psychoshenanigans | Skeleton City // PSL

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?"

"They did," Phalanx immediately answers, though even they seem to realize pretty quickly what a terrible answer that is. They don't even need to be called out on it before they try to amend their response.

"Mm. Early, early like...before I knew who I was. They just called me that. --Us. All of us; we're just Phalanx."

"Okay," Robin follows this with admirable patience, nodding, "And did they have their own name?"

Again, it takes Phalanx a minute to answer, but it's not entirely due to the extra time it takes them to think about anything. There's some other kind of reluctance there, and by the time they actually speak up again, it's pretty clear that it's something closer to chagrin than anything else.

They don't want to admit it, but... "--I don't remember."

"Okay," he says again, though the pause that follows after is weighted with finality. The black-clad man has to think a little himself, cross-referencing everything he's learned with everything he thinks he knows, and ultimately deciding on his next few steps.

"That's fine," he eventually reassures Phalanx, rubbing their back with almost absent attention. "That just means you can stay here with me a little longer."

Until trouble comes knocking on his door--which is something he half-welcomes, most days.

He straightens up a little, clearing the air of everything they'd been talking about so far. The shift is almost palpable, with how sensitive the two of them are to every little energetic change.

"So, is there anything you'd like from me?" His smile has returned, nice and wide and very friendly.

"Stay?"

Phalanx repeats it the first time out of surprise, sitting up a little (only after Robin seems to be done doting) and turning to look at him. They both might be attuned to subtle changes in atmosphere and energy that mortals could only dream of detecting, but looking at a face still helps Phalanx figure out what someone means with their words.

Then, the second time that Phalanx repeats the word, it's phrased as an answer.

"Stay."

Now there's a word he doesn't hear often.

"Really?"

He may be letting his guard down around Phalanx--but who could blame him? He's already cried right in front of them, and it's not as though they seem the type to manipulate his words and whims against him later.

"You'd like that?" Even after everything before they got here, and the thing with his mind, and all the confusing questions, they think that's best? It may make them a poor, foolish thing, but it still makes Robin very happy to hear.

For all of those things that had already happened, the multiple things that would have made an irrevocable first impression on any normal, thinking creature... Phalanx seems relatively unaffected now. Poor and foolish indeed, but very resilient.

If anything is going to tolerate an extended stay with Robin, maybe this pack of creatures is it.

Phalanx nods. "We never stay. Never get to."

Robin may not hear the word very often, but neither does Phalanx.

That's not so unusual for Skeleton City. Robin's already collected a few of them--dregs of humanity with nowhere else to go--but it's really Vincent who gives them a place to stay. He has a feeling that once Vincent sees Phalanx, he'll find a way to take care of him.

Maybe it's fate, then, that they met. He nearly giggles, taking the new space as an opportunity to flop down on the bed rather than continue sitting up. He's still got a hand on Phalanx and tries to tug him down with him.

"Maybe that's why you're in Skeleton City. They say that all wandering souls end up here, eventually."

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