I whipped my walking stick to the side to release it to its full length, but instead of walking forward, I took a few moments to settle myself. The sounds had exponentially increased upon exiting my room, and I needed time to figure out 'important' from 'unimportant', 'close' from 'far', 'loud' from 'quiet' and so on. Certain sounds also were harder to separate since some sounds were outside of others' normal hearing but could drown out or confuse me from the regular ones. An example of this was the room down the hall from mine whose television gave a particularly noisome ear splitting, to me at least, sound that could drown out regular sounds to me if I let it. That's where selective hearing and sound moderation came into play. I take certain sounds and mentally kind of push them away as unimportant while mentally tagging those that are. Usually I do this almost subconsciously, but it always takes me time first thing in the morning to warm up my brain. Next was sound moderation where I figure out what is outside of normal hearing and push it out from the other normal sounds so they don't drown out the ones I should pay attention to, as well as sounds that are louder yet far away or closer yet quieter.

Finished, I push a button on my watch, telling me it's forty-five past, before walking down the hall toward the stairs, not needing my stick just yet. Doors opened and closed throughout the sprawling building of what was once an opera house as my mother once told me when I commented on the acoustics- modernized and expanded above as well as below ground, situated perfectly in the industrial area no more than six blocks from a popular club we owned. Nearing the stairs, I heard the slight creaking of the floor and focused, tuning in on the light, excitedly fast beating of a heart and near, at least to most, imperceptible abscondence of air barely whispered past parted lips.

I pretended a yawn that turned real as I neared the hiding body, sniffling quietly to get a scent of who was crouched by the staircase this time. I was still trying to filter past the cologne they generously slapped on when I walked into their target position and used my walking stick to give height to the awkward jump I had to turn my step into. The landing was good, as I heard the whoosh of expelled air in response to my not-so-gentle plummet onto my attacker's back. Now, if only I had taken care to focus not only on possible people in the hall near the landing, but also any people nearby behind any doors. Just as I was quickly switching my stick into the other hand to grasp the banister and jump, a door just behind me flew open and someone else collided with me, causing my hand to be ripped from the banister, losing any attachment I had with my surroundings. The loss of spacial recognition confused me momentarily as to what was up and what was down, but I soon figured it out when my back slammed into the stairs. The angle made me belatedly think my head was tilted down towards the landing, probably because I was knocked as I had turned rather than being knocked straight at my back. Losing my stick, I hit the stairs again and scrabbled at my surroundings, scraping at the carpeted stairs, the rough walls and, yes! The slick laquered wooden banister, which I grabbed tight enough to cause it to groan. Thankfully, it stopped my slide, my body curved around and away from my lifeline, my feet kissing the wall at the other side. I'm pretty sure I had made an impressive imprint of my hand on the wood I still gripped.

I had no time to protect myself; I was still dazed, confused and numb from the fall, so I was unprepared when the air whistled out of me, leaving me choking and unable to pull in any air. Another banged into my thigh- 'booted feet,' I thought, as the kick caused my lower half to slide further down. I assisted this shift by pushing against the edge of a stair so my body was now mostly against the banister with my head towards the upstairs. Another kick hit my hip, thankfully, instead of my groin as I had purposefully tilted to protect it. Now, there was only so much I could do and cover from this position, so even though I was guarding myself, it did nothing to stop the fist that thrust my face into the corner of a stair, nor the hand that fisted my hair to force my head up.

"Well now, what are you doing playing on the stairs for, you disabled freak? Sadly, none of the wood around here is sharpened, but tell you what, next time I find some ash, I'll be sure to sharpen it for you," He growled. I could now, though dazed, put a name to the guy, Brian. A total dick that thought I was an embarrassment to the nest. "A nice ash stake, Ashe, perfect to be done in by your namesake, huh?"

He and someone else-Jeffrey, I think- laughed before banging my head into the banister and stairs while his friend kicked me again. I heard his friend begin walking down and the sound of something awkwardly hitting the stairs as Brian stood up, kicking me again in my exposed ribs before following him. I took my time, listening as they left, to regain my breath and assess the damage. Bloody lip? Check. Bruised and definitely cracked ribs? Check. Overall body soreness and bruising?

'Yep, totally feeling that,' I thought as I gingerly rose to my knees on the stairs. 'Now to find... Everything. Really hope my backpack didn't open.'

I take my time trying to remember what I heard as I fell, thinking about where I probably lost my walking stick and backpack. I knew my stick fell over the railing from the sound of it, now that I thought back to it. I even remembered the thunk and slight banging clatter it made as it finally settled into the floor below, rolling slightly. Now, my backpack? I bet that sound as those guys walked away was them knocking my backpack down the stairs. I was hopeful it was intact, as I hadn't heard it being unzipped or any multiple clatters of random items hitting the floor.

I licked my lip, feeling it sting as it slowly closed up and wiping the little that had leaked down my chin. Being that there was no way I was bothering to go back to clean up, I grudgingly stifled a groan as I stood up then slowly made my way down. I wasn't quite sure how many steps it was to the bottom, but I was pretty sure I would be off by no more than two from listening to those two trudge down them earlier. I stumbled at the bottom on my backpack that they had left just for me to trip over, stepped around it, then really did groan as I settled it onto my back. Some shuffling later and I also managed to find my stick, which I used until I got my bearings to the large, barren kitchen. I grabbed a banana from the counter and a bottle from the fridge. Not bothering to warm it up, I grimaced at the taste of cold A positive substitute before hiding the taste with bites of the banana. Finishing up, I used the sink to wash the blood from my face then dried it with a kitchen cloth. Lastly, I finger-combed my hair, not too worried since the product I used worked really well on managing it when dry.

Adjusting my clothes, backpack, and walking stick, I headed for the front door. Almost there, I pushed the button on my watch as I neared and sighed when the automated voice told me the time.

(Brian, above)