It's not exactly remniscent of home, but Matt will take the stench of a knock-off Luna Park over the sickly bouquet of the previous island any day. He's no more pleased to find himself once again herded like a strange, amoral bit of livestock, but it's all starting to become par for the course.

And for a man who's known to treat the streets of New York as his own personal jungle gym, there are plenty worse things than being stuck in the midst of a 24/7 carnival.

ACROBATICS

Under the big top is a veritable playground for the agile, and it's not long at all before Matt is helping himself to the unattended equipment. The trapeze, the still rings, and the tightrope are all favorites of the man who's been yearning to stretch and push himself. Late at night one might even catch him on the wheel of death, testing his skill in tandom with one of the carnival's trapeze artists. Matt's not trying to get caught in the act. He's not eager to explain just how a blind man can twist and contort and fling himself through midair quite so well. But if he happens to get caught? Well, he'll try to spin a tale as impressive as his tumbling.

BOOTHS

Of course the games are rigged, but that's not going to stop Matt. With no particular need for currency, what does he have to lose anyway? The game jockeys don't hassle him too much when they see him with the cane, but he doesn't need coercing anyhow. He's happy to wander up to any booth he passes by and play ignorant to hear a fumbling explanation of the objective. Rings, baseballs, squirt guns, or darts... just stand back and watch him take aim.

STRENGTH

While the other games may be the answer to his bored amusement, this one calls to Matt like a siren's song. It's as irresistable as the speed bag in the corner of his father's old gym, and he lingers nearby and listens as others take their turn hefting the mallet and trying their luck. Matt bounces on the heels of his shoes and tries not to seem overly-eager. When the wooden bludgeon is offered out to him, he spreads his hands in a shrug. "Oh, me? I'm not so sure..."

Not unlike the city itself, it seems the carnival never sleeps.

All hours of the day and night, the air is layered with a bright tune of calliope madness, the gyration of steel against a wooden track, the screams and jeers of the chumps, and the shifting of hooves in the dirt. It's not difficult to find a way up above it all, but even on the top of the carousel Matt's struggling to get his bearings. It shouldn't be that difficult to find the end of the tent city, but even up here the boundaries of the island seem to stretch on endlessly.

If nothing else, it's at least a bit of a reprieve from the shoving and the insisting and the chaos. He kicks his feet over the edge of bunted cresting and lets it all wash over him. When the ride jerks and comes to life, Matt can only hang on as the twirling reaches a crescendo.

It's not an easy thing to pitch Matt Murdock off his equilibrium, but the longer the ride spins the more rattled he finds himself becoming. When it finally churns to a halt, he somersaults from the upper frame and lands on both feet just in front of someone else stumbling off the ride.

Only Matt isn't himself. Rather, he's a different form of himself: a slight boy of no more than nine, with bright red hair and glassy eyes, looking startled and fearful.

Don't see anything here that interests you? Please feel free to hit me with anything! I'll gladly play along. You can catch me at stickyholograms for plotting, or just dive right in.