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

[fogwells]

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. ]

Comments

[fogwells]

[ 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.

[latrodectus]

[ 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. ]

[fogwells]

[ 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.

[latrodectus]

[ 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. ]

[fogwells]

[ 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. ]

[latrodectus]

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. ]

[fogwells]

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.

[latrodectus]

[ 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.

[fogwells]

[ 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.

[latrodectus]

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. ]

[fogwells]

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?

[latrodectus]

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.