The chuckle that came from Killian was throaty; it sounded smoke-choked and scalded, a rumble of a noise as he cracked the eggs - one at a time, since he only had one hand to work with. But just as Matt had learned to do just about anything without eyesight, Killian had learned to do just about anything while lacking a hand. He wasn't about to let the Dark One turn him into some kind of cripple - he'd been stubborn about it after losing his hand, so long ago, and remained stubborn about it even to this day, as he learned more about modern conveniences and such.
"You must love the law," he noted, amused at the thought. "Vigilante..." The word, caressed by his accent, seemed a bit strange to him but he was curious about what that entailed, exactly. "Though doesn't a vigilante sort of mean...there's a lack of legal authority? Are you a bit of a rebel then, Murdock? And here I thought you couldn't get any more appealing." Oh no, apparently he was wrong!
There was a mug of dark brew he'd made for himself, and he sipped on it before giving the eggs a poke. Over-easy. That he could do. "Being here almost a year is intense and infuriating. I haven't died recently, however, so I suppose I'll take what I can get."