Matt Murdock is (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sightless) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} rooms, |
Now that it had a few moments to consider the situation, Matthew's body was attempting full revolt. Black stars were rotating around the edges of his vision, vision that had not functioned in years, and the many agonies of the last ten minutes were stacking up. He was starting to think the lady Clementine a wise and sound lady for all her warnings. How bothersome.
He was not, despite these inconveniences, incoherent. Matthew was more than he seemed, and his body could take more damage in shorter time than the majority of the human population, something the other man in the alley would no doubt understand intimately. Not that he was healing in front of his eyes, or anything. He was just alive and moving, instead of screaming in agony. Very, very slowly, in a contortion of muscles, he began to force himself up into sitting.
He didn't turn his head to track the other man's movement, but he was aware of him in other ways, a slight drift of his chin to one side an indicator, as well as a pause in his movements to see which way the fight would go. In Matthew's experience, the good guys ran away, and the bad guys stayed to try and kill him. And yet, this man had neatly managed two assailants, and he had not attempted to use the machine whirring at his side. Matthew couldn't determine what it was, and thought perhaps there was something wrong with his senses after the damage he had taken.
"'Tis a thing I... had noticed."