Skeleton City // PSL

[birdsbirdsbirds]

They call it the "Market", and it's always buzzing like a hive. The vast caverns are warmed by the hundreds of bodies all hauling, shouting, pitching, laughing, exchanging things from one hand to another. Even more people stroll up above, their voices lost in the tangle of bridges made of stone and wood and metal. The place is lit by dozens of electric signs, spilling brightwarm colors where the hanging lanterns cannot reach.

There is a lot to look at. One person seems to trade a bolt of rich red cloth for some nails and hinges. One man is trying very hard to convince another that the chicken he is holding is worth at least three bags of grainmeal. And then there is whatever Phalanx is holding, which they most certainly did not trade for, and it most certainly leads to someone reaching out over their stall table and grabbing them harshly by the arm.

"Hey, you little theif!" Says an irate, heavy-set woman, "What do you think you're doing?"

Comments

[pileofspirits]

They hadn't even realized that they were holding something, really. Or they had noticed, but only a part of them. Only half of their attention had been musing over the shiny object in their hand, while the other half had been preoccupied with other things--moving, walking, shrugging at where their cloak was trying to slide off their shoulders. They didn't even know what the trinket was, let alone when they had picked it up, so they balk when someone grabs them and stabs a question into the air between them.

"Looking," the thief blurts out. A man, it seems, but the voice comes out too soft for the face. It's weird.

"Holding. Mm... This thing."

Phalanx wiggles the metallic object a little, to help explain.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

The thing he's picked up appears to be a barrette, or maybe a large pin... Or maybe just a fancy piece of bent copper with some other fancy pieces of silver wire woven through holes in the design, with some sort of clippy thing on the back for some reason.

The woman over the counter gives their arm a little shake. "So you think you're a smart-ass, huh?"

She only gives Phalanx a cursory look-over, but even then, her frown deepens at the sight of white hair sticking out from under his hood. She says something else after that, demanding that they put it back or she'll blah blah blah, but something distracting is happening kind of all of a sudden right at Phalanx's side.

Someone is standing there, dressed all in black, hands politely folded behind his back. He's pale, his hair is dark. He's smiling, but he also stands with a sort of tenseness that does not reflect his expression. Or maybe it's the... feeling that seems to accompany him, something strange and eye-catching, but not necessarily in a good way. One or two passers-by look at him as they shuffle past, but they are quick to glance away again.

"Hello, friend."

He is looking at Phalanx, and very pointedly. The woman, also distracted by his sudden appearance, loosens her grip on their arm.

The man tilts his head a little. "What are you doing so high up?"

[pileofspirits]

Oh, yes. This shiny white-and-black man is far more interesting than the woman. Phalanx loses track of both her and the object she'd seemed so angry about; it either ends up in a pocket or set down on the table or held loosely in forgotten fingers.

Phalanx looks the man right in the eye, but in the way that a doll might. Almost like they're painted on, the irises that lock unblinkingly onto Robin are flat-black, reflecting no light, and maybe just a little bit too large. They stand out like ink stains against how everything else--skin and hair and clothes--look like the color has been almost entirely washed out.

"Up?" As they look down at the ground, Phalanx's hood slips forward to cover up any visible bits of white hair. "We're in the middle."

[birdsbirdsbirds]

The man doesn't bother blinking--or maybe he's just forgotten that kind of human mannerism entirely, with how focused he seems to be on the odd, pale thing in front of him. Their answer earns them a moment of silence, a boon of consideration, and it isn't until the woman next to them speaks up that he finally looks away.

"Is this..." The woman was fully prepared to sling out more accusations, but she is not immune to whatever vaguely distressing feeling the newcomer is still bleeding into the air. She ends up letting go of Phalanx for her own safety, "What is this? Are you with the Rings or something?"

His smile widens and he is quick to adopt a more casual, placating tone. "Nothing you need to worry about, ma'am, so long as you aren't looking for trouble."

The woman retreats back into her tent, resigning to crossing her arms and muttering something about how she don't want no trouble, no sir, which leaves Phalanx entirely free to be metaphorically scooped up by this stranger instead.

"Follow me, won't you?" Speaking to his new friend again, he holds out his hand expectantly. It's black like the rest of him, gloved.

[pileofspirits]

Phalanx first wraps fingers around the place where the woman's hand had been, before obediently--and delicately--reaching for Robin's hand. Despite the layers of cloth wrapped all the way down the wanderer's arm, almost enough to cover their fingers, it's clear that this being really is taller and more masculine than might be guessed at a distance. Underneath all that demure slouching is at least the body of a man.

That's not what takes Robin's hand, though. Whatever this creature is, it takes Robin's hand like a guileless child. Confused but trusting. Maybe even a little bit excited to see whatever is going to happen next.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

The stranger hesitates as their hands meet. The moment barely lasts a fraction of a second, but it is filled by a quiet absence of breath and a wavering feeling, like the flickering light of a lantern. Much of his tenseness disappears as the world starts moving again, and he moves with it, turning to guide his discovery through a stream of wandering bodies.

He still glows like a candle, though. Like a flame. Different than the rest of them. People don't seem to see him anymore, not like they could a moment ago.

Phalanx is led without a word along the stalls and down some stairs and into what might be considered a courtyard in the abstract sense--it's a round area, lined with a jumble of temporary awnings and more permanent establishments. They are led into the center, where concentric circles of geometric stone serve as benches for anyone not strolling past it.

Robin sits, expecting Phalanx to sit as well.

[pileofspirits]

Being led by something that is big and bright, but isn't demanding attention, allows Phalanx to drift a little. Even without Robin looking back at his new find, he wouldn't be able to miss it. The diffusing is as much in the feel of it as it is in the vacant expression that quietly settles on Phalanx' face. Maybe even more so. The flutter, the echo, evens out until it grows still as they move through the crowd.

No one notices Robin, and no one notices his friend either--not until they finally reach something resembling a destination. Phalanx blinks around at the shift in gear.

And once they're paying attention, they watch how Robin sits. Then, purposefully, they follow the exact motions to sit down as well.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

And Robin watches ravenously, picking apart every detail as if it was, in itself, the answer to all of his questions. And he has so many questions... He keeps himself collected, sitting as if he merely had polite interest in the other party, but it is only a calculated shell. It is hard to keep his fingers still when they itch with a want to touch and press and dig and dig and dig.

He keeps holding their hand though, gently, so long as they don't try to take it back. He also thinks of killing them, or not killing them, and being equally ready for either.

"So," leaning in towards his find, propelled by ravaging curiosity, "You are not a monster...?"

It could almost pass as a statement, rather than a question.

[pileofspirits]

Phalanx has forgotten the hand that Robin is holding, so it can remain captive for as long as the other wants. Phalanx forgets a lot of things in the face of that question. There's a pause while they look down at how the fabric drapes over the bend of their own knees, and the echo slowly builds again.

It's a stuttering, hard-to-grasp feeling, where the shape of other creatures' energies tend to be easier to fathom. It's as if each of Phalanx's thoughts have their own form, and Robin can feel the ripples of them all bumping together as they rattle through the creature's head.

Phalanx's face is lowered, half-shaded by the hood, but there isn't much there to read anyway.

"You're not a monster...?" Asked the exact same way--as an expectant statement.

[pileofspirits]

Nightmares are weird as a general rule, but every once in a while there are those that are just a few notches weirder than others--and maybe that surreal quality is what distinguishes a bad dream from an actual nightmare. Whether it's the fact that they're more vivid, as if the dreamer has been pulled into an altogether deeper level of unconsciousness before the brain really unleashes hell, or there is something just a few steps beyond the usual, run-of-the-mill sort of mental distress, they're the ones that aren't easy to simply dispel upon awakening.

In this one, Vincent is blind. He's lived enough years with having sight that it usually continues to serve some sort of role in his dreams, but it's entirely absent in this one. It's a scenario told with other senses--the sound of aimless, cavernous wind, and the feeling of open air. There is also the feeling of gravity, except it's pulling in directions that don't make sense. He's either flying or falling, exposed in the darkness and dragged helplessly in some direction. He has absolutely no control; he's touching nothing but the empty air against his skin. There is the sense that there maybe used to be something there, but it's all gone now. Nothing exists around him anymore but disorientation and fear.

This ordeal lasts until--finally--something unseen rushes to meet him without warning, like the earth does when falling down stairs. It's this jolt of adrenaline that suddenly punches him out and back into his own bed.

[hatesblindjokes]

He wakes up, of course. There aren't many people who can have dreams about falling and hitting something without jolting awake at the end of it. Falling dreams are pretty common around here, where everything is covered in high platforms with precarious railings--but Vincent doesn't get them very often, and not for as long and as vivid as this one.

He looks around for something--forgetting he still can't see, a thought which still always occurs to him a split-second later than it should. But he thinks he heard something, and he's trying to listen in case it wasn't just a quickly fading part of his dream.

[pileofspirits]

It takes several seconds for dream echoes and cave echoes and real sounds to all kind of separate enough for him to tell for sure what he's actually hearing. And then it takes another few moments for whatever it was to happen again, loud enough to stand out from the shapeless background murmur.

Definitely a voice, probably not words, and unfortunately not somewhere beyond the walls of the apartment. This one is in here. Muffled and hard to hear at first, but it then opens up and carries from somewhere that isn't just on the other side of the wall. A groan or a wail or a sob, and it doesn't seem to conveniently be coming from the couch.

[hatesblindjokes]

"Aw, crap."

Said in the tone of a parent who has just realized their kid is crying (but is still kind of used to being woken up in the dead of night by wailing sobs by now). Regardless of what he thinks is happening, he manages to throw off the worn blankets and go padding out into the living room, leaving that dream behind him as something more important fills his awareness.

"Phalanx?" He calls out into the living room, not terribly loud and surprisingly calm, "You out here?"

[pileofspirits]

Yeah, it's definitely a sob, and it's as if Vincent's voice shakes them out of whatever muffled silence they'd been halfway trying at, because the sound opens up to be much more clear after that. And there is no other voice answering it, so odds are that Robin is still slumbering peacefully on the couch.

As Vincent steps out into the main room to better hone in on the direction of Phalanx's voice, it definitely seems to be coming from the bathroom or near to it, and maybe low to the ground--sobs that begin to grow in volume and intensity now that something has answered them.

It's the sort of sound that adults try to avoid making at all costs, unless something is very, very wrong.

[hatesblindjokes]

Oh, boy. Why does his bathroom play host to so many meltdowns? He knows that Robin is around somewhere, but isn't sure why the prick isn't getting up. He isn't about to check. Whether the kid is six years old or... sixty ghosts, his reaction is the same. He's instinctively got to go scoop them up and make sure they're okay.

He gets to the bathroom without disturbing a single can or bottle on the way. The room itself does not seem any more dangerous or evil than usual (despite the sobbing echoing off the cracked tile), so he hangs hesitantly in the doorway, not sure exactly what he would be looking at if he had eyes.

"Hey, kid... Er, kids..." Gods bless him for trying, even if he's still not sure that's even right, "What's going on?"

[pileofspirits]

Yes, up close now, the sobbing is definitely coming from the floor. Big, visceral, unfettered sobs. If anything, they sound utterly brokenhearted, and it takes them a moment to even hear Vincent.

And when they finally do notice, the sobbing chokes off to a tense pause. They're quiet, but Vincent can easily imagine them holding their breath, probably staring up at him.

[hatesblindjokes]

Oh, right, he's a giant scary guy.

As soon as there's more than a second of silence, Vincent moves down to crouch in the doorway rather than looming imposingly over the poor guy on the floor. It's there that he holds his arms out, stretching carefully towards where he thinks Phalanx must be.

"Hey, it's okay. Come here, I can't see you."

He'd think this was weird, if it wasn't the dead of night, bleeding into early morning. He'd be more awkward about this if Robin were awake, or if he'd had more than a couple of minutes to come to consciousness.

But for now, he's still calmly and reassuringly addressing whatever wreck is on his floor. He even smiles a little.

[hatesblindjokes]

Robin told Phalanx that he was going to be outside of the house for the day, but that he would come back soon after the sun has lowered over the horizon. He also handed him a shiny, faceted red gem of some kind, which he fully expected Phalanx to tuck into the folds of his many layers of clothing and promptly forget about. In fact, he was kind of counting on it.

He did not tell Vincent the plan, however, which is why Vincent was kind of confused to find a human rag-bundle in the bed with him when he woke up... with no Robin to accompany them. He didn't think very seriously about it until he didn't hear Robin in the living room, either, and the full weight of his misfortune didn't sink in until he found the note hanging from a nail above the inside of his front door.

To anyone else, the note would have just looked like a piece of paper with a series of holes punched through it, but Vincent knew what it said.

"Oh, jeez..." Vincent now says aloud, thumb running over the last couple of words on that paper, "Ah, shit."

He turns, vaguely, in Phalanx's direction. "Hey, did Robin tell you anything before he left?"

[pileofspirits]

By the time Vincent had finished finding and reading the note, Phalanx was crouched on the floor--just sitting like a frog inside a pile of rags, nearly at Vincent's heel. If Vincent had ever found himself wondering what it would be like to have a weird, clumsy dog follow him around too closely wherever he went in his apartment, he'll get to experience it now.

But Phalanx at least tries to be helpful--they know the answer to this question easily.

"Yes."

[hatesblindjokes]

Vincent looks down, surprised to hear that Phalanx is about five feet shorter than he was expecting.

"No, that's..." Not what he asked. Or, well, it technically was, but... He shakes his head. "No, I mean tell me what he said."

[pileofspirits]

Phalanx makes a surprised sound, before shuffling around a little. Vincent can wonder exactly what they're doing, but they're really just moving some of their raggedy outfit aside so they can sit on their butt instead of on their heels, getting more comfortable on the floor while they think.

"He said... outside. And sun. And... mm."

They pause to think about the rest of the pieces that they remember, and the fact that Robin had used a word that they really like but hadn't seen in a while, because they're deep underground. This takes some extra wandering thoughts to mull over, and the beginning of the path gets a little forgotten by the time that they surface again.

"...The horizon is very far away."

[hatesblindjokes]

Vincent has... no idea what Phalanx is talking about with that second bit, but the first helps him put together that Robin probably went up to take care of some business Upstairs, and if that's the case, his promise of being back tonight could at least be feasibly accomplished.

"Okay, but..." He scratches the back of his head with the hand still holding that note, "I've got shit to go out and do today..."

[pileofspirits]

Phalanx is sitting there, watching and listening intently to Vincent's plight.

But they also move one of their arms because half of their brain is losing interest and beginning to wander... And this causes part of their shawl to catch on a stack of beer cans and knock them over.

"Oh..."

[hatesblindjokes]

And that settles it. Vincent can't leave Phalanx here.

He doesn't want to take the them with him, by any means. This thing is trouble. They'll either walk up to the wrong person, or say something they aren't supposed to, or wander down a tunnel and get eaten by a monster with no one the wiser. There's a high statistical likelihood of Vincent getting arrested just for hanging around him, if they go high enough.

But if he leaves him here, he'll just... wander off and do all of those things without even the slightest chance of supervision there to avoid complete disaster. So he sighs, quickly resigning to his fate.

"Well, I hope you like running errands. You're coming with me."

[pileofspirits]

"Running?" Phalanx asks with some amount of skepticism, because of course that's the part that they would get hung up on. The rest of it sounds fine. They like the thought of being with Vincent, and that's as far as their line of thinking goes.

It'll be fun. Though, making sure Phalanx looks as presentable as possible before leaving the house is going to be a challenge with no eyeballs.