long way down when your head's in the clouds

[poorlifedecisions]

Who| Matt Murdock and you!, Matt & Shephard
What| A belated entry to the arena, followed by his inevitable end.
Where| All around!
When| Weeks 5 and 6
Warnings/Notes| Matt's gonna die, but nothing much asides from that.

If Matt didn't know better, he'd think this was all just a bad dream - after all, it wasn't everyday someone bundled you into clothes while going on about glory and death before throwing you to the (probably figurative) wolves. It didn't seem real, at all.

But Matt's nightmares never went like this, and the ache in his ankle from where he stumbled and near tripped is proof enough that everything is real. The fact that he allowed himself to stumble is another concern, perhaps more than the fact he's supposedly in some sort of death arena. Everything feels...quiet. Dulled, almost. He's gotten so used to being able to put the world together with sound and smells, but for some reason now he just...can't. It's like his head is stuffed up but he doesn't feel any different at all. There's no reason for it, unless the people who've thrown him into this place have changed him somehow. That, the knowledge that someone out there has changed his body, changed who he is, just compounds with the knowledge that there's someone out there who would find his death entertaining.

It's sickening.

There's no time to think about it for long, though. Survival is more important than debating morals for the moment, and Matt's not one to just give up. He has a plan in mind when he sets off from the building - find something to use as a walking stick, something decently balanced, find a place to set up, get a lay of the land, and last on the list...find someone who can tell him what's going on.

Unfortunately for Matt, he doesn't know there's a mark on him. He can't see the light above his head, but it's there as plain as day letting other's know that he's there, and he's not just any old poor man stumbling through the arena.

Comments

[atouchofka]

Alain is stumbling more than a little himself. It has not been more than a day since Roland's death, and the sting of it is still raw, as is the ache of his injuries. His broken leg, worsened by the fight with the wolf, sends jolts of agony all up his body with every step he takes, and his palms are bruised and blistered - both rope burns and the more traditional kind of burn. He's resting against a tree for a moment - a very long moment - when he sees the flicker of light; the same heatless light that flickers above his own head.

Drawing back out of sight, he puts his hand to the cooking knife he took from Roland's body, takes a deep breath, and watches the man approach. He doesn't recognise the figure, but he does see, as the other man draws nearer, the way his eyes move. Or fail to move. Alain has seen blind men before, though few with such surety in their movements.

The young gunslinger looks back at the woods, where he fought so fiercely not long ago, then steps out into full view, hand still on his knife, leaning heavily on his crutch. A moment more, then he clears his throat. "Long days and pleasant nights, stranger. Though you'll find few of either here, I fear."

He doesn't dare quest out to the other man's mind. He's injured enough already, without drawing the lightening back down. Without that sense of intent, he tenses a little, ready to fight if that's the way it goes.

[poorlifedecisions]

Matt is startled at the sound of Alain clearing his throat, which is- unusual. Unnatural. He tenses, shifting part way into a fighting stance before he forces himself to still. He can't be sure if the other is a threat just yet.

There's not much he can gather with his senses so restrained, but he can get the basics. Male. Injured, in pain. Antiquated manner of speech. Not a whole lot to work off of, but he's sure the man's injuries place him solidly in the "not an immediate threat to life" category and he manages to relax just a bit.

"I can't say I was really expecting anything like that here," he says with a quirk of his lips, turning his head in Alain's direction. "It's nice to have a bit of reassurance, though."

He wants to ask if the other's been in here for very long, but...From what Matt can sense that might be a can of worms best left for later.

[atouchofka]

Alain notes that shifting stance with interest. It's not the stance he would fall into - he was trained with other weapons, and his fist-fighting is designed as a last resort - but he knows a fighting stance when he sees one, even one as abortive as that. Curious. A blind man, with powers, who knows how to fight well enough that it's his first instinct. Another person with the Touch? Or... what did the Signless call it? Psiionic?

Then the other man relaxes again, and Alain relaxes with him, loosening his grip on the knife. His hand stays within easy reach of the weapon, though. In a place like this, caution is never a bad idea.

"You're new," he says after a moment. It's almost a question, but not quite. The man must be new. He's too unscathed, too clean, and too confused for anything else.

[poorlifedecisions]

"That obvious, huh?" Matt says with a laugh. He has to be smart about this - can he afford enemies? Is this man even someone he could classify as an enemy? There's no reason to believe everyone here is a monster, though he has limited knowledge of what's going on. This man might be a man just like him, someone who doesn't want to be here or someone with a mission and purpose elsewhere, brought here to play in someone's fucked up game.

"You're the first person I've seen so far." He pauses, not sure how much to give away, remembers how upset Foggy was at him hiding the full truth, but he doesn't owe this stranger anything, does he? (If he knew he was marked, he might have been doing this all differently, but he can't turn back now.) Shaking his head, he motions to his face. "Well, not really seen. Still, I was expecting for people to be more aggressive here, though it sounds like you've dealt with your fair share of that aggression..."

He trails off with a shrug, hoping that he's not reading Alain horribly wrong.

[atouchofka]

Alain considers for a moment, silent and still. Even to Matt's heightened senses, he probably seems as if he's simply faded out of himself for a moment; his heartbeat and breathing don't change, he doesn't move, and he doesn't make a sound. Inside his own head, he's arguing with himself; a voice very like Cort's reminding him to be careful, and another, edged with no small amount of despair, asking what it matters. He's in no state to fight, regardless of what he does or doesn't tell this stranger. If the other man can use the Touch, as Alain suspects, being dishonest is a bad idea. And, most of all, he pities the man. Being dragged here at all is bad enough. Being dragged into this place, without warning or any kind of lead-up? That seems a special kind of hell.

"The aggression wasn't from people, in my case," he says at last, his voice rather heavy. "There are wolves here. If such beasts can be called wolves, for they are the size of a horse and seem solitary." Thankfully. If they weren't solitary hunters, he wouldn't be standing here at all. "Though it's true that there are more human threats. Death or glory is a powerful motivator. As for me, though..." He shrugs a little, even knowing Matt can't see it, and shifts his crutch to his other hand. "I've not forgotten my father's face enough to kill a blind man at a distance. Not even one who carries himself like a gunslinger."

Another moment's consideration, then he says, "My name is Alain, if it do ya. Alain Johns, son of Christopher. Can I have yours?"

[actually112]

There's someone else with a bright beacon over their head, not that Matt can see him. Aang is exploring the castle for the millionth time, climbing over rows and rows of beds in the servant's quarters, when the door opens and he hears the tapping of a makeshift staff.

Aang freezes on the bed he was just climbing on, looking towards the door. It's a man, one he's not familiar with, who seems to need a staff. It's not the first time Aang has met someone blind, and he knows what it means for someone to be continually tapping the ground and hitting the things around them.

But just because he's blind doesn't mean he's not a threat. Aang holds his breath, trying to be as quiet as possible, and quietly eases back on the bed, intending to climb off and make a silent escape...

When the bed creaks loudly enough to wake the dead. Fantastic.

[poorlifedecisions]

The castle was probably a poor choice for Matt to explore - too many corridors and spaces he can't quite get an idea of, but he's committed now. He can hear something moving around, but it sounds far away. Muffled. He's not expecting Aang, and the sound of the bed creaking startles him.

His head swivels towards the sound, the loudest thing he's heard since entering the castle, and tries his damnedest to look like he's not a threat. After all, who would think a blind man is dangerous? After a moment of blank staring, he's clears his throat. "I'm assuming from you trying to hide means you don't want to fight."

There's a pause.

"You aren't really doing a good job of hiding, though."

[actually112]

Aang lets out a soft huff. His cover's blown, so he might as well talk. When he speaks, his voice clearly belongs to that of a prepubescent boy. "I'm usually better at hiding. The bed's too noisy."

He jumps off it, causing it to creak loudly again, but his feet make only the lightest of sounds on the ground, like a bird is landing rather than a boy. "I don't want to fight. Do you?"

Because no, Aang is not going to discount someone just because they're blind. Toph has beaten him up way too many times for him to do that.

[poorlifedecisions]

He's been in the Arena for a week now, and he's as sure as ever that this place is Hell. There's an anger sitting in his gut over what this place means, over being watched, over children being here, and on top of that he still feels like he's got cotton in his ears.

The long and short of it is Matt is pissed, and he wants to tear the Arena to the ground. He stalks through the forest of the Arena with no true purpose, but he's tense and on edge. He ducks around the low hanging branches with ease, and doesn't stumble over any of the rocks or brush, and he holds the small branch he re-purposed into a cane in front of him more like it's a weapon.

Eventually, he slows his march through the trees. There's...someone nearby. He can smell something faint. Blood, body odor, various other things that mean that whoever it is is another tribute. The smell isn't as strong as it would be if he were back in Hell's Kitchen, but he's slowly been adapting to the new range on his senses. They're still above what he's certain is average, at the very least, but he's sure that if he can smell them now that they're close.

Probably close to hear him when he calls out. "Is anyone there?"

Now to see if they answer him.

[earthborn]

Shepard, however, can see the beacon clear as day from her perch up in the wedge of a tree. She considers the man without speaking, without even moving. He's strange, not really... not looking where he's going, but navigating all the same. It took her nearly the entirety of his approach to realize where she'd seen it before; Terezi Pyrope moved like that too. He was blind.

Blind, but with some special ability. No telling what it could be, but if it were something like Terezi's, it'd be worse than deadly. She needed to keep going, at least until her contact could get the go-signal in to her. That meant taking out people like him.

"You're blind, aren't you?" She called out, watching carefully, to see exactly how he moved. This was going to be a weird one, "What, is it... sonar, or something?"