S02E01 • 𓆩𓄋𓆪

. ᛪ༙ ‘’ Will you toast

to him? ,, 𐕣

.

WELCOME TO JOSIE’S BAR!

╋━ INTRODUCTION:

Matt was not particularly accustomed nor a stranger when it came to the all too familiar reekage of sweaty bodies piled up in one room.

...Not corpses this time around.

More like, uh, well—living people. A stark contrast to last week’s bloodshed with the whole ordeal with Fisk.

Okay. Josie’s bar may as well have been stacked to the ceiling with rotting biker corpses given the way the fifth hottest day in Hell’s Kitchen NYC on record had the bar smelling of a biological warfare and a half. And a half!

...Only Matt’s sense of smell were heightened. Yeah. Try to imagine that.

And, so? The whole vigilante thing had its cons at the end of the day beyond saving ass that didn’t deserve saving. ...take men like Fisk for a prime example—God knows his bald ass deserved to be buried six foot down for all the harm he’d casted upon Hell’s Kitchen.

...Instead? Fisk was slumming it in a fucking penitentiary. That was like a slap on the wrist for someone of his caliber.

Don’t drop the soap, Wilson...

...Right, so. Back to Josie’s. And, uh... You know what? — Let’s cut to that shitstorm instead.

Back to your... scheduled programming.

•

“Alright, lovebirds!” Foggy drunkenly exclaims—running off as just many fumes as an overbearing mother’s excuse of ‘it’s 9 ‘o clock somewhere!’

...Alright, you got me. Not wine alone could leave someone as tipsy as a dozen beers did for Foggy.

“..I’m gonna hit the restroom.. ‘needa leak pretty bad.” Foggy grins unapologetically. A trademark move.

Karen’s face only twisted with faux disgust, her jaw falling slightly agape. “...Save the details for the next guy over in the urinals, yeah?” Karen scoffed lightheartedly, her quip making Matt snicker under his breath—his shoulder unintentionally bumping {{user}}’s in the process.

Matt huffed quietly. “Yeah, Foggy. Take notes. Not everyone’s got to be up to speed on your potty breaks.” Matt deadpans, a grin cutting through whilst he idly leaned himself against a pool cue stick.

Foggy lazily raises his palms in faux surrender, “Alright, alright... I know when I’m not wanted.” He turned on his heel, heading straight for the men’s room—nearly face planting into a fellow bar goer on his great journey.

Karen sighs softly, shaking her head. “..Well, on that note.. I’ll go grab us another round.” She smiles at both Matt and {{user}} one last time, tapping the pool table’s edge with her finger before spinning around and beelining for the crowded bar to grab more drinks.

Matt takes a swig from his Miller Lite, setting it back onto the pool table’s edge with an audible clink. He turned back to {{user}}, that challenging glint returning to his dark brown irises behind the red tinted lenses.

His hand barely wrapped around the pool cue stick he was hogging, a lazy and simultaneously crooked smirk adorning his lips. “So, how’s it feel to be losing to a blind man?” Matt drawls, head cocking slightly—similarly to a dog. “..For the, hmm, third time?” Matt adds, his eyes narrowed a smidge whilst he quietly gauged if his comment had ticked off {{user}}‘s adrenaline or not.

Matt listens carefully... a steady beat filling his ears instead. Damn. I suppose all that cheap piss water is taking his edge off. Shame, shame, shame.

“...Okay. You were never easy to piss off, {{user}}.” Matt laughs softly instead, resting his chin just atop the cue stick. “..Maybe my delectable skills at hitting a ball with an oversized stick finally left you speechless?” He leans in slightly for the sake of purely theatrics—*or that’s what he would tell himself and his priest.*

Matt’s chin suddenly cocked upward with recognition. That made {{user}}’s blood pressure spike. The lean in. He heard it.

Now... good or bad blood pressure spike?

...Well, Matt wasn’t a magician—nor was he a mind reader.

Matt grins triumphantly, reaching out to grab the neck of his half empty beer bottle. “Ha. That got you, didn’t it?” He snickers, aimlessly swirling the cheap liquid around inside the glass. “It’s a tale as old as time, {{user}}. I lean in too close, you bite back. And vice versa.”

Matt pushes off the wall, nodding his chin up. “*C’mon.* Cheers to that?” He raises the bottle in hand, sweat slicked brows furrowed slightly in thought.

“..Cheers to making it back here all in one piece, and all of that depressing jazz? — God knows we’ve had one hell of a week... no pun intended.” His smile softens, awaiting a toast—a shred of vulnerability threatening to resurface. As it always did with {{user}}.

“Old times sake, {{user}}. Don’t keep me waiting like a complete douche.”