hadriel | Code - 007 [Accidental Video]

[The phone was just one of the things that got thrown, and when it smashed against the wall and clattered to the floor among the debris of pots and plates and whatever else Whistler could get his hands on, it had somehow gotten itself turned on.

What it records is things flying, splintering, rolling, bouncing, cracking, and somewhere, mostly off-screen aside from a glimpse of an arm or a leg, is Whistler throwing and shoving anything that is within his reach, now and again screaming in an almost animalistic and desperate frustration. Occasionally he stops when he meets a wall, slams his fists against it, before seemingly getting more upset by some unseen crime the wall or the vase he just threw or the chair he angrily pushes over just committed.

That crime being: they did not make sound.

None of them. Not his fist. Not the things he's flung across the room. Not even his own voice though he can feel its claws making his throat hoarse...not even that makes a sound.

Whistler is now not only blind, but deaf. He had woken up and could not be sure that he was awake. There was no sound to tell him so. His ears now as useless as his eyes. Only his hands could reaffirm for him that he was, in fact, awake. Alive. But what he can touch gives him little comfort right now. Instead adding to his frustration that he cannot force a sound from a single thing in this muted, sightless existence he now finds himself in.

Perhaps you recognize his apartment if you are one of the few who knows him. Or perhaps you happen to be passing by the spire when something crashes through a top floor window. Or maybe you are in the hallway and can hear him screaming from the floors above.

Whatever the case, he's not about to stop until he's worn himself out entirely.

Eventually the phone gets struck by another object landing on top of it and it cuts the feed.]

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[With the world feeling like it tilts every time she moves and spots clouding the corners of her vision at each turn of her head she isn't sure how much help she can be, but he recognises her, thank God, and she firms her grip on his hand to try and pull him up into a sitting position.

He's a mess. The place is a mess. At least this isn't going to be permanent.]

Ngh, come on up. [He'll have to help her, she isn't quite strong enough to pull him up on her own. But once she's managed it, she wraps her arms around him and pulls the side of his head against the curve of her throat.]

It's okay...

[For a brief fearful second it feels like she's going to pull away from him, but quickly he follows her silent instruction, his torso hunching over so that his head can come to rest on her shoulder and fingers clutching at the back of her shirt.]

...can y-you hear me?

[He tries to ask quietly, voice hoarse and awkward. For all he knows his voice has been muted as well.]

[Julie nods, despite the way it makes her head spin. She makes sure the gesture is clear, can be felt even with the way he's panicking, and she rubs the back of his shoulder with one hand.]

Yeah, I can hear you. [She mutters, lightly pressing her chin into his hair.]

Shit, I can't leave you alone for a minute...

The apartment probably, uh, probably looks like a mess

[He tries to laugh but ends up just sniffling and trying to steady his breath]

Are you alright? Did it get you too?

[Whistler's not sure how exactly she can convey any of this beyond a nod or a shake of her head but he's at least finding something calming in being able to speak to her and to know she is hearing him]

[Another nod. She'd help to straighten it up, but she doesn't trust herself not to do some damage while she does.

Then, a nod to the second and third questions. Yes, she's fine, but yes, it got her too. Julie shifts herself around, taking one of his hands and flattening it out, tracing letters into his palm.

B A L A N C E I S F U C K E D]

[It's a faintly ticklish sensation, fingertips against your palm, right where so many nerves end. But the oddness of the feeling somehow helps to solidify what it is she's trying to spell in his mind. A 'B' is unmistakable though could be confused for an 8, however context would rule out the 8... ]

Bal...Balance? [He tries reciting his best guess]

....is....

[When he gets to the last word he can't help but laugh weakly, sticking out his tongue though the gesture feels more forced than his usual playful demeanor]

That's a naughty word, Jules

Edited 2018-05-16 22:03 (UTC)

[She leans against his side while she writes on his hand, the presence of something solid working to level out the lack of equilibrium every time she moves. Her laugh comes out as a chuff of air that lifts her shoulders momentarily, and she very pointedly spells out another word on his hand.

P E N I S

Because she's actually five.

She chuckles to herself again, then goes on, taking her time to make sure he gets every word. Each time it's a new word, she flattens her fingers against his palm to form a 'space'.

Y O U L L / B E / O K // I T / W O N T / L A S T /]

[His shoulders shake in weakening laughter, but it never really makes it into sound, just a taut smile that seems frayed at the edges as though it's taking the last of his energy to keep it up.

When she writes again on his skin, he draws in a deep breath trying to steady himself.]

When I w-woke up...I thought maybe...you know...maybe I was back in San Francisco. That this...this was what had happened after the van crashed....

[The muscles of his throat quiver unpleasantly, causing his voice to wobble at the end]

...y-you know...i...I can't be 'Whistler'...if...if I can't hear...I....I can't....

[It won't be enough to 'speak' to him. She takes his face lightly in both hands, stroking her thumbs against the lines of his cheekbones.

Ssssh.

It's amazing and tragic all at once that he can look so afraid but still be unable to see her.

It won't last. I'm right here.]

Code - 007 [Accidental Video]

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