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.
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"He's the type of guy who let someone else do all the hitting and then like throw one punch to convince them he's totally trying. Basically he pulls a dad. I'm shocked he doesn't say 'oh no you defeated me!' after every fight."
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"It's not okay to hit people even if you're stressed." Says the hypocrite to the young lady. He really wants to add a caveat, make an exception for Frank Castle, but Matt also doesn't want her to take him seriously and learn bad habits from these casually violent people she's surrounded herself with.
Right now Matt's probably coming across like the anti-fun kind of dad.
Maybe Frank's just not as good as Kamala thinks he is. Without a gun, anyway. Marines are formidable but they don't get trained in the same way he and Elektra did. But Matt's not going to shatter her mental image of him any further.
"Is your dad here? Or your mom?"
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Kamala sighs heavily. "No, it's just me. To be honest, I thought I was the only one from my Earth until I talked to Karen. She's really good at cross-referencing stuff unlike Frank."
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Frank's got a very specific set of skills. In the he will find you and he will kill you kind of way. Matt has a lot more faith in Karen too when it comes to figuring this kind of thing out.
"We'll look after you until we get home, alright?"
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"Maybe everyone here can work together. Find a way home."
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Kamala switches gears because she needs to make sure he gets this right off the bat. "Oh but, total reassurance? We actually all do work together to find a way home. We had an off time when this place was literally torturing us, but otherwise we're actually a good team! We've had several wins lately." If it sounds like she's bragging, it's because she's that proud of the others.
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"Yeah? That's good to hear." And really that's what he would prefer that she take away from this experience. He was planning on just taking things one day at a time. Getting back on his feet. Recalibrate his senses while figuring out how everything works. Then getting his bearings and promptly tumbling into his old self-destructive cycle of finding another situation where he ends up sacrificing himself for the greater good.
"I have faith in you. You ought to believe in yourself."
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She nods in agreement with him because he's actually on the money with that. "I'm working on it. I didn't realize how much it shakes you to just lose your home and family suddenly. I mean I knew like the way you know stuff that's obvious, but yeah. Being here kind of messes with me. I don't always know my place in all this the way I did back home." She went from being a superhero and daughter to, well, not those things. It's hard to come back from that at any age. She's trying because the alternative is unthinkable to her. She never will be the person who easily gives into despair.
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Matt's throat tightens at the mention of loss, and his unseeing gaze seems to flicker like she's touched a nerve, but he doesn't say anything about it.
"Everyone feels exactly the same way you do right now. It doesn't get better when you're older, you just cope with the confusion a little differently. I mean there are no uses for blind men or lawyers here, are there? I have to find my own place too. And so does Frank, and Karen, and everyone else. We didn't decide to come to this place, or who would join us here. But we can decide the kind of person we want to be, how much of a light we want to be unto others."
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"If it bothers you we don't have to talk." Said like Matt senses a disturbance in the Force.
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Kamala claps her hands together. "Oh! I should tell you that Karen and Frank found a chapel! You can totally pray there whenever you want. All faiths are welcome. I should warn you it's kind of a hangout spot for like 90% of the other people who come there."
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"Frank told me about the chapel. It... should be open to everyone, I would hope, even if they just want to hang out. Perhaps we can go sometime," Matt offers.
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"I'm... pretty good at guessing when there's going to be fewer people there. We'll go when it's a little quieter."
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"I uh... Well. You'll know where you find me, won't you?" He doesn't know where he'll be either, but at least this place doesn't sound too big.
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"Uh- that's not-" ...my name, he doesn't trail off. She's far out of earshot by now with her magboots banging away from him.