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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[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.]

[Tonic pauses in binding up the end of his leg in bandages to let out a short laugh--]

I have an impeccable work ethic, when I'm not entertaining mysterious guests.

[with the hint of sarcasm accompanying "impeccable", he may mean something more along the lines of "unforgiving". he is still thinking of earlier, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of letting himself be comfortable for once.

many of the contents on the shelves are easy to see through their clear containers; herbs, spices, dried leaves, bark, twigs, seeds, fur, small bones, collections of thorns and strange-looking pods and small jars of powders in all different colors. most things in this room have died in one sense or another, but there are a few larger things hidden in jars that may be preserved specimens of some kind. one jar that pings more than the others looks like it's literally filled with small, dried-out newts.

the traces of magic seem about as random as they were in the other room. they seem to be gathered together--clumps of vaguely magical moss all in one jar, a whole tin of something magical near the floor--but it's impossible to say if they were gathered on purpose because of the magic, or because of something else.

many of these things are probably poisonous to one degree or another, but one shelf in particular (mostly filled with small, better-looking bottles) seems to have a stronger pull than the others. it would make sense if Tonic put the majority of his potions for sale all in one place.]

[the finished poisons, the ones in neat, pretty bottles waiting for new homes, are where he ends up gravitating. the jars of ingredients each catch his attention and let go, but those ones hold.

they're also conveniently nearby. he doesn't even have to stand, just pushing himself up onto his knees to bring them to eye-level while he picks through them. it has been a long time since he's handled poisons that weren't made by his own mouth, so he's actually genuinely excited to get his hands on them.

one by one, Tonic's creations are lovingly inspected until Tek is either interrupted or he reaches the end of the shelf.]

[Tonic, despite being the type to maintain a very precise collection, seems perfectly at-home letting Tek wander through his things. he'd be watching anyone else like a hawk, but he knows that his guest has an understanding (and probably a level of respect) for the tinctures and toxins he's going through. he trusts him not to do anything stupid--or if he does, it'll be for show, and the other man will go out of his way to direct his attention to it anyway.

plus, he deeply appreciates the moment of silence for himself, where he can work quickly and precisely and not have to worry about keeping another person entertained in the process. the step of cleaning out the metal plates, rivets, and pistons is no less important than anything else to do with his leg, even if it is less interesting.

now that Tek is close, these bottles are definitely filled with poisons. something that may get passing interest is the way they're labeled--not with letters, but each with a series of three numbers, separated by commas. "12, 15, 2nd". "6, 23, 8th". the bottles seem to be grouped with others that share their first number, though the number groups themselves are not necessarily in order on the shelves, and not all numbers in the range are present. within the groups, the bottles are further sorted by their second number, and then finally arranged from there by the third.

it looks cryptic at first, but touching the bottles will confirm what he'd probably begun to suss out--these bottles are arranged first by their purpose, and then by their contents, and then by the degree of potency. there are straightforward poisons in one group, some liquids, some powders, ranging from thin, nausea-inducing drops to a small vial of something so potent that it could kill a large man before they even realized they were dying. another category seems to contain poisons that could be passed off as an accident--chemicals not meant for human consumption, spices infused with deadly ingredients, pellets of powders that would dissolve instantly in liquids. another substantial category goes to non-lethal mixtures, some of which are so mild that they can barely be considered a poison, and some of which would cause such extensive damage to the mind and body that it would honestly be kinder to kill them.

Tek can also find a small collection of acids, ranging from slow abrasives to something that could probably burn through the stone floor in minutes. humorously, it looks like the edge of the shelf here has been partly eaten and pock-marked by a spill of something a long time ago.

it won't take him long to stumble into the anti-poisons, as well. they're next to, but clearly separated from, the numerous antidotes he's stocked on his shelf, feeling bottles of small, hungry voids compared to everything else here. there aren't many variations, but they do range from mild to moderate in potency.]

Edited 2018-12-31 19:28 (UTC)

[he's a patron at a small, extremely specific art gallery, and he treats it as such. he's exploring the collection entirely for his own appreciation, not so much thinking about the attention of his host anymore.

the masterful methods of delivery, the color and viscosity of the liquids, even the bottles themselves--he happily takes note of all of it. the most lethal and hideous of the toxins are his favorites, of course, but he spends just as much time with the potent antipoisons. he probably has a smile of disgust on his face while he rolls those bottles between his hands.]

[with Tek taking the time to properly appreciate the range of work on display, Tonic has enough time to clean out his equipment, set the pieces aside, and put the rest of his dirty tools in a tub to be properly dealt with when there aren't far more interesting things in the room.

when he returns his attention to Tek, he finds him rolling a bottle he recognizes between his hands... and it's familiar, because he thinks the man had a very similar look on his face when he was showed a vial of antipoison that first time, last week.

he starts arranging the cushions underneath him, making a small show of getting comfy--though he doesn't take his eyes off of Tek while he does it.]

You're really interested in those, aren't you?

I am. [and he takes a moment to consider something, but ultimately sets the thought down again, along with the bottle on the shelf. his friend is done with his chores and ready to be comfortable, so he won't just go and dump another one of those big, strange surprises on him when he's not expecting it.] But, it's because of one of those answers that you actually need to want first.

[with the bottle replaced alongside with the others, he moves back to the table and pushes a few of the cushions over to be closer to his host.]

Mm, no.

[muttered as he absently begins rolling back the sleeve of his bad arm; at first it seems like he's saying he doesn't want those kinds of answers, but he's actually looking at the cushions that Tek is pushing around, the way he's starting to arrange himself, and knows with distinct clarity that it isn't really what he's interested in.]

Come here. [he gestures Tek closer with a wave of his perfectly-painted fingers, pausing with his sleeve half-crumpled to grab the side of the small table and shove it very deliberately to the side, out of their way, in a single motion.

it's a quick thing, before he's back to reclining, stretching his legs (well, leg and a quarter) out and returning to his sleeve.]

[he had assumed that Tonic was referring to his answer, so he's visibly surprised when the table is shoved away instead.

it's not an unwelcome move, though. it takes him a beat, but as soon as he catches up, he's smiling and graciously altering his destination as he goes to settle down. he'll sidle up however it seems that Tonic wants him to be.]

[Tonic quickly pulls his sleeve up the rest of the way over his elbow. this exposes the thin bands of metal and wires plugged into the crook of his arm, likely the main reason he'd gotten the restricting fabric out of the way... but it also reveals old scars, both the incidental and the purposeful.

but from the way he holds both of those arms out as soon as he can, he seems to want Tek to come sidle in very close. he sidles back, getting them even closer, in case there was any doubt that this is what he wants.

yet, through all of it, he seems a little preoccupied. working again despite himself, it would seem.]

You know, there's a saying in my line of work... [he says this as they're really getting comfortable.] That what you don't know will kill you, but what you do know will get you killed.

[there are still gears turning; Tonic is still talking. so, at first, Tek slithers alongside him with enough room left to speak and watch his face in. physical contact and all of the nice things that go along with it are wonderful, but he's curious, and that tops everything. he wants to see where this line of thought goes. it's not so different from a much closer and more comfortable version of their nest from the week before.

he's close enough to really feel the fabric of his friend's dress. he can smell the herbs and smoke. while he considers his statement, he takes the chance to look at his scars up close--his arms and his face--as if they will tell him something about it. after a minute, he smirks wide.]

So, either way, you're dead.

[now that his bad leg has been cracked open, cleaned, and cared for, he is feeling much better about the idea of any sort of physical contact between them. it's actually very comfortable, being lighter, not having abrasive metals digging into his skin. even his arm feels better, now that his sleeve isn't smashing all of those delicate wires and plates down underneath it.

he likes Tek a lot. he likes the rapport they've built, he likes the way that Tek looks him over as he thinks, and he likes that the man has any interest in him when he certainly doesn't have to. having him here makes it harder to remember the sharp edges of his own calculations, and Tek's very astute comment makes him laugh.]

That's the thing, isn't it? I know so many things, I don't need more to trouble me...

[he drapes his misshapen arm around Tek's waist, looking into those strange, nearly-glowing eyes of his. it doesn't feel real, having him back here, but that's all the more reason to sink into him before he disappears for good.]

But here you are-- [he smiles again, letting his head plop back against a cushion.] --Welcoming me to ask, over and over again.

[he doesn't want to verbally point out that he wouldn't keep welcoming if Tonic didn't (more often than not) keep asking. it doesn't need to be said, and who knows if saying it out loud will be the thing to tip the scales and cause some small sort of retreat. he wouldn't risk it for the world, right now.

instead, he smiles and follows Tonic's face with his own, just a bit--taking advantage of him resting his head back to get a little closer.]

Like I'd said before. I wanted someone who would keep playing with me.

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