1965-03-17 - Confessions and the Alleyway
Summary: Harper and Matt go to confess, but there's something new that lies at their feet
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
harper matt-murdock 

As Harper's footsteps echo through the cavernous stone church, she passes by a simple sign with white, replaceable letters on a dark felt. Some of the letters are missing, but the general gist is that confession's evening hours are in session. The sanctuary is dark and a lone person is seated off up towards the right.

The girl from New Orleans may just remember the guy in the pew. The cane that sits at his right is a dead giveaway, as is the hair that is just a little too imperfect. The dark glasses as well. She may recall they shared a drink and conversation at the bar. She may recall his name is Matthew.

Confession is an awkward thing when your last few conversations have been with literal angels. And when literal angels are hunting you as well. Harper has been lying low, avoiding places they might show up, but after growing up in an orphanage run by nuns, there's some comfort in the ritual of church. So she's taken a chance, showing up here today. The last thing she expected to see was a familiar face.

She genuflects as she steps into the pew, brushing her skirts into place to take a seat not far away. "It's always peaceful here, isn't it?" she murmurs, voice low in deference to the church.

"On the outside, at least," Matt says as he leans toward her by shifting his shoulders, lowering his head and his voice. There's a reference about the inner turmoil, but he doesn't make it and leaves it unsaid.

He has to wade past the cigarette smell of the bar she's been to recently, which is its own challenge. Like a blaring air raid horn it is distracting, but not impossible. Finally, he can pick out her skin and picks out her soap.

"Harper. Long time no see."

"Yes," he adds. "That is a joke."

Harper's lips twitch, a wry smile curving. "Are you sure? Or do you just wear the glasses to get a few extra points of consideration from people who are underestimating you? Perhaps by thinking you might not recognize them." Ankles crossed, she leans against the back of the pew, considering the altar ahead of them.

"I've been told they look good on my face," Matt replies, his voice a low gravel as the corner of his mouth pulls into a grin. "I only take them off to sleep."

"This your regular parish?" he asks. He actually came here specifically because of the evening hours. His actual church is a handful of blocks to the south. The timing is perfectly placed in between his work day and his night job.

"Oh, no," Harper shakes her head, hands clasped in her lap. "No, I haven't really found a parish to settle in here. Everything feels…crowded. Impersonal, almost. I want to feel like I know the priest, like I know the people at the church. Maybe it's just a function of being in a big city like this," she muses. "Not quite what I'm used to. But with all the churches on this tiny island, I'm sure I'll find one eventually. You?"

"Sacred Heart. Few blocks south of here. They don't have evening confession very often," Matt replies with a chuckle. "Must be all of the older clientele. They don't have jobs.'

"New Orleans, right? City or outside?" he asks. There is a man who leaves the priest's office, but Matt doesn't move, seemingly content to chat for a while.

"City, more or less," Harper answers, that faint smile lingering. It's as if the reminder that she's mentioned it brings it out in her voice. The carefully cultivated neutral accent slips away, words rolling through her mouth just a breath longer, relaxed into a drawl. "I actually grew up in a Catholic orphanage," she admits, glancing up toward the ceiling. "Which is probably why I'm picky about it feeling like hime."

"Was the food as bad as I imagine it?" Matt asks with raised eyebrows, looking for all the world that he is about to get the true story, confirming what he always thought. The cookies, after all, taste like envelopes.

"Decided to stay in New York. I wasn't so sure you would when I first met you."

"It was in New Orleans," Harper says indignantly, as if to say otherwise was blasphemy. "The food was excellent. Although I can't speak to the quality of food elsewhere," she admits, chuckling softly. "I did. It turns out I discovered some distant relatives in town. Which was unexpected, given the situation. So I decided to stay and find out what I could about the family." Which is true, even if the whole truth is a little bit stranger.

The comment seems to catch Matt off guard, or at least something within the comment does. "I suppose that makes a lot of sense. Either way, it's nice that I was able to run into you again. I haven't been to Josie's much, recently."

The serenity of the church is ruined abruptly by a piercing scream that comes from somewhere nearby. Almost immediately, Matt turns and goes still.

Matt isn't the only one who turns at the scream. Harper immediately goes tense, hand slipping to the pocket in her skirts until she can at least confirm that there's no angel standing over her waiting to smite. "That didn't sound good," she says quietly, starting to stand. "Excuse me a moment? I'm going to make sure everyone's okay."

"What? Are you crazy?" Matt, despite his words, is getting up himself and moving toward the side exit from the stone church. He reaches out toward the railing with pretty smooth efficacy for a blind man and presses the lever that releases the door.

Cold air rushes in as he makes it to the alleyway. There's another scream and outside in the alleyway a man is dead.

"Just a…concerned citizen." Harper doesn't waste any time moving toward the scream, though she does stop short when she sees the body there, cursing under her breath. Before she's even out of the church, no less. Oops. She doesn't stay there for long, though. Once she's sure there's no one waiting for just just outside the door, she steps out, careful of the crime scene itself, to look for anyone fleeing the scene.

The screaming woman is ignored, at least immediately by Matt as he reaches down to check for a pulse. The body is cold, he thinks as he stands up more fully. He turns his head back towards Harper with a resigned look on his face. "He was dumped here," he says ominously.

"By whom?" Harper moves to the mouth of the alley, peering out, then looks back toward the church, wincing a bit at the woman. "Ma'am, please. The more people who are in here, the harder time the people are going to have finding evidence, right? Maybe you should step inside, watch the door, and get someone to call the police." Giving her a job should hopefully get her out of the way, at least. And if it stops the screaming, all the better. Matt, though, gets a longer look.

"That's the question," Matt says as he leans down again, resting his hands on his knees. The woman, who is just a bystander, nods reluctantly at first, but then nods a few more times before running into the church. "He's been dead for quite some time."

Harper quirks a brow at Matt, arms crossed loosely over her chest. She waits until the woman is gone before she moves back toward him and the body. "Why do you say that?" she asks, looking down at the corpse herself. Not accusing of anything. Not yet, at least.

"Body temperature," Matt replies, quietly. "No blood. On the outside, anyways. Internal damage?" He feels the neck again, halfway talking to Harper and halfway talking to himself.

Harper squints a bit, silent for a moment longer than just the words merit as she considers him more closely. Blind, huh? Well. She knows a thing or two about vision and what comes with blindness. After all, inflicting it is one of her best moves. Quietly, she moves over to set a hand to his shoulder before letting herself slip invisible…and taking him with her. "Could be a poison," she says evenly, as if everything is normal.

It could be telling that Matt has no reaction at all to her move. In truth he cannot tell whether or not they're invisible and doesn't even know it's happening. Luckily for him is natural response to things tend to be subdued.

"That's a good point," he says, giving her a nod, though his eyes never meet hers. He reaches into the pocket, only to find the absence of a wallet.

So whatever he's using to see, it's not his eyes. Or at least not the reaction of light to the optic nerve. Interesting. Harper lets her hand fall, slipping back into the visible spectrum without comment. "Not really our job to find out though, is it? Although I guess if they catch someone they want to blame for it, it could conceivably be your job," she muses quietly.

"No, I suppose not," Matt says, but though his mask is safely hidden away, he's more Daredevil than he is lawyer at the moment. He resolves to pick this one up.

Harper can't quite get past the concern that someone might be striking out at her. Dumped by an angel, maybe? Someone trying to send her a message or get her in trouble? A bit self-centered to consider, though. "Overdose, maybe? Could've just been a friend or a dealer or someone who didn't want the body on their hands."

"Not sure. One thing is for certain, though, I don't want to be here when the cops are. You wanna go get a cup of coffee?" he asks.

Harper quirks a brow. Usually people don't ask her out for coffee after finding bodies. That's…a positive? "Sure," she agrees, looking toward the mouth of the alley. "Looks like there's a diner just across the way. Can see what happens once the cops show up."

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