You know that he got that idea from Saturday morning cartoons, right? [ His eyebrows raise above his glasses, mischieviously. ] In his twenties, might I add...
[ Which Matt knows because he was also in his twenties when this idea first came up. It was also more like 1 am cartoons on a Friday night, while they were both high on the sofa.
Matt shifts away from the cold of the single-paned window, the radiator making a disgruntled noise as it the power flickers and kicks on again. He heads toward the coffee maker, despite the hour - might as well make one more pot just in case. ]
I remember this one winter, when I was really young, before... [ he tips his head, before the accident ] ... there was this massive blizzard. Shut down the whole city, just like this - only it was feet and feet of snow instead of ice you could break your neck on. I'd... never heard the neighborhood so quiet before. And my dad, he took me just up the street - [ he points toward the window, up where there's an incline ] - with this old plastic sled. I remember it felt like sliding down the side of a mountain.
[ He smiles softly. He was shouting all the way down to the bottom, and begging to go again and again. ]]
Were cartoons still playing Saturday mornings when you two were in your twenties?
[ she knows enough about Matthew Murdock and Foggy Nelson in their twenties to know that it probably wasn't foggy, alone. still, there's a kind of fondness in how she casually slips that knowledge in, glancing back over towards him.
as he shifts away from the window and heads towards the coffee maker, karen's eyes follow him across the room. she smiles, mostly to herself, as he talks about the blizzard, as she considers new york under feet and feet of snow. it draws her eyes back to the street, to the ice and frozen slush. ] It doesn't snow much here in the city, does it? Not like real snow. [ she's been here a few years now, but she hasn't really seen it. ]
It snowed every winter up in Vermont- sometimes a few inches, sometimes a few feet. When I was little I thought everyone knew how to attach chains to your tires, or how to dig yourself out from your front door. It was a right of passage to break something sledding down the main hill in town... [ she shakes her head, breaking free of the memory. ]
The mud lasted for weeks after it all melted, and that was always the worst part. I'm not sorry to miss that part of it.
[ Despite the wry slant to his tone, he actually doesn't know the answer to that.
It doesn't snow that much anymore here. Not like it used to maybe two decades ago. Global warming is the likely culprit, he figures. Or maybe it's only the fault in childhood memories. Everything seemed so much more.
He smiles to himself as Karen talks about home, picturing it in his mind. Picturing her.
Matt gives a light laugh, shaking his head. ]
That much worse than the grey sludge we end up with, huh? [ Probably. At least the grey-tinged and black speckled snow melts instead of tracking everywhere. Matt obviously can't see the leftover remains of a snowstorm a week later, after the gutter water has tarnished it, but he can smell it.
And just as he's about to press the button on the machine - out go all the lights on the block. ]
Are they? I thought everyone watched on like- streamers or something, now.
[ truthfully, karen doesn't really know. streaming services have been a little out of her budget but that is what she hears these days, and the last she checked in with anyone who might have been interested in Saturday morning cartoons, it's all about netflix. all about disney. ]
I think it's just cartoons. [ which she says a little fondly, a little teasing. she eyes the street for a few moments after that before taking a breath, trying to convince herself to go back to the research.
it's special - the view of the city coated in ice, the crinkling of water hitting ice, hitting the small buildup of snow. it merges an old, deep memory of home with the place she now considers home. sees as it. karen laughs again at the mention of sludge. ]
I'll take a couple of inches of sludge over feet of mush and months of mud. Trust me, you would too.
[ even if she's out in it a whole lot more here, in the city, than she ever was back home. but that's part of the charm, part of living somewhere, and not just visiting.
she's about to ask him about... honestly, she doesn't remember. maybe if he's ever built a snowman? maybe something equally childish? but as soon as her mouth opens, the power cuts, drowning the room in near-complete darkness.
for one second, or maybe it's two, the only thing she hears is that dripping from ice outside - and then she stands, checking out the window quickly - confirming that yes, the entire street is out - before she turns back. ]
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[ Which Matt knows because he was also in his twenties when this idea first came up. It was also more like 1 am cartoons on a Friday night, while they were both high on the sofa.
Matt shifts away from the cold of the single-paned window, the radiator making a disgruntled noise as it the power flickers and kicks on again. He heads toward the coffee maker, despite the hour - might as well make one more pot just in case. ]
I remember this one winter, when I was really young, before... [ he tips his head, before the accident ] ... there was this massive blizzard. Shut down the whole city, just like this - only it was feet and feet of snow instead of ice you could break your neck on. I'd... never heard the neighborhood so quiet before. And my dad, he took me just up the street - [ he points toward the window, up where there's an incline ] - with this old plastic sled. I remember it felt like sliding down the side of a mountain.
[ He smiles softly. He was shouting all the way down to the bottom, and begging to go again and again. ]]
no subject
[ she knows enough about Matthew Murdock and Foggy Nelson in their twenties to know that it probably wasn't foggy, alone. still, there's a kind of fondness in how she casually slips that knowledge in, glancing back over towards him.
as he shifts away from the window and heads towards the coffee maker, karen's eyes follow him across the room. she smiles, mostly to herself, as he talks about the blizzard, as she considers new york under feet and feet of snow. it draws her eyes back to the street, to the ice and frozen slush. ] It doesn't snow much here in the city, does it? Not like real snow. [ she's been here a few years now, but she hasn't really seen it. ]
It snowed every winter up in Vermont- sometimes a few inches, sometimes a few feet. When I was little I thought everyone knew how to attach chains to your tires, or how to dig yourself out from your front door. It was a right of passage to break something sledding down the main hill in town... [ she shakes her head, breaking free of the memory. ]
The mud lasted for weeks after it all melted, and that was always the worst part. I'm not sorry to miss that part of it.
no subject
[ Despite the wry slant to his tone, he actually doesn't know the answer to that.
It doesn't snow that much anymore here. Not like it used to maybe two decades ago. Global warming is the likely culprit, he figures. Or maybe it's only the fault in childhood memories. Everything seemed so much more.
He smiles to himself as Karen talks about home, picturing it in his mind. Picturing her.
Matt gives a light laugh, shaking his head. ]
That much worse than the grey sludge we end up with, huh? [ Probably. At least the grey-tinged and black speckled snow melts instead of tracking everywhere. Matt obviously can't see the leftover remains of a snowstorm a week later, after the gutter water has tarnished it, but he can smell it.
And just as he's about to press the button on the machine - out go all the lights on the block. ]
no subject
[ truthfully, karen doesn't really know. streaming services have been a little out of her budget but that is what she hears these days, and the last she checked in with anyone who might have been interested in Saturday morning cartoons, it's all about netflix. all about disney. ]
I think it's just cartoons. [ which she says a little fondly, a little teasing. she eyes the street for a few moments after that before taking a breath, trying to convince herself to go back to the research.
it's special - the view of the city coated in ice, the crinkling of water hitting ice, hitting the small buildup of snow. it merges an old, deep memory of home with the place she now considers home. sees as it. karen laughs again at the mention of sludge. ]
I'll take a couple of inches of sludge over feet of mush and months of mud. Trust me, you would too.
[ even if she's out in it a whole lot more here, in the city, than she ever was back home. but that's part of the charm, part of living somewhere, and not just visiting.
she's about to ask him about... honestly, she doesn't remember. maybe if he's ever built a snowman? maybe something equally childish? but as soon as her mouth opens, the power cuts, drowning the room in near-complete darkness.
for one second, or maybe it's two, the only thing she hears is that dripping from ice outside - and then she stands, checking out the window quickly - confirming that yes, the entire street is out - before she turns back. ]
And that's... the power.