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 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?"