[Center][IMG]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/254f118a-e308-4d53-8319-6bd403a80f46.png[/IMG][/Center]

[B]The Law Office of Nelson & Murdock
Hell's Kitchen, New York[/B]

"eteen," huff, "nineteen," huff, and "twenty!"

The hand weights yielded a dull rap against the hardwood floor as the muscles within Franklin "Foggy" Nelson's forearms violently relax, with a vaguely painful surge touching down in his spine as he nods with satisfaction. It was his eighth set of the night and, if he had his way, it wouldn't have been his last. But Foggy Nelson, the only constant member of the business most often known as Nelson & Murdock, didn't need super senses to smell the load of bullshit in the air headed his way.

It was storming harder than usual outside. That meant that the region was slated for roughly a forty percent increase in activity for predatory ambush criminals and a one hundred and fifty percent increase in supernatural disturbances, if his Excel sheet was to be believed. The weatherman certainly wasn't.

He was just in the middle of finishing up his Powerade bottle when it came, the [I]tit, tit, tat[/I] of his closest friend in the whole wide world, pretending to find his way with a cane.

"Beautiful evening we're having, Matt," Foggy said, kicking his hand weights out of sight.

"Hey, Foggy. Quick question: Did you know that Wilson Fisk has a grandson?"

"Not specifically, no," Foggy furls his brow. "I can't say that's something I knew. Is that a bad thing?"

"Probably...?"

"Well that's foreboding. Did something happen to your phone?" he probes, his quick legal mind going through the motions of decoding the obvious, "Or is this the sort of thing where you're here to tell me that I can't go to my own house until I get the all clear?"

"Neither actually," Matt grins devilishly. "I don't think is actually aimed at us this time. Yet. But I did bring you an apple fritter."

"Damn you to hell, Matt Murdock," Foggy says, succumbing to the sticky salience of four hundred calories of refined carbohydrates in a sudden snatch.

"Did you bring me any milk?"

"I love you, Foggy," Matt says, backing towards the door.

"You only say that when I'm in in critical condition."

"That's why you're the world's best lawyer. Also, [I]almost forgot[/I], the reason I'm here: Turk Barrett dropped Fisks grandson into my lap because his estate is in some undefined trouble and the kid's cologne literally smells like the guy who killed my dad. So I assume it means that I need to be ready to put up some kind of fight tonight. Which is a shame, because I'm really in the mood for an apple fritter but if its a fight night, I really need slow burning energy."

"Do you think we should arrange to get the kid out of town?"

"Not... immediately. That doesn't quite seem necessary. He seems normal."

"Okay, then. Lemme tell you what. I'll just dial up Exeter and have her on retainer for the next few days in case we need an exit. Worse case scenario: Everything is peachy and we're out a couple hundred bucks."

[hr]
[RIGHT][sub]PREVIOUS: [URL=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5288934]NEVER THE ANSWER[/URL] | NEXT: IDLE HANDS[/sub][/RIGHT]