psychoshenanigans | Skeleton City // PSL

Sometimes. That doesn't clarify much. Robin's eyes follow the direction that Phalanx's seem to go, as if he could see whatever brought the thought to mind... but there's nothing but empty space, the bed, and part of the floor.

And now he has a choice. He could keep asking questions, but he lacks the basic understanding of this thing to know what to ask. At this rate, it'll be an hour before he gets anywhere.

His other option is to simply step in and take a look--which could potentially be dangerous. No more or less dangerous than bringing an unknown creature home, though. He'd done worse things just earlier today, probably.

He points with an index finger at Phalanx's face, somewhere between his eyes. "How about I take a look for myself?"

It isn't until all that pointing that Phalanx finally seems to have a problem with some sort of physical proximity. They lean away from Robin's finger and their pale brows furrow.

For once, the creature finally seems concerned about something. Finally, they're looking at Robin with some amount of reservation.

"Take a look...?"

"Yeah, just for a minute..."

He takes his hand back, but it's only so that he can prop himself up and lean in even closer, follow them as they start to retreat. He isn't about to explain himself, not even here--but he feels that this creature deserves at least a small warning that something is going to happen.

"It won't hurt, I just need to know..."

And if he can, before Phalanx scoots too far away from him, he tips his head forward to create a direct connection to their mind. He hopes that he won't need more than a glimpse, a second or two, to figure out what it is he's dealing with.

Robin catches his prey before they can get very far, and dives in.

And that saying about eyes being the window to the soul can occasionally be very literal. The first step into Phalanx's mind is what it would feel like to be sucked into a pair of hungry black pits, dragged into a fathomless space that is always breathing inward toward the heart of itself--and judging by the weight of it, that heart might not have an end.

However, immediately after that first, empty threshold... Robin runs into everyone.

Calling it crowded would not be doing the experience justice. Bright, buzzing, individual energies (some whole and some only in mindless chunks) shove together until there is barely any breathing room. For a second, the overwhelming clamor is only made up of chattering and the constant elbowing for both space and control. But then, in the next moment, just as Robin is getting a better look at them all, he is noticed too.

The first fact that he can be sure of is that these souls are all strung together, all tied to something in the center so they can't escape. And the second certain fact is that they are all angry.

Their anger is maybe not directed at their own captivity, however. It is much more likely that their fury is aimed at a certain intruder, as the din suddenly becomes deafening.

Out. Out out OUT. Get out get out away away away GET OUT--

He is not prepared for the vision in front of him. How could he be? He's never seen anything like this, not outside of his own head. Being braced against intrusion does not brace him against the awful sound of it, and he flinches--his body pulling the rest of him along with it as he startles suddenly backwards and knocks his head into the corner of the dresser.

He groans, swears, grabs at the back of his head--which very quickly turns into him holding the sides of his head with his eyes closed, his ears still ringing with something that may or may not be a mess of his own creation.

"Sorry..." He says, through his teeth. It's probably to Phalanx, or whatever he just saw inside of them. But he isn't sure. He thinks that was real, but his head hurts.

Coincidentally, Robin isn't the only one whose head hurts. With his eyes closed, he wouldn't notice that Phalanx is curled up in much the same shape he is--grimacing with palms clamped over their ears--but he might notice the mattress shiver as Phalanx begins to move.

And if that doesn't do it, there is also a whimper.

Eyes clenched tight, fingers curled hard on either side of their head, Phalanx is retreating. Digging their heels in and pushing back, scooting away along the mattress, threatening to tip off the edge of the bed, Phalanx is clumsily trying to get away from nothing.

Whimpering is a very real sound. He picks up on it quickly, cracking an eye open to see that the world is still just a dark bedroom with a large bed in the middle of it, and that Phalanx looks like he's having an even worse time of it than Robin.

'Look what you did,' slithers a thought almost his own, 'Ruined already...'

But he doesn't want to ruin it, so here he goes, curling forward to crawl across the bed and reach for something--an arm, a knee, something to pull them back to the room with him.

"No, hey..." Trying to pull himself up close again, speaking so as not to spook an already agitated creature, "Hey, it's okay... I'm sorry, I didn't think..."

Grabbing hold of a knee keeps Phalanx from losing balance and falling off the edge of the bed, and manages to ground them enough to halt the retreat.

With the way that their hood has fallen back during the commotion, Robin has a nice clear view of their face as their eyes fly open. Phalanx stares at Robin, stares past his face, shoots a look off to the side at nothing. Whatever balance had been upset in there, it's spilling voices and visions on every side.

Phalanx is anchored in one spot, but now they can't seem to make themselves small enough--arms wrap tight around their torso, and the knee underneath Robin's hand tries to pull up as far as it can. While any energy or sensation radiating from Phalanx is usually hard to grasp, Robin can be absolutely certain in this moment that existing in real, open space is terrifying.

He knows that look very well. While his apologies were genuine, he was more sorry for the nosedive of a situation and his own misfortune than he was for Phalanx's well-being. Now, however, watching their unseeing eyes flicker back and forth between ghosts and hallucinations, watching them curl in on themselves to try and get away, he knows exactly how much damage he's just caused.

He has to help them. He gets an arm around them and pulls them in closer, trying to keep them contained, hoping to give them some sense that the things out there can't get them if they're close to him.

And he finally says nothing, just waits for this surreal little nightmare to calm down.

Though Robin has had a special talent for doing all the wrong things up until now, he finally gets something exactly right. As soon as the creature is scooped in and contained, the relief is tangibly immediate.

Not only does Phalanx fail to fight Robin's arms away, but the fragmenting creature shrugs up its shoulders so that Robin can hug them around as far as possible. They just want the pieces to be held together again... so, once they're close enough to something real, they turn and retreat to the darkest and most solid place--burying their face into Robin's chest.

He buries his face in their hair, almost mirroring their retreat. He keeps his eyes closed, waiting for the waves to stop, stomach churning as relief becomes anxiety becomes comfort becomes despair, until he realizes that those feelings aren't coming from the person in his arms.

He tries to swallow it down but a choked sound escapes him instead. He tries not to start shaking, but his grip on Phalanx only tightens because of it. He tries, he really does, to tell himself that it's okay it's fine it's nothing he should care about, but no one is here to cover his eyes and tell him not to hope that Phalanx doesn't hate him as much as he hates himself.

It isn't until he shifts and his face feels wet and hot that he suddenly remembers to breathe again, and his frenzy begins to slowly settle back down.

Just a pair of beings that shouldn't be, trying to put themselves back together again.

Phalanx's struggle is a little more literal in this way, as Robin is at least mostly in one piece already. So, while Robin tries to stay still in order to settle down, Phalanx first needs to move.

Whether or not they notice the plight of the person whose embrace they're dwelling in, Phalanx does a little maintenance to try and ease their own struggle in the meantime. They shift around with only the smallest motions, as they don't want to interrupt this safe place. One curled arm is able to sneak out a few fingers to grab an edge of cloak and draw it tight. Their knees snug a little bit closer to their chest so they can settle even closer to the body surrounding them.

It's only when Phalanx moves a half-pinned arm up between them to try and find the edge of their fallen hood that Robin ends up really being nudged. They're trying their best not to disturb anything, but they just can't quite reach...

It's probably a good thing. With something bumping into him, he's able to remember that he has limbs and skin and other things that might be in the way--and he's quick to lift his head and realize what it is that Phalanx is trying to do.

"Ah--" He tries to help, tugging the other edge of their hood up and over their head. "Is that better?"

His face is a little red. He starts to rub at his eyes with his sleeve, though he barely thinks about the fact that he's doing it.

Phalanx doesn't look up at Robin's face, even when the other speaks, but they aren't looking at much of anything else either. Their eyes are unfocused and distant for the moment that their head is raised, while there's that little bit of distance between the two of them.

But once the hood is tugged into place, Phalanx nods. Much better.

And since Robin has an arm up to rub his eyes with, there's extra room for Phalanx to settle and rest their head against Robin's chest again.

And he is somehow surprised when they rest against him again, willingly, without any sort of prompting from him. This has all turned around so fast... Him, in this disheveled state, and them, finding comfort in him anyway, despite all the reasons they shouldn't.

He normally has to lie to people to get this. Get them drunk, sleep with them, that kind of thing. For someone to just... be here, it's hard to understand, even though it's happening right in front of him.

But it is nice, and he's not one to turn away attention of any kind. So he winds up putting his hand back on Phalanx's head while he asks an honest question.

"So you're... All of those people?"

"--All of. A lot of. All of those people..."

The mumbling has that aimless, non-answer kind of sound to it. It's half muffled between Phalanx's own cloak and Robin's shirt, too soft to seem intentional. However, they do eventually turn their head enough to be heard, while one hand fidgets wherever it is to pull more fabric over their fingers.

"We are... a lot. It's all a lot."

"Mm..." He agrees, mumbling past the top of their head. "...I understand. I didn't mean to... upset things."

Lots of things. All strung together, tied to each other, but for what reason? To his credit, Robin got his answer--but he's almost come out of it with more questions than he had going in. A shell, a mob of ghosts, impossible magic, yet... Nothing about them seems innately angry or tortured, now that he's not intruding on their territory.

And that's the strangest thing: what are so many spirits doing in one shell, if no one is twisting them into fuel for a spell or a curse? Are they really just acting on their own, together, to make this person... Whoever they are?

He doesn't know. But if he's going to ask, he thinks that, perhaps, he aught to do a little to earn back their trust again--if that sort of thing is pertinent to a swirling mass of lingering energy.

"...I'm Robin," he finally mentions, "Like the bird."

And then, after a hesitating pause, he says something he hasn't told anyone in a very, very long time.

"I've got a lot too. Just... Not as many as you."

There's a thoughtful hum as Phalanx pauses in their fidgeting, and it really seems for a moment like they've possibly found a point of wordless understanding here. Maybe hearing from another creature who might have something in common with their own existence has gotten through the fog they live in.

...But, no. The full-body pause is actually one of profound confusion.

"A lot... of birds?"

What...? Phalanx can feel Robin tilt his head, just in the way his shoulders change.

"No, not--" Oh, but then he gets it in a startled second, and a real laugh shivers through him as he quickly tries to explain it better, "Not birds, I have people. Some people, sometimes."

At least, he thinks so. Sometimes he thinks they aren't real, though. Maybe sometimes they aren't real. Ah, now he's starting to sound just like his new friend.

"People. People."

Yes, that does make more sense--at least when compared to birds. It's hard to remember the conversation from a few steps earlier, but after a little hard thought, Phalanx is mostly sure they're following along.

"People. Pieces?"

"Yeah. Pieces. Lots of pieces."

But he doesn't exactly want to talk about those pieces. Besides, if Robin is learning anything for sure about Phalanx, it's that they can't follow words very well. Now that he's seen what they're made of, he can't blame them, either.

He shifts a little, settling and getting comfortable, now that it seems like the two of them might be staying like this for a while. His face is almost dry, and having someone in his arms is pretty calming all on its own.

"So, Phalanx..." He pauses, picking his words very carefully, "How long have you been in Skeleton City?"

It isn't as challenging as 'where did you come from' or 'why are you here', but Robin is prepared to wait all the same.

Robin's on the right track--simple sentences with plenty of specifics. That sort of thing leaves fewer options for Phalanx to stumble over, while putting up guardrails to try and keep the creature on-topic and not spiraling off the road into undefinable territory.

Unfortunately, in this case, it might be a little too specific. If there's one category of things that don't process and stick well in Phalanx's busy brain, it's proper names.

"Skeletons, skeletons. A city of... how long have I been?"

Their tone is very expressive this time, filling in the gaps where the words don't entirely make sense. However long they may or may not have been in this city, they still have no idea what Robin is talking about.

"...Been in the city, yeah."

He leans down, tilting his head to where he can sort of see Phalanx's face. It's not that he expects them to be very expressive--they haven't been so far--but maybe a part of him is still hoping that he can glean some further knowledge out of those flat black eyes of his.

If Phalanx doesn't know Skeleton City, then... "Do you know where you are right now?"

Phalanx isn't very expressive, but Robin can at least track a sort of path in their thoughts. Phalanx looks somewhere past the opposite wall, thinks back and raises their eyes up toward the ceiling, then eventually brings them back down.

Down past the floor, toward the lower levels. All the way down, where the humans eventually stop. And also down right nearby, toward much more comprehensible-- "Arms."

"...Arms," Robin repeats, the kind of incredulous that turns into a laugh when he realizes his new friend isn't exactly wrong. Those very arms tighten a little around them, something like fondness, even if the situation is falling even further away from him.

A magical pile of ghosts, lost in Skeleton City, with no idea where they are. Probably no idea where they came from, or whose fault they were. Though, he remembers something else they said earlier...

"Okay. Who called you Phalanx?" Realizing that that would lead to any number of hilarious answers, he quickly clarifies, "I mean, who first gave you that name?"

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