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Matt Murdock

Criminal defense attorney afflicted by blindness and a rigid moral code

0 · 183 views · located in Gambit's Storeroom

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Jag

Equipment

Indoors or out, Matt is rarely seen without a pair of sunglasses to conceal his eyes. His removal of the glasses is often a sign of trust and friendship few experience.

Matt is never found without a custom-built guidance cane for assistance in navigating the world. The cane is actually a sleek and versatile weapon for use as his alter ego Daredevil, but its use in every day life is a perfect cover.

History

Born and raised in the New York City neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen, Matt was blinded as a yougn boy when a radioactive substance fell from a passing vehicle. While the event left him permanently blind, Murdock's encounter with the radioactive substance eleveated the rest of his senses to superhuman levels. Combine that with training from his father Jack Murdock, a veteran boxer with too many rough criminal connections. Those connections saw his father refuse to throw a fight with Matt in the crowd. That night, Jack Murdock paid for it with his life. His young son would never be the same.

Matt trained in a number of martial arts as he matured. What resulted was a unique blend of the martial arts of Ninjutsu, Jujutsu, Judo, and stick fighting combined with American-style boxing -- all making full use of his gymnastics capabilities. During this time through college and law school, he met and befriended Franklin Nelson, a young who would start a roommate and develop into Murdock's partner in a law firm -- all while serving as a trusted friend.

Serving as a stalwrt defender in the court room, Murdock uses his heightened senses to uphold the law and defend the innocent. His ability to hear the heartbeats of those on the stand allow Murdock to immediately assess the truthfulness of any statement and pierce the viel of mistruths and lies that so often cause the wicked to go unpunished.

Murdock does what he can to see justice done within the boundaries of the court and the law. For the rest, he goes by another name...Daredevil.

So begins...

Matt Murdock's Story

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock would never forget that smell. The strange mixture of the alcohol, smoke and various odors from all manners of lifeforms within meant only one thing – Gambit’s Bar. Matt knew that a place like this was far more his father’s speed than anything of his own ilk, but the man also knew that there was never a place more rich in clients for this life and targets for the one he kept a deeply-carried secrety.

“Don’t worry, I’ll…Yeah, yeah I know. Just…I’ll see you tomorrow,” he spoke into the cell phone before tucking it into his pocket and adjusting the loose tie around his neck. Sunglasses covered eyes otherwise vacant, but Murdock “saw” the world in echos and sounds painting a clear picture.

Leading his way with the red and silver cane, the man came to rest a hand lightly on the bar.

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock reached out and touched the digital pad, finding its smooth surface devoid of the information he needed. Sure he could feel the slight indentations on the screen where hands had worn down the plastic some over time, but nothing that really spoke. Waiting until the smell and footsteps of someone behind the bar alerted him, Matt asked for a menu.

“Ain’t got that Braille junk,” he responded, sliding a regular paper sort to Matt before shuffing away.

“Thanks,” the attorney responded with a laughing smile. Hands began to run down the length of the paper. It was all that he needed. Even the slightest raise or drop of the ink on the page was enough for his hand and heightened senses to read just as well as any pair of eyes.

He didn’t miss much.

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock could hear the bartender somewhere in the back sounding with the clinking of glasses and the spilling of some liquid – some type of bitter ale by the smell of it. Matt felt a smirk play upon his lips for a moment. Places like this did remind him of home. The rough and ready crowd, at least. The manner of species was a bit different than Hell’s Kitchen, but Matt wasn’t going to complain. It was times like these he needed a dose of reality – something to remind him what he was fighting for.

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Matt Murdock finally found his way to a cup of coffee from a slightly-more friendly member of the bar’s staff. Funny that, how he’d been drinking nothing but coffee for two days to power his way through the lion’s share of work in the last case and now, on his night to forget about the woes of work, only drank more of the same. The truth was that the real exhaustion had come from the last two nights filled with too much fighting and not enough sleep.

The price of an alter ego.

Sipping at the coffee, Murdock began phasing in and of the conversations throughout the room. You never knew what you might pick up – especially when both identities were looking for work.

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock would never forget that smell. The strange mixture of the alcohol, smoke and various odors from all manners of lifeforms within meant only one thing – Gambit’s Bar. Matt knew that a place like this was far more his father’s speed than anything of his own ilk, but the man also knew that there was never a place more rich in clients for this life and targets for the one he kept a deeply-carried secrety.

“Don’t worry, I’ll…Yeah, yeah I know. Just…I’ll see you tomorrow,” he spoke into the cell phone before tucking it into his pocket and adjusting the loose tie around his neck. Sunglasses covered eyes otherwise vacant, but Murdock “saw” the world in echos and sounds painting a clear picture.

Leading his way with the red and silver cane, the man came to rest a hand lightly on the bar.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Matt Murdock
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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock shed the overcoat upon entering. Immediately, he was assaulted by the smells. Gambit’s was home to such a strong and strange mixture of aromas that Matt would never be able to forget. Sweat, booze and smoke were the strongest by far, but hints of blood and gunpowder were impossible to miss – and also slightly stronger than most days. Drinking in the “sight” of the room through his nostrils, Matt Murdock adjusted the fitted sunglasses protecting eyes that no longer transmitted a view of the world.

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock loved the City. It wasn’t a love in spite of its flaws but rather a love for the city because of the deep-seeded flaws and breaking sins that made it what it was. Matt Murdock spent the majority of his days making sure that justice was done to those deserving of it in the courtroom. When the law failed, however, that where his night job stepped in to make sure that justice continued where the law would not. Something about the strange mixture of the city just created a spirit. Matt couldn’t explain it, but he knew that he could never leave. At least not yet.

Sliding the red and silver “cane” that lead his body up to the bar, Murdock adjusted the sunglasses continuing to cover his eyes.

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock knew the layout of the bar well enough from too many morning coffees arguing with Franklin and too many long nights listening to the often unlikely stories of people looking for a way out of a long trip to prison. In the end, their hearts told the truth. A lie and guilt led to Murdock heading out that door. Innocence gained his mind, voice and body to the cause. Only the innocent. High standard to meet.

On top of that memorization, sound gave vision in a way that no one could possibly understand. Someone tapping their leg beneath a table, a jukebox sending sound waves that bounced around from the corner of the room, someone slamming down a shotglass after one too many – they all reverberated in a way that allowed Matt to “see” the room. So when a rapid fire of shutter clicks emitted, Murdock suddenly got a very good idea of his surroundings.

“I thought people came here to forget their problems. Not capture them to remember later,” he spoke, turning around from his standing position at the bar and facing where the – the slight smell he picked up told him woman – had been snapping the photos.

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock didn’t need a translator to understand the emotion behind the broken English and what it meant. Matt didn’t want to agree as much as he did. “To forget problems is to forget self.” Sometimes Matt wished that he could forget, that he could ignore the sounds of cries for help or feet that swiftly avoided police sirens, of inadmissible confessions.

“The trick is making sure that you don’t weigh yourself down with everyone else’s problems, too. One person can’t shoulder all that weight.” Murdock fought the urge to offer anything more than the small smirk playing on his lips with the irony and hypocrisy of his words. Simultaneously, Matt drank in the smell around the woman.

“Not wasting any time getting started on the day, are you?” He said, indicating to the drink.

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock wished for a cup of coffee in his hand at the moment or anything else that would wash away the bitter aftertaste of the pills he’d chewed on this morning. It was a standard routine – limp home and wash away the blood while chewing on the heavily-regulated painkillers as if they were children’s vitamins. The curse of a double life.

“I do pretty well just to make it from Point A to Point B and then back home again. My shoulder’s aren’t built for much more than that,” he responded, idly tapping the side of the cane with his knuckle. It would seem like an idle tick to just about anyone, but the truth was that it bounced through the room like tiny sonar waves.

“Long way from Croatia. What brings you to Wing City?” He prayed that she wouldn't say anything about a criminal trial.

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock felt his mind drift for a moment. The case file that he’d been neglecting few days now. The look in the man’s eyes last night right before he lunged for the gun. The voicemail that had been waiting for him when he got back last night that she wasn’t going to return his calls anymore. There were plenty of things weight on Matt’s mind as the sound and smell of the woman became stronger with her approach. The man fought the urge to grip the cane the same way that he’d gripped it last night as the man had turned to bring the gunsights against Murdock.

Strange how two words could ruin a train of thought. Instead, his mind begin silently churning on all the ways that this could turn back. Who could be coming after him and why? It wasn’t like he didn’t have enemies – both sides of the coin that was Matt Murdock’s double life earned him more than enough people that would be happy to see him dead.

“My lucky day,” he said. He could hear his own heartbeat shift with the words. Pointing the lie detector at himself. Damn.

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock found this to be one of the reasons that he loved the City. So many people holed themselves up to avoid getting their hands dirty. Sure life was safer that way, but it also meant missing out on the little things that made the City worth defending in the first place. The soul of the city on the streets and in the bars rather than the floor of a courtroom.

“As long as someone isn’t pulling a chair out from behind me, I’m hard to harass,” he said, turning back to the voice that sounded from behind him and to the right. Male, fairly young. No threat as far as he could tell.

“Matt,” he responded in kind. “And I’m guessing that you don’t do much of your work in Braille?”

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When the time came for Matt Murdock to sleep, it required almost complete submersion and absolute care to eliminate all sound from the world to ensure that the sounds of a city wouldn’t torture ears that simply couldn’t turn away from the cries. When the time came for Matt to think through a case, however, he needed those same sounds, voices and lives to keep him alert and sharp as he pressed through an issue. So he came here, to a bar like this where life came in all degrees. It wasn’t a bad way to pick up clients, either.

Matt’s attire was one that brought him straight from the courthouse. A navy blue, three-button suit lay unbuttoned with a pale blue shirt underneath. Under a top button that lay unconnected, a solid red tie had been pulled down for a bit more breathing room. Of course, the sleek red cane and reflective sunglasses often told the only fact that most saw. Blind.

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Matt Murdock coming to a place like this to absorb the sounds of the city and think about a case was one thing. Immediately being recognized and having to talk about a case was something completely different. Then again, what was a good lawyer if not someone with the ability to think quickly on their feet? Being a vigilante crime fighter by night didn’t hurt, either.

“Eddleman. Alleged assault and rape,” he offered, putting a strong emphasis on “alleged” as he did, making his way to the bar and gripping the edge lightly. “Arresting officer that testified today was a Scott, though.”

Murdock’s eyes drifted off for a second as he took in a breath of the air. A person’s scent could tell you so much about them. With this one, however, he could barely pierce the heavy-falling shield of the coffee aroma.

“Were you there?”

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#, as written by Jag
Matt Murdock may not have been able to pierce the strong aroma of coffee but his ears were working perfectly fine. The woman, Powell, probably didn’t even realize herself that her pulse changed slightly at the mention of the other officer. Matt couldn’t help but smile at the irony – the was the same change in heartbeat had been Matt’s detection that Scott had been lying earlier than morning.

“Fresh blood might not be a bad thing when it comes to the people wearing badges around here,” he said. “Not…to take any personal shots at your colleagues. Just used to things going a certain way and it’s not always for the best,” he quickly added.

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#, as written by Jag
If there had been any irony in the moment before, this one was topping the charts. A fresh new detective asking as hyper-idealistic criminal defense attorney for advice about her job? Matt found himself chuckling light and didn’t bother trying to hide his amusement about the situation.

“I don’t know that I’m exactly the type to tell you anything that you want to here,” he said, leaning the length of the red can against his leg as he settled onto a stool at the bar. Fingers danced along the worn and weathered bar beneath the tips. He could trace so many lines. So many stories.

“Believe it or not, I’m all for cops doing their jobs. If it weren’t for you guys, you’d have a bunch of crazies take things into their own hands. Now that would be a mess that I wouldn’t wish on anyone,” he said with a nod. It was almost in her direction. Close enough for a blind man, right? Seeing as she was knew, Matt wondered if the woman even knew of DareDevil.

The setting changes from gambits-bar to Gambit's Storeroom

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#, as written by Jag
Tests.