daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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James Wesley had been a special case: dedicated honor student, dutiful son, a very successful, and very bored accountant when he had graduated university after two and a half years of study. He was remembered by his peers and superiors alike as a quiet man, always pleasant, always polite, always startlingly efficient.

That wasn’t how his mother remembered him: always secretive, always sly- skulking about the house like a viper in the grass, neatly dodging her whenever she tried to speak with him. Between the drugs, alcohol, and long periods of attempted withdrawal punctuated by violent fits and rages, Matt thought the boy had been right to distance himself.

He cared for her, so much so that he had not reported it when the money that should have gone toward his schooling went to her addiction instead, so that when she threw that bottle at his head he had never once mentioned to her when she sobered up that it had actually connected. There was no police report, he had assured all the nurses that he had been rough-housing with friends and there was a surety in his manner that prevented them from asking twice.

His father had been wise enough to leave when he first discovered that black temper, but not brave enough to take his son with him.

James Wesley had wanted nothing more than someone who would accept his loyalty and return it in equal measure. Religion was not the answer for him; after so long without, Wesley needed something he could touch, who would speak with him face to face. He didn’t seek a cause to occupy his time, neither recognition for his gifts; it made him the perfect ally of a man like Fisk.

Wilson Fisk craved the glory and recognition that had been denied him all his life, desperately sought something-or someone- worth protecting. He had found it in Hell’s Kitchen; having struck his own deal, Matt could not quibble with his methods, but Wilson’s soul was a shriveled, wizened thing that still sparked with brief flashes of wild fire. Wesley kept that alive, that final spark. His pride in Fisk, his willingness to make the man’s mission his own was what sustained them both.

He had not known at the time what a gift Fisk would give him, but the Devil was glad he had caught these souls- without them he might never have lured Nelson so near. It was all Matt could do to suppress his instinctive distaste, knowing that had he remained entirely mortal this might well have been him. He was no longer sure whether it was their methods that so disgusted him or their halfheartedness. Fisk’s resolve was beginning to waver- not in a way he could sense, not yet, but Matt could see new life coursing through him and he knew it came from that woman- Vanessa.

How was it that all the broken souls drew each other? No similarities between them but what they lacked, and somehow they beckoned each other like moths to flame. It hardly mattered, he supposed, all that remained now was to collect his due and watch from a distance as Fisk either prospered or failed. It was in him to be great, but Matt was torn on whether he wanted the man to succeed, mostly because he could sense the Devil wished it wholeheartedly, and he knew the spirit fed on the suffering of the innocent as easily as the wicked.

Matt counted it his duty to ensure the guilty paid a heavier price, but that came with the understanding that even so, the innocent would pay some price, usually in their blood.

Wesley was the one to greet him when he allowed the shadows to melt away at last. The man had an uncanny knack for sensing where it was the Devil would appear; more often than not he was ready and waiting by the time Matt put in an appearance, thoroughly bored with the whole affair. To look at him, one would have thought James Wesley conversed with Devils every day of the week, but Matt could hear the way his pulse began to fly, his breathing growing shallow and ragged beneath his eloquent speech.

He never flinched or stepped away, though. Wesley had learned young the only way to manage a predator was to stand one’s ground. They respected that in him.

Today what he offered was no more than a ring, silver clear through and laden with the regretful wishes of three generations. It burned Matt’s palm as he slipped it into his pocket- silver had ever been a pure and holy metal; not since he was a child had he been able to wear one of the proper crosses most of the children in Hell’s Kitchen wore until they grew cynical and decided they had far more to fear from the devils they didn’t know than the one they did.

“Pleasure, as always.” Wesley’s tone was dry, as dry as his fear-parched throat. He was not born and raised in this city, the scent of it refused to cling to him, its meandering ways still escaped him from time to time. He was one of those that had never credited the idea of a ‘Devil’ before he had come face to face with him, a desperately lonely young man in a dilapidated bus stop venturing out into the darkness for one last glimpse of the night sky before the street lights swallowed the last of the stars.

It was where Matt had found him, unafraid of the dark, drawn to its peculiar comfort despite himself. Wesley had not believed at first what was offered or requested, but he had kept his word to a man he thought had only the frailest grip on sanity. Trouble was, Matt was the only sane one left in this damned city, the only one with sense enough to still distrust the being within him.

“Nelson. Is the name familiar to you?”

“Is it a part of our bargain?” Wesley arched his brow, knowing full well the answer. That was the trouble with him; an attorney without the benefit of schooling, only raw instinct to guide him. Matt would have struck that deal too, had he asked it, given him a comfortable office with his name on the door and a record to make even the top firms in the nation salivate with greed.

But that was the trouble with lawyers; they understood the idea of a contract a little too well and were as careful in their dealings as the Devil himself.

“No, but failing to answer could prove detrimental to future negotiations.”

Wesley considered for a moment, visibly weighing the cost and benefit of answering, wary because he could see none. “Cut-rate defense attorney-”

“I did not ask the details of the profession, it is the name that interests me.”

He would set Father Lanthom and Wesley on the same trail. They would clash; Wesley’s precious resources would be diverted to determining what it was that both the Devil and the priest saw in Franklin Nelson. Wesley’s methods were never gentle; it would not be long before Nelson was forced back to him, presented with a choice of forging another deal or watching his loved ones pay the price. Matt would keep him safe. Just.

“I don’t know anything more about him.”

No, but by day’s end Wesley would make sure he knew everything about him, and when even that proved too spare to make the connection between Nelson and Devil he would dig further still. Dig until Lanthom began to think perhaps it was less the Devil and more the mob Nelson sought to escape. He would leave them to their stalemate and steal the prize from beneath them, content to wait until their combined machinations drove Foggy Nelson into his waiting hands.

Slowly he allowed his shadows to devour him, twisting and warping until Wesley thought he stood alone, the light bent around him to conceal that which did not wish to be seen.

There was one final place to visit before he could begin his coup: The law office of one Franklin Nelson, attorney at law.

*_* Oh Devil!Matt you manipulative bastard you.

Still good!

True, true. Any incarnation of Matt is bound to be a manipulative bastard to some extent.

Glad you're enjoying! ^.^

Damn Matt is doing everything to lure Foggy's soul and Foggy is all unawa re of that, poor thing, b e carefull Foggy.

Never fear, Foggy isn't a defense attorney extraordinaire for nothing!

Then again, he might be in over his head on this one. :P

I am hugely intrigued by your fic.

You convey the different relationships between characters very aptly. It’s an impressive skill to retain a character’s personality despite markedly different contexts, and there’s always a clear voice in your dialogue, which doesn’t seem to be compromised by the situation.

However, the thing I like best about this piece has to be the balance you’ve struck between Matt and his infernal passenger. The degree to which he’s surrendered to his vengeful impulses and the amount of humanity he retains is just gorgeous. Father Lanthom’s perspective was an extremely useful framing tool that managed to convey a lot of the subtlety in their symbiosis. Your writing in general contains a lot of evocative detail that doesn’t cross the line into flowery or excessive description. I think this is largely to do with the way you blend believable dialogue with interesting body language and expression cues. It just fits together nicely in way that contributes to the flow of the language.

I am enjoying your work immensely and I look forward to its continuation.

By-the-by, would you consider updating your entry in the WIP thread to reflect your new post? I came across your latest updates entirely by coincidence.

Ugh, brain fade. I always forget to update the WIP thread but I will jump on that right now- thanks for the reminder.

And thank you too for the feedback; I'm always concerned with trying to keep the voices recognizable in such new contexts so it's always good to hear when that is actually succeeding.

"Infernal passenger", I do like your turn of phrase and it couldn't be more apt. That's one of the things I really wanted to play with, Matt's humanity, that is. He's so concerned with it in the show, but he always has that little edge of temptation I kind of want him to step over.

All that said, I'm glad you're enjoying so much and here's the next entry! :)

Wilson’s soul was a shriveled, wizened thing that still sparked with brief flashes of wild fire. Wesley kept that alive, that final spark. His pride in Fisk, his willingness to make the man’s mission his own was what sustained them both.
--- AWWWW! *weeps*

until they grew cynical and decided they had far more to fear from the devils they didn’t know than the one they did.
--- SUCH a good line!

They would clash; Wesley’s precious resources would be diverted to determining what it was that both the Devil and the priest saw in Franklin Nelson.
--- Sneaky, sneaky!

Wesley’s methods were never gentle; it would not be long before Nelson was forced back to him, presented with a choice of forging another deal or watching his loved ones pay the price.
--- OMG.

He would leave them to their stalemate and steal the prize from beneath them, content to wait until their combined machinations drove Foggy Nelson into his waiting hands.
--- THIS. IS. STILL. SO. GOOD.

Can I just say I really love your comments? It gives me a little clarity into what is working and reassures me that some of the foreshadowing is felt so I really appreciate it!

Glad you're enjoying, and I'll be uploading more very soon!

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Prompt Post #4

The Devil's Due Part 1.4

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