psychoshenanigans | GRATIA // PSL

Entry tags:

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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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?]

[honestly, the state of his leg aside, this is the greatest reaction he could have wanted. as he glances up at Tek, he could not be grinning any wider, laughing with very deep glee as the other man is horrified.

he said he doesn't like people pretending they don't notice his disgusting physical traumas... but he never said that he shuns full revulsion, either. it's kind of fun, having the power to get such a visceral reaction out of someone with just a look.]

Oh, you're so good...

[he says this with such fondness, hunching back down to attend to his leg, picking up one of his tools again. it's essentially a thin, rounded knife, which he uses to quickly scrape the layer of white gunk off of his leg, and out of the crevices marring his skin.]

Opinions, please. I'd love your thoughts.

[he collects himself enough to fold his hands on the table in a sarcastically-polite manner, leaning forward on them while he watches the show continue.]

Well, I feel positively silly for commenting on the corset, now.

Edited 2018-12-30 18:47 (UTC)

Ah, yes. It was a sweet comment all the same.

[the worst part of the cleaning process is easily his getting into the ports on the bottom of his leg, if only for the quiet scrape of metal on metal where there should be nothing but soft flesh.]

And if you hadn't said anything, I may not have thought that perhaps I shouldn't have to stand on this thing for another six hours...

[an arbitrary number, but it still implies that he'd imagined Tek sticking around for a while, which may be reassuring to some. he taps his knife out softly on his tray, and then leans over to reach for one of the carefully-folded white rags on the shelf behind him.]

[the sentiment behind that number is indeed appreciated. it's one more affirmation that his company is still welcome.]

I am glad that you carried the meaning of my comment so far, because--yes--I would have told you to please take off your entire leg and leak all over the floor, if I'd known it was an option.

--Into a tray, please. I'm not an animal.

[he snickers at himself, pushing said tray away and underneath the larger table where it won't be in the way for either of them. the stuff can sit there for a little while; it isn't rotting, just breaking down on a slow, chemical level.

next, he plucks a labeled bottle off of a shelf and wets the cloth with it. whatever this is has a much stronger smell, akin to a thick handful of cloves that have been burned, smashed, and distilled into a liquid. it goes on with a slight brown tint, but quickly disappears, absorbing into his skin.]

[with the horror finally passing, he's leaning a little more comfortably there and watching instead of outright leering.]

...Is this the point where it's socially acceptable to ask where that stuff is coming from?

Ah, yes!

[and he thinks that's such a charming way to phrase it, he gestures with a little flourish of his rag before continuing his work.]

It's just a mix I came up with. I'll coat everything in a new batch when I put it back on again. It's mostly... Itol and drys matter, with a few other things added to keep down infections.

[not that Tek has heard of either of those two things, but at least it is not coming from his body, which Tonic assumes is the biggest question that Tek would want answered anyway.]

There's got to be something in there. Otherwise this thing would shred what's left of my leg.

[yes, that was one of the main things he'd been wondering, so that clears up a lot.]

Yes, I imagine you'd look much more like our pair of junkyard friends. [namely their rotting limbs and shortened lifespans.] The whole system really is ingenious--if upsetting.

[he was already all smiles, but the compliment has him bowing his head in the slightest acknowledgement, an abbreviated bow.]

I can't take full credit, but thank you.

[cap back on the bottle, rag left next to the dirty tools, he moves on to yet another step, involving a roll of clean bandages and a pad of gauze. that's when he looks up at Tek again with a pleasant smirk.]

And the interesting part is pretty much over, so I won't be offended if watching someone clean out metal rivets isn't your thing.

[his eyebrows go up upon hearing that there are yet more steps in this already complicated process, but he doesn't look put out by the fact. he is still far from bored.]

With all of this upkeep, it's a wonder that you have time to even put your makeup on in the morning.

[--let alone make potions and custom clothing and all of the other things that he seems to be constantly occupied with.

and Tek will settle himself back more comfortably on the cushions, at least. he can still partially watch what his friend is up to from here, but he's returning some of his personal space to him. instead of leering in on the operation, most of Tek's attention goes wandering around the room--looking as though he's trying to suss out the meaning of the ciphers on the bottles around him, but really reaching for whatever he can manage to sense of their contents from here.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject