper's holding the flashlight out with one hand and digging in the back compartment with the other, then dragging out a little toolbag. "So why are you dressed like that? There a club around here I didn't know about? Not that it'd be too hard. For me to not know about it yet, I mean."
"If you have to ask that, you haven't been in this city long." Daredevil steps forward, though, to take the flashlight. It's like a kind of spell Vesper casts, it's bizarre. Sure, I'll hold your flashlight, goggle lady, I wasn't patrolling the night or anything.
"Well, I'm trying to figure out if you're a fetishist, a superhero, or a two-bit villain with a devil hardon. And implying the leather and bondage thing generally gets the best responses," explains Vesper, crouching down next to the scooter and holding the toolbag under the light for a second, clanking about a bit. She pulls out a plastic-handled screwdriver and reaches up with her other hand to position the flashlight, then begins poking around inside. Apparently the screwdriver's being used as a ten-foot pole at the moment. Of sorts, anyway. "And no, not *that* long, but long enough. Couple months, anyway. How long've you been here?"
It's difficult for Daredevil to aim the flashlight, so Vesper's assistance is appreciated. He does manage to keep it very still, if that's useful. "Must be all of two weeks now. You get used to the place quickly." His own accent is much harder to place, Hell's Kitchen schooled out of his voice by college years.
Not that Vesper's much with placing accents anyway. The stillness is very useful! She pokes deeper into the vehicle's side, finally graduating from crouch to genuflect, and pulls off her other glove. "Two weeks, huh? You don't go around dressed like that in the daytime, do you? I keep hearing it's a really bad idea. I mean, like, hi! Target! You know? People don't give two tugs of a dead dog's cock if you look weird, generally, but if you wear a /costume/ that means that you /expect/ trouble. I think, anyway. You don't need an observational philosophy lecture, sorry. Point it about five centimeters to the left?"
The flashlight beam moves exactly five centimetres to the left. Which takes some concentration and internal geometry, so it's a moment before Daredevil says, "I don't dress like this in the daytime." His slight smile is more audible than it is visible, and looks all wrong with the fierceness of the mask's expression anyway. "I feel like I should comment about your goggles at this point."
"Feel free to! I'm actually pretty proud of 'em. The frames are vintage RAF leather and steel, and I got the lenses done prescription /and/ anti-flare. Ace for driving in, rotten for close work because of bulk. And thanks, that's perfect," she says, trailing off a little as she pokes fingers in between metal parts and squints, hunching up. "Oho. Little bastard /wire/!"
Oh, good, she found the problem. "They're nice," Daredevil offers, after a moment. He's not really sure what Vesper looks like, but she sounds like she might be pretty, and that's good enough for him. "Will you be able to fix it out here?"
"It came loose again. I couldn't see it - hold on a second." Obscene mutterings from Goggle Girl. "My *hands* won't *work* right!" she wails, "it's too COLD. I can fix it, I can fix it - just - gnnf." Sitting back on her heels, Vesper starts breathing on her hands a lot. And working them. "And thanks! About the goggles, I mean. Not a proper Mod, but *some* of the style's good enough for me. Hands'll work in a second, I promise."
"I'll do it if you tell me what to do," Matt offers, hardly believing the words he can hear himself saying. He can feel through lined leather well enough for delicate work. "Mine are working now."
And the big V doesn't even need a charm power like Remy! "Ooh, really? Okay. There's a black wire in among a bunch of others, different colors, but it's the only black one. Its end is - mm. I can point it out? One end's come loose of the screw again, it's gotta be unscrewed and stuck back behind and then screwed in again. Here, I can hold the flashlight."
Um. 'The black one'. Heh. Daredevil passes the flashlight over, just hoping he can pick out the wire with the loose end. "...this one?" Aha, a screw, okay. Screwdriver is applied. "This happen a lot?"
"Only when I *really* don't want it to. Oh, you *rule*!" Happy happy Vesper! "I ought to just weld the damn thing on. Thing is, if I did, the starter solenoid would go. And that's harder to fix and more annoying because I'd have to send away for the part. Where did you get your outfit? Think I could get a pair of gloves like yours? I could use usable hands." Pause. "You're ridiculously well-built. Unless that's the lining."
Yet again, Daredevil can't help but grin. At least this time he's faced away from Vesper, who is doing serious damage to his creature-of-the-night credibility. "That's me. Largely. And thank you." There's no really cool way to twiddle a screwdriver, is there? "I'll look into it, if you like." Gloves, that is.
If there is one, it's positive Daredevil just managed it. "Gloves? Or lining? And anytime. Hey, by the way," says the girl as she's getting up and switching the flashlight off, "I'm Vesper Antagonist. If you ever need any computer foo done, look me up at the university. I owe you one."
"That's the best name I have ever heard in my life." Daredevil pats the scooter, affectionate now that he's made it better, and offers the screwdriver back to Vesper again. "I'll bear that in mind. I'd tell you my name, but it'd defeat the object of the whole costume thing."
Okay, that gets a /really/ big grin from Vesper. "Thanks! I mean, about my name. Half the people I tell don't believe me." The screwdriver gets fumbled back into the toolbag, and bag and Maglite both get put back in the back compartment of the Lambretta. "And that's cool, I dig. Feel free to make up a name, though. I mean, when I don't feel like arguing about my parents' crackheadedness - they're not, just eccentric - I give a made-up name. Plus that way you get to pick one you like instead of having the one you were saddled with at birth."
"I like the one I started out with. But the newspapers back home liked to call me Daredevil." And he didn't exactly object, judging by that little 'DD' logo on his chest. Matt can't help smiling again. "Are you always this friendly?"
"Unless you hack my servers, yeah," affirms the girl, tugging her gloves back on and taking off her glasses. She puts them back in her pocket and grins again; she's the kind where it's definitely audible. "Daredevil, eh? That'd be the DD, then. Oh and hey, look me up anyway, okay? If you can't find anything under my real name, check under Holly Maimon, because that's the one I use when I'm tired of arguing." She's getting back on the scooter, pulling the goggles down again. It's, you know, /cold/.
A light shrug. "Sure I will." He will, too, though probably under the pretext of needing something accessibility-related from the university. Daredevil finds the lawyer thing needs more complicated equipment than the superhero thing. "Don't go by Aveline. There's a fight about to break out down there." Yeah, it's a few streets away. He's not showing off.
"...wow. Okay," blinks Vesper, putting one foot down as she kicks up the kickstand. "Is that like Spider-Senses but not evil? Because Spider-Man's evil. Or did you just come from there?" Notice she doesn't disbelieve. Oy. A couple /months/ she's been here? Maybe she just has phenomenal luck.
Hey. "It is not like Spider-Senses. That guy gets all the damn attention." Daredevil doesn't want press attention, exactly, but jeez, Spider-Man this and Spider-Man that. Stupid Daily Bugle. "I have good ears, that's all."
"Well, that's *better* than Spider-Senses. I mean, sheesh. You're about to get hit in the head by a piano. You suddenly have a burst of gut-wrenching panic. At least that's how I think it's supposed to work. So while there's this piano falling on your head you're all like, oh my god, something terrible is about to happen to me. _So_ not useful." There's a pause, and Vesper turns the key - this time, the engine sputters for a second and then roars to life. "Yay! And besides, attention's bad. I mean, if you're a crimefighter. I *like* attention."
"It's a matter of principle." Daredevil grimaces very briefly when the engine starts up, but at least it's not Harley-Davidson loud. He'll survive. "Spider-Man is overrated. Even where he's not evil."
Not even close to Harley-Davidson loud. But it /does/ go vroom. There's a grin and Vesper's eyebrows lift; she leans back slightly. "If it's any consolation at all, your costume is /much/ better. Leather, rowr."
Again that smile, at odds with the mask. A lopsided, self-satisfied kind of smile, but not without its charm. "Actually, that makes me feel much better. Thanks."
Vesper, she likes that smile. Another grin, but it's quickly stifled. "Hey - again, anytime. Do you need a ride somewhere or are you all good with your prowly rooftop thing? I mean, if that's what you're doing. Generally. Obviously not right now since you're down here."
"You know, I would, but I think I've compromised my mysterious and enigmatic cool enough just by messing with the engine. I'll look you up, promise." Daredevil does *not* intend to get on that damn bike. "Want me to follow you, or are you okay now?"
"Nah, you've just added 'practical' and 'even more manly' to the mysterious and enigmatic. And yeah, do! And no, I'm cool now, I mean, unless you didn't screw it in well enough. But I positive-jinxed that by adding 'even more manly'. So I should be fine." Vesper holds out a hand, both feet flat on the ground and other hand on one handlebar. "Thanks a lot!"
The hand is accepted, red leather feeling distinctly cold. Daredevil is still smiling, because she's flattering him and he's a sucker for ego-stroking. "Hey, you're welcome. Yell if you want me. I'm like Superman without the tights."
Part of the motion is Vesper pulling the hand toward her, then wrenching around slightly and lifting her head up - all a natural sequence - and she goes to kiss him, once on each cheek. "Ears are that good? /Wow/. I'll try it."
...well now. Matt needs a shave, and he probably smells mostly of leather. And there's that grin again, and he holds onto Vesper's hand rather longer than he has to. "I'd be obliged. Drive safely, Vesper."
"Will!" Vesper grins, and as soon as she has her hand back it's on the other handlebar. She kicks off and revs, and then she's away - the exhaust isn't as bad as that of a Harley, either. Vroom.
What a cool girl. Wonder what she *looks* like. Entirely pleased, this encounter having made up for any amount of being stalked by Connor, Daredevil climbs swiftly back up to the roof again so he can watch Vesper's departure.