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psychoshenanigans2015-06-09 08:59 am
birdsbirdsbirds) wrote in psychoshenanigans2015-06-09 08:59 am
Skeleton City // AU
[welcome, welcome. they call it the city where "the dead" come to rest. isn't that funny?
disorienting. the tunnels are cramped. lots of people. lots of doorways. a maze of gates and windows carved from stone, built from scrap, assembled in the same way that wasps slowly build nests with their own spit. Oren's been dropped mid-level, far below the sunlight. the fans are long-since out of sight.
however he got here isn't clear, but he'll find himself in an alley. long, dark stone. light bounces in wet spots off the ground. it smells like earth and garbage. some of the windows here have things in them, like nondescript single-color curtains, or a boring family totem. some of the windows are boarded up. the "apartments" are tall, but it's hard to tell where the homes end and the ceiling begins.
there are a couple shady-looking people hanging around. scrawny guys. one of them has a young face, with dirty-bright neon hair and a gaze devoid of any brain cells. the other guy's got hollow eyes and leathery skin. they both look dirty and poor, no way around it, even with the strange cut of their clothes and the young one's affinity for spikes. there's a third figure huddled in some blankets by some crates, but they aren't moving.
the two look at him as he walks in. they pretend they didn't, a second later. but they're obviously spooked, as they go on with their inane, mumbling conversation. something about someone busting up someone's apartment over an argument. probably not important.
the streets past the alley more, but no more welcoming. most people don't come down here unless they're workers, vagrants, or too poor to go anywhere else. "Level 6", they clarify, about where the fight took place.]
disorienting. the tunnels are cramped. lots of people. lots of doorways. a maze of gates and windows carved from stone, built from scrap, assembled in the same way that wasps slowly build nests with their own spit. Oren's been dropped mid-level, far below the sunlight. the fans are long-since out of sight.
however he got here isn't clear, but he'll find himself in an alley. long, dark stone. light bounces in wet spots off the ground. it smells like earth and garbage. some of the windows here have things in them, like nondescript single-color curtains, or a boring family totem. some of the windows are boarded up. the "apartments" are tall, but it's hard to tell where the homes end and the ceiling begins.
there are a couple shady-looking people hanging around. scrawny guys. one of them has a young face, with dirty-bright neon hair and a gaze devoid of any brain cells. the other guy's got hollow eyes and leathery skin. they both look dirty and poor, no way around it, even with the strange cut of their clothes and the young one's affinity for spikes. there's a third figure huddled in some blankets by some crates, but they aren't moving.
the two look at him as he walks in. they pretend they didn't, a second later. but they're obviously spooked, as they go on with their inane, mumbling conversation. something about someone busting up someone's apartment over an argument. probably not important.
the streets past the alley more, but no more welcoming. most people don't come down here unless they're workers, vagrants, or too poor to go anywhere else. "Level 6", they clarify, about where the fight took place.]
no subject
He frowns, sparing a glance to the two who seem to notice and then look away. He's used to all areas of a large city, he thinks. Though his mother frowned on him for it, he spent plenty of time both in the lower and higher sections. He knows enough to be wary of his surroundings, to make note of things as he moves and not rely on asking questions, but he's used to winning the hearts of all. He doesn't hold back in where he looks.
Where is he, though? It's such a foreign place he doesn't think even the answer to that question would help him.
So, he walks. The more he moves, the more this place seems familiar, but he can't place his finger on why. Even with confidence and his own knowledge and experience, it's not hard to see that he's lost. Level 6? Out of how many levels in this place? Instinct tells him lower is safer, but his mind reminds him that things like this depend on many things. There's more confidence, yes, but in the end, this overwhelming sensation of not knowing where he is or where to start is all too familiar to the desert. The stone walls stretch out like endless sand and he presses his lips together in a thin line.
First space, and Mattias, and now this? He's really beginning to become annoyed. ]
no subject
no one here looks well-off. there's almost a style to it, a sort of cultural grime that comes with living this far below the sun. everyone's pale. not many are taller than Oren. they're a malnourished, dodgy people. and, suddenly, one of them jumps down from an open window and lands right in Oren's path, a woman, all dark and dressed in black. she's got a mean mouth--a split lip that healed wrong and several more piercings than is probably necessary.]
Well, if it ain't an Up-Top, runnin' around like a rat in a maze.
[those lips of hers curl into a particularly unfriendly smile. a couple of shadowy figures start to walk towards them, out of the nearby alley. bad news.]
What brings you down here, sweetheart?
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Well, that may be for the best. He'd rather avoid any reflex mutations of his skin in violent defense should anything happen.
"Up-Top" is what she called him, was it? That gave him direction, at least. He presses his hands together in front of himself. He has a feeling there's no good way to answer this, anyway.]
Why, fate, I'd say. Best not to question why-- it hardly matters. [He smiles thinly, eyeing her for a long moment before flicking his gaze to the other approaching figures.]
In any case, I'm just passing through.
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Just passin' through, huh? Ain't nobody higher than those twos who'd just be "passing through" down here, pretty boy.
[the woman eyes his silver jewelry. it's not hard to imagine that what she's thinking will not be in his favor. there's the unmistakable shhnkt of a blade being drawn somewhere behind him--but some timid-sounding man starts up talking from somewhere else.]
E-Ey, Judy, this guy ain't got a Dummy Stick...
["Judy", the split-lipped woman, rolls her eyes. she reaches towards her side--but hesitates when the timid man keeps babbling.]
No, I mean it, Splits says he smells funny. What's he doing down here, anyway? Wh-what if it's a--
[Judy snaps at him:] Shut your fucking mouth, Rich!
[the group, as a whole, seems unsure of how to proceed while those two bicker--until someone finally lunges from the shadows to grab onto Oren's arm.]
no subject
But this was a little much. A whole group, and him without any guards. It figures.
He yanks at his arm to pull it back, reaching out with his free hand to shove at the offender as he steps back. Any motion he can take to squirm and duck away will be taken, and any grabs or punches (or goddess forbid that knife) sent his way would be met with an attempt to block and avoid. An attempt.
He didn't understand any of what they were saying. Dummy Stick? Smells? What if he's what, now? He doesn't have the time to puzzle it out, he just needs to get away. He doesn't even have the time for a witty comment. Not when he thinks it might only make things worse.]
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[the group around him explodes in a confused scuffle. Oren's elbow connects with a face, even if by complete accident--and he's able to shrug off two more attempts to grab his arms and shoulders. he comes face-to-face with the timid one, wide-eyed and too young for this kind of thing, but he whimpers and ducks out of the way. several of them seem to have clear tubes of glowing liquid hanging like pendants from their necks--but that's the only thing that's easy to pick out while people dart around in the tight street.
Judy's screaming something when someone kicks at the back of Oren's leg, and someone else grabs his arm on the way down. a third figure, maybe, kicks him in the ribs. he's about to be swarmed down on when there is suddenly an ear-splitting bang from the left of the group--and someone hits the ground with a wet thud, their head burst open against the stone floor.
the silence is absolute. for a split-second that stretches on forever, everyone stills in shock.
and then it's a race to get out of there. swearing and spitting and climbing over each other. Oren's abandoned (though not before someone else kicks out of frustration at his shoulder). they disappear back into the dark alley they snuck out of, scrambling through windows and hiding holes. there are eyes still on them, of course, when a strong, steady hand takes hold of Oren's arm and pulls him upward.]
On your feet. Hurry up.
[the hands are gloved. the other one is holding a thin-barreled pistol. if the voice doesn't clue him in, the man's face explains it all: pale and sharp as always, Robin is looking intently down the alley after the rabble he'd scared off.]
no subject
At least until that deafening sound. Hands withdraw from him and before he can even think to look in the direction of the shot, there's a hand pulling him up. A familiar voice.
Though he tries to adjust it now, he'd been looking more stunned than he'd have liked.]
Robin.
[Recognition hits him immediately, and that face is a sight for sore eyes. Quickly, he straightens, his free hand brushing down his clothing into place as his eyes wander around, checking for remaining figures and then settling on the dead one.
Things match up and click together, even if just slightly.]
I'm up. You weren't kidding about that warning. How did you find me? [A pause, and unsettled, he looks back to Robin, then down to his gun.] And what is that?
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he looks intense. Oren has seen this sharpness in his eyes once before, during their argument on the sand dune, but his face has never quite matched. now, he's standing tall and tense and something about him seems... scary. it's hard to say what. he just feels unsettling.
and then he speaks out towards their hidden audience--loud and clear.]
This is an emissary from the Capitol. He answers to General Seth, of the Wolf Wars. Were he to go missing, there'd be a raid on your hands far worse than the death of one of your slower associates.
[he looks down at the body with a snarl, delivering a final warning:]
Watch who you're fucking stealing from, next time.
[he turns, his business done, and grabs onto Oren's arm. says nothing. pulls him back in the other direction, holstering his gun at his side, underneath a short jacket. he's got a second gun at his other side. his clothes are similar in color to what he wore in the Drift Fleet, but the style is a little different. the materials aren't quite the same. however long he's been here, he's obviously had time to change.]
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But Mattias was irritating. The feelings were too complicated, and in a way, this startling and horrific situation was a relief. He could ignore the pulling at his heart and the sadness that would show against his will on his face. He didn't have that with Robin.
The pull draws him out of his thoughts and he blinks three times, stumbling into a more steady pace as he hovers close. He wastes no time closing whatever space is left between them as they walk, though his eyes do wander to scan the area. This time, he speaks quietly.]
You do know how to impress a man. [He's laying it on thick, but it's honestly to check if the Robin he recognizes more clearly is still in there somewhere. This place is awfully serious... but how long has he been here?] May I speak now?
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Not yet.
[he doesn't feed into his flattery. Robin hasn't looked at him once. his eyes are always elsewhere. the street in front of him, the windows they pass, or the rooftops. they pass by a few more people, but they only eye the two well-dressed strangers with wary apprehension, or they don't look their way at all.
it isn't until he rounds a corner that his demeanor finally eases. his pace slows, and he lets go of Oren's arm. the passageway ahead of them is evenly cut, propped up with stone pillars, and an inviting, orange glow calls at them from the archway at the other end. glancing back behind them--but still not at Oren--that sense of razor-sharp aggression disappears.]
Walk with me like you're a casual friend. Your home is a tall city in the desert, you've never had the chance to visit an underground settlement before, and I've been tasked with giving you a tour of the first three levels.
[it's rudimentary, but it'll have to do. Robin takes several steps forward before making a sharp turn into the wall--but the stone pushes aside to reveal a hidden door to a spiral staircase. all at once, his seriousness melts as he finally flashes him a charming smile. it almost makes it into his eyes, which haven't lost their sharpness--or maybe it's just that, here in the artificial, subterranean light, they look redder than usual.]
So, tell me. What's the weather been like over there?
[the switch comes not a moment too soon, as someone walks down the stairs in the opposite direction, and Robin silently holds the door open for them. a middle-aged woman, well-built, nothing interesting--but they exchange a short nod before she walks away and Robin starts leading them upwards.
they're going to be climbing for... quite some time.]
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Oren switches along with him in ease. His back straightens into a more confident pose, and he trusts Robin is leading them somewhere safer. Somewhere they can talk more openly. For now, he'd act like he would with anyone he was doing business with, if that's what it took. Perhaps that would save him from embarrassing mistakes, as well.
He's not very comfortable with this fish out of water feeling.]
Oh, it's as you'd expect. [Peeling his eyes away from Robin, he looks forward and around. One arm raises to adjust the bangles on the other, and he takes in the sights casually. This is much easier than pretending to be at home.]
The sun is as constant as ever. [He certainly hopes 'desert' is synonymous between their worlds.] And I can never decide if I prefer it or the shade.
[Hmm, he's not sure if the words he's lacing with something more happen to be offensive or not, but he figures if they are, it might just be expected.] So nothing exciting, I'm afraid. I'm much more interested in the workings here.
[There, he spares a glance again.]
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[with this new persona of his, Robin seems much more casual. he glances back as anyone would, every once in a while, to make sure that Oren is keeping up with him. the stairs go up and up and up, every once in a while winding in a new direction or straightening, but the journey is still a long one.]
People up on the first two levels harp on about erosion all the time, but realistically... Their buildings are more likely to be worn down by foot traffic than any water that manages to get past the vents.
[several people pass them, headed in the other direction. they pass a big number "6" painted on the wall in a nondescript off-white. eventually, they pass a similar "5" as well. he sighs, appropriate for what is essentially a bureaucratic conversation.]
If you're looking to get right down to business, I should warn you... The Skeleton City board of civil affairs is in denial about it, but any police officer lower than than second level will tell you that there's been an unusual number of mages milling around lately. Matching with the Capitol's civil law, that's... Anyone with any magical or supernatural ability, unlicensed knowledge of runes, anyone worshiping foreign deities, yadda yadda. [with a flippant wave of his hand.] You know the texts.
[they pass a "4". they're also passed on their right by a couple of racing, giggling girls-- "Hurry up, we're gonna be late!" --who are by far the cleanest and most normal people they have seen so far, even if their fashion leans towards "artistic tearing".
when it gets quiet enough to continue...]
Anyway. It's got the Priesthood all worked up, since their policy is to keep mages subdued. That tends to work the populace up, which trickles down to the masses on the lower levels, and... [he shrugs.] If our numbers are off, that's the reason.
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He drops his hands back to his sides as he walks, letting out a laugh that's more honest in how it's forced and short.]
I'll keep that in mind.
[His eyes trace over everything they pass. The numbers on the wall and the ease of tension in each level as they climb tells him how long to expect in terms of a wait, roughly, but it's not soon enough. Robin's words are informative, but they leave Oren without much ability to answer.
Again, he adjusts some of his jewelry, and it's more apparently a fidget of some sort. It's his turn not to look at Robin, too focused everywhere else as he follows. Despite whatever may be on his mind and the lack of options for his response, he's smooth with it.]
Is there anything else you feel the need to warn me about, my friend? There's much going on here; even in your thorough work I wonder if there will be any surprises.
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Only that your outfit went out of style around here a half-century ago.
[he takes them through another side door, just as the number "3" comes into view. another hallway, another passage. this one is wide and not very long, with people loitering around the edges. a small crowd is waiting in front of an elevator, a creaky metal contraption pulled up by ropes and pulleys and a softly-whirring engine high above. it lifts a group of six as they approach.]
No offense, but we'll have to get you some new clothes. The first level's the best for that. Most Up-Tops don't bother going much lower, you know?
[they wait their turn. they still get a few strange looks, but these people are finally more curious than apprehensive. simple jewelry, clothing that fits, clean hair. Robin and Oren are the best-dressed out of all of them--so at least the reception finally makes sense.]
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He laughs at the comment on his clothing, his smile managing to look more sheepish than outright offended. Embarrassment shines through in tiny amounts.]
To be honest with you, I've grown quite tired of all the jewelry. It's customary, you see. If I'm able to wear something more like your own attire, I certainly wouldn't argue it.
[Please give him some leather.
Meanwhile, he's still looking around. The idea of things changing by their distance to the top doesn't seem so strange, but the suddenness of it certainly is prominent here. On top of that, the ordering seems so strange to him... Just where are they headed? Is he meant to honestly play up this emissary thing?
He crosses his arms as he watches the lift.]
I'll leave myself in your care, then. [Robin knows what to do. He's basically just trying to communicate that he's trusting him right now. (And also a little impatient.)]
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Good. That'll make this an easy visit.
[he guides the other onto the elevator, directs him silently to the corner. the gates close in front of their new crowd. the thing lifts in time with the unsettling creaking of old boards--but up they go, regardless. the ride itself is not anything special at first, just stone wall passing beside them, through the criss-crossed wire grating that fences them in... until they hit the second level.
the elevator lifts out of the earth and raises them up into a massive cavern. the dissonance is startling; the ground below them is swarming with people, booths, lines and lines of brightly-lit homes and strings of electric lamps. the buzz of hundreds of people shouting and bartering and laughing floats up and softens the higher they climb, wrapping around the webs of stone paths and metal walks that hang high above the heads of the masses. there are colorful flags, banners, advertisements in a strange text hanging from every window and beam and sill carved out of the walls.]
This is the market. [Robin leans over a little, informal, to tell him.] Our first stop is the cathedral at the center.
[there does not seem to be any traditional "cathedral" at the center of things, but there is a massive, obsidian-dark stalagmite that seems to grow from floor to ceiling. it's big enough to rival any mansion--maybe even some castles. a thousand lights glitter like beetle eyes, or a field of stars. it's beautiful to behold, but "ominous" would not be a bad word for it either.
everything seems to stem from there. this high, the layout of the level spreads from it like a spider's web. most of the suspended stone paths lead that way too. the elevator slows to a stop, very high up, and their group pours out onto a sturdy platform.
just in case Oren hadn't figured out where they are by now... well, that's on him, now.
Robin starts leading him forward, without a word, and expects him to follow. he knows the shortest path to the center.]
no subject
Why was he here, in Robin's world? Was it only him? No sign of Mattias, or anyone else. Maybe not even that stranger Robin had mentioned so often. No, it was him, stuck here and dealing with a friend who he wasn't sure he could even call that. He remembers his expression in the virtual dome. He remembers the way he called him only when no one else was left.
His polite smile flattens a little as they step off and onto the platform. Too much to think about, and so as usual, he forces it aside. They're walking to this stalagmite, the cathedral, apparently. And he does follow Robin without hesitation.
What else can he do?
He walks confidently despite all of the doubts on his mind. And while he craves to speak more than ever right now, he leaves it. Gives up on any chance of more right now. So silently, he follows, eyes fixed on the structure ahead.
It certainly was impressive, at least.]
no subject
it's probably nothing. probably totally normal, and not concerning at all.
the cathedral structure looks no less impressive up close. it looks kind of like a hive, with all of the windows and entryway arches visible. there's a small garden at its base, however, lined with grass and pale flowers and places to sit. it's the first real sign of nature that they've seen down here, other than stone.
he leads them through a door, and into the structure proper--and on the inside, refreshingly, it almost looks like a normal building. it may have once been carved from stone, but the pillars are smooth and uniform, the ceiling is covered in graceful arches, the floor is even and tiled, and candles fill the place with a more natural glow than the artificial halogen that floods the other parts of the caves. things echo quietly; a couple of people in plain, white robes shuffle along in front of them.
Robin doesn't give Oren much time to look. he's already approaching someone.]
Oy, preacher-man!
[...the man in question turns around. he's an older man, short, dark-skinned and kind-eyed. his robe has a circular symbol printed large on the front. he glances over Robin only a moment before beginning to look over Oren, though not with any scrutiny. Robin walks right up to him, clasps a hand on his shoulder, and keeps talking.]
This is my friend, Oren. He's from out of town. Might have selective amnesia, if he says anything funny. I need you to watch him for just a couple of minutes.
[the man looks surprised by this, but Robin's already flitting back to Oren. his words aren't so calculated anymore. now he's just... talking. finally himself.]
You, hang tight. I'll be ten minutes.
[from the "preacher-man" still several feet away, calmly:] Robin, I have a sermon to perform.
[Robin spins, his anxiety finally showing through as he throws his hands up in a sudden exasperation--] Great! Sermon all you want! You can practice by telling him all about the good word of the Gods, all right?
[before the older man can raise another word in argument, Robin rushes past him, clapping him on the shoulder again.] --Thanks preacher, you're a treat!
[and then Robin just... runs off, turns a corner. disappears entirely from sight, not having given anyone a moment to argue or protest.]
...That man... [the preacher says, with a reserved sigh.] He'll give even a servant of the Gods a run for his money.
[turning to Oren, then, with a kind smile... pitying, almost.] I'm very sorry about him, ah... "Oren", he said?
no subject
From the moment they enter, Oren is overwhelmed. There's the view of his structure, the man who's clearly part of this religious set up, his difference in appearance from everyone else, and this exchange of words. Ten minutes, he says.
He turns after Robin as he leaves, contemplating calling out his name in protest, but he's gone too fast in any case. Alone again, in every sense of the word that matters right now. He stays like that for a few seconds before turning to address the man that had spoken to him. The... preacher.]
Oren, yes. But I feel I should be the one apologizing.
[Were handshakes something that transcended time and space? He's not sure, and so he clutches his hands together to busy them, looking around the area more casually than he really feels.
Gods, what gods, which gods-- He's not equipped for this no matter what hints Robin left him! How is he supposed to speak for ten minutes?]
And your name...? [Unless it really was preacher-man.]
no subject
the preacher clasps his own hands together, under the long sleeves of his robe, and nods his head a little in greeting. with Robin gone, the halls are starting to seem very quiet and reverent--the way they probably should be. scuffling feet and hushed voices echo harmlessly from down the hall.]
Viiran. I'm one of the preachers here, as he calls me.
[which this man seems to find funny, as he glances back in the direction Robin had gone running. he seems to pick his words very deliberately, speaking with a slow softness.]
You can relax, here. This is a safe place, and I learned long ago that asking questions of Robin's choices is a much larger bother than it's worth.
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[A safe place, he says, but he doesn't feel safe here. He feels abandoned. Dropped. And no matter how Robin may intend to catch him before he hits the ground, it's still isolating. The information he was fed before now all comes to mind. They're great conversation starters. Introductions, explanations on behalf of Robin and himself, talk about this place...
The words die on his tongue. Speaking them could bring further digging, lead to questions that he doesn't know the answer to. This was an extremely uncomfortable position for Oren, who enjoyed leading conversation. He was always the first to push, to direct, to observe and respond. Now he was just lost, and as small as the fear gripping at his chest was in comparison to being lost in the desert, it's enough to trigger the same reactions. The same memories.]
I won't be in your way. [He decides on this, coming off far more humble and sheepish than he usually likes to as he ducks his head and drops his hands to hold in front of himself. His throat feels dry and any previous relief or excitement about being here is gone. Aside from the small things in his posture like his turned down eyes and the hands held in front of himself, he looks just as confident as ever-- but his emotions are becoming too much.
They show up so easily when he's left alone and lost.]
Please, I'll stay wherever's most convenient while you continue your work.
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Please do not hesitate to come to the inner chambers, should you need anything. Simply follow the line.
[he gestures to the floor. what may have earlier been passed off as a simple break in the tile's design is a dark line of inlays that runs from one end to the other. at the fork in the hallway, it continues left. with this presumably understood, Viiran nods in silent goodbye and walks along this path towards whatever duties Robin had tried to take him from.
leaving Oren utterly alone, for a few more minutes. there are soft sounds and lit candles and beautiful stonework, but none of it may matter. Robin is still nowhere to be seen or heard.]
no subject
[He keeps up his smile until the last bit of Viiran's robe disappears behind the corner. From there it fades and cracks and his eyes cast downwards. They follow the line back to where he stands, and in slow realization, he steps back and off of it. Robin still isn't here, he thinks, and wonders how long it's been by now. Three minutes? Five? Not ten. Ten would mean Robin had lied, that he might not come back at all.
As Oren takes another step back and lifts his head to observe the room in full, he wonders what lies in the inner chambers. A church like this... He lifts one hand to touch at his wrist, curling fingers into bangles while his eyes fall on one of the stone benches. There's no point in going any further. Whatever 'safety' was promised here was something he couldn't rely on.
Taking the last few steps backwards, he sits slowly on the bench, relaxing into the most casual-yet-refined posture he can manage. It works well, considering how his mind races. He tries not to count the minutes. Instead, he looks to the tile, pictures churches from back home. Remembers writing each and every problem of his out and sending it downstream, hoping that he'd be helped with them only to wind up disappointed and bitter.
He lets go of his own wrist, allowing himself a small hunch forward. He doesn't like it here. It's uncomfortable, at best, and with each second that passes, he wonders what Robin is doing, what he plans to do, if he's setting up his downfall or his rescue or simply abandoning him here in the hands of another.
Oren raises a hand to rub at his temple, sitting back and straight once again. It was too often lately that he'd allow his emotions to get the better of him. He had to remain composed. Indifferent. Calm and collected. And so he ignored the nervousness bubbling in his gut and stored it for later, unaware of how little space he had left to store these things.
It's been ten minutes by now, hasn't it?]
no subject
he's so close to being able to explain anything, to stop and sort out the mess they've both suddenly been plunged into--but there's so much to protect down here. since the moment he saw him, he's been calculating and taking preventative measures. he's cut off reasons for people to follow them. he's spinning a false identity to ward off spies and networkers. he's warned him about the ban on all magic to keep him safe from the church and their magehunts.
all of this while trying to keep himself a small target. a lot of people down here already hate his guts, and would love a reason to dig into his life. and while he may have trusted Oren in another world (did he? he hasn't had the time to properly remember...), he can't trust him here not to ruin everything he's carefully spun together in the last six months.
he had to go hide a few things. it'll make more sense when they get there.
he shows up very quietly, a soft pad of footsteps that could be anyone's. he glances worriedly down the opposite hall as he rounds the corner, his smirky demeanor nowhere to be seen. this whole time, he's been running at a constant, imperative rate--but now, within speaking distance, something about him finally seems to slow.
he holds out his hand to Oren, light sigh escaping his lips... but he finally looks at his face, meets his eyes, paying attention to the man in front of him and not whatever nebulous dangers exist in the world around them.]
I'm sorry. I've got a room upstairs, we can talk openly there.
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He's lost in his thoughts when footsteps call him out of them. Tense at first, he looks up, relieved to see Robin even with his expression seeming so gloomy. Hesitantly grateful, he reaches to take his hand in a gentle grip, lightly pulling himself up from his seat.
Even the promise of a room upstairs seems too far. Why was he here?
The lack of composure on his own face is an irritating weakness. He tries his best to blink away his own tension, but his eyes are where it sticks the most. He feels too close to letting his emotions get the best of him, and nothing has even happened.
Oren's been scolding himself mentally this whole time.]
It's a relief to hear that, truly... [It's meant to come off joking, or light, but instead it has an almost nervous edge. He gives Robin's hand a little squeeze, trying to fix that.] Lead the way, then.
[He'll save his questions on Robin's demeanor for there, as well.]
no subject
he squeezes his hand back, to match, and begins to lead him down the hallway. at the fork, they go right. he reaches out with his other arm, shoves over a gorgeous tapestry, shoulders into another seemingly ordinary stone wall--which gives in the shape of a door, revealing another stairway. the entire construction of Skeleton City has always been a rather shady, unorganized affair. there is no shortage of secret passages and hidden entrances, here.
it's a short flight. the passage is narrow, wooden, nothing interesting. a warm light seeps out from under the door, and not the kind from a florescent fixture. when Robin turns the doorknob and pulls the handle, it becomes obvious as to why.
the room he reveals is small, but very much lived-in. wood floor, wooden walls, stone ceiling. bookcases cover the entirety of one wall, covered to overflowing with tomes and journals and scrolls. what doesn't fit lives in stacks leaned up against furniture, under the tables and desk. other shelves are filled with things, mechanical parts and bottles of seashells and vases of feathers. another corner has wooden crates stacked up into makeshift cubbies, where clothes and blankets and shoes are stored. there's an attached side room, presumably a bathroom. the bed is prominent; not a large thing, but it looks comfortable, piled with quilts and furs. scarves hang off the canopy, fabric drapes off of the furniture, and the whole thing looks... cluttered, but comforting. there's still room to move, and a great effort has been put into making the room look soft and warm compared to the cold, jagged world around them.
he leads him inside. there are no windows, but there are several fist-sized stones hanging from hooks in the ceiling, glowing with sunlight. it shouldn't be possible, since Oren can look at them without hurting his eyes, but the warmth is familiar and unmistakable. the lights bounce and refract through a mobile hanging in the very middle, made of what might just be a dozen pieces of broken, colored glass.
Robin eases his grip on Oren's hand, but doesn't pull his hand away... he can shut the door with his other arm. there doesn't appear to be a lock. this is about where Oren might notice there's a large, scripted circle carved into the floor, though the legs of some furniture interrupt seeing the whole design.]
...This is where I stay, sometimes. [with the door closed, he takes a step closer.] It's not a convenient location, but it really is one of the safest places in the city.
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He turns back to face him at the comments, taking a bit of comfort in the fact that their hands haven't left one another. He'll accept this for as long as he can. Despite the promise of safety and a 'place to talk openly', Oren leans in closer.]
You've been back here for some time.
[The observation falls out, and he seems alarmed by it.] Your steps were practiced, as well.
[He pauses, takes a moment to realize that his thoughts are probably coming out fragmented. Skipping paths in logic, plucking at nervous ideas. He lets out a slow exhale, relaxing his shoulders. Trying to stay calm.]
...You seem worried. Talk to me.
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[it's, perhaps, something he shouldn't have said--because Robin does seem worried. everything he's done up until now has grown out of paranoia, uncertainty, fear. now that he's alone and he knows no one can see him, all of the implications and worries and questions he'd been pushing down are sparking back up again. at the tip of his tongue. at the edges of his eyes.
but Oren's the one skipping through thoughts and holding his hand. Oren gives him something to think about that is not his own tangle of conflicting feelings. And Oren is...
he pulls his hand away, suddenly, but it's just so that he can wrap his arms around him and pull him into a close, tight hug. he buries his face against his neck whether Oren wants him there or not, letting out a tight breath he didn't know he'd been holding. his shoulders sink, but it feels like a weight's being lifted from his shoulders. the way he smells plucks at old threads in his mind, in his heart.]
Tega, I haven't seen anyone from those ships in... I don't know, six, seven months? I thought it finally brought be back, I thought it was just over, and...
[he's never told this to anyone. he used to talk about this kind of thing openly, because he was around dozens of other uprooted people--but here, no one would understand. he tried to tell Vincent, but he couldn't. it was better to bury it all and try to keep going instead. his hold on Oren never falters, and he curls his fingers up in his shirt.]
It's really you. I can't believe it...
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But he could also measure how others viewed him, and strangely enough in the fleet, there hadn't been many he'd thought cared. Mattias, and potentially Robin. Was that it? Those were the closest ones who mattered.
He's relaxing into this hug without realizing it, wrapping his arms around him in return and pressing palms to his back. He doesn't dare curl his fingers there, as while he may be hugely relieved by his presence, he's skeptical. This can't last long. He's not Mattias.]
Months?
[There was this alarming news, too. He'd picked up on Robin having been here for some time. Weeks, he'd been guessing, but six or seven months? He doesn't pull back in his shock, instead turning his face into Robin a bit as he thinks.]
I'd-- I'd just seen you. We had dinner and you were terribly drunk. It's only been a short time after that; Mattias and I were working on some maps to return home... I'd believe something went wrong in our ventures if I hadn't been awake right before appearing here.
[Now he pulls back, slowly, and keeps close, looking him in the eyes.] How can I be here?
[He's in such disbelief, even now. Spirits and gods and demons, those were one thing, but time travel and different worlds? This must be some sort of fever dream. Or-- Mattias poisoned him, in that serum for Enkythos. He gets a little pale at the thought of that, blinking a few times as he pulls back further.]
But I am here. [Right, focus on that.] So what now?
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he doesn't even mention Mattias. he remembers him--but he's kept those memories sealed away more than most. all he knows is that Mattias isn't here, and it should stay that way.]
I don't know... [there are a lot of questions. not a lot of answers. it's getting harder to think with all the noise.] I don't know. I just...
[he puts one of those gloved hands up to his face and pushes the palm against his closed eye. just one of them. he presses in hard, gets quiet for a second, looking intent and pensive and sharp just like he was at the start of things. he needs everyone to just shut up for a minute--no doubts, no birds, no complicated ghosts.]
...When you arrived, there was a... Burst of energy from... [how to explain it?] ...In the web of things, how everything holds together, magic and fate and physical space, it was almost like something punched through it. Maybe that's how you got here.
[he slowly moves his hand from his eye, easing up a little.] And if that's how you got here, there's a chance we can find the same spot and send you back in the other direction. That failing, we may be able to recreate the event. Before that, I'll need to find you a name, a story, somewhere to stay...
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[Oren laughs. It's nothing light, weighed down with worry and a hint of bitterness that persists even as his own arms drop away from Robin. The explanation is... fine. Somehow. The idea that space and fate can be punched through is strange, but what else could it be? And with the presence of gods and demons like Nocta and Enkythos in his own world, it's not so different that he goes into shock. Especially not the second time.
It's the frantic rushing to remove himself from these places that puts him on edge. Back in the fleet, with Mattias. He'd had mixed feelings-- a need to return home, whether he wanted to or not, but a worry about what would come. A longing to keep things simpler. Even here. He half thinks that the thugs, the madness, the worries, they'd all be fine if he could learn... But his father comes to mind.]
I can't stay with you?
[Even his words that slip out come out sounding like they have a purpose. It's smooth, light, like he's trying to be charming, but it's really just an honest question. A worry, if you listen closely. He shakes his head to cancel that thought, pushing instead in another direction.]
Is there urgency to be rid of me so quickly? Or is this truly a safe space as you said? [He looks up suddenly, reaching to touch fingers lightly over the grip still on his shoulder. He doesn't want to talk about dealing with the way out right now. Not yet.]
It doesn't feel right to be so anxious myself when you look as if your head might explode. Forget it-- Talk to me. Six or seven months, you said. Doing what?
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he continues looking over him, at his eyes, the shapes of his face, as he talks and asks--not disproving him at all, still seeming on edge and wary about something. six or seven months, what has he been doing? lots of things. reconnecting. disengaging. building, tearing, changing. the world's got its hooks in him again, and has been stretching his soul out to cover the void.
(which is not a metaphor. it's much harder to think clearly when he's all places at once.)]
No, listen...
[he's not going to "forget it", still stuck on that smooth little phrase. he moves again, separating only so that he may scoop up Oren's worrying hand with both of his own. he clutches it firmly to his chest. Oren can feel his heart beating behind his ribs, if he's in any state to notice. Robin's expression might be more distracting--apologetic, admiration? he almost looks to be in awe, but he isn't smiling. he slows his words, slows himself.]
I'm sorry. This place makes me... Scattered, there's a lot I'm trying to think through at once.
But I promise-- [his fingers tighten, just a little.] I'm not going to leave you. All right? I'll explain everything. No guises, no tactics. Just...
[honesty? it's been a long time. he lowers his eyes, suddenly heavy with a guilty realization.] ...I'm glad that you're here.
[an anchor, his dreams made flesh. his world is tearing open and he's so relieved to see it. he'd really liked Oren. he had a charm to hide a softer soul. guts and burns, just like him. everyone else would sting too badly--but his is a welcome remembrance.]
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It's enough to earn a smile. Not his usual smirk, but a warm, revealing thing that he catches himself making and quickly tries to stop. It breaks through anyway, and he looks down at their hands.]
Now, you mean to stop me in my tracks with words like those. [This time, his joking feels light. Relaxed. He eases into it with a laugh and raises his gaze again, eyes focusing on Robin's. His second hand raises, clasping over their joined hands a little more seriously.]
We've both been a bit honest today, it seems. [Strange, isn't it?] Thank you.
[He pulls the top hand back, letting it drop to his side as he takes another look around the room.]
Explain your thoughts. Perhaps I can offer some assistance. So far I've been nothing but a burden.
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he lets his hand go as things drop away, since their clinging to each other isn't so important anymore. a lot of tension slips away with it--he even laughs, light and relieved. they're finally falling into place, the two of them.]
Yes, please. [he chides himself for being so convoluted about this. the room is just a room now, and the "noise" isn't so busy balancing opportunities and liabilities. they can simply... despite having just let him go, he takes up the other man's hand again, leading him through the room, past stacks of books and towards the bed.]
Let's sit. Let's talk. [he lets him go to remove his pistols from their holsters, setting the both of them down carefully where there's room on a small bedside table. there are three perfume bottles there, too. probably not important.
he takes a seat after that, pats the bed for Oren to sit close to him, and then busies himself with peeling his gloves off. it's hard to say if it's a sign of settling, or just an excuse to fidget.]
I think I know where I have to start, but... It's not something I like talking about. It complicates people's opinions of me. I'd understand if you didn't... [he's rambling, isn't he? one glove off, he shakes his head a little. this part always makes him nervous--and he's out of practice.] Anyway, I'm afraid you'll have to be my secret-keeper from now on.
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There, he leans forward, arms resting on his knees as he watches Robin remove his gloves.]
Your secret-keeper? I don't believe I've ever been tasked for such an honor. [Not officially, at least. He's had to keep plenty of secrets. Laughing softly, he shrugs one of his shoulders.] I don't form my opinions as most people do, believe me.
Tell me. You can trust me.
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it's not because he thinks Oren is untrustworthy. he just doesn't believe the other man will take the truth as well as he thinks he can. he's just worried things will be different and strange, or that his brand-new, startling opportunity won't want to have anything to do with him anymore.
so, he peels the other glove off, one finger at a time, before he finally takes the breath he needs to start.]
If I remember correctly, you've already figured out that I'm not exactly human. Your world has gods and demons, but mine... Ah, it's like this.
[he turns towards him a little, at least not shying away from the explanation--and gestures flat, a little above eye level.] At the top of everything, there are our Gods. Their forms are ineffable. They cannot be understood by humans. So, legend has it... [he moves his hand one level lower, down by his chin.] ...That the Gods created the Nine Kings, who lived on Gratia. They were the most powerful creatures to ever live in this world, and each of them had control over an aspect of human existence. Their job was to keep Gratia in balance, and act as a speakers--from the Gods to the mortals below them. Does this make sense?
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But right here, he's listening, and he's open-minded as usual. Watching Robin's hand gestures, he nods along with it.]
Yes, that makes sense. [In theory... At least.] Go on.
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The truth is that these Nine Kings were very real. They ruled for many years, but one of them fell to greed, started wars, and caused the rest of them to fall with them. They were eventually killed by the very humans they were supposed to protect.
They were reborn, a long time after that. The same spirits in different bodies. That part's a little less... Well, it's not often kept in the stories, because they all died, not even twenty years after they were born. No one has seen them since. In this day and age, some of them are thoroughly convinced that they never even existed to begin with.
[this makes him pause, sigh... folding his hands in his lap. he keeps eye contact, though--he doesn't want this to be in any way misunderstood.]
What no one knows is that one of them is still alive. Though I've introduced myself to you as Robin, my true name is Riem, and I am he who holds dominion over pain. The last of the Nine Kings.
[the name crawls through the air strangely; Oren knows exactly what it means, despite the sound of it being foreign. it means pain, suffering, the amalgamation of everything Robin holds power over.]
i'm still here, weeks later
Mattias knew this, didn't he?
[His voice comes quiet, and it's clear all at once that while he's not angered or upset by the fact itself, there's jealousy there. Always jealousy, though this time when it stirs in him Enkythos isn't there to make it worse. It settles in his stomach and he lifts his chin while he looks to Robin.]
Did you think I'd be surprised, perhaps? Caught off guard, or astonished?
[Maybe in awe. Maybe angered? Any sort of dramatic reaction that would have his view spinning. But no. He laughs, bitterness still lingering even as he looks across the room.] Religion has never been my strong point. My opinion hasn't changed, aside from that you claim to trust me while holding this back all this time. Which is it, then?