[He's managed to find himself an alley to hide away in. The whole block is a mess; the riot's inevitably going to draw the attention of the Administration, and Boxer wants to be five miles away by the time that happens. Right now, though, he's lucky enough to have stolen away into seclusion, avoiding the enraged-and-elated mob.
Damn it.
The match had been the best the ring had in years, surely to go down in the memories of their onlookers. Boxer definitely won't forget it--wearing it on his face, his sides, his knuckles. His whole body throbs with pain and exhaustion, the two things that ultimately contributed to his downfall. It became a battle of endurance, and someone had to give out eventually.
Boxer dabs his wounds with his loosened wraps, the only thing he can work with after having spent precious seconds just picking up his clothes. He casts a bruised glance down the alleyway. If the mob can't find this place, then maybe the Administration won't...]
[ It's a feeding frenzy. Matt should've known better than to give it his all, but it'd been so long since he had a real challenge that he couldn't help himself. He's a mystery, they're both mysteries, but Matt's blind on top of it all, so his fights always make top billing. People loved giving him pity when he lost, but a win is somehow worse. Like vultures, they came down on him, the same questions. Was he really blind? How did he do it? Why not fix his sight?
They asked no matter what. Matt was just in it to make a living... and enjoy himself, from time to time. Nights like tonight are one of the rare ones. Despite his win, Matt's more concerned about the guy he beat than the shiner he'll have in the morning. A split lip and a few scars won't be a problem at work, Foggy can worry about that. Matt's win'll be news for all of 15 minutes, which is enough to earn them a few more cases or another endorsement deal at best. The Administration never wants him. Not a defective man like him. That's all the better.
His opponent, though... 'You should see the other guy,' right? Matt's sure he got him good. It was a good fight. Best he's had in a long, long time. It takes a while, but Matt manages to slip away from the crowd. He looks normal, dressed in a suit and with his dark glasses in place. He steps out into the alleyway, announcing his presence with the tapping of his cane. ]
That was a good match. [ Matt picks up on his injuries, the smell of blood still heavy in the air. Or was that coming from him? ] You got a place to get stitched up?
[ Pretty sure neither of them is walking home tonight. ]
[Boxer startles when the first snap of the cane echoes through the alley. He hadn't realized that the exhaustion had made him start to doze off, which is probably not the best idea given where they are.]
Yeah...[A good match. As fun, as challenging as it was...was it worth the risk of getting caught?]
Usually my girlfriend patches me up, but I won't be able to get to her at this rate...
[ Not exactly a girlfriend like Boxer's, but a friend. Who is a girl. They tried the dating thing, it didn't work. But Claire's good people. Matt trusts her more than the damn hospitals around. ]
Friend of mine can take us there. No questions asked.
[A little pushy, but this is a pretty delicate situation.]
Any chance we could pick up food on the way? [He gives a weak, cheeky grin that shows itself in his voice.] Only way to patch up the wounds on the inside is flatbread and beer.
[ Matt smirks, holding out an arm. He dials up Foggy with his free one, speaking into his phone with a quick 'text Foggy: I'm bringing a friend. No, it's not a girl. Wait for me by the fire exit' and with that, he snaps his phone shut, helping Boxer up. Or just pulling his arm back. ]
I can do a beer. We'll have to see about the flatbread. [ Matt motions the end of the alleyway, it's dark, but a car should pull up soon. ] Foggy should be bringing the car around this way.
[Boxer takes his arm--a gesture well appreciated and obviously so when he teeters on weak footing. He chuckles nervously when he realizes how obvious it is; the swelling is settling in and it's hard to focus on anything else when all he can feel is the throbbing.]
Hey...thanks.
[For, you know, everything, even after handing his ass to him.]
No problem. Been too long since I had a good fight.
[ Carefully, Matt leads Boxer down the alley. There's a joke somewhere about a blind guy leading anyone anywhere but that's not the current predicament. They just need to get into Foggy's car. Foggy, who steps out of the car and mumbles something like 'Jesus, Matt,'' before opening the passenger door. ]
Least I could do.
[ For splitting your face open, y'know. Matt might be a little banged up himself, but it's a fair deal easier for him to carry Boxer to the car. ]
[Boxer is very cautious to avoid getting blood anywhere on this friend's nice car as he gets inside, but becomes pretty lax about it as they drive through the city. He starts off the ride by idly watching out of the windows, but can't help but start dozing off again.
The window makes for a terrible pillow to rest on. It's hard and cold and, while somewhat comforting for his swelling, pretty much awful for everything else. What does make a better cushion is Matt, who is warmer, softer, and just tall enough for Boxer to rest against his shoulder, a good portion of his upper body weight resting against Matt's side.
He's not exactly asleep, but you couldn't call him awake, either.]
[ Not much to see in the car when you're Matt. He mutters a few quick apologies to Foggy for most of the ride, but otherwise lets Boxer crash on his side. He is kind of to blame for the blood and the bruises. Even if they both signed up for the fight, Matt'll feel guilty about anything if given the chance, so that's no surprise.
That's probably why Foggy doesn't even question it. Matt and his guilt. He's let him rest if he could, but they arrive at Matt's apartment a few minutes later. Claire should already be there, waiting to stitch him up. Surely she won't mind a second patient. (Of course she will, she'll do it anyway.) ]
Rise and shine. [ Matt only just jostles his shoulder, careful not to hurt Boxer. ] We have to climb a few steps, think you can make it?
[He takes it. The two of them are well over that "you don't need to do anything for me since you're blind" line. Boxer scoffs.]
There's no shitty parts of Cloudbank.
[It sounds so genuine, but it's an act. How much sarcasm in there depends on how much Matt finds. Of course there are shitty parts of Cloudbank, but it would be frowned upon to call them as such. Boxer used to call one such neighborhood his home, until Red invited him to stay one night and he just never went back.
But there is a piece in there that really is genuine. The numbers might call it a crummy neighborhood, but he loves the city too much to call attention to its blemishes--at least to call them as such.]
[ Matt laughs, hauling Boxer up the steps as Foggy opens the door for them. Matt lives on the top floor, and there's no elevator. So yeah, they've got a ways to go. ]
All I know is they tell me to stay out of the nicer parts. Don't want people getting any ideas.
[ Like, you know, that it's ok to not be perfect and some people with disabilities live happy, full lives without having to get integrated into the census. ]
[Even through his exhaustion, which was a perfect thing to bring to a several-story climb, he puts on a sobered expression. Boxer always knew he was an outlier, having opted out of the census, but he never spent much time thinking about those who were intentionally kept out of it. The less than perfect citizens.
About blemishes, well...to every rule is an exception.]
Yeah, they like to think it's for the greater good. You know how it is.
[ Which is funny; you'd expect things to be lawless and dirty outside of the usual integrated zones, and while the walls certainly have a dirtier shade to them, without as many of the lights and elevators, it's still not nearly as bad as what they'd want people to believe. ]
Couple more steps and we'll be at my place. My nurse friend, Claire, should already be there.
He casts a short-lived glance over the edge of the railing. His grip on it tightens significantly. Climbing stairs isn't what he likes to follow up his fights with in the least.]
I like going up to the roof sometimes. Helps me think.
[ For all that he's blind, Matt has plenty of experience climbing them. He's at home now, even if he drags his hand along the wall as they make their way up. He knows how many steps it takes to get to his floor, and how many strides it takes to get to the door. ]
Here we go. Door should be open-- [ And indeed it is. Claire has key, she's let herself inside. ] Just as a warning, she doesn't take any bullshit.
[ And she won't sleep with Matt, so you know she's a keeper. ]
[Helps him think about how much happier he'd be if he was on the ground.
Doesn't take any shit, huh? Boxer smirks and huffs out a laugh.]
Wouldn't have it any other way.
[Boxer's a dream patient for Claire, anyway. Sits still, doesn't whine, and doesn't try to distract her with chatter. By the time she's done, he already feels better--there's something so comforting in being patched up properly, giving skin a clean surface to mend itself. He leaves the spot for Matt to have his turn.]
[ Psh, please. In the time Boxer has been getting patched up, Matt has tended to his own stitches and injuries. It's not as clean a job as Claire's work, something Claire rolls her eyes over, but it saves the time and Matt waves it off with an excuse of not wanting to trouble her.
Beers and a break are more important, anyway. ]
I'll grab some from the fridge. I'd offer to let you make requests, but I basically only have that and gin. I usually go out for my hard liquor.
[Boxer gives Matt a swollen leer when he realizes the other's already patched himself up, even though he's only half aware that Matt can't see his facial expression. Did you really get your nurse-friend involved just for him? She's got better things to do with her time, dude.
Still:
Beer.]
Good policy.
[Better to leave the temptation for social events.]
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[He's managed to find himself an alley to hide away in. The whole block is a mess; the riot's inevitably going to draw the attention of the Administration, and Boxer wants to be five miles away by the time that happens. Right now, though, he's lucky enough to have stolen away into seclusion, avoiding the enraged-and-elated mob.
Damn it.
The match had been the best the ring had in years, surely to go down in the memories of their onlookers. Boxer definitely won't forget it--wearing it on his face, his sides, his knuckles. His whole body throbs with pain and exhaustion, the two things that ultimately contributed to his downfall. It became a battle of endurance, and someone had to give out eventually.
Boxer dabs his wounds with his loosened wraps, the only thing he can work with after having spent precious seconds just picking up his clothes. He casts a bruised glance down the alleyway. If the mob can't find this place, then maybe the Administration won't...]
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They asked no matter what. Matt was just in it to make a living... and enjoy himself, from time to time. Nights like tonight are one of the rare ones. Despite his win, Matt's more concerned about the guy he beat than the shiner he'll have in the morning. A split lip and a few scars won't be a problem at work, Foggy can worry about that. Matt's win'll be news for all of 15 minutes, which is enough to earn them a few more cases or another endorsement deal at best.
The Administration never wants him. Not a defective man like him. That's all the better.His opponent, though... 'You should see the other guy,' right? Matt's sure he got him good. It was a good fight. Best he's had in a long, long time. It takes a while, but Matt manages to slip away from the crowd. He looks normal, dressed in a suit and with his dark glasses in place. He steps out into the alleyway, announcing his presence with the tapping of his cane. ]
That was a good match. [ Matt picks up on his injuries, the smell of blood still heavy in the air. Or was that coming from him? ] You got a place to get stitched up?
[ Pretty sure neither of them is walking home tonight. ]
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Yeah...[A good match. As fun, as challenging as it was...was it worth the risk of getting caught?]
Usually my girlfriend patches me up, but I won't be able to get to her at this rate...
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[ Not exactly a girlfriend like Boxer's, but a friend. Who is a girl. They tried the dating thing, it didn't work. But Claire's good people. Matt trusts her more than the damn hospitals around. ]
Friend of mine can take us there. No questions asked.
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[A little pushy, but this is a pretty delicate situation.]
Any chance we could pick up food on the way? [He gives a weak, cheeky grin that shows itself in his voice.] Only way to patch up the wounds on the inside is flatbread and beer.
[The wounds of loss. What a drama queen.]
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I can do a beer. We'll have to see about the flatbread. [ Matt motions the end of the alleyway, it's dark, but a car should pull up soon. ] Foggy should be bringing the car around this way.
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Hey...thanks.
[For, you know, everything, even after handing his ass to him.]
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[ Carefully, Matt leads Boxer down the alley. There's a joke somewhere about a blind guy leading anyone anywhere but that's not the current predicament. They just need to get into Foggy's car. Foggy, who steps out of the car and mumbles something like 'Jesus, Matt,'' before opening the passenger door. ]
Least I could do.
[ For splitting your face open, y'know. Matt might be a little banged up himself, but it's a fair deal easier for him to carry Boxer to the car. ]
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The window makes for a terrible pillow to rest on. It's hard and cold and, while somewhat comforting for his swelling, pretty much awful for everything else. What does make a better cushion is Matt, who is warmer, softer, and just tall enough for Boxer to rest against his shoulder, a good portion of his upper body weight resting against Matt's side.
He's not exactly asleep, but you couldn't call him awake, either.]
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That's probably why Foggy doesn't even question it. Matt and his guilt. He's let him rest if he could, but they arrive at Matt's apartment a few minutes later. Claire should already be there, waiting to stitch him up. Surely she won't mind a second patient. (Of course she will, she'll do it anyway.) ]
Rise and shine. [ Matt only just jostles his shoulder, careful not to hurt Boxer. ] We have to climb a few steps, think you can make it?
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[Just when he was going to sleep, too.]
Yeah, yeah, just...give me a sec.
[It'll take him a second to get his balance beforehand, but he'll manage it just fine.]
What, uh...what part of town are we in? I wasn't paying attention.
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Here, I got you. [ He chuckles, answering his question. ] The shitty part. They don't exactly let people like me live it up with the 'normal' people.
[ He likes it better that way, honestly. Keeps him out of sight, where he likes it. ]
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There's no shitty parts of Cloudbank.
[It sounds so genuine, but it's an act. How much sarcasm in there depends on how much Matt finds. Of course there are shitty parts of Cloudbank, but it would be frowned upon to call them as such. Boxer used to call one such neighborhood his home, until Red invited him to stay one night and he just never went back.
But there is a piece in there that really is genuine. The numbers might call it a crummy neighborhood, but he loves the city too much to call attention to its blemishes--at least to call them as such.]
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[ Matt laughs, hauling Boxer up the steps as Foggy opens the door for them. Matt lives on the top floor, and there's no elevator. So yeah, they've got a ways to go. ]
All I know is they tell me to stay out of the nicer parts. Don't want people getting any ideas.
[ Like, you know, that it's ok to not be perfect and some people with disabilities live happy, full lives without having to get integrated into the census. ]
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[Even through his exhaustion, which was a perfect thing to bring to a several-story climb, he puts on a sobered expression. Boxer always knew he was an outlier, having opted out of the census, but he never spent much time thinking about those who were intentionally kept out of it. The less than perfect citizens.
About blemishes, well...to every rule is an exception.]
Typical Administration.
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[ Which is funny; you'd expect things to be lawless and dirty outside of the usual integrated zones, and while the walls certainly have a dirtier shade to them, without as many of the lights and elevators, it's still not nearly as bad as what they'd want people to believe. ]
Couple more steps and we'll be at my place. My nurse friend, Claire, should already be there.
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[Boxer's one to talk.
He casts a short-lived glance over the edge of the railing. His grip on it tightens significantly. Climbing stairs isn't what he likes to follow up his fights with in the least.]
...literally.
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[ For all that he's blind, Matt has plenty of experience climbing them. He's at home now, even if he drags his hand along the wall as they make their way up. He knows how many steps it takes to get to his floor, and how many strides it takes to get to the door. ]
Here we go. Door should be open-- [ And indeed it is. Claire has key, she's let herself inside. ] Just as a warning, she doesn't take any bullshit.
[ And she won't sleep with Matt, so you know she's a keeper. ]
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[Helps him think about how much happier he'd be if he was on the ground.
Doesn't take any shit, huh? Boxer smirks and huffs out a laugh.]
Wouldn't have it any other way.
[Boxer's a dream patient for Claire, anyway. Sits still, doesn't whine, and doesn't try to distract her with chatter. By the time she's done, he already feels better--there's something so comforting in being patched up properly, giving skin a clean surface to mend itself. He leaves the spot for Matt to have his turn.]
So, about that beer...
[Sorry about the one-track mind.]
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Beers and a break are more important, anyway. ]
I'll grab some from the fridge. I'd offer to let you make requests, but I basically only have that and gin. I usually go out for my hard liquor.
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Still:
Beer.]
Good policy.
[Better to leave the temptation for social events.]