psychoshenanigans | GRATIA // PSL

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GRATIA // PSL

The first thing he feels is the cold.

It permeates everything down here on the lower levels. What little warmth humans have made for themselves is greedily gobbled up by the stone walls that surround them on all sides. Despite the stirring of people in the streets, in their homes, and around corners, this place feels like a grave. A similar sense seems to loom over the heads of most who make their way through this deep, dark part of the world, hovering around them like a cloud of inevitability. No one has been outright sentenced to death, but they may as well be.

Upon waking, Tek will have found himself in a dark, wet alleyway. Attempts to orient himself reveal that he has been brought, somehow, to an impressively large network of tunnels that all lead, more or less, to three or four larger chambers. There is far more vibrant life above him somewhere, far, far above the layer of caves he's in now, and there is also a very deep, sluggish form of life somewhere far below his feet.

No one is coming to get him. No one follows him in his immediate vicinity--the few stragglers hanging around doorsteps and windows don't give him a second glance, or even a first one. The place is crowded, but not busy. Everyone keeps their heads down. The people are all dressed poorly, in rags and robes and bundles that suggest a certain level of consistent poverty all throughout the level. The buildings in these tunnels look man-made, either built from scrap or carved straight out of the rock of the cave, but the majority of the actual roads and cave walls seem to have been formed with very little help from human hands.

The place is lit with lanterns and dirty-looking florescents suspended high above in the cave ceiling. The air is thick and stuffy, the smell of mold and mud prevalent over even the smell of human stagnation. It would not be hard to drag someone off, and he gets the immediate feeling that if he did, it's unlikely that anyone would come looking for them.

What does he do?

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[it's a good point, in all honesty. he used to ask himself similar questions all the time. sometimes, it would drive him to lash out (sometimes, fatally.) and then, being stuck in this world, it had made sense not to question it. but, he needs to question everything at some point. so, he takes a moment to ask himself again now, for the first time in quite a while.

why does he keep going back?]

We've known each other for a very long time. [which isn't the most important point, but it serves to sum up a lot.] We're very similar creatures. We've both been through things that not a lot of other people can identify with. And we know most of each other's secrets.

[it's an adequate list, he supposes. when he hears it out loud, it's lacking a lot, but it probably doesn't need more than that--at least for the listener. it's not quite a satisfying answer for himself, though. so, he spends another moment mulling things over, searching for a clean way to tie off the thought.

he doesn't really find it. but, he does find something that makes him smirk at nothing, and he settles on that instead.]

--Also, I love to destroy things, and he is remarkably resilient.

[Tonic listens quietly, focusing on his leg while Tek works through his answer. it all tracks, everything he says fitting neatly into what he imagines the rest of this stranger's life must be like. he even gets a clever little twist at the end, earning a surprised, but entirely genuine, chuckle.]

I believe you.

[and, as if that's what he needed to move them along, he reaches out towards Tek with his sinewy hand, mostly hoping to find purchase on a shoulder or an arm.]

Would you mind propping me up, dear?

[he reaches down towards his leg again, indicating that he'd like to do something with his prosthetic.]

Not at all.

[Tonic's response makes him feel better about his own answer, somehow. especially with how it seems to have slotted in with the other getting more comfortable and continuing to settle into their strange time spent together.

he easily helps prop him up, not needing to do much bracing or adjusting to the other man's weight as he's leaned on. he's much stronger than he looks.

and he can't wait to see what he's going to do with that leg.]

Thank you, darling.

[at first, he's only looking for something to help him keep his balance... but when the man proves to be surprisingly sturdy, he starts to lean on him more, turning this into an impromptu test of trust that the dragon won't drop him just for kicks.

but Tek gets to watch him lift up the skirt of his dress, once again revealing his wooden prosthetic and the elegant, clean casing of metal that attaches it to the remains of his leg. wadding his dress up under his elbow, he twists his arm down to push in two shallow buttons on the side of the metal brace. they cause a hissing sound, some kind of mechanical release, once they're recessed far enough into the machine.

but only one side of his leg comes loose, sliding against the metal but not coming free from whatever is locking it in on the other side. it isn't until Tonic moves his hand, pushing in a third release on the other side of the leg, that it finally comes free, dropping away from his body with a sudden dead weight and landing rather uselessly on mound of clothes.

Tonic's relief is instant and obvious--he sighs, free of a very heavy accessory and a lot of strain on his poor, overworked nerve endings.]

Gods, that's so much better...

Edited 2018-12-29 00:02 (UTC)

[...yep. just as delightful as he'd hoped. Tek continues to serve as a sturdy piece of furniture while he stares with open glee at the entire process. he's just as enamored with the contraption as he had been when he'd first laid eyes on it. terribly impressed and a little horrified. it's wonderful.

he's probably thinking and wondering about a lot of things, but he opts for the most important one first when he finally looks back up to Tonic's face.]

...Much better than the corset, I'd imagine.

[he can only morbidly guess at what a relief it must be to drop a whole dead limb off of your own body.]

Oh, very much.

[he does genuinely appreciate that he has this leg. it's far more freeing than walking with a crutch, and a hundred times more manageable than the hunk of metal he was "gifted" with when those pack-rats stapled him back together. but all that said, it's still a long shot from a real, flesh-and-blood limb, and it has its drawbacks.

Tonic stops leaning all of his (now considerably lighter) body weight on Tek, but doesn't drift away entirely, keeping the hand on his shoulder as if he still needs the balance. he doesn't.

he's grinning now, pleased that Tek is finding his bizarre bodily situation entertaining at the very least--and points back over his shoulder in the direction of the back room he keeps disappearing into.]

If I'm really going to get comfortable, do you want to come see the gross part?

[in that moment, Tek is sure that he has never wanted anything more in his entire life. there is the slightest eager-eyed freeze, in which Tek tries his best to check his outward reaction, but he only partially succeeds. he is morbidly thrilled that the offer is even there, and it's all there in his eyes and the grin that he's fighting.]

Yes.

[his first reaction is a startled laugh... but it is followed by a well-meaning pat on the shoulder as he turns partly away.]

I had a feeling you'd be into it. Come on back, darling.

[he's hardly one to point out another person's weirdness, especially as he then crouches to the floor, hoists his own wooden leg up over his shoulder, and then proceeds to propel himself around the room with little more than his hands and arms.

it is bizarre to watch, but he does it with surprising grace and speed--navigating around obstacles and swinging his way between pieces of furniture without a problem. come to think of it, a lot of the displays here are down rather low to the ground, and all of these piles of things on the floor... maybe it isn't just that Tonic is cheap and messy?

his dress drags behind him at first, but he scoops it up pretty quickly as he moves along. touches down with his good leg just long enough to get the tarp out of the way, pinning it aside for Tek's sake, and no sake of his own.]

[Tek actually has no clever quips or comments, for once. he's just so surprised and alarmed and charmed by the whole thing, he happily shuts right up and follows along.

he can't help but give the other man a step more of space to maneuver than he normally would, even though he doesn't seem to need it. so, he's lagging a second or so behind when he finally reaches the curtain separating the two rooms.]

[while nothing in his home is strictly private (he lost any feelings of entitlement to his own privacy a very, very long time ago), the room on the other side of the threshold does not have the same inviting, charmingly haphazard feeling of the rest of the tent. it is not built for perusing, or even for display. it was put together with just one person in mind--and that person slithers over to prop his fake leg against the wall and make himself at home on a small pile of cushions.

at the entrance, the room is barely tall enough for Tek to comfortably stand, with the ceiling sloping gently downward from there towards the opposing wall. the whole thing is held up by surprisingly sturdy-looking framework, and insulated with tightly-stretched canvas. a majority of the wall space is taken up by shelving, hand-built from whatever scrap wood and metal could be scavenged, and filled with a dizzying number of small containers in all shapes and sizes. tin boxes, glass bottles, clay jars, paper bags, all of which are meticulously stacked and labeled with the same line of white paint and scrawl of tiny, black charcoal lettering over it.

not a single inch of useful space is going unused, with baskets of tools tucked into corners, metal trays and fuel canisters leaning in the gap between shelves, and bundles of herbs and other plants strung up to dry from the ceiling. part of a wall has been left open and painted black; it's currently covered in white chalk scribbles and mathematical calculations. the shelf behind Tonic is home to several living plants in shallow dishes and old jars, kept alive by the sickly, pale white glow of a sun-lamp that's practically held together with tape. the rest of the shelf holds paper bundles of food, a few bottles of very-expensive looking wines and alcohols, and his entire, humble collection of mismatched dishes.

other than the dingy lamp, there are no sources of light besides what's filtering in from the room behind them. a majority of the floor is covered by an old, threadbare rug. pushed against some of the shelves is a wooden board propped up on two cinder-blocks to serve as a table, set up with beakers and burners and a few leather-bound journals (and Tek has been here long enough to gather that these things may have very well cost more than the rest of the tent combined). whatever space was left on the floor has been filled with another low, small, square table, and two opposing piles of cushions to either side of it. it seems like the space is set up in case of company, but not in such a way that company is regularly expected.

Tonic's clothing shop is a work of art, an exploration of trial and error, a creative invitation to wander for both the customer and the creator. while the feeling of Tonic is still present in this back room, in the arrangement of mismatched objects and clever use of very little space, it is not an experiment. it's the culmination of two decades of collecting, learning, and perfecting--not a single container is out of place, no experiments have been left half-finished, and once he focuses, Tek will find that every single word Tonic has written in this room looks like unreadable, ciphered gibberish.

chaotic and masterful, this is a glimpse into the Tonic that never stops working, the Tonic who thinks very intentionally before committing to answers, and the Tonic who claims he is truly the best at what he does. he has carried some of these objects with him for years, and at times, they were the only things he had to define himself.

there are small traces of magic in this room just as there were in the last--but they're all sealed away in these containers, labeled as potion ingredients. Tonic stretches, looking very much at-home in this cramped little space.]

Welcome to the rest of the shop. [he sticks out his tongue again, jokingly, finding this entire sequence of events very funny.] Not much room, but make yourself at home.

[almost immediately upon entering this space, Tek forgets the original reason he was even invited in. he had been so morbidly excited only a moment ago (something about a missing leg?) but this perfect, meticulous hoard of treasures completely overtakes his attention.

his expression changes as soon as his eyes adjust. he'd been expecting something along these lines, but whatever he'd been imagining pales in comparison to what he's seeing now. Tonic can watch the awe of someone who recognizes exactly what they're looking at wash over Tek's face as his gaze meticulously combs from one wall all the way around to the other. a step or so into the room, head ducked a little to avoid the sloping ceiling and able to better see the shelves, hushed as though he's standing in an old library instead of someone's home, he does one full, slow rotation in place until he has taken in the entirety of the space.

with the way his eyes glow in the dim light, it's easy to track how quickly and thoroughly he looks from one detail to the next. he must have many thoughts, with the way his eyes and brain go ticking along.

by the time he finally finishes his sweep of the back room, he looks back to Tonic with a much more unreadable expression than the open, grinning one he's been wearing for the entire visit so far. he is clearly impressed, but the rest is hard to get a sense of. the closest thing is maybe frustration.]

...I wish you could have known me in another life.

[at first, Tonic had been watching idly, wanting to get a read on the man's initial reaction... but just as this room is more than Tek had expected, Tek's slow, meticulous, almost reverent observations is far more than Tonic could have ever predicted.

quite a few people have seen this room, some of them very smart, very clever--or some of them collectors in their own right, or people who understand the value of objects and space--but none of them have ever looked at it all the same way that Tek is looking at it now. he knows that Tek works in poisons, appreciates the craft, and all that, but... surely, someone with his status and privilege should not be in awe of this, right?

when they finally lock eyes again, Tonic finds his expression hard to read... not because Tek is doing anything to mask it, but because it is conveying painfully honest, complicated emotions that Tonic simply does not have the context to read.

Tonic's own expression is one of open surprise. it could easily slide back into pride, or fear, or bitterness, or gratitude, but for the moment, he simply does not know how he feels, or even how he should feel.]

Why's that? [it seems like kind of a stupid question, but it's the first and only one he thinks of.]

[Tonic's look of surprise registers after a moment, and the dragon checks himself. returning to his own body, he realizes how open his own expression is, and how he must be showing more of the strange pang running through him than he'd meant to. a little abashedly, he glances away and puts on a smile again.

while he steps toward the table in the center of the room and the seat he's supposed to be occupying, he assembles his thoughts.

he can't tell him that this is a dragon's hoard--collected with more elevated, ravenous care than the mortals around could even hope to fathom. he can't tell him that there is a whole world beyond this one (many of them, apparently) in which he would have fit much better. he can't tell the other man that he would be a powerful, flourishing being if he had been born somewhere else. he can't describe for him all the aging troves of knowledge that he has seen moldering to dust from neglect, simply because the keepers didn't have the sort of respect for it that comes from previously having nothing.

he can't explain his frustration over all of the things that he has seen and had and been, and the ways this room makes him think about all of it, so he chooses his words carefully as he takes a seat at the table.]

...Because, I used to have this. I think you would have liked to see it.

[he lets the answer settle over him, giving it a thorough moment of thought, before one side of his mouth turns up in a smile.]

Really?

[he at least knows enough about Tek to get that he isn't just talking about the number of ingredients gathered in one place, or the volume of knowledge he's amassed, or the fact that he's stuffed this whole operation into a tiny back room. it's something much deeper, more complex than that. Tonic pushes himself back up, clearly curious and wanting to engage. he moves to lean his elbows on the low table between the two of them, resting his chin in his hands.]

What was it? Materials, or... something else?

[he waves his hand a little--he doesn't know what it could have been, since he can imagine Tek coveting any number of interesting or beautiful things.]

[he's still technically seated on his side of the table, as a good guest should be, but he's more at the corner of it than anything, with his legs comfortably stretched out and ankles crossed. he's leaning on he table like an armrest, oriented just a little closer to his host than someone visiting for business purposes would be.

and he's taking more time to think before answering, but it's not in the strategic way he that had when they'd played their truth game. the reasons that he's carefully choosing his words this time are probably much different, and definitely personal.

he picks one of the potted plants as a point to look at while he explains (and hopes that he's far enough away from the poor thing to avoid making it suffer too badly).]

Artifacts, mostly. Pieces of things that were going to be forgotten--languages, cultures, inventions that didn't take off. Things like that.

[there is a particular hesitation to how he puts his words together. he hasn't thought about this particular subject in literal decades, and maybe hasn't ever discussed it out loud before. he's still questioning whether or not he should, but he isn't coming up with a solid reason not to, so he's tentatively continuing.]

--Mm. And there were a lot of stories. Journals, transcriptions... even some written by "real" writers. Whatever I could collect.

[after everything that's happened to him over the course of his very dangerous life, there isn't much left that Tonic can empathize with. a lot of terrible things wouldn't budge him any more than if they were mild inconveniences.

but he knows exactly what it feels like to lose something you've been building piece-by-piece, and he fully understands how heavy it feels to be the only thing keeping beautiful, brilliant, wonderful ideas from being obliterated by time and simple human ignorance.

so he listens, letting Tek take all the time he needs to describe his things. he nods a little, not wanting to let this go unacknowledged. regardless of what Tek actually is or isn't, between the lies and avoidant truths... deep down, at the heart of it all, it really seems like they may be the same kind of creature.]

You're right... I would have loved to have seen it.

[it makes him pause, glance around at his own, carefully-curated collection... and after a moment there, in the muffled silence, he reaches over to grab a book of matches off of his table. there are candles to be lit. it doesn't need to be so dark, back here.

pleasantly, he brings them back to where they were before:] Are you still interested in the leg, darling, or has the moment passed?

[Tek feels just about as validated as he can possibly stand, before his host has the good sense to offer him a way out.

he straightens up and clasps his hands together on the table, metaphorically shaking himself loose from whatever old mire he'd dipped his feet into, and continues forward with a much lighter smile. he's grateful for the moment of rumination, and just as grateful for the escape from it.]

Yes, please.

[if Tek ever wants to return to that old, complicated place, Tonic will be here--hopefully still tucked away with his jars and tinctures and scraps of forgotten knowledge. but for the short term, he sees no reason to let them dwell in the dark. the day is short, after all. Tek could disappear at any moment. he didn't tell him to stay so that the both of them could ruminate on things that they've lost in years past.

he gets some candles lit quickly, setting them in safe places on the shelves and on the table between them. it fills the room with a comfortable, warm glow, enough to see the details of the room and his person without straining (for a human eyes, at least).]

I've got to get this detached...

[he moves his dress out of the way again; the metal on his leg glints like gold in the candlelight. he produces several tools from a basket behind him, using them to unscrew and pull apart several hinged pieces of the mechanical cap. he does it with the practiced efficiency of someone who's had to do it hundreds of times--but it will still take him a minute. his explanation is very casual, almost chipper, especially with a strong drink still working through him. he never really gets to explain this to anyone, and he is excited to have an audience that might understand.]

The design is good, having one piece permanently attached so that the majority of the leg can come off at any time... But the parts still aren't completely...

[he flinches a little, despite his smile, as something snags. he has to adjust the angle with which he is wedging a metal pick before continuing.]

The human body just doesn't appreciate having a bunch of metal shoved into it. You've seen the awful shit they have downstairs, right?

[he remembers Tek mentioning something about that last time, in comparison to Tonic's own modifications.]

Pierce and Rend... [he answers absently, while engrossed in the tinkering taking place before him. he's glad he decided to sit sort of lounging around the corner of the table like this, as it's much easier to lean and leer at the work than if he'd been seated properly.]

They'd been worried that I would cause trouble over their scrapheap bodies.

[Tonic seems to be removing the mechanical cap a few pieces at a time, deconstructing it in sections and putting them carefully on a metal tray next to him. at one point, he pulls a flat metal piece away and a string of something wet glints in the candlight between it and whatever it was pulled from.]

Ah, those two.

[Tonic says nothing about the mysterious liquid, but does pull another thin metal tray over to place calmly underneath where he's working on his leg. he's too busy smirking over the use of the word "scrapheap".]

It makes sense. As I reminded you, this sort of thing is highly illegal in the kind of circles you look like you frequent.

As they reminded me as well.

[he's doing a good job of not showing that he's frustrated at his limited view of the project, but he is leaning as far as could possibly be construed as still being polite.]

I guess I just don't look enough like trouble. I'll have to work on it.

Well, darling, keep shopping at my place and I think we can fix that.

[he shoots Tek a lopsided grin, then, to show that he's mostly kidding--but it's then that he notices his guest is leaned in as far as he is. without any consideration for his own personal space, and knowing that his guest would appreciate seeing what happens next, he gestures inward with his off-hand.]

Come get close, babe. I don't mind.

[Tek's already seen him pop his leg off, there's not much more of himself he can share. proximity doesn't matter.]

[as in every interaction they've had so far, an invitation is maybe not strictly needed, but very much appreciated. as soon as he has that permission, he gratefully scoots on around the table, folding up his legs so he can sit close without being in the way.]

Out of curiosity, do you do this every single day, or does it follow some other routine?

[he just wants as much context as possible, so he can really understand just how messed up this is.]

[something Tonic appreciates--and something that is usually lost on other, socially-unacceptable creeps--is how Tek continues to be polite and mind his manners even though they have both clearly established that neither of them are normal people.

he doesn't have to, but he does. Tonic would like to think of it as a show of respect for his space and his temperament, which is something very few people give him.

ah, the question--he looks down at his work again, prying up several locked-down clasps with precise little motions of his wrist.]

It depends. I've gotten it to about once a week, but it depends on how much it's aggravated, if I do a lot of walking around...

[he makes a little sound, a small, excited inhale, as the show starts. Tek can hear a sticky peeling sound as Tonic slowly fulcrums the remaining majority of the cap away from his skin. he normally doesn't care about this step at all--but honestly, he's excited that someone else is excited, and can't wait for Tek's reaction.]

Hah, here it is...

[he puts his tools down on the floor beside him so that he can lift the metal away with his hands... and as he does, trails of thick, pale white goop drip off behind it. it has a startlingly pus-like consistency, but it isn't a sign of infection. it's organic, but not produced by a human body. it has a bizarrely mild smell that is, if anything, like plant matter just beginning to decay, somewhere between dry mushrooms and wet soil.

now exposed, the remain of his leg is a sorry mess. there are more scars visible, where parts of this contraption are literally bolted into place, but there are also several strategically-made holes in the bottom of his stump that are oozing even more of this mysterious substance. there's something lining the holes, maybe more metal, but it's hard to tell with the mess left there now. at least it isn't bruised or inflamed, or any of the other usual signs of a physical problem.]

Ah, fuck. [he regards his leg with mild annoyance, now that he can see just how much he's leaking.] Yeah, I let it go too long...

[Tek is clearly nauseated, and clearly delighted to be so. this is quite the show, and he's enjoying every moment of disgusting, morbid entertainment.

through the fingers clapped over his mouth, he makes this sound that is part wheeze, part groan of distress, and entirely involuntary. but he's grinning the whole time. and it takes him a moment to just hold there like that while he processes everything in front of him enough to be able to let go of his own face a little bit and speak.]

...Where do I even begin?

[ask questions? share his thoughts and opinions? shriek some more?]

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