8581/A Law Unto Themselves

A Law Unto Themselves
Date of Scene:	07 November 2021
Location:	Josie's Bar
Synopsis:	Matt and Meg catch up on work.
Cast of Characters:	Meggan Puceanu, Matthew Murdock

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Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Josie's isn't the office, but it works plenty well for the blonde Tuath de Danaan masquerading as a normal girl. She hasn't been in Hell's Kitchen in a few weeks thanks to a climate summate she attended, university classes, the whole business with rescuing people from Belle Rive no one knows about. Hopefully no one. Not even Matt can save them from Amanda Waller.

Nothing like a few drinks and a phone call to check in on work. It's not like she loafs on requests Foggy or Matt send, operating digitally, digging into the world of legal libraries and the like.

Matthew Murdock has posed:
Matt has cut down on the alcohol for the most part. Once there was a time he'd be in here every weekend, celebrating victory and commiserating about failure. The booze didn't always leave behind the most gentle and understanding guy, though, so it eventually became a sometimes habit and then something just for the rarest of occasions. He never quite managed to quit entirely, but that's probably because of Communion wine. If it was good enough for the Church, it was good enough for Matt Murdock.

He nurses a sweating glass of bear in his hand, drumming his fingers on it. He doesn't look at the television, instead his ear is turned towards it as he picks out the finest details from the sounds plinking through old cathode ray tubes. The warmth of the screen means he can almost feel the movement of the images based on their eerie glow. He's glad Josie never upgraded to an LED screen.

A brief sniff of the air, and he turns towards Meggan. All under the guide of happenstance, of course.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Josie's bottom line might suffer for the lack of a regular. Makes up for it with the neighbourhood being better for it, and still having a friendly face at the door, right?

So there it is. A place of satisfying darkness wrapped around a scarred table where the platinum-blonde slides her way through. The deep gold of her hair is washed out, eyes jade and not emerald. Small hints of warning, just that, at the malleable nature. Things some notice, and one probably won't, but she's brimming with life all the same underneath. A drink is a rarity here, but she pauses at the bar before joining Matt: "Cider, please." Won't happen to be more than apple juice and fizz to her, but it's nice.

"Fancy catching you here, Mr. Murdock. You mind a guest?"

Matthew Murdock has posed:
"Meggan," says Matt with a faint smile, lifting his head again to turn an ear to her, "You're a bit far from a lighthouse in Gotham. But the more the merrier. Pull up a pew."

He nudges a chair out from under the table with his foot, taking a sip of his drink again as he does so.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Matt?" The hesitation is small, a tacit implication of asking his permission to be on a first name basis. Such a small thing, really. "I go to Columbia. Not nearly as far as you'd think, though to back home, I might as well be jettin' off to Paris."

Ah, the British and their charming ideas of distance. 80 miles away is a whole day trip instead of 'I reached the end of the suburbs.'

She glances about briefly in case a pew happens to actually be there. If not, then her pause becomes more pronounced and she hooks a finger under the chair, sliding it to the table. The bottle she brings with her has a glass, one she probably won't use. "How have you been? Not too terrible a workload? Or is work sancrosanct and here we mustn't speak of it?"

Matthew Murdock has posed:
"We try not to talk about it too much unless we've had a big win," Matt says with a chuckle, "There's enough to talk about in office hours, which stretch from 'crack of dawn' to 'ah shit, Quiznos is closed.' But in answer to your question, things have been fine. Been tied up with a string of small claims a mild long, and tearing strips off this Metahuman Insurance Act. All that can wait until tomorrow, though."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Then we can hope for a win, aright? Make the most of it at any rate." She tips her bottle lightly to her lips and watches Matt, clearly missing the Quiznos reference. "Quiz what? That a law firm or an office? I don't catch it." A hint of a wan smile widens back to its usual buoyant shine around the apple bright.

She tilts her head and blows out a breath. "That act's a right mess. Bad enough they would have a no-fault clause. Such madness."

Matthew Murdock has posed:
"Subway sandwiches. Lived off them in law school and never shook the habit."

Matt takes another thoughtful sip of his own, shrugging his shoulders in response to the criticism about a certain act.

"They're just rushing it out as a band-aid for all this destruction. With the Avengers living here and Spider-Man swinging around, they figure New York will be a good testbed. Work out the kinks, take it federal. Makes sense in theory, but it doesn't benefit mom and pop and their shattered storefront. It's more about making sure Oscorp Tower or Roxxon get a free renovation whenever Captain Flying Brick gets thrown through the lobby."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meg puts down the bottle of cider, having quenched a bit of a thirst and felt the apple blossoming in a sea of dry spice on her lips. The quizzical tilt of her head becomes a matter of fascination, and she laughs. "Is that what a hoagie is? Sub sandwich? Count it as something learned. I'm not too much for sammiches, but I lived off cheese toasties as a kid."

She leans easily into the table, mindful of her strength, laughing softly. "Not sure their idea's so sound. You give the people with the most means to repair things, that's not so helpful. Insurance always pays out to the chaps with the most barristers. Bit rich trying to imagine the smallest businesses on high street getting enough coin together for a legal case when they've lost their income."

Matthew Murdock has posed:
"And therein lies the rub, as they say. Luckily, the loyal opposition are working on revisions that might make the act more about cleaning up the damage than letting the fatcats rake in the coin. But we'll see."

He downs the last of his beer, pushing the glass to one side and laying his hands out flat on the table. Beneath his fingertips he reads the million and one stories the worn wood can tell, head tilted back as he does so. Just an idle tick.

"But like all things legal, that's hours of work and thousands of dollars in pro bono work away."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Anything you need, if it's digging about records or hauling boxes, just say? My courses aren't that heavy right now. Figure I could use with the distraction, right about." Meggan ruminates over that with a lazy smile, the corner of her lips curling a bit higher. The open-shut case of the cider being tasty causes her to sip a little more, quite unable to resist. "Point being, it can't be a cash grab for someone like Damage Control. Just fleecing the wrong sorts, there, you know?"

She very well mirrors his movements, Matt's hands put down and hers naturally falling into place without conscious effort. Such is the nature of being an empath, sometimes things happen as a reflection.

"Isn't that the best part though? Helping others?"

Matthew Murdock has posed:
"I'm wounded that you'd question it," Matt answers, grinning, "If I wanted to rake in the money, there are a lot more lucrative jobs than hanging up a shingle in Hell's Kitchen."

He lets out a slight sigh and pushes up to his feet, crooking his elbow slightly for Meggan to take it.

"Walk me to a cab?"