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

[birdsbirdsbirds]

"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.

[pileofspirits]

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.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

"...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?"

[pileofspirits]

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."

[birdsbirdsbirds]

"...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?"

[pileofspirits]

"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."

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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

[pileofspirits]

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."

[birdsbirdsbirds]

"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.

[pileofspirits]

"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."

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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.

[pileofspirits]

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.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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."

[pileofspirits]

"Really?"

No parroting, this time. Only surprise, as they mindlessly let themselves be led down more comfortably on the bed. They follow and settle like they already live here.

It's probably because they're focused much more on Robin's statement than whatever space their body is occupying.

"That's why?" Obviously taking this one very literally.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

"Maybe," he says, "That's what people say."

Finally, with them both settling down and a path laid before him, he can stop worrying about magic and monsters and just look at the person in front of him. For a collection of souls in a human shell, they're pretty attractive.

But not too attractive, and that's what's interesting about them. They aren't colorful enough to stick out in a crowd, aren't masculine or feminine enough to make any statements. By coincidence or by design, they at least won't be pulling people's gazes along wherever they go.

They have nice hands, though. Robin brings one of theirs up towards his face, to play with their fingers and fidget with the shape of their knuckles. He still has his gloves on, but that may not be true for long.

"You aren't the only strange thing down here, whatever the case."

[pileofspirits]

And being so wrapped up in layers of greying fabric helps that whole 'some amorphous individual' effect. It's as if someone had taken a person with a life and history and vast, human personality and washed them until the color was bleached away. Like a bone eaten by wind and sun, only the porous structure of an individual was left... then filled up by things hungry for a home, and wrapped up to hide the evidence.

They do have nice hands, though. Cloth wraps up all the way to the base of their fingers, but there's still enough left uncovered to enjoy. Pale like a ghost, but without the prominent veins that tend to stand out in skin like that. There's one big flinch initially, but Phalanx lets Robin keep the whole limb after that, as if they just unplugged it from the rest of the collective.

"I know. Monsters." The fingers on Phalanx's free hand suddenly spread out as far as they can go, and motion at nothing in the air nearby. "Lots of them."

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Like doll hands. Like porcelain. He looks up over the captured hand at Phalanx moves, though, gazing out past that extended hand as they bring up the things living below. And around. And maybe above (some days, he isn't sure).

But everyone knows about monsters, so he's not surprised that Phalanx is mentioning them.

"Yeah, but monsters aren't that complicated. Just hungry." He knows Monsters very well. The thought gets him to abandon Phalanx's hand in favor of finally peeling the gloves off of one of his own. With a glance up towards their dark, colorless eyes, he asks, "Have you seen any of them?"

[pileofspirits]

Phalanx's eyes flick over to meet Robin's as soon as he looks their way. With irises that big and that flat, their eyes always look open a little wider than they should be. Somewhere between innocent and unstable.

"I'm not hungry," Phalanx insists.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

He laughs again. It's a funny sound, now that they've heard it a couple of times. It almost sounds like a part of his laugh is missing, though he does it anyway.

"I believe you," he assures them, bringing his now un-gloved hand up to rest on the side of their covered head. "You're much too smart to be a monster."

[pileofspirits]

It'll be hard to tell if Phalanx notices anything truly strange about Robin or his behaviors, until they maybe start mimicking him at some point down the line. Until then, Phalanx just watches and absorbs, nodding a little absently until Robin's hand comes to rest against the side of their head.

"Too smart to be a monster. Too smart... to be hungry?"

Or something like that?

[birdsbirdsbirds]

"Too smart to be hungry for human flesh," he clarifies, his smile edging back into a mischievous little grin, "That's all that they're ever hungry for. And it makes them stupid."

That's what the stories say, anyway. Robin hasn't really found any evidence to the contrary, and he's slept with some of them. If anyone could be considered an expert in what is and isn't a monster, it would probably be him.

"You seem to have a lot more... dimension than that."

[pileofspirits]

"Dimension. Like... space."

It's a demonstration that they understand the term, but Phalanx apparently isn't a fan of it. Their normally blank, doll-like face crinkles up in a surprisingly expressive look of distaste.

"Maybe I have more."

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Mm, so that's something they don't like. Robin tilts his head up, against the sheets of the bed, considering that look with interest... But after a couple of seconds, he lifts his hand to tug gently at the edge of Phalanx's hood, pulling it further over their face.

"Then we'll just make sure you're kept nice and snug. Right?"

He tugs on their wrappings, next, and then decides to just pull some more of the blankets over to wrap them up even more.

[pileofspirits]

With all of Phalanx's vague answers and ambivalent reactions, this gets the most animated reaction, by far. As soon as everything starts snugging tighter and safer, the creature leans into the cocoon as if this is their only love in they whole world.

They smile and burrow and hum. And they help too--wrapping hands up into sleeves until they almost disappear, and use the solidity of Robin's body to act as one secure wall for their new nest.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

He laughs again, this time out of surprise. It's not like snuggling up to someone is a foreign concept to him, but rarely is it done with such an innocent glee. He soaks it up like soil soaking up water, gathering up the new bundle and settling back against it so as to be as comfortable as possible.

It's a wonderful diversion. A very calming feeling, being liked, even if it's just for his ability to grab blankets with his human thumbs.

After a happy little hum, he just adds, "This is nice."