[Accidental Audio-Video]

[maddest]

[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.]

Comments

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Al stacks them. He'll put them away later.]

S-T-A-Y

E-X-T-R-A B-E-D-S

[A pause, and Al pats his shoulder.]

W-I-L-L W-A-K-E Y-O-U U-P T-O E-A-T A-G-A-I-N I-N 3 H-O-U-R-S

[If Al's right, Break hasn't eaten much at all this week.]

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[Break doodles a smily face on the pad of paper, and climbs to his feet, nodding an agreement.

He sets the pen down, almost reluctantly.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

You could just smile at me, silly. [Al murmurs it out loud with a soft laugh. He picks up the pen and notebook and with the other hand, takes Break's to lead him down the hallway to a spare room.

It's mostly bare, with clean sheets. Al sets the pad on the bedside table, takes Break's hand to show him where it and the bed is.]

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[Break topples into bed, chest constricting with something... entirely unpleasant.

He sits up. Reaches for the pad. Hesitates-]

Th-
ankyouthankyouank you

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Hand on his. If he has time, Al will nudge the pencil into it.]

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

ank you for your help.

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Silence. The things the Judge said dance in his mind, making it hard to accept. Instead, Al squeezes his hand, perhaps a bit too hard. Gently, he nudges him, urging him to lay down and rest.

Three hours.]

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[Break flops down on the bed, and goes still. Even he isn't sure if he's sleeping or not.

He knows when he's dreaming, though. In his dreams, he can still see.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Three hours passes all too quickly, but by the time Al goes to wake Break, he has a tray with some hot chicken-vegetable soup. It's from a can, but it's hot and something easier to digest.

Al sets the tray on the bedside table, then lays a gentle hand on his arm, shaking it.

Perhaps a bad idea.]

Re: [Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[A little. Break flies upwards at the touch, but manages to catch himself just short of punching Al in the head.

Only just short of it.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Al's more impressed that he managed to stop himself, than how quickly he managed the punch. It would have hit, and Al would have been down, easily. He hadn't been expecting it.

Al pats Break's fist gently, cheerily.]

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[Break growls at him a tiny bit, and drops his hands into his lap. Good heavens.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Not being able to talk to him is a bit difficult, but Al sighs, sitting down on the bed next to him. He reaches out to trace the word against Break's arm.]

S-O-R-R-Y

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[He waves it off- and this time he does smile at him.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Al urges Break to scoot back a little bit, but then gets the tray. It's meant for one sitting up in bed, and fits securely across the lap -- his mother uses it, on the bad days.

He's patient, guiding Break's hands to cup the side of the hot bowl, to find the spoon.]

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[After a moment of trying that, Break lowers both hands to cup the soup bowl, lifting it to his mouth instead and sipping from it slowly. It's better than dripping liquid like a child across the bedsheets.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Probably much better, though the broth is very hot. There is a little bit of movement on the bed, as if Al reached for him, then decided better of it.]

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[So he finds out. He sets it back down with a nod, waiting for it to cool.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Another little movement, then Al traces.]

S-O-R-R-Y

I C-A-N-T F-E-E-L I-T

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[Break starts. He hadn't even considered that possibility. It exhausts him, just imagining-]

Done-

[He says, over loud, volume control gone.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[He wishes he could explain that it's okay, that he's used to this, that it's not the first time, not to worry. Instead, he listens.]

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[That's it. Break tries to pull away, to curl back up in the warmth of the bed. He's finished, he's tired, he wants to sleep the rest of the event away.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Al grips the edge of the tray, moves it aside, moves closer. His heart's pounding and he knows he shouldn't be this close, but he HAS to get it, he HAS to understand-]

Break-

[He can't hear him, he knows, but still. He tugs his arm before he can lay down, pulling him close, into a hug that might be a little too hard. He can't feel, maybe -- but this is important. Break is important, and by damned he'll take care of him.

He shakes his head. He can't spell it out, but he shakes his head against his shoulder.

Nonononono don't be done, don't give up.]

[Offline]

[mister-hatter.livejournal.com]

[He stiffens in surprise at the sudden grip, not quite sure what has Al upset.]

[Offline]

[al_truism]

[Al's not even sure, himself. He holds on, though. Tightly. His fingers trace against his arm.]

1 M-O-R-E D-A-Y