maddest | [Accidental Audio-Video]

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[Accidental Audio-Video]

[The PCD is jostled on to audio in time for an almighty crash to register. It skitters across the ground, cracks against a stone, and the video function is triggered. Break is on his hands and knees on the street, looking more irritated than anything else. He pats his pockets, realizes the device is missing, and sighs.

Slowly, he begins the process of patting his hands along the ground, investigating with his fingers what shapes seem lighter or darker than others to his ruined eyesight. He is- for once in his life- utterly silent.

Attempt to make it to the clinic: firmly derailed. Though he was getting close, from the looks of the buildings around him.]

[ooc notes: this will be a fairly non-responsive PCD post. Break has been having trouble with his vision for months, and now the event has also taken away his ability to hear as well. He won't be able to respond to comments via PCD, but the hope is someone will realize this and come find him, be it for good or for evil. Or just to laugh at him via the feed.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Break inhales deeply- and yes, that's familiar. The angle is a little different, with both of them standing, but really there's no mistaking his arms, and the affection. He reaches up to grab Al's hand, turning it up and tracing out with the tip of a finger.]

A-L-?

[The letters are recognizable. Al gives him a happy squeeze, smiling against his ear, and reaching around to touch his finger the very tip of Break's nose, a parody of a "correct answer!" from charades.

He reaches for Break's hand, spelling out.]

W-H-E-R-E-? [Are you going?]

Edited 2010-11-12 20:16 (UTC)

[He doesn't understand- so he pauses for a moment, before answering-]

?

I-T-S-A-L

[Understandable. He tried to oversimplify. Each word comes with a pause, but Al holds him close, despite not being able to feel him there. He's been worried.]

W-H-E-R-E A-R-E Y-O-U G-O-I-N-G-?

[Break nods, finally understanding. He replies.]

C-L-I-N-I-C-C-A-N-T-H-E-A-R-E-V-E-N-T-E-V-E-N-TEVENT?

[The last comes rather fast. If this isn't an event- if this is just the rest of his life... he doesn't know what he'll do.]

[Al nods against his shoulder, another squeeze, breathlessly this time. God, Break.]

E-V-E-N-T Y-E-S

[He sags in relief, slumping down, hitting his knees on the street and humming softly. Thank God.]

[Al makes a startled sound Break can't hear as he completely loses his balance, nearly knocking them both over before he remembers he should let go.

Negi is the only person he's actively touched this week, everything else is clumsy, but it's the only thing Break can understand. Al gets on his knees next to Break, hand on his shoulder, grounding him until he feels he can move.]

[It only takes a minute. He makes it back to his feet, drawing in deep, even, calming breaths, reaching for Al's hands again to talk a little more.]

[Al gives him both hands, stepping close to watch the letters formed. He can't feel his hands; it's all visual.]

F-O-O-D-?

[... oh, god. Al grips his hand around Break's, bringing it to Al's cheek so he can feel him nod- Then he traces out against his palm.]

A-T M-Y H-O-U-S-E

[He trusts Break, and he takes his hand, tugging gently. He'll lead him right there.]

[Break grins, and gives Al's cheek a pinch, rather like an irritatingly pushy grandmother. But he follows Al.

He trusts him. How in God's name did that happen?]

[Even Break can even fake a smile, he's still okay. Al laughs softly in the gloom and guides him back towards his house. The pace is steady but punishing; they make good time.

Nobody knows.

It's warmer inside the house. If Break could hear he might hear others around and about, but Al bringing home someone in need of help is an ordinary occurrence. Al urges Break to sit down at the kitchen table, and within minutes, he'll have a hot mug of chamomile tea with honey pressed into his hands. Al pats his shoulder, and a minute later something is sizzling on the stove.]

[The scent explodes into his mind like golden yellow fireworks. He breathes in deeply, savouring the heated burn of steam in his throat. The first sticky sweet sip.

After so long in muted nothingness, it's astonishing to reconnect in this tiny way.]

[The next scent is something with meat, along with the smell of bread toasting. The next touch on his shoulder, and Al brings Break's hand to a plate. Toasted sandwich with rabbit meat and scrambled eggs.]

[Break takes a single, deep, shuddering breath.]

[Al sits down in the chair next to him, scooting it closer with his own mug of tea. In a silent, dark world, this is all Break has. Touch, scent, taste.

Al makes sure Break knows where he is, just an arm's length away. It's so much better, knowing he's safe.]

[Break takes up much less space like this. Rather than his usual tornado of movement and mayhem, he's sitting hunched. Quiet and still, moving only to take bites of the food. To sip his tea. It feels a little like dreaming.]

[Al keeps a watchful eye over him. Break is not like this. He shouldn't be like this, acting so broken and restrained. Al wants to call his name and make him light up again, somehow.

Touch is numbed to him, and it's the only way to communicate with Break. They live in completely separate worlds right now. He'd never touched him quite so much, but right now, he doesn't want Break to lock himself in his own little corner of reality.

A hand sets on his wrist, rests there. That's all.]

[Break lets out a breath, and continues to eat. Once the food is gone, he sips what's left of his tea, careful not to dislodge Al's hand. It, as much as the food, is an anchor.]

[Al leaves it there. Warm, steady, numb. He keeps an eye on Break, making sure everything stays down. In a few hours, more food, maybe some chicken broth...

He busies himself, calms himself, thinking of questions that he realizes he doesn't need to ask. Break will be all right. That's all that matters.]

[With his free hand, he mimes holding a pen. Al won't be able to talk back, but he could write to him.]

[A squeeze, and Al gets up, finding a pencil and his notebook in his room, then comes back, sliding both under Break's hand. He picks up the plate and takes it to the sink before coming back.]

[Break has a messy scrawl at the best of times. Like this, the writing is spidery and careful. He's tried desperately not to lose his place as his hand moves, but unable to follow the lines on the page the words curve, intersect one another, sometimes jump. He's written.]

Someone once told me that going blind
was losing the world of objects, the need
to fill a home with this and that and every other thing
I have found that to be true
but
this is to lose the world of depth
the click of a teacup set down on a table
blinder than a bat without footsteps ringing back to me without breat
breathing and my own heart beat missing in my ears
I wondered briefly if I am alive?

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