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[hasnobullets]

The cane that slides against the ice is not my own. It's heavier and bulkier, with a curved hook on one end to serve as a grip. I've paid attention to the warnings -- that the weather would turn cold. That some of the topography and architecture could transform with the coming of December. But as I walk through the snowy streets of a city I do not

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[theblindguy]

It's like someone flipped the switch and brought Auggie right back to how he'd felt the first few days and weeks when he showed up. He'd worked damn hard the last few months to feel comfortable in the new environment he'd been thrown into, so for it all to disappear overnight -

Yeah, he's been in better moods.

And he knows it could be worse. He knows he has a roommate and best friend with the patience of a saint and the uncanny ability to know when to help him and when to back off, but it's hard to be grateful with the knowledge things can change on this scale at the drop of a hat hanging over his head.

It's almost a matter of pride that he leaves off on his own for a little while, his good cane (which had apparently changed with the weather - it's like it's made of brass now instead of how it'd been before, though the green grid it shoots out seems to still work the same) in hand. Admittedly, though, he does make a note not to stray too far from his new doorstep, sticking to the one single road that seems to stretch on for who knew how long. If there's any way to get used to how things are now, it's diving right in.

Of course, the weather had been much nicer the first time he had to do something like that.

He's so engrossed in trying to suss out everything around him that he barely even notices someone is on the same road. He stops midstep when the stranger speaks, though, lifting one eyebrow at the tone in his voice.

Apparently he isn't the only one unhappy with things.

"I could ask the same thing," he replies, wry despite the stewing frustration boiling inside him. It's easier to be self-deprecating than anything else most of the time. Assuming the person speaking to him can see, he makes a note to make sure his cane is visible when he adds, "Sort of fumbling around in the dark right now."

[hasnobullets]

For about a second, I wonder if he isn't just using a turn of phrase. So much of the English language is wrapped up in sight, after all, that it's hard to avoid; I've lived over half my life without no true vision to speak of, and yet I still say things like 'going to see someone.' It's simply what's said.

But I am not the only blind guy on this island, even if there aren't so many of us that I would've expected to run into the other one on an occasion I could've used someone with a pair of working eyes. (Or a few street signs written in braille.)

"The literal dark?" I ask, lowering my cane. It's reassuring enough to be addressed that I can drop some of the hostility. "Because if so, that makes us the blind leading the blind."

[theblindguy]

Auggie had heard a while ago, after the speed dating thing, that there was someone else blind on the island. He didn't exactly go seeking the stranger out, always assuming they'd cross paths eventually. Bad timing on the 'eventually', he supposes.

It explains a lot about why the stranger had sounded so annoyed, though. It's probably along the same lines of why he's been feeling the same way since he woke up.

"The literal dark," he confirms, letting out a snort that's almost bitter after. "Nothing like getting used to everything only to have it change completely overnight. This place is insane."

[hasnobullets]

Hell's Kitchen had a different kind of charm. The insanity it attracted was on a smaller scale than the Island's. More intimate and violent and dangerous. Tabula Rasa, however, is another beast. Had I access to the full scope of my senses, my reaction to the change this morning would have been one of jubilance than annoyance, but then, exploring would have taken me in a more exciting place than the snow-covered ground of an unfamiliar street.

"You've got that right," I say. "I'm Matt Murdock, by the way. You're..." I search my memory for a name, remembering it to be something unusual, but equally alliterative. "...Auggie, is it?"

[theblindguy]

Auggie had remembered the name when Annie mentioned it. Mostly because he knew that name, from a time when he used to read comics. He's surprised he knows his name, though.

"Auggie Anderson," he confirms. "Have you figured anything out yet? I just left my hut. Apartment. Whatever it is now."

[hasnobullets]

"Everything feels... Old," I say, taking a few steps to press my hand against the side of the building I instinctively know to be there. The way the sound bends against it, reflects outwards, is a dead giveaway.

"The smell, too. There are carriages in the street, but they're not being drawn by horses -- still, they're too quiet for cars. It's like the whole layout's changed, though. I'm pretty sure I crossed a bridge earlier."