Matt doesn't look particularly comic book-y at the moment, the devil suit left far behind him and his more homemade gear locked on the other side of a frozen portal home. Though he should still be plenty easy to pick out of a crowd, with his knit beanie pulled down over his eyes. He clearly has a practiced hand with the kind of blunt weaponry Natasha just handed him though, testing their balance and weight, a look of mild surprise - and slightly bloodthirsty glee - at the prospect of taser batons, flicking one on briefly and listening to the electricity crackle along its length. "These'll do nicely," he says in approval.

Foggy's going to be so jealous.

Matt hasn't met Prometheus before, but from what he can hear, his new ally is solidly built and well prepared for a cold trek in the great outdoors. The scent of kiln-fired clay that clings to his clothes is a bit odd, old and layered enough that it's not leftover from a recent attempt to keep warm, but Matt supposes he's hardly the first person to have drastically different combat skills than you'd expect from their day job. "We can't always get what we want," he agrees with a nod. "But good to have you along. What've you learned so far?"

His own outerclothes are meant for New York winters, not this kind of deep freeze, so he does take the opportunity to upgrade his coat and gloves in favor of something a little warmer, leaving his own behind for someone else to make use of. Less dexterity is a pain in the ass, especially for him, but it's better than losing fingers to frostbite. He needs those.