Matt Murdock (
blindninja) wrote in
reverielogs2018-07-18 08:56 am
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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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[And Steve Rogers playing nurse with her anytime she got injured.]
So this was a pretty big leap, even if I don’t really know what a lot of this stuff does.
[She had to imagine this was even more stressful for him, being in a completely new place and unable to see. Did he even have his stick with him? She remembers watching him zoom around the orphanage with that thing.
Without even really thinking about it, Daisy reaches out to put her hand gently on top of his.]
We’ll find a way out of here. Then you can go back to being New York’s best lawyer.
[If he’s still alive anyway.]
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'We're gonna be the best damn avocados this city has ever seen.']
Okay. For what it's worth, Daisy, I'm glad you made it out of there okay.
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Thanks.
[Letting go of his hand after a few seconds, Daisy moves to stand.]
I'm going to get you some water. I'll be right back, okay?
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[Come on, Matt. Daisy nudges the glass against his hand so he knew where it was, but she wasn’t letting go until he had a grip on it.]
What’s being a lawyer like?
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It's uhm... it's a lot of hard work. And a little stressful. [He moves slowly to sit up properly and takes a small sip. It still feels like swallowing rocks, but he'll be better at holding fluids down than eating right now.]
Maybe I made it stressful with my choice of clients. [Said with a small laugh.] It can be rewarding to see people get compensated, or closure and they can move on, but. Sometimes disappointing, depending on how the jury goes.
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[Did he really think she would see him as a burden? Especially right now when he's pretty badly injured. Daisy takes the glass back from him once he's done sipping at the water, just so he doesn't lose his grip on it.]
So you're civil rights lawyer?
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You're not in trouble are you?
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[Daisy laughs, but, really. That’s pretty insane. And maybe at times dangerous? When he asks her if she’s in trouble, he probably means it as a joke. And yet, little did he know...]
Not right this minute, no.
[A joke, but also, pretty accurate to just how insane her life normally is.]
Laws don’t really apply here anyway. Which I’m sure is exactly what a lawyer wants to hear.
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It's not very reassuring for a blind man either. I just have to hope everyone's treating each other well.
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It's probably a good thing he can't see her right now. Especially with the way she's got bruises on her neck and around her nose.]
For the most part. Some days are worse than others.
[Or weeks.]
There are rooms here, I don't know if you knew that. They're not very big, but neither were the rooms at St. Agnes.
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I was in one, upstairs. 6.27. [He remembers stumbling into that bleeding all over it, at least, even if some of the other details were a little fuzzy.] It seemed vacant.
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[There were a lot of rooms, and sometimes it was hard to keep up with who was where.]
Is that where you woke up?
[The fact that he can remember being up there, and is still awake, Daisy takes as a good sign.]
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Suppose I should go back. I think I made a bit of a mess.
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I don't think you need to worry about that right now.
[She assumes that's where he was trying to go when she found him on the ground right outside.]
Who patched you up?
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[She sure as hell wouldn't be able to carry him. Damn, Matt, when did you start working out? He was pretty scrawny the last she saw of him, then again, she's definitely changed too.]
Are you cold?
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Your bandages need to be changed, can I help?
[Because she'd rather not freak him out by just doing it without asking.]
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...sure. [He starts feeling around for how to get the rest of his jumpsuit off, wincing as he stretches a wound out the wrong way.]
It's... probably pretty bad. [Matt's holding up well considering the extent of his injuries; he's probably worse than he looks. It was worth warning her as much.]
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I’ve seen worse.
[That’s a lie. It looks bad. Grabbing the things she’ll need, Daisy figures she should warn him before she starts taking off the old bandages so she can clean the wounds.]
This isn’t going to feel so good.
[She tries to be as gentle as she can, but it’s going to hurt regardless of how careful she is. Once she’s doing, Daisy throws everything out.]
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On more than one occasion his lips moved as if to speak, but he doesn't really know what to say, and she's deliberately not asking why and how and when and all those other questions which he does appreciate. So he just purses his lips and tries to control his breathing.]
I'm not ready to tell you everything right now. [Is how he ends up addressing the elephant in the room.] But I trust you. And I will. [It's as honest of an answer as she's getting from him right now.]
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You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, Matt.
[Because there's definitely stuff she's keeping not only from him but a lot of people.]
I'm guessing you didn't come here with your cane?
[Or it was taken from him. Which really pisses her off to think about.]
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It wasn't with me. It's alright, I can-... feel my way around. [He's always tried not to make his being blind other peoples' problems.] This place is fairly small, isn't it? Easy to navigate?
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[And she only says that because she's helped him in the past. Of course she's sure he's come a long way since then, but still.]
I don't think they had blind people in mind when this place was made.
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