Oh, the fish will get eaten one way or another. Maybe not by Phalanx, but maybe in someone's leftovers, or maybe someone will think to feed the already ground-up bits of fish to a local chicken in the hopes of making said chicken a more appealing meal than the fish. Nothing really gets wasted down here.
"Good," Robin replies, just as definitively, paying little mind to Phalanx playing with their food rather than eating it. He watches them do this for a long moment, resting his chin on his palm, hunched over the table, thinking to himself--his own dinner gone and already forgotten.
And then something happens silently very high up above them, and Vincent notices immediately, picking his chin up again to stare unseeingly at the cracked ceiling. Robin catches on a second or two later, looking over curiously, then following the taller man's non-gaze.
"Grid's off," Vincent states. He doesn't sound worried, but it is a grumble of warning all the same. Robin hums in agreement. Then the sounds follow the thing that happened--a repetitive shushing sound, just a little louder with every beat, like a very big heartbeat except that the beating sounds like when blood rushes through your ears.
It's getting closer. Almost there.
"It'll just be a second," Robin adds, looking down at Phalanx just as the noise descends and the room, the floor, the entire level of the underground world is plunged into near-blackness.
Something glows through Robin's shirt, red. Small, maybe a necklace. It only takes a second for a crackle to sound somewhere and some dim lights to flicker back on elsewhere in the world--and then the room is back, nice and quiet and a little darker than before.
This is very normal. Happens every night. The only people upset are the ones who didn't quite get to finish their hot showers, or finish doing business, or finish getting safely home before the descent of artificial night--but the rest have seen this dozens, if not hundreds, of times already.
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"Good," Robin replies, just as definitively, paying little mind to Phalanx playing with their food rather than eating it. He watches them do this for a long moment, resting his chin on his palm, hunched over the table, thinking to himself--his own dinner gone and already forgotten.
And then something happens silently very high up above them, and Vincent notices immediately, picking his chin up again to stare unseeingly at the cracked ceiling. Robin catches on a second or two later, looking over curiously, then following the taller man's non-gaze.
"Grid's off," Vincent states. He doesn't sound worried, but it is a grumble of warning all the same. Robin hums in agreement. Then the sounds follow the thing that happened--a repetitive shushing sound, just a little louder with every beat, like a very big heartbeat except that the beating sounds like when blood rushes through your ears.
It's getting closer. Almost there.
"It'll just be a second," Robin adds, looking down at Phalanx just as the noise descends and the room, the floor, the entire level of the underground world is plunged into near-blackness.
Something glows through Robin's shirt, red. Small, maybe a necklace. It only takes a second for a crackle to sound somewhere and some dim lights to flicker back on elsewhere in the world--and then the room is back, nice and quiet and a little darker than before.
This is very normal. Happens every night. The only people upset are the ones who didn't quite get to finish their hot showers, or finish doing business, or finish getting safely home before the descent of artificial night--but the rest have seen this dozens, if not hundreds, of times already.