myla murdock
hell's angelx|xoutfitx|x#6e0000
hell's angelx|xoutfitx|x#6e0000
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
Myla had no idea what happened next. One minute multiple sets of hands were restraining her and the next they released letting her fall the foot or so to the ground. She landed with a slight thud, or so she could assume. She couldn't make out anything beyond the high pitched ringing that made her ears feel like they were bleeding.
She tried her best to get her bearings, feeling around until she found the leg of a familiar desk. It wasn't much, but it gave Myla a basic understanding of where she was in relation to the rest of the room. Occasionally she would feel someone back into her. One guy even managed to trip over her as if he had forgotten why he was there in the first place. She'd rather be invisible than try to fight them off while so disoriented. But even the boot of a man tripping would leave a bruise on her ribs for a few days.
While they were distracted, she had to take it upon herself to figure a way out of this mess. Myla tried her best to push through the straining tone and follow it to its source. She kept to the edge of the room, moving on her hands and knees, using the edge of the rug to guide her. Where she had expected to find a man holding the object, instead she found a small box sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. Abandoned.
She didn't hesitate to pick it up and throw it against the wall. She then was only met by the sounds of plastic breaking and small metal pieces scattering. The tone had ceased. Her ears still rang even absent the noise. Much like after being around loud noise for a significant amount of time. It was uncomfortable and gave Myla a headache. But it was manageable. It'd take her a bit to get her bearings back, but she'd manage.
Just as Myla let out a sigh of relief, a hand rested on her shoulder. She spun around, grabbing hold of his wrist with her thumb along his palm ready to snap it backwards. But like muscle memory, the calluses on his skin made her pause. It was him. To say Myla was surprised was an understatement. He didn't seem the type of person to worry himself with other's affairs. She had thought he left. She could even recall the sound of his motorcycle revving as she ascended the stairs. Yet there he was.
Without a word between the two, Myla's fingers curled around his hand when he took hers. With his aid, she moved to her feet. Her mind was racing. There was so much she wanted to say. Why did you come back? Are you injured? Did you see who they were?... Thank you. But nothing came out. It seemed in each others presence, neither one of them were much for words. To some extent, it almost felt as if nothing needed to be said at all. Like he knew exactly what she was thinking without ever speaking it, and she knew his response without ever asking.
Then through the silence, Foggy could be heard stumbling around overturned furniture as he hurried down the hallway toward them. Myla hadn't realize her hand was still in his until her Uncle showed up, which caused her to quickly retract it before he saw. "Oh my God, Myla!" He closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands. "Are you ok?" He asked looking her over. Her lip was split, blood had dried along her mouth that fell from her nose, there was a cut on her side that he luckily couldn't see, but aside from minor bumps and bruises, she was fine.
"I thought... What happened to your father..." Foggy's voice cracked and trailed off as he brought her in for a gentle hug.
"I know," she consoled him, gently rubbing his back. "It's not safe here. You should go stay with Darcy until this all blows over." Hopefully.
He nodded his head. "What about you?"
Myla's head turned slightly towards the stranger for a brief moment, before facing Foggy once again. "It's safer if you didn't know. Just... Know that I'm going to try to fix this."
Before he turned to leave, Foggy moved in front of their current company and took his hand in a firm, but grateful handshake. "Thank you, so much. Please, please look after her for me."
"Foggy..." Myla contradicted, a bit embarrassed.
"Shhh," he hushed her. "I can't lose you too." He gave her a kiss on the forehead before heading out of the room. Foggy stopped in the doorway, looking around at the state of his house. "What do I say happened?"
"Burglary... And I stopped it."
"Hell's Angel doesn't kill..."
"Well... Today she does."
Foggy had nothing else to say. She knew part of him wanted to argue the point, but Myla was just as stubborn as her father. He knew that. So, without another word he headed out, leaving the pair alone in an apartment in ruin. "Come on," she said softly to the stranger before she started down the hallway.
For the most part, she managed just fine, but occasionally the ringing in her ears was just enough for her to get a little dizzy and stumble over misplaced furniture. She tried not to draw attention to it and quickly regained her balance. Myla had already been saved once that night, she didn't need to be babied too.
Myla opened the bathroom door for him and pointed toward the toilet. "Sit." Once he was in, she closed the door... And locked it, just for good measure. She could tell he had been moving differently, a bit more strained. She figured he was trying to hide it from her, but eyes aren't the only tells. Regardless, the least she could do was help doctor his wounds since he got involved in her mess.
She pulled out a medkit from underneath the sink and set it on the counter. Before diving into that, she grabbed a towel and got it damp. Myla wrang out the excess water and then knelt down before him. She held out one hand a few inches from his face, but paused. "May I?"
When he didn't argue, Myla reached her hand forward and began to lightly trace his face with her fingertips. Yes, the stereotypes were true. The blind often ran their hands over another person's face to try and understand what they look like. And while that was tempting, it wasn't the time. She only picked up on faint features like his long nose and smooth skin. But mostly she was feeling for injuries or blood. Her hand stopped when they found tacky drying blood near his temple. She'd start there.
Myla picked up the towel and gently began to wipe away the blood from his face while her eyes stared blankly at some point on his torso. Once that was cleaned, her fingers searched again until they found more along his lips and mouth. She turned the towel over to a clean side and softly ran it along his bottom lip. "So..." She broke the silence, speaking barely above a whisper. "Do you think I could know your name?"
She tried her best to get her bearings, feeling around until she found the leg of a familiar desk. It wasn't much, but it gave Myla a basic understanding of where she was in relation to the rest of the room. Occasionally she would feel someone back into her. One guy even managed to trip over her as if he had forgotten why he was there in the first place. She'd rather be invisible than try to fight them off while so disoriented. But even the boot of a man tripping would leave a bruise on her ribs for a few days.
While they were distracted, she had to take it upon herself to figure a way out of this mess. Myla tried her best to push through the straining tone and follow it to its source. She kept to the edge of the room, moving on her hands and knees, using the edge of the rug to guide her. Where she had expected to find a man holding the object, instead she found a small box sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. Abandoned.
She didn't hesitate to pick it up and throw it against the wall. She then was only met by the sounds of plastic breaking and small metal pieces scattering. The tone had ceased. Her ears still rang even absent the noise. Much like after being around loud noise for a significant amount of time. It was uncomfortable and gave Myla a headache. But it was manageable. It'd take her a bit to get her bearings back, but she'd manage.
Just as Myla let out a sigh of relief, a hand rested on her shoulder. She spun around, grabbing hold of his wrist with her thumb along his palm ready to snap it backwards. But like muscle memory, the calluses on his skin made her pause. It was him. To say Myla was surprised was an understatement. He didn't seem the type of person to worry himself with other's affairs. She had thought he left. She could even recall the sound of his motorcycle revving as she ascended the stairs. Yet there he was.
Without a word between the two, Myla's fingers curled around his hand when he took hers. With his aid, she moved to her feet. Her mind was racing. There was so much she wanted to say. Why did you come back? Are you injured? Did you see who they were?... Thank you. But nothing came out. It seemed in each others presence, neither one of them were much for words. To some extent, it almost felt as if nothing needed to be said at all. Like he knew exactly what she was thinking without ever speaking it, and she knew his response without ever asking.
Then through the silence, Foggy could be heard stumbling around overturned furniture as he hurried down the hallway toward them. Myla hadn't realize her hand was still in his until her Uncle showed up, which caused her to quickly retract it before he saw. "Oh my God, Myla!" He closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands. "Are you ok?" He asked looking her over. Her lip was split, blood had dried along her mouth that fell from her nose, there was a cut on her side that he luckily couldn't see, but aside from minor bumps and bruises, she was fine.
"I thought... What happened to your father..." Foggy's voice cracked and trailed off as he brought her in for a gentle hug.
"I know," she consoled him, gently rubbing his back. "It's not safe here. You should go stay with Darcy until this all blows over." Hopefully.
He nodded his head. "What about you?"
Myla's head turned slightly towards the stranger for a brief moment, before facing Foggy once again. "It's safer if you didn't know. Just... Know that I'm going to try to fix this."
Before he turned to leave, Foggy moved in front of their current company and took his hand in a firm, but grateful handshake. "Thank you, so much. Please, please look after her for me."
"Foggy..." Myla contradicted, a bit embarrassed.
"Shhh," he hushed her. "I can't lose you too." He gave her a kiss on the forehead before heading out of the room. Foggy stopped in the doorway, looking around at the state of his house. "What do I say happened?"
"Burglary... And I stopped it."
"Hell's Angel doesn't kill..."
"Well... Today she does."
Foggy had nothing else to say. She knew part of him wanted to argue the point, but Myla was just as stubborn as her father. He knew that. So, without another word he headed out, leaving the pair alone in an apartment in ruin. "Come on," she said softly to the stranger before she started down the hallway.
For the most part, she managed just fine, but occasionally the ringing in her ears was just enough for her to get a little dizzy and stumble over misplaced furniture. She tried not to draw attention to it and quickly regained her balance. Myla had already been saved once that night, she didn't need to be babied too.
Myla opened the bathroom door for him and pointed toward the toilet. "Sit." Once he was in, she closed the door... And locked it, just for good measure. She could tell he had been moving differently, a bit more strained. She figured he was trying to hide it from her, but eyes aren't the only tells. Regardless, the least she could do was help doctor his wounds since he got involved in her mess.
She pulled out a medkit from underneath the sink and set it on the counter. Before diving into that, she grabbed a towel and got it damp. Myla wrang out the excess water and then knelt down before him. She held out one hand a few inches from his face, but paused. "May I?"
When he didn't argue, Myla reached her hand forward and began to lightly trace his face with her fingertips. Yes, the stereotypes were true. The blind often ran their hands over another person's face to try and understand what they look like. And while that was tempting, it wasn't the time. She only picked up on faint features like his long nose and smooth skin. But mostly she was feeling for injuries or blood. Her hand stopped when they found tacky drying blood near his temple. She'd start there.
Myla picked up the towel and gently began to wipe away the blood from his face while her eyes stared blankly at some point on his torso. Once that was cleaned, her fingers searched again until they found more along his lips and mouth. She turned the towel over to a clean side and softly ran it along his bottom lip. "So..." She broke the silence, speaking barely above a whisper. "Do you think I could know your name?"