riverviewlogs | ( open ) sometimes i need the dark so i can see the light

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( open ) sometimes i need the dark so i can see the light

who: Matt Murdock
what: Matt forgets he's been blind, experiencing it for the first time all over again.
when: August 12th or anytime during the Amnesia event
where: (closed) His apartment, (open) SkyTram or anywhere really
warnings: some accidental cuts, a lot of emotional pain

I █ (closed to jessica jones) APARTMENT

[ The glass shatters. He feels shards propel against his bare feet, sharp edges cutting against the top layer of skin. The pain amplifies there more than it should, but it isn't at the center of his mind.

Because all is dark.

His breath quickens, panic swelling in the core of his chest as his heart pounds with deeper anxiety. He can't see. He hears footsteps like they're against his ears and miles away all at once, sirens go off from every direction, vibrations of movement echoing from all sides. But he can't see.

He rubs hard at his eyes, but it's futile effort. Everything is dark, dark, as if all the light in the world had been swallowed away in a single beat. He reaches out for something to grab, his balance more sensitive than it's ever been, his palm pressing flat against the wall to keep himself from tipping over. Lips quiver as he tries to look at his surroundings in a desperate frenzy. Everything black, black, black —

No, not black. Red? Is this hell, he thinks. And he's so sure it should be. Somehow he's so sure of a thousand mistakes he's made, mistakes he can't remember but that he's somehow confident exists. If this is hell, he belongs here, the fire a perfect setting for a devil like him.

Finally, he screams, his voice as loud as it can go, somehow even louder in his own ears than he remembers himself capable. ]

Help! Is someone — someone, help! I can't — [ His breath catches in his throat, his fists banging against the wall, the vibrations of the connection between fist and plaster pounding at his ears. ] I can't see ...

II █ (open) SKYTRAM

[ His ears pop, again and again, as the bullet car rushes fast along the tracks. The shaking of the rails are the most prominent sound he can catch, making it difficult to focus on anything else. But he does catch voices, a muttering here and there from any seat in this car, and several in others too, he's convinced.

Clutching tighter to his cane, he remains mostly still in his seat, head bent down to keep his ears out, trying to get a sense of his location. But everything moves too fast, too much is happening all at once for him to focus on anything at all.

He takes a deep breath, teeth chewing subtly at his bottom lip before he tries to find composure. Turning his body, he can make out a vague shape of a person sitting nearby, a red haze forming the silhouette of them. ] Excuse me. Do you know where we are?

III █ (open) WILD CARD

[ He can't keep still in his apartment. Taking his cane that he's already had in his possession for reasons unknown, he wanders through the streets, trying to make sense of his lack of his sight. He's blind, but somehow, not entirely, able to make out shapes in burning red hues, but struggling to decipher the what and how of it all.

He paces sidewalks, enters in and out of buildings, with no real direction, no real motive, other than keeping his ears open to the overwhelming sounds around him in an attempt to filter them one by one. And he'll continue to walk, pacing endlessly, at least until someone can stop him in his steps. ]

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[ she wakes up to the sound of screaming, and for once, not her own. jessica jones has endured nightmares in the past, and in every single one, she cries inside for help even though the words never escape her lips. however, the voice she hears now is much lower, but no less desperate. ]

Shit.

[ there's no time to question, only react. she bolts to her feet, standing up from her bed and hardly noticing the empty bottles of bourbon that litter the ground. with swift movements, she dashes through her entrance, tracing the source of the noise to an apartment across the hall. jess doesn't bother to knock; her hand finds the handle of the front door, and with her strength, she breaks the lock. ]

Hey! [ she discovers matt quickly, his fists banging against the wall in panic. within seconds, she closes the distance between them. confusion distorts her face, as she attempts to process the scene in front of her eyes. there's shattered glass on the floor, along with traces of blood, but other than that, no signs of immediate danger. her fingers drift to his shoulder, trying to pull him upright. ] What's wrong?

Edited 2017-08-13 01:38 (UTC)

[ It becomes a wave of crimson hues, both brightening and darkening, as the sounds weave in and out. Mostly, it lingers on dark, the torture of the black constantly reeling back in and leaving him vulnerable. His breath grows fast, as if slipping into shock, an overwhelming cloud of hopelessness filling him —

And then he hears the crunching of metal, the collision of it hitting the wooden floor, before footsteps pace closer towards him.

He can't make her out definitively, but he can tell that she's there even before her voice reaches him. A familiar voice, but his state of mind leaves him little room to focus on that fact. The touch of her hand over his shoulder forces him to shiver, forces him to become so much more aware of all that's around him. His eyes widen even though the action itself doesn't improve his situation and his lip quivers as he battles in his head for a response. ]

I — I can't see. [ Glass pricks at the bottom of his foot where he steps back towards the wall, forcing him to wince. ] Everything looks ... it all looks like it's on fire. I don't — I don't know what happened.

[ she's perplexed, though irritation soon twists her expression. while the concern still remains, subtly etched on her features, jess releases him after he leans on the wall for support. there's a pointed pause, her disbelief thick and heavy in the air. ]

You're blind, dumbass. [ she watches matt cautiously, wondering whether he's lost his mind. ] You know that.

[ She says it so plainly, so confidently, and somehow Matt knows it. It's the tone of her voice, the aggravated air of it, that makes the identity of the woman clear — Jessica Jones. He'd spoken to her, hadn't he? The aggressive woman who'd led him to his door when he'd ask.

Why did he ask? He can't remember.

But his panting breaths don't cease, his head swiftly turning to all directions, trying to make sense of the hazy darkness. ]

No. No, I wasn't ... [ He shakes his head, trying to maintain a calm demeanor in his tone, but the shakiness of it betrays him. ] This just happened. This just — gah! [ He groans in wincing pain, his eyes clamping shut as his palms press tight over his ears.

Shouting. He could hear everyone shouting. A cluster of voices coming together to form nothing but nonsensical sentences, a continuous ringing that he can't seem to will away. ]

[ she doesn't know what to do. for the first time since her arrival, jessica feels helpless. his affliction doesn't appear physical; she can't merely punch the problem away. a moving vehicle, she can stop, and an arrogant robber, she can knock unconscious. no, he's struggling with personal demons, and for a reason she doesn't comprehend, her moronic neighbor is oblivious to his lack of sight. with a gruff exhale, she steps forward, reaching out to cup his face with her hands. ]

Hey. [ perhaps it's a foolish move on her part, but before she can reconsider, her fingers brush over the stubble on his chin as she holds him in place. ] Just listen, alright?

[ trish has always been better at this — helping others, showing sincere emotion. but goddammit, she can't stand aside and watch someone else suffer. ]

Take a deep breath. And focus on me.

[ Everything remains loud — voices, sirens, footsteps, crying, clanking, yelling — all of it condensing into an endless rumble at his ears. Matt wants to scream, fighting the urge that beats at him from the inside. Make it stop, he wants to say, his mouth gaping wide and his palms pressing so tightly to his ears that a headache looms in result.

But her fingers are so sudden, the slipping of them against his cheek leaving him so surprised that his breath holds. Eyes blink rapidly, catching her voice integrating into focus between the rest of the noise.

Listen, she says, and he does. Take a deep breath.

While shaky in its execution, he does breathe, air filling up his lungs quickly, almost gasping as though it was the first breath he'd taken at all. Slowly, the world silences around him, everything filtering out until it's only her voice he hears. The shapes in front of him shift until it's her that he sees, still in a hazy blur, but it's her, the contours of her nose and mouth almost visible.

His breaths slows, growing more steady as he finds an anchor to steer him from the rest of the chaotic noise. A beating sound still remains in his head and he thinks for a moment it's his own heart, only his had been more frantic, more out of rhythm.

His voice still shakes, but it's quieter as he whispers. ] I hear — I hear your heart.

[ her heart. he can hear her heart. and it's true — it's thumping wildly in her chest, loud enough for even jess to register it. not as frantic as his, perhaps, but significant, all the same. her fingers still grip each side of matt's face, refusing to release him. not until she can trust that he's sufficiently stable.

there's a moment of silence, where her anxiety is palpable. his proximity brings her discomfort, though she makes a valiant effort to suppress it. no matter their differences, he needs her now. and while she's never envisioned herself as a hero, jess won't abandon him in this state.

her posture is uncertain, her shoulders tense. but jessica's gaze never leaves his expression. swallowing hard, she listens to her own advice and takes a deep breath. ]

You're gonna be okay.

[ It's strange but he somehow feels it. In her heart, her breaths, he can tell of her uncertainty. Or maybe it's his own, he can hardly tell when there's so much in his head at once, when he's trying to filter out the world around him while trying to find some sheer focal point.

Only he does find one, his wonder of her steering his mind from everything else to the woman in front of him, to warm hands pressing over his cheeks.

He'd be alone, screaming, utterly hopeless in a world of nothing but endless black. Yet her presence gradually slips in an ease of mind, with comfort that there's someone here, that he isn't lost in some terrible nightmare alone. His voice momentarily catches in his throat, his breath still fast and uneasy.

But his hands slide over her wrists, a gentle touch, slow as his fingers rest over her knuckles. ] I can't see you, but I — [ Can sense something. Where he is in proximity to him, her beating heart, the faint liquor on her breath, the weight of her emotions. ]

[Cue Jensen, gaping at everything around him like a fucking tourist. Which, he supposes, he sort of is. For the moment. They said he could be here for five years before transferring to the big globe up in the sky, or he could go home, if that's what he really wanted.

Honestly, he wasn't sure. So much was going on and everyone seemed to have... someone. Back home, that is. Sure, he knew they relied on him and he on them, but it wasn't the same, was it? And if he was here and they weren't, didn't that say something?

He was lost in thought before he heard someone talking to him, blinking up and seeing a guy in red shades and-- oh. A red-tipped cane. Right.]

Ah, hold on. Just a sec.

[He stood, hand held out to the guy in a 'stay' motion before he realized how futile that was. Habit, he supposed. But he looked up at the map available on the tram, then at the blinking indicator that showed where they were on it.]

Yeah, yeah. We're just coming up into the shopping district. You need a hand getting somewhere?

[Not like he had anything better to do than ogle the city. And the guy looked borderline stressed at the moment. It's the least he could do, really.]

[ As much as he was beginning to make out shapes, to make out clearer indications of the movements around him, he couldn't see any of the visuals on the screens above that indicate their location.

He does see the motion of the man's hand, but he doesn't react to it, still so unsure of how accurate these shapes really were. Because darkness was still the primary color, or absence of it, in his eyes, and everything else, the hazy fires that came and went remained unreliable.

Despite his earlier panic, he'd had the chance to collect his appearance since then, a calmness in his expression as if the panic had never been there at all.

He gives the man a polite smile, nodding slightly. ] Mostly just getting off. I feel like I've been stuck on here for hours. I should have been a little better prepared.

Hey, man. I have no problem helping out. I just got here myself, so I'm game to go slowly and figure it all out. Really, buddy. I don't mind helping out. It's kinda my gig.

[The calm was better. The last thing he needed was someone blind panicking and Jensen having no clue what to do to help them. He smiled, which Matt couldn't see, but maybe he could hear it. He'd heard that people could hear when you smiled, even over the phone. Jensen was usually smiling when he talked. Kind of his natural state of being.]

I'm Jensen. Jake Jensen. Guess the rank doesn't apply here anymore, so fuck it.

Thank you. [ He huffs a breath into a more sincere smile. ] I've been here for a few weeks so I should really be the one offering the assistance.

[ A few weeks. He's well aware he's been in this city for all that time and yet — why was it all so unclear? Why couldn't he remember the sights, the visuals of everything he'd seen during that time? Had going blind meant losing all memories of the things he had once seen? ]

Matthew. Matt Murdock. [ Matt holds his hand up, offering it in the air in an off-center direction towards Jensen. ] Um, I'm sorry — rank?

[The smile makes the guy seem more affable, much more approachable, and Jensen takes his hand and gives it a firm squeeze before letting go.]

Yeah, military. Captain, but we were a specialized unit, so it's not like that came up much. Not a lot of mingling with civvies in the jungle, you know? The, ah, orientation board or whatever says they might set me up with the perimeter guard here. You got any idea what it is we're supposed to be guarding against? Any giant monkeys or moths or something?

Captain Jensen.

[ Matt takes note of the note regarding whether or not it still applies. He knows there's a possibility that it doesn't, knowing that titles can shift and change when crossing borders, especially when this was a border he knew very little about in regards to location.

But even his own title was gone, wondering just how long it'd been since the last time he was considered a paralegal. ]

I'm afraid I'm still a little vague on the details myself. Still just trying to get used to the transportation.

Used to be. Be kind of entitled to keep using that title when no one here gives a rat's ass about my... world, or its military.

Jesus. Ain't that a kick in the pants, huh? Multiple worlds?

[ Natasha is walking— not to her home, but the place that they put her, which is as near as she's had to home for a long while. She's still trying to find things about this place she can use. The hang of a balcony here, the cut of an alleyway there, she keeps them all in her head. Maybe that's why she doesn't notice that the only other person walking down this quiet, curving street is stumbling blindly. With a cane and everything. Obvious.

She doesn't move for him, or get out of the way. ]

[ He tries to make use of the cane as he should. Each tap to the ground echoes to his ears which try to focus on the distance of the traveled sound, of making sense of his locations and movements relative to the rest of the world around him. It should be impossible, and it almost is, as he struggles to figure out the filter to drown out the rest of the sounds, of voices long distances away, of a running sink in a building, of shuffling feet clustered over land within several miles.

Huffing a breath of slight aggravation, he presses his lips tight together to keep a steady mind. He could learn; he could figure it out.

But then she's close, an incoming body, the solidity of her becoming suddenly so obvious, so present. By the time it comes to his notice, it becomes impossible to sidestep completely, but at the very least, he manages to tuck his cane to the side and out of the way before he reaches out for her arm, stopping an incoming collision. ]

Sorry, I — I actually didn't see you there.

[ She doesn't flinch at the touch, but some part of her does retreat, at the touch. Natasha moves as little as possible, to steady herself, as if she his keeping her motion in reserve. But she does curse herself, inwardly— she should have been more careful, more aware. It's sloppy, and she can't afford that. ]

Sorry— [ Natasha's voice is level, almost friendly, not at all like her thoughts. She's used to keeping parts of herself detached. ] It was my fault. I didn't see you coming, either.

[ She notices the cane. Her fault, her fault, her mind echoes. They've been touching for too long. ]

[ Her pulse runs fast. Or is it his own? Still the noise from all directions, chitter chatter from those who continue to walk around them, as if the near collision was all in a world of their own. And then suddenly it is, as his focus of the world shifts, sounds around him becoming muffled as if pressed beneath a pillow.

And then he only hears her voice — her voice — it's familiar, sounds far too integrated in his memory. He's heard before, somewhere, that's right. On the phone. She'd known him. ]

Ms. Romanov.

[ The other Matt— it made sense now. She should have seen it earlier, but his hair was different, or something. Like a shelf missing a book, her recollections of Matt felt incomplete, somehow.

That, and even though he was blind, the Mattew she knew had never run into her, never seemed to make a misstep at all. ]

That's right. [ Her voice hangs low. Her heart pounds deep and steady. ] Matthew Murdock, I presume?

[ She hates alternate universe. Put that on the record. ]

[ He doesn't respond immediately, the steady rhythm of her heart louder in his head than her voice. Grasping control doesn't come easy, but he breathes — taking it step by step. ]

Right. Sorry, I — I didn't recognize you at first.

[ He chuckles lightly. A little blind humor. ]

Of course.

[ She smiles, a small, brief thing, but she can't bring herself to laugh for his benefit. ]

Do you need— any help?

[ Something's agitating him, she decides, but she can't recognize what it is. The streets seem clear enough. ]

I'd be grateful.

[ His lips curve into a smile, even if there's still lingering discomfort. He'd been blind. He'd always been blind. He'd woken today as if it was all a sudden new feeling, and yet — she, and everyone else, this isn't new to them.

How much has he forgotten? ]

I was actually hoping someone could guide me in the right direction for a drink. If you had the time to lead the way, of course.

[ That catches her off-guard. She raises an eyebrow— maybe he was like the Matt she knew. Natasha is curious. She can't help it. A character flaw, she knows. But still: ]

Of course. [ Maybe he can hear the little smile in her voice. ] But you should know: it's a bit of a hike.

[ And he does — not only in her voice, but in the movement of it, the shift of her skin, the twist of her lip. Somehow he hardly feels blind at all.

His own smile doesn't waver. ]

Shouldn't be too much of a problem with pleasant company.

Well, Mr. Murdock.

[ She takes his arm, lightly— just to guide him. ]

It's seven blocks this way.

[ Some part of her thinks this is a mistake. ]

Thank you.

[ It's a slight touch and yet he can still feel the warmth of her hand through the fabric of his jacket. He says nothing of it, simply getting into step with her. ]

How are you enjoying the city, Ms. Romanov?

I confess— [ Her tone is a little sheepish, which is not an emotion she ever feels. But the words are true enough. ]

I find it difficult to settle here. It seems like something is always moving.

[Laura had been bad, which is to be expected, really. Her case worker had taken her out for a day of school shopping — "Clothes!" Linda had said, hands clapped together, eyes sparkling. "I love clothes!" Laura liked clothes with cool things on them, but otherwise, her attention had waned considerably. This means it was time to lose her poor case worker and hop into a tram before she could be found all over again.

So it's a kid, sitting close to Matt. Not that he has an easy time telling. In fact, she's deathly quiet, hasn't moved an inch or spoken a peep. When he asks the question, Laura finds some compassion — she can sense his gnawing fear. Don't freak out when the little voice speaks closer than perhaps anticipated:]

I can read the signs.

[English is the universal language. It was required to understand.]

[ Matt's brow raises at the sudden voice. His distracted mind had kept him with a lack of ease in grasping his senses, in focusing his mind on clearer details. It was either everything at once or nothing at all, making it difficult to decipher one person's attributes from another.

When he hears her, he finally takes notice of how young she is, leaving him in momentary surprise.

But he offers a smile, small and polite as he nods. ] Could you? I'm — at a bit of a disadvantage.

[She nods, and then starts listing them out in slow, careful detail.

The place is pretty foreign to her, too, really.

But as she finishes, she's... admittedly curious. She says, very certain:]

You are having trouble.

[ He listens carefully to her voice, to the steadiness of her tone as she reads what he can't. His head remains bowed low, focused — it helps to have the sound of her at the center of his mind, something to draw him away from the clatter of wheels on track, of creaking metal, of blasting wind up against the tram's front.

She takes notice of his problem even if she doesn't know what it is. Children are always more attentive than most.

He gives a small nod. ]

I can't see. [ A simple answer, even if it's anything but. ] And everything else is — loud.

[Another pause, one of careful thought.]

Do you feel unsafe?

[ It's a strange conversation to be having with a child. But he knows children are smarter than they seemingly appear. He'd been a child once.

He's quiet for a moment. ]

More lost than unsafe.

[Well, that's good. Bad-good. Being unsafe is never a pleasant feeling, and while being lost certainly isn't either, she finds it's not quite so crippling to be uncertain of everything, rather than terrified.]

I can help. If you want help.

[She won't force it; people sometimes have to do things on their own.

Learning to survive, and all.]

[ He gives a smile, small but honest. Talking helps ease away the sounds, the presence of company a pleasant focal point to turn dreadful noises away and make this misfortune seem a bit more bearable. ]

I'd greatly appreciate it, but — [ More importantly, ] Shouldn't you check with your guardian?

[ There should be one. ]

[Her brow quirks, but her humor is not betrayed in her tone as she replies.]

I don't have a guardian.

[And from her easy commentary, it seems she doesn't feel she needs one.

As much as she likes Linda well enough (for an annoying lingering adult), she's fine on her own.]

I take care of myself fine.

[ He's initially surprised, but then he hadn't been all that different, had he? ]

That's very mature of you.

[ She sounds confident in herself, sensing by her tone that it isn't simply the brag of a child who simply wants to rebel from being under the care of an adult. ]

I had to take care of myself from a young age too.

[That's not too surprising; all her life, she's known children to have to look out for themselves far too much... locked away and escaping. She looks up toward the passing scenery, a small thing sitting with her feet dangling, she's too short to reach the floor.]

Did you not have a mom and -- father?

['Daddy' reminds her too much of Logan's final moments. She can't bare to think of it.]

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( open ) sometimes i need the dark so i can see the light

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