Matt Murdock (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blindninja) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
reverielogs2018-07-18 08:56 am
blindninja) wrote in reverielogs2018-07-18 08:56 am
Open
» WHO? Matt Murdock & OPEN
» WHEN? Now
» WHERE? Deck 6 => 6.27 => Deck 5
» WHAT? Arrival
» WARNINGS? TBC
Arrival Hall (CLOSED to Frank Castle)
It's cold.
He's not where he was before. He knows that much. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets his senses go, scanning his surroundings like an uncalibrated radar. Metal. Lots of metal, clanging, banging. But everything is wrong. Lighter, like things are floating even when they're not. People are talking. Laughing, maybe. But distant, like the next apartment building over, or somewhere down the next block. The fine hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck stand with the low buzz-hum of the vessel, creaking, engine churning like an old ship, suspended in space.
It's like a hangover, except. He feels heavy even though he's light. Shackles on his feet. His head hurts. Everything hurts. And God, what is that noise?
Less of a waking up, more of regaining consciousness as Matt rolls over with a pained cry and a grimace.
His hand crawls over to the smartwatch, trying to mute the beeping and humming and screeching grating against his ears. What day is it? What time? What happened? He clutches the device with one hand and runs the other hand down his body. Daredevil's gone. Only Matthew. A jumpsuit covering the bandages. Stitches. Blood. No pearly gates, no apostles. No questions to answer about how he's lived his life, whether he's lived it well, whether he's repentant. Paid enough of a price. Just a jumpsuit... and a pair of boots?
"...lectra." Talking feels like rousing up a sandstorm in his throat. He groans and struggles to his feet, using energy he doesn't have to drive him forward. Out. Just the one thing on his mind.
I have to save her.
He gets blood on his palm as he presses his hand over a wet bandage, stitches having been ripped as he sluggishly stumbles deliriously down the corridor. His boots clunk along at an uneven, unsteady pace. Everything is too loud. Too cold. Too heavy. There's blood on the wall where he braced himself against it. And then there's a door. Everything flickers behind his closed eyelids. Black, red, black, red, black, black, black...
Room 6.27. Where everything's a little quieter. And he can just focus. Keep the red lights on in the dark.
6.27. Matthew. Chapter Six. Verse Twenty-Seven. 'Can any one of you, by worrying, add a single hour to your life?'
Hn. That's funny. The chuckle bubbles to the surface. For all the pain He's inflicted, God still has a decent sense of humour.
Departure Lounge (OTA)
He doesn't take kindly to being dumped in the med bay, but there's not much of a fight he can put up against Frank Castle in his current state. He's not sure how long he's been resting there, but when he's well enough to orientate himself again, he's not staying in the med bay. The machines are noisy. He has questions. He's scared.
Matt makes it two steps out of the med bay before space sickness kicks in. The sheer wrongness of the gravitational pull throws him off, throws everything around him off. He sinks down to his knees and clutches his head, curling up against the wall. He looks pale, like he's about to throw up.
» WHEN? Now
» WHERE? Deck 6 => 6.27 => Deck 5
» WHAT? Arrival
» WARNINGS? TBC
Arrival Hall (CLOSED to Frank Castle)
It's cold.
He's not where he was before. He knows that much. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets his senses go, scanning his surroundings like an uncalibrated radar. Metal. Lots of metal, clanging, banging. But everything is wrong. Lighter, like things are floating even when they're not. People are talking. Laughing, maybe. But distant, like the next apartment building over, or somewhere down the next block. The fine hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck stand with the low buzz-hum of the vessel, creaking, engine churning like an old ship, suspended in space.
It's like a hangover, except. He feels heavy even though he's light. Shackles on his feet. His head hurts. Everything hurts. And God, what is that noise?
Less of a waking up, more of regaining consciousness as Matt rolls over with a pained cry and a grimace.
His hand crawls over to the smartwatch, trying to mute the beeping and humming and screeching grating against his ears. What day is it? What time? What happened? He clutches the device with one hand and runs the other hand down his body. Daredevil's gone. Only Matthew. A jumpsuit covering the bandages. Stitches. Blood. No pearly gates, no apostles. No questions to answer about how he's lived his life, whether he's lived it well, whether he's repentant. Paid enough of a price. Just a jumpsuit... and a pair of boots?
"...lectra." Talking feels like rousing up a sandstorm in his throat. He groans and struggles to his feet, using energy he doesn't have to drive him forward. Out. Just the one thing on his mind.
I have to save her.
He gets blood on his palm as he presses his hand over a wet bandage, stitches having been ripped as he sluggishly stumbles deliriously down the corridor. His boots clunk along at an uneven, unsteady pace. Everything is too loud. Too cold. Too heavy. There's blood on the wall where he braced himself against it. And then there's a door. Everything flickers behind his closed eyelids. Black, red, black, red, black, black, black...
Room 6.27. Where everything's a little quieter. And he can just focus. Keep the red lights on in the dark.
6.27. Matthew. Chapter Six. Verse Twenty-Seven. 'Can any one of you, by worrying, add a single hour to your life?'
Hn. That's funny. The chuckle bubbles to the surface. For all the pain He's inflicted, God still has a decent sense of humour.
Departure Lounge (OTA)
He doesn't take kindly to being dumped in the med bay, but there's not much of a fight he can put up against Frank Castle in his current state. He's not sure how long he's been resting there, but when he's well enough to orientate himself again, he's not staying in the med bay. The machines are noisy. He has questions. He's scared.
Matt makes it two steps out of the med bay before space sickness kicks in. The sheer wrongness of the gravitational pull throws him off, throws everything around him off. He sinks down to his knees and clutches his head, curling up against the wall. He looks pale, like he's about to throw up.
no subject
The information overload floats around like background noise, and Matt absorbs some of it the way he tends to absorb information quickly even though he's finding it difficult to focus. He doesn't like the communicator. It buzzes. He doesn't like the boots either. They're heavy. What rings? Frank would it kill you to slow down and talk to your lawyer like he's the dumb one in this professional lawyer-client relationship?
Matt tilts his head the other way and blinks at Frank but otherwise doesn't say anything to acknowledge that he heard any of that. He clenches his teeth and his brows furrow.
"...Karen? Karen Page?" Frank had mentioned her before but Matt's thought Frank's mind was still in lalaland. Elektra's alive and Karen's here? That's
greatgoing to be. Awkward.no subject
"Someone's catching up. Karen and me have been here 82 days now. Elektra came a few weeks after us. New people show up every day, no one knows how or why." Frank isn't really thinking of awkwardness or reunions now, just keeping Matt alive. Because if he really stops to think about it... he's basically dating the guy's ex, in space. And he slept (platonically! hello!) with his other ex last night. Yeah, it's a good thing he's socially the worst otherwise this would be real awkward already, thank goodness for small miracles. "Look. You're in 6.27. It's 8 doors to mine, I'm 6.19. You're not gonna want me helping you but it's too damn bad now."
no subject
Oh God. That would have been the last time they'd have spoken if he had died. And Foggy. He was so proud of Foggy for making headway in Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz, fighting their good fight in that monstrosity of a law firm. He never told him he was sorry for lashing out at him at Josie's.
Matt looks distraught. He barely registers the numbers. 6.27. 6.19. Are they talking about the Bible? Whose chapter?
No, you moron. The room numbers. Important talk happening here. Matt licks his bottom lip and nods though his eyes seem more glazed over than usual when he turns his head towards Frank.
"...yeah."
no subject
"When Elektra gets here, remind her to show you the space video. It'll tell you all the shit I just said that you already forgot. And you'll actually listen to her, so. I'll find you later and give you your device. Start brainstorming a username." It's all very mundane and probably stupid, and yet: important. Because he's not letting anything bad happen to Matt, no matter what's been between them in the past. Frank can pretend it's because of Karen and Elektra, but he'd do it anyway, for his own peace of mind. He gets up with a scrape of his chair and gives the man in the bed one last look just as he sees a familiar dark-haired beauty approach.
"See you around, Red."
This is where he makes his dramatic exit by poking his dog with his boot to get him off the floor and Elektra and Frank probably give each other a high five hand hug on the way past. He's tagging out, my dude, but much to Matt's chagrin he'll be back soon.