[ Friday nights at Josie's are more of a ritual for the firmโ for Foggy, Karen, and him. Sometimes he's able to make it, other times he has to bail with a poor, semi convincing, excuse on his lips as he spends his night being somebody else, somebody a little too close to his skin that makes him feel comfortable. Tonight, despite his open bruises hidden behind glasses and a smile, he has made an appearance.
Foggy and Karen are, first of all, elated. Worried, as always, but elated.
Matt shares that enthusiasm, has to hide the overstimulation taking over his body deep down at the different smells, the sounds, of so many people inside the bar. He's become used to muffling it out, focusing on a handful of comforting, familiar, sounds to make the experience better until he's a little buzzed. He's halfway bent over a pool table, Karen standing by with an amused sort of smile watching him and Foggy watching tensely as he lines up his shot.
Then, in the time it takes for him to feel the displaced air and the jingle of the door opening, he hears itโ her heartbeat. He's heard it edge a similar pace to this when the fight as over, when he'd been able to gather his wits and realize she had powers. And if it isn't the heartbeat, it's her smell that gives her away, even as she wanders into the distinct scent of Josie's with all the intent of getting a drink at the bar.
'Uh, Matt?' Foggy says, watching him angle his head minutely to the side before he purposely fumbles his turn. Everybody groans and Matt looks sheepish, because it's not like he could see which balls were his, right? And his punishment? Getting a round of drinks for everyone up at the bar. He makes a show of him putting the billiard down โ a halfway fumble that Foggy affectionately grabs โ before making his way over to the barโ right up to where Daisy's sat herself. ]
[ It's been a long, boring day, and Daisy Johnson desperately needs a drink. There are still a few days left of her torturous shore leave before she can at least start working on some network upgrades, and she'd resorted to spending her time as a tourist just for something to do. Times Square where she'd seen an assortment of costumed Avengers taking selfies; Central Park where she'd watched an amateur theater performance recounting the Battle for New York; Brooklyn where she'd followed a walking tour of Steve Rogers' life. She's exhausted from trying to kill time.
The dive bar she steps into has terrible ratings online, which is half the reason she chose it. Those ratings go back far enough that it's clear the place is for locals only, which is something she's ready to embrace after feeling like an outsider in the city. And as she steps into the building, it certainly doesn't disappoint. Everything's worn and lived in, maybe a little dirty if you look too closely in the dim lighting, but it's all charming in its own way. She especially likes the strands of lights hung around the ceiling and the pool table and pinball machine tucked in the back.
Settling in an open seat at the bar, she catches the attention of the woman behind the bar (Josie, she's guessing), who gives her the briefest acknowledgment before going back to cleaning a glass. She can't help but smile to herself; the older woman will mosey on over eventually, but in the meantime, she can enjoy the slightly grimy ambiance of this fine establishment.
The man who comes up beside her catches her attention with the way he moves, the vibrations of each action feeling just slightly different from everyone else. She turns her head to look at him, the air around her shifting as her long hair falls over her shoulder, bringing her smell closer to him. Lemon from her shampoo, coffee that she drinks too much of every day, the leather of her jacket, and a hint of lubricating oil from the mechanical keyboard she'd meticulously cleaned and rebuilt earlier in the week. Her eyes scan him up and down, taking in the glasses that would make a person nearly blind in the dimly lit room — unless they already were.
Having lived and worked with people with various disabilities for years now, she knows better than to outright ask if he needs any help. He'd made his way to the bar without too much trouble, as far as she can tell, which means he's probably more familiar with the place than she is. But she still feels like she needs to say something to make sure he knows she's there and is aware of him. ]
You staying or just visiting? [ It's perhaps not her best opening line. ]
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no subject
Foggy and Karen are, first of all, elated. Worried, as always, but elated.
Matt shares that enthusiasm, has to hide the overstimulation taking over his body deep down at the different smells, the sounds, of so many people inside the bar. He's become used to muffling it out, focusing on a handful of comforting, familiar, sounds to make the experience better until he's a little buzzed. He's halfway bent over a pool table, Karen standing by with an amused sort of smile watching him and Foggy watching tensely as he lines up his shot.
Then, in the time it takes for him to feel the displaced air and the jingle of the door opening, he hears itโ her heartbeat. He's heard it edge a similar pace to this when the fight as over, when he'd been able to gather his wits and realize she had powers. And if it isn't the heartbeat, it's her smell that gives her away, even as she wanders into the distinct scent of Josie's with all the intent of getting a drink at the bar.
'Uh, Matt?' Foggy says, watching him angle his head minutely to the side before he purposely fumbles his turn. Everybody groans and Matt looks sheepish, because it's not like he could see which balls were his, right? And his punishment? Getting a round of drinks for everyone up at the bar. He makes a show of him putting the billiard down โ a halfway fumble that Foggy affectionately grabs โ before making his way over to the barโ right up to where Daisy's sat herself. ]
no subject
The dive bar she steps into has terrible ratings online, which is half the reason she chose it. Those ratings go back far enough that it's clear the place is for locals only, which is something she's ready to embrace after feeling like an outsider in the city. And as she steps into the building, it certainly doesn't disappoint. Everything's worn and lived in, maybe a little dirty if you look too closely in the dim lighting, but it's all charming in its own way. She especially likes the strands of lights hung around the ceiling and the pool table and pinball machine tucked in the back.
Settling in an open seat at the bar, she catches the attention of the woman behind the bar (Josie, she's guessing), who gives her the briefest acknowledgment before going back to cleaning a glass. She can't help but smile to herself; the older woman will mosey on over eventually, but in the meantime, she can enjoy the slightly grimy ambiance of this fine establishment.
The man who comes up beside her catches her attention with the way he moves, the vibrations of each action feeling just slightly different from everyone else. She turns her head to look at him, the air around her shifting as her long hair falls over her shoulder, bringing her smell closer to him. Lemon from her shampoo, coffee that she drinks too much of every day, the leather of her jacket, and a hint of lubricating oil from the mechanical keyboard she'd meticulously cleaned and rebuilt earlier in the week. Her eyes scan him up and down, taking in the glasses that would make a person nearly blind in the dimly lit room — unless they already were.
Having lived and worked with people with various disabilities for years now, she knows better than to outright ask if he needs any help. He'd made his way to the bar without too much trouble, as far as she can tell, which means he's probably more familiar with the place than she is. But she still feels like she needs to say something to make sure he knows she's there and is aware of him. ]
You staying or just visiting? [ It's perhaps not her best opening line. ]