catholicisms | open post.

❪ you're lucky to have him, she thinks to say, but the tone of their conversation has taken a welcome carnal shift.

despite the way she carries herself and the many assumptions she imagines decorates her name, as well known as it was throughout the city, sansa wasn't anywhere near as experienced as was let on. but that's at least half of it, isn't it? the ability to carry oneself with a certain prowess, to let those hungry instincts take over rather than follow a textbook guide.

it wasn't about what you knew. it was about how badly you wanted it. a pink tongue runs across her teeth, glancing over toward the window perched open just enough to let the chorus of crickets in, the tail end of summer in the city always coming with a rustling breeze, thousands of city lights winking back at her. she shifts further into down blanket, silk of her sleepwear caressing her skin.

ring ring, matt. you've got an incoming call. ❫

( Sansa, you don't even begin to know how accurate that statement is.

Matt is at home, ignoring some documents that he probably should be paying mind to for a deposition in the morning. it's hard to focus when his thoughts are elsewhere, and braille seems to be swimming disinterestedly under his fingertips tonight. his phone being unusually talkative isn't helping, and while he could have turned it off and tried to focus, he's currently glad that he didn't.

he answers after only a few rings. that's because he had to actually get up to reach it, not any contemplation of not answering. if anything, he appreciates the change in format — he'd much rather hear her voice than listen to her words relayed back through an unfeeling filter. )

I was hoping you'd do that. ( there's a hint of a smile in his voice, which is not surprising, since he's currently wearing one. )

❪ a hum, as soon as his voice replaces the steady rings, a dulcet definition of a returned smirk. ❫

Maybe I should've kept you waiting longer, then.

❪ and eyelids drift closed, ankle rolling loosely within her sheets, messed with the tuft of her cloud-like blanket. she wasn't one to often spend her nights on the phone with another man, let alone at such an hour. not many deserved to occupy her thoughts, certainly not those tugging enough to keep her awake—but it just so happens he beats out rest in terms of interest, and it's... been a while, since she's felt close to someone.

even if he's not before her right now, she's sure the dark of her lids mimics the dark of his bedroom, wherever it may be.

teeth bare, and she's not even sure why she's smiling, maybe just that contagious tick when you can hear it across devices. ❫

I figure since we're talking about words, I might as well let you hear mine.

( should she have? maybe. he probably could have focused and looked over the file Foggy had oh-so-thoughtfully laid out for him. Matt is often all too easy to distract from his work, a beautiful socialite with a sad smile is probably not a good excuse for avoiding his responsibilities. Matt isn't too concerned, he's looked over it enough he has an idea of what he wants to say for his opening statements.

so he's honest (refreshing, for Matt) in replying, ) I'm glad you didn't.

( it's a thoughtfulness he wouldn't expect from an acquaintance so new. Matt is used to people not paying much mind to what method of communication is easiest for him, offering the clarity of her voice over the complicated and clunky accessibility features he knows how to use but finds frustrating all the same. )

I appreciate that. Texting isn't the same, I much prefer your voice to a robotic one. ( even if he tries to picture the words in a voice he knows, it's hard to replace them when they echo out to him tinny and flat. ) What are you doing?

( it's an opening to sate a curiosity of his own. he's not expecting or leading, just curious as to what has left her sleepless. if she's at work like he is, and despite hearing her voice he can't guess at what is on the other side of the line unless she tells him. )

❪ to be fair, it isn't entirely a selfless decision she's made—to her benefit, she gets to hear the soft, gravel-hum of his own words, and there was a stark difference in a man who knew how to use them. as a lawyer, he knows how to navigate them far too well; if she didn't herself, she might find it a deceiving quality. however, she's always held a particularly sharp tongue, unapologetic and unrelenting. maybe that's why she's tempted enough to spend such a late hour tucked away with him. ❫

My voice, or anyone's?

❪ she's baiting him, really, as she can't imagine there are many circumstances in which he'd prefer a monotone translation.

there's a certain level of patience he's had to discipline himself to find, perfect, one she knows most wouldn't even be able to near without a sudden deprivation, unless they were left with no choice. it's easy to forget the luxury of indulging when you have all of your senses to do so. a sigh, softly let through the phone as she sinks further into a soft brush of sheets. ❫

Absolutely nothing. A bore, aren't I? ❪ and maybe it's the mere hint that he'd ask that spurs her own wonder in return. ❫ What is it I'm keeping you from?

( Matt is a wordsmith, he has a gift with words and he's never been shy about making use of it. he has it in him to be sharp and stern, though usually he chooses the opposite — soft spoken, easy banter. there was a saying about catching more flies with sugar than vinegar and Matt has always found that to be so. as manipulative as that sounded (and was, honestly), Matt at his most genuine is still charming and agreeable. it is just a matter of how much he likes someone how easy it comes.

he laughs, soft but still warm. ) Especially yours.

( she has a thoughtful and refined way of speaking, an elegance he appreciates and relates to. and he's not above enjoying an accent, okay? there's nothing wrong with that! )

Depends on how often you do nothing. Sometimes it's nice. ( not that Matt would know, since most of his breaks are taken after passing out cold on his sofa. or occasionally to flirt with via phone with a beautiful socialite. ) Work. I would say that's even more of a bore.

❪ if sansa has learned anything, it's that there was a softness to manipulation most refused to consider. it's something that could've easily gotten her into more trouble than she knew to handle, but despite her circumstances, she always seems to tug herself free from the fire and come out untouched—on the surface. it's only expected that he's devised an artful tongue. she doesn't know how long he's been without sight, but she's certain he's learned to compensate otherwise since.

it's given away by the confidence he exudes, whether faux or honest, it hardly mattered. he's quick with his responses, but not rash, more a breath of a reply, thoughtful and precise all at once. ❫

Not often enough. ❪ and it's true, while having such a well-known name amongst the city had its perks, it didn't come without a cost of it's own.

his work, speaking of, actually interests her. something she thinks she could find herself losing the late hours to, rather than finding something to chase. her tone is only hinted with tire, but it's far away, something like melted gold much more present in the forefront. ❫

It can't be that horrible. Perhaps you're just easily distracted.

I can imagine.

( that she's busy, that time to herself comes limitedly at best and not at all at worst. there's photographers that will stalk her around the city, people who would try to speak to her just for her name. Matt has been in the news on occasion for his work but his name is more infamous than his face is, and ultimately it's a persona that captures public attention. not the soft spoken frequently pro bono defense attorney.

truth be told, he can imagine not having much in the way of downtime, too; a mix of both of his livelihoods to blame.

Matt does find his work interesting, most of the time. still, overviewing case details endlessly always leaves him a little on edge. it's good to know them backwards and forwards, though it's cumbersome for him to read again and again in a way someone that can simply glance down at words on a page might not understand. he has to sort out the meaning of the little bumps under his fingertips, and it's disjointed and frustrating, even if he's been doing it for a decade. )

I can be, ( he agrees. who wouldn't prefer a task that was engaging over frustrating? ) Are you trying to be a good influence and convince me to focus?

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