Log: Matt & Wade

[x-daredevil.livejournal.com]

Wade is back from Scotland and runs into Matt as well as his too-short, saggy pants. Turns out they are forced to do something no man likes to do - go shopping.



Rifling through the pantry, Matt looked for a snack to eat. He wasn't sure what he wanted and unsurprisingly, wasn't finding anything that caught his interest either. He'd been outside earlier and was clad in his jeans shorts, which were falling down and exposing half his boxers, t-shirt tucked into his back pocket leaving his chest currently bare. What did he want to eat? It was a hard decision right now.

Wade was sitting on the counter, watching Matt attempt to find something in the cupboard. He, himself, had found a stash of apples and apples were always delicious. "Are your jeans falling down on purpose? Because I feel the need to tell you that the only person whose underwear I really want to see - besides mine, of course - is my girlfriend's. I could've gone my entire life without knowing you have little hearts and Cupid arrows on your boxers, man."

He knew Wade was there, but was more interested in food than in niceties at the moment. Standing, he had a bag of pretzels in one hand, "It's the style," Matt replied, somewhat unconvincingly. "And my boxers don't have hearts and arrows. They're blue," okay, that might be reaching actually, he knew they didn't have anything like that on them, his social worker had helped him pack at the rehab place before he came here, but his boxers tended to be grey, black or blue. That way, he could wash them with his jeans and not worry about colour transfer and all that.

"Nah, man. Your boxers are more like this overwashed, gimpy, wannabe kinda almost blue that is really more like old grey. And, like I said, could've gone my entire life without knowing that. Besides which, if I have to know what color your boxers are, they should have something interesting like Cupids and hearts on them. And hi, I think that style you're referencing died a slow, painful death in 1999. Unless, of course, you're purposefully trying for the prison look. Sagging pants were totally used as a code in most major prisons and I think they still are. But I'm equally sure that's not the message you'e trying to send. Mostly because there's nobody at the mansion who could accurately interpret it." Wade paused to both take a breath and a bite of his apple, then waited for Matt to either explode at him or walk out of the kitchen. This was an interesting social experiment. Or something.

There was something about Wade's tone, so matter of fact and knowledgeably analytical that Matt crunched a pretzel and thought for a moment. "Yeah, well..." he shrugged, "I been to prison, so....whatever. They don't let your pants sag in juvie though," nor was the saggy pants the message he wanted to send. Definitely not. Sighing, Matt put the pretzels down and pulled his pants up properly. "Better?" Now he had a good half inch or so of sock showing.

"Juvie is not prison," Wade said seriously, then blinked and looked at the skin showing beneath the cuff of Matt's jeans. "While you have a nicely turned ankle, I think we oughta... I dunno. Go find you some clothes that aren't old. And that, y'know. Fit you. Or something." Hopping off the counter, Wade took another bite of his apple, chewed it meditatively, and then said, "How about lunch? You put on a shirt so you're decently clothed - or at least... covered. And then we'll head to a fast food place or something. Better food than pretzels. But not better than apples. Because apples are fantastic."

With a sigh, Matt set the pretzels back on the counter and shrugged, "You're not gonna make me go to the mall like Jan did? She made me try on a ton of stuff," which he hadn't liked. Jan was a cool girl and he knew she meant well, but...shopping was not his thing. Food that was not pretzels sounded good though. So did clothes that weren't too short. "These fit when I got them. And we should go to Arby's."

"Mm... roast beef," Wade said, tone obviously implying he approved of the suggestion. "And no. I don't do malls. Malls are for women in heels who wear too much makeup and don't have enough to occupy their time. Also, the 80s were a time of mall-pop music and I prefer not to relive those times. I figured Walmart. We're in, we grab some stuff that fits you, we're out. How do you feel about plaid, hypothetically?"

Walmart Matt could handle, absolutely. He hated the place, too big and too many people sometimes, but he could manage it a lot better than some fancy mall. "Plaid?" Matt repeated, halfway to the door, "Uh...can it be washed with my jeans?" that being how he separated his laundry. Under clothes typically in one pile, everything else in another. Or, if he could, it all together in one load.

"Yeah, as long as it's blue and green or something," Wade said, suddenly picturing Matt walking around the mansion in blue and green plaid flannel shirts. Maybe they should steer clear of the flannel. "Mostly, I was thinking you should get some white shirts. And black ones. And jeans. Because jeans are useful all the time. Carpenter jeans especially. They have nifty pockets. And loops. Loops are awesome. So put on a shirt and we'll go find you some loopy jeans."

"Okay," white and black shirts he could handle. Or plaid if it was blue or green. "My dad used to have jeans like those. When he worked construction and stuff," his dad had done a lot of odd jobs to make ends meet, but construction was the most often. Pulling his shirt from his pocket he tugged it on. "Ready."

"You need your stick?" Wade didn't see it anywhere, but maybe it was folded up or... collapsed. Or whatever it was people did with seeing-eye sticks. There was a Walmart in town, at least. And an Arby's. Convenient, that.

Reaching into his other pocket, Matt pulled it out, folded up and secured with a tight band. Unsnapping it, the cane unfolded with a flick of his wrist, "I'm working on learning to navigate without it actually," he informed Wade with a smirk, "Not very good outside the building yet, but I'm getting better," he didn't need it at all in his suite. In the mansion itself he was able to use his powers, though sometimes he still bashed his shin on occasion. Outside the mansion, especially in unfamiliar places, he needed it. "Apparently my powers are good for something."

"Sweet," Wade said, grinning even though he knew Matt couldn't see. He finished off his apple and tossed the core into the trash, then headed for the door himself. "Just don't hit me with it. Cause that'd suck."

That made Matt smirk, the cane arcing easily in front of him with a small movement in his wrist. "Yeah, it would," he agreed. "But they can't take it from me either since I'm blind. Works out better than a baseball bat." His cane was metal alloy.

"Huh," Wade said, tipping his head to the side even as they walked down the hall. "Interesting - you any good with it? I mean, technique-wise. Obviously you can just whack people with it and they'll probably be shocked enough to pause. But if they get over the shock and keep coming at you... you any good at self-defense?"

Matt shrugged, "I can throw a punch," he paused, then added, "You were gone when I beat the shit out of Artie, my roommate. Messed up his ribs pretty good, busted his lip. He deserved it too."

"I believe he deserved it, but you gotta be careful with that kind of thing. Beating people up, I mean." He wasn't gonna ask what had happened, since Molly had told him already. Instead, he opened a door and waited for Matt to go through, then followed him on the way to the garage. "We should work on some staff work or... something with you. That'd be fun and you could apply the techniques to your stick."

"But he deserved it," Matt replied, "I know fighting's not the answer and stuff, but bad things can't go unpunished," he had beaten up a guy who had deserved it and he had gotten sent to juvie. He beat up Artie and had a couple weeks of detention helping Kyle. It all worked out really. "But yeah, that'd be cool. If you think I could do it," because that was what a lot of people said - he should do such and such, then realized they didn't want to help modify it or work with him enough to teach him since it wasn't like he could just watch someone else do it.

"I figure we can work on getting you trained to pay attention to your ears, which would probably help with a lot of stuff - if you hear somebody scuffing a foot on pavement, you know to swing in that direction. Most people just don't realize that small stuff like that's important. They rely too much on the visual. That's all well and good most of the time, but people can mess with what you're seeing, so it's not always reliable. Illusionists are a bitch and a half." Wade wasn't even going to get into reality warping, cause that was just too much for the moment. "But I don't see any reason why you shouldn't be able to train. A lot of it's going to wind up being repetition, learning to hold the staff - or stick, whichever - properly so it doesn't go flying out of your hand. Alternately, so it's not easy to jerk it away from you. Muscle-memory's the main thing, though. Training your body to react without you really having to consciously think about it. And garage coming up. Let's borrow a sedan. They blend in."

"I can smell it," Matt assured Wade. The garage was very distinctive, a mixture of metal, oil, gasoline and other chemicals. "And sedans blend?" If Wade said so, sure, "I can do that. Muscle memory, I mean. That's a lot of what it is to be blind actually, memorizing how to do something until your body knows how and you do it without thinking and listening to the sounds that people don't realize that they're making so you can interpret them and use them to help guide yourself. Like crossing a street, at an intersection how do you know which direction the cars are moving and all that?"

"Well, they're not as flashy as a Mustang or something like that. But only douchebags drive Mustangs, so just remember that. And yeah, it looks like you've got a pretty good handle on the theory behind what I think'll work for you. So now it's just a matter of getting things set up and actually working on stuff. It's just like crossing a street. Only you're hitting things. Which is better. Just don't tell people I told you that." Wade thought physical exertion might work to help Matt get some of his... frustration or anger or whatever it was he was dealing with out. And then maybe he'd be too tired to beat people up, even if they did deserve it.

"Only douchebags drive Mustang's," Matt repeated obediently, though his tone was clearly amusedly mocking. "I will remember that when I go to buy a car," he didn't mention that his father didn't want him fighting and would hate seeing him do it. His father wanted him to succeed...but if he could do well in school and learn to fight and not be a 'no good boxer' then that was okay, right? "I used to practice sometimes with my dad. When he trained and stuff. That's how I learned to throw a punch anyways."

"Excellent - so. Car on your right." Wade wandered away to get the keys and make sure everything was in order so he could actually take the car and the kid, then came back and got inside. "Food first, then clothes? Vice versa? Preference?"

Getting in, Matt strapped himself into the passenger seat and refolded his cane, "Eh. Clothes, I guess. Get the worst out of the way faster."

"Excellent choice," Wade said, turning the key in the ignition. A moment later and they were heading down the driveway. "Walmart, here we come!"

At Walmart Matt clutched Wade's arm, his cane in front of him almost like a cudgel even if it was not shaped properly. It was too much for him, even with his training. Too many smells, too many people, just too much. "Lead on," he requested, hand in a firm grip that was definitely not going anywhere. Matt didn't care what Wade thought either. Walmart was not a fun place even if it was practical.

Wade made short work of actually picking the clothes out, eyeballing the length and then getting something a size smaller in the waist than what Matt was currently wearing because seriously. Nobody needed to see the kid's boxers like that. Still, the waist was big enough that he'd be able to grow into them, probably. Speaking of - he loaded up on plain colored boxers and then found all the white and black shirts laid out almost neatly, ripe for the picking. "We're going to throw in some grey, because grey is a good color. And now we're going to check out and get food, because food is good. Wait, do you need socks?"

This was the sort of shopping that Matt could tolerate even if it was still shopping and at Walmart. "Um..." Matt pulled up a leg of his jeans to inspect the sock with his hands, "They don't have holes in them..." yet. That was about when he tended to get new socks was when the old ones got holes in them. "Can I get red shirts too? I like red," it didn't matter that he couldn't see it, he liked red.

"Sure," Wade said, picking up a few red shirts and tossing them in amongst the black, white, and grey. "We'll get you some new socks anyway, since you never know when disaster will strike and you'll need a new pair. Running through the woods in just your sneakers is not only non-hygienic, it's also really uncomfortable and can result in painful blisters. Which suck a lot."

That made Matt snort slightly, amused. "I don't run through too many woods," he pointed out to Wade. "Now...back alleys hold a distinct possibility. I'm a city boy, Wade. I don't care how long I'm out in nowhere Westchester, not a country boy," of course, no one expect perhaps Matt considered Westchester County to be 'the country.' Matt had no idea what real ruralness was.

"Alright, city-boy, you want extra socks in case you have to run through some back alleys at some point," Wade said, quirking a small smile as he picked up a couple packages of socks. They made their way up to one of the cashiers and he continued, "Either way, they're in the cart. And then we're getting some roast beef and curly fries and maybe some jalapeno poppers."

"Mmmm, curly fries," Matt nodded, happily, "Ew. Not the popper things, they're gross. The potato things are good though," jalapeno bothered him, it was spicy and icky. Matt did not do spicy. "Also, thank you. For the stuff. Clothes. I wash them and all that. And me. But, I don't shop much."

"No problem, kid," Wade said, swiping his card after the clerk had rung them up and then grabbing the bags so they could head back out to the car. "I guess that means the poppers would smell gross in the car if I got them and ate them, huh? No poppers for me."

"Jalapenos smell like ass," Matt informed him, taking a bunch of bags on his arm so he could take Wade's once they had finished with the cashier. "And they taste like it too. Spicy ass." He was not a fan, not at all. He wanted to be all magnanimous and suggest that Wade could get them and just not share, but really, Matt could smell them regardless. And they were gross. "Sorry. Um. You can get them if you have breath mints? But yeah...."

"Nah, I'll get some actual jalapenos and... do something with them later. You want the potato triangle things? Cause they're pretty tasty."

"Those work," Matt agreed. He liked the potato things. "And you get your jalepenos and get down with your bad self. Anyways...you ever read Ender's Game?"

"Actually, yes," Wade said, nodding. There weren't many books he could honestly say he'd read, but that happened to be one of them. "It's one of the things they like you to read in the military, since it's got all that strategy and stuff. But I read it a long, long time ago. Are you reading it?"

"Yeah," it had actually been assigned as reading for his English class. It was a lot better than most of the books he had to read for English, "It's fucked up," and he wasn't apologizing for his language either. "I mean, they're kids! They're like, 6! That's batshit. And wrong."

"Agreed. But it's got some uncanny similarities to a couple modern situations," Wade replied, trying to remember all the details. He'd never been a big reader, after all, so remembering the few books he had read should've been easy, right?

Matt grew quiet at that for a moment, "Yeah, I can see that. I grew up in similar sort of stuff. I mean...if I wasn't blind I'd probably be in a gang, which is sort of what those companies are. They have colours, compete against other companies, have leaders and initiations and distinct rules and stuff. And they're all looking for dominance over the others," if his dad had been alive he would never have joined a gang because his father would never have let him and would have beat him senseless for doing something so stupid, but his father wasn't alive. Of course, he was blind too, so joining a gang was never an option, "Still ain't right. They're just kids. They should be doing kid stuff, not battling for the planet."

"I don't disagree with you," Wade said, popping the trunk of the car and shifting the bags into it, then shutting it and unlocking the doors so Matt could climb in. "And now, we go for food that does not smell like ass, as you so eloquently put it."