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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[even more pleased that he's being humored, Tonic lets out a happy sigh and contentedly watches his strange companion wander through his shop.

now that he's getting the restorative space he needs, he's perfectly happy to chat and suggest and continue his streak of curiosity from his place near the floor.]

I did say I would make you something... And jackets are a fine place to start. I keep most of them in that big chest, over there.

[he points--it's a large, wooden thing that takes up a full corner of the tent, the space is arranged with a small throw rug (muted, dark colors, of course) and a full-length mirror, as well as several stools for either sitting or draping coats on.

the lid is already open, displaying a few things already--a long black duster, a shorter coat with several extra lines of buttons, and a black, surprisingly simple-looking jacket.]

[ah, and with an appealing direction to start with, he can really absorb himself in the task. throw a few pretty jackets at him and he's happy to give them all of his attention.

he first looks over the three most visible pieces, but they only have a few elements each that he likes. some of the texture and fit of the duster, the extra buttons and details of the short coat, and the sleekness of the jacket--he takes time to mull over those traits and gather what he'd ideally like to see combined into the perfect jacket, before he sets those out of the way and moves on, digging into the chest.]

Whatever I end up with, it must have stitchwork like the one you'd worn to the party. Everything else about it is negotiable.

[the chest has all kinds of things buried in it--jackets, mostly, some with feathers, spiked collars, straps, buckles, rivets, holes with animal bones strung up in them like flies caught in abstract spiderwebs, tears that reveal intentional, darker fabric underneath, jackets that appear to be made from ripping apart and sewing together several separate, unrelated pieces of clothing...

but then there are also some other things. a dark masquerade mask, a draw-string purse, and one long sock with an eye design stitched all over it have somehow snuck into the chest as well.]

I'd be delighted to come up with something for you, darling.

[he may have been thinking about a design already, in fact.]

[Tek pauses on the inexplicable sock, looking it over, but that's not where his mind settles. that bizarre piece of clothing only serves to kick off a whole line of thoughts that ultimately settle on a huffy sigh.]

...Of all the treasures my family could have had, helpfully passing them down along the line, artistic talent has never been one of them.

[Tonic is very much enjoying observing Tek with a bit of distance... he's usually so zeroed-in on the man's face and posture that he doesn't have much room to enjoy the way that he carries himself, and the relatively reserved way that he interacts with the world, and what it looks like when something is starting to bother him.]

Never? [he gives a small, sympathetic laugh when Tek finally voices his thought.] Not even a little?

[surely, especially with these rich types--someone along the way had to be a painter or a poet or something along those lines.]

[tossing the sock aside--where he has been placing all of the things that clearly don't belong in this chest--he sighs again. the sound is more drawn-out and dramatic this time, befitting the subject.]

Some of our more distant relatives fancied themselves to be sculptors, writers... but, even still, you would likely laugh at the attempts.

[the next jacket he picks up has three-quarter-length sleeves, and so becomes an easy target for him to focus his disdain.]

We all deeply enjoy the arts, and have many thoughts and opinions on all sorts of artistic subjects, but have absolutely no skill in it ourselves. So... critics, I guess you could say.

[he laughs briefly at the jab towards art critics, finally leaning forward to place his now-empty tea cup down on the table next to him.]

That's very interesting. Does that mean you fancy me an artist?

[he's never really considered himself "an artist". a skilled clothier, possibly, a maker of quality wares, but not one of those creative types who sit around and pontificate about abstract shapes and hidden meanings for the sake of the meager validation of their peers.]

Edited 2018-12-05 05:56 (UTC)

[it helps that he is currently inspecting a particularly interesting coat when Tonic asks the question--one that is both visually appealing and a bit... conceptual in its design.]

Of course I do.

[he's busy holding the jacket up to his body to see where it would hang if he'd been wearing it, but his voice is just as as emphatic and matter-of-fact as it would have been if they'd been speaking directly face-to-face.]

If anything, you fit the title more than the vast majority of people who claim it.

[maybe he would have argued that opinion, if the other hadn't rounded it out with a substantial serving of flattery. he makes a thoughtful sound, neither agreeing nor denying the statement... but he is thinking about it.

after a moment of contemplation, comes back with his own opinion.]

If I'm the metric, dear, then it's hardly fair to say that someone with makeup as gorgeous as yours could be completely devoid of artistic talent.

[oh, if that's how it's going to be. Tonic corners him very well with that compliment, and so Tek returns a musing sound right back at him. well played, sir.]

...Well, that's not fair. It's against my nature to deny a compliment.

[he can't help smiling to himself. even if there was no real truth behind it, he loves hearing it, and the fact that Tonic would even try to turn things around on him like that is delightful.

flattery and charm, back and forth. he could do this all night.]

But I haven't even brought up your excellent wardrobe coordination yet, or your cohesive style...

[he sounds like he's in a good mood--but not at all in a teasing way. these compliments seem to be genuine, as far as one can tell without some kind of mind-reading.]

Babe, I think you've got more than you're given credit for.

[but he is conscientious of how quickly this could start to sound empty, so he picks this time to move them on to a tangent.]

Though, that reminds me of one of the questions I'd wanted to ask...

[it's probably a good thing that they move away from the topic anyway. being surprised by unexpected flattery and having to navigate it once is pleasant enough, but having it insisted beyond that means that he would actually need to think about it... and already his mind is beginning to turn in cautious, calculating ways.

so, being surprised back out of it is a very welcome turn. with perfect brows raised, he finally looks over from the jacket that he has been hyper-focusing on, and ceremoniously sets it (and the previous topic) aside.]

Does it?

Yes.

[Tonic is now sitting a little more attentively; even if he isn't ready to get up yet, he's signalling that he is mentally prepared to reengage with a higher level of conversation. he snuck his heels off, at some point, and is now sitting cross-legged with his bad leg held over his good one.]

You've got the same design around your eye as last time. It's not scarring, is it...?

[he asks this with the simple curiosity of someone for whom this is fairly commonplace--though almost never that close to the eye.]

[it takes him a moment to realize what Tonic is referring to, and then there's a distinct moment after that where something apparently wonderful dawns on him.]

Oh, that's right! I'd wanted to show you...

[shopping is immediately put on hold while he quickly crosses the room toward Tonic again. he's got an eager grin, and he stretches out an arm before he even reaches his destination.]

Here, give me your hand.

[he's not insinuating that he's going to pull Tonic to his feet or anything; he's going to join him there where he's sitting. he just wants to inflict another "fun" revelation on him.]

[one brow raises in surprise--because he hadn't been expecting a fairly simple question to get such an emotionally charged return. this warns him that the answer, whatever it is, is going to be much more than a simple yes or no.]

This isn't going to be another heavily-charged reveal, is it?

[but all the same, he holds his good hand out willingly, smiling wryly with one side of his face.]

Oh, it won't be that bad.

[which is, of course, far from a straight answer. and once he's settled beside his new friend, comfortably close and facing him, he takes his hand and guides it to touch the markings at his eyes.

even for someone undoubtedly well-versed in scars, tattoos, and all of the other various ways to mark up one's body, the lines underneath Tek's eyes are strange. they don't quite fit any of the commonly-seen modifications. the designs are permanent and slightly raised, but are far too smooth and perfect to be simple scarification. and achieving such delicate, solid black coloration would be impossible by tattooing onto scar tissue--at least with conventional methods.]

[if Tonic ever had hang-ups with getting up-close and touching other people, he lost them when he got into the fashion industry. he does as directed, sliding his fingertips over that perfect, solid line.

his expression changes to surprise very quickly.]

What is...?

[he never finishes his sentence. while most would recoil, he dives in to investigate, actually leaning in closer to really get a look at the way the line is raised, and the opacity of it, and how close it is to his actual eye. he runs his fingers all the way to the cute little swirl at the end, with no smudging, and no better idea of what this could possibly be.

he is all up in this business.]

[not only is it close to his eye, most of it actually runs over his lower lid, which is notoriously thin and difficult to work with--not to mention the obvious danger of it.

Tek is, of course, terribly smug and enjoying every moment of this.]

You said you had a thing for poisons, so... I thought you might be interested to know that this was done with one of the rarest and most dangerous poisons I have ever encountered in my work.

[if Tek enjoys this kind of rapt attention, he'll love the near-imperceptible inhale of surprise and excitement as Tonic's very favorite subject is brought to light.

since they're so close already, Tonic instinctively drapes his arms over Tek's shoulders, hanging off of him like a scarf. ready to cling onto his every word.]

Tell me about it.

[yeah, he pretty much loves this. a dedicated audience is all he ever really wants, after all.]

Oh, it's horrible stuff. Excessively dangerous. [he says, grinning with delight.] It does immediate, horrific things when it comes in contact with the blood, causing wracking pain throughout the body with even a small amount.

[he tips his head back a bit, to show off the markings just a little bit more.] However, when applied as an ink to scarification wounds, it makes for fantastic end results... even though the survival rate of its users is a little dodgy.

Sounds terrible...

[he says this with an awful grin that pulls at the bad half of his mouth, giving him a truly ghastly expression. he has many questions, and at least half as many theories to go with them, some of which are very dangerous.]

And what a bizarre application... I'd kill to know how they figured that one out.

[he loves the expression on the man's face, even with the small, nasty pit that it forms in his stomach when he thinks about how familiar it looks. luckily, there is absolutely no chance in the world that Tonic will ever get his hands on the vile stuff, so he does't need to dwell on it.

he can carry on and enjoy treating his friend to information that he'll never be able to use.]

Well... from what I understand, someone finally managed to survive the typical application, and the scarring they ended up with caught the eye of someone who was both clever and morally bankrupt. In an instant, a failed murder turned into a successful and impressive body modification.

[he chuckles, amused.]

Isn't that funny.

[he tilts his head a little, looking curiously up at Tek's face while still clinging comfortably against his chest.]

Is that just what rich people do all day at the Capitol? Excessively dangerous aesthetic modifications?

Only the ones worth knowing.

[he is indulgently comfortable right where he's at, with someone interesting lavishing him with all the attention he could ask for, so he glides along with non-answers. he's sure it's true somewhere.]

Everyone else is too busy spending their time and money on blending in.

[it's a very good non-answer, even if it doesn't really tell him anything at all.]

What a waste...

[he says, almost pityingly. being a nobody has its opportunities, but being a faceless somebody is just about the most banal and worthless thing he can think of. Tonic moves one of his arms so that he can brush his fingers (the good ones that still have all their nerve endings) against that perfect little swirl again.]

And what's this poison made of, hm?

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