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The city's changed since he was the terror of New York's gangland. And….if he's going to take up that mantle again, it behooves him to know precisely where the changes've come. So he's moving silently among the rooftops, testing out old routes, finding new ones. Exerting his ability to stay concealed, that psychic field that erases himself from perception. Whether it'll work on the Devil whose turf this is….that remains to be seen.
Daredevil is perched quietly upon a gargoyle. Underneath the mask his eyes are closed as he reaches out with his senses. His radar is pinging out in all directions and he gets an amazing 'view' of everything within the block: The smell of new perfume and a baked ziti casserole. The hushed tones of a pair of lovers, while across the street, a housewife complains about her husband to her sister in California. Everything nearby seems to be in the Devil's purview. Except for the Shadow.
Another costumed hero….or villain, perhaps. The Shadow can't take credit for being the first one to stalk these streets, far from it….but there's still a peverse pleasure in knowing that the torch passed on has been taken up by so many hands. He observes the Devil silently for a while….and is still behind him when he lets that field of obscuration stop.
IT's got to feel utterly bizarre to Matt, having someone sneak up on him and just appear in his perception, like a projection being turned on. For where there was silence, there's now a heartbeat and breath, both of them slow and calm, and with a sense of something not being quite right. Of slipping from a recognizable pattern. Scent, too - the tang of metal and gun oil, the evanescent trace of silk and leather, sweat and soap, and fainter yet, something sharp and strange, incense or medicine. No sound of footsteps or rustle of cloth - this guy's amazingly still.
Daredevil is remarkably quick. By the time that the Shadow has fully appeared, Daredevil grabs the horns of the gargoyle and flips up and around to land atop the stone beast. He spins around in a crouch to defend himself, clearly taken by himself. "Who are you?" he asks, getting to the point.
The softest rustle of cloth, as the man behind him watches him move. "I'm the Shadow," he says, and in his voice, there's also that sense of distortion - his voice is almoet metallic, flat and harsh. Surely he can't be - dealing with organized crime in Matt's work, that's a name that was known decades ago, but long since vanished from New York's streets. Before the world war, in fact…something he might've encountered in old files. "And who are you?"
Daredevil's head tilts quizzically. "The Shadow is dead," he says. Daredevil has lived in this neighborhood a long time. He grew up with quite a few ruffians around and heard the stories. "You're not the Shadow…"
"The Shadow is not dead, and I am he," the voice is still calm, as is that heartbeat - slow as a trained athlete's. Someone's in good shape.
Daredevil doesn't move an inch, "If that's the case, what is the Shadow doing sneaking up on me?" Tellingly, he still doesn't divulge his name. He does not seem to be reassured in any way at the insistence by the stranger.
"Observing you," he says, without any hint of shame. "From the costume, I take it you are the Devil of Hell's kitchen I have heard so much of, of late."
"I am," Daredevil responds. Being observed is one thing, but so far this person hasn't attacked him. While he's still on guard, at least there's no attack. "For what purpose?" he asks.
He can't see Lamont's smile….but the sense of it comes through, nonetheless. "To see who walks the rooftops of New York now. In my time, I was not the only one, though all of those others are gone." Something faintly mournful in his tone. To outlive one's old comrades in arms…"You are not the first I've encountered, since I returned."
"Is that a fact?" Daredevil says. "What others have you encountered?" Just recently Matt has allied himself with the Batman and his assorted colleagues. It seems the tent is getting quite a bit bigger, lately.
The voice is still amused. "He called himself Nightwing," he says. "And I know he is far from the only one. What do you do here, Devil? What are you hunting?"
"Nightwing?" Daredevil asks, raising his voice just a bit. "I've met him as well. And his partner. Or at least, the one that he works with." Gradually, the Devil is becoming a bit more relaxed. Also, tellingly, his hand lowers from the nunchuks he keeps at his hip.
That heartbeat never speeds or slows. The Shadow, at least, is relaxed. "The partner I have not encountered," he allows,casually. Noting that little gesture, he adds, "I mean you no ill, Devil. I am not here to interfere with you."
"Right," Daredevil says with a noncommittal chuckle. "Just observe. Suppose I wanted to ask how you might prove that you are the real Shadow. What would you say to that? I might ask why you've been away so long."
"The fact that I came up on you without you perceiving me is not sufficient?" There's still amusement in his voice, an almost silky note there. "There were wars to attend to," As if that were a chore necessary but boring. "And other worlds to visit."
"Been a while since the last war," Daredevil says with a bit of bite. "So what are you doing back?" He leaves the comment about worlds alone for now, still offput by the Shadow's ability to sneak upon him.
"New York remains my home," comes the cool voice. "And indeed, it has been. It remains to be seen which aspects of the city will require my attention." As if the entirety of New York were a garden he had to tend to. Well, the weed of crime does bear bitter fruit.
"Well," Daredevil says, sounding just a bit more helpful and friendly. "Extra help is something the whole city could probably use. Especially in these parts."
That hint of a smile in his voice again. "So I take it. And you have concerns in that direction. Perhaps I might offer my assisstance. I am not what I once was, I concede….but it is early days yet."
"I have concerns in all directions," Daredevil admits. "But I figure that the more of us there are the better this city will become. At least we might have a chance of reaching some sort of equilibrium."
"Indeed," he agrees, sounding almost comfortable. He hasn't really moved - apparently quite content to stand in the same place for a while, without shifting or fidgeting. "IS there a formal organization?"
"Not a formal one, no," Daredevil replies. "But there are a handful of us working together."
Lamont approves, softly, "Very good. I'm sure I will encounter them. Especially if they, too, have the same habits of going by rooftop. You may, if you wish, let them know the Shadow is abroad again." ….like he's giving Matt permission. The arrogant bastard. But then….if he is who he says he is, he might be able to walk the walk.
"I'll be sure to mention it," Daredevil replies as the tension in his shoulders finally relents. He's not one for trusting, generally speaking, and especially not under these circumstances, but whether or not this man actually is the Shadow, he's no enemy.
"Excellent," he replies, more softly. "I will find you again, soon." And then he vanishes. Heartbeat, breath, the subtle net of scents that make up a human presence, the movement of air around even a still man - all gone. All, save that faintly mocking, maniacal laughter - a bit unnervingly like a certain Clown Prince of Crime.