psychoshenanigans | Skeleton City // PSL

Phalanx is just a watchful, faraway doll until Robin jostles something loose. As blankets and white hair get ruffled into their eyes, Phalanx suddenly comes to life again and shares Robin's grin.

"Everyone says so?" the creature asks, sounding bright and hopeful. "Four?"

Edited 2018-04-08 00:29 (UTC)

Robin has just enough time to think that a grin looks good on them, before a number is presented to him in the form of a question.

Vincent, misunderstanding, speaks up from his end of the couch, "Until you can get your shit together, or Robin solves his fuckin' mystery."

Robin heard it correctly, tilting his head while he tries to think. There are only two of them here, aren't there? Unless they meant someone downstairs, or... He tilts his head the other direction, coming to rest it on the back of the couch, looking down at Phalanx with that same, vibrant curiosity he'd shown a second ago.

It's four if Robin counts the others. Like the twins, the birds, the writing on the wall--"four" is another little coincidence that makes him think Phalanx really does have some greater understanding of the truth than most would believe. But whatever it is, fluke or not, Robin supposes the other two would be in agreement if they weren't potentially entirely figments of his own unsettled imagination.

"Yeah," Robin tells Phalanx, completely separate from what Vincent had said, "Everyone."

"...Huh?" Poor Vincent.

"Good." To Robin and to Vincent. It all makes perfect sense, so... "Good. Good!"

Phalanx wiggles aimlessly--almost like they're shifting their weight to go and sit up straight again, but don't actually make it that far. In fact, they end up settling even more solidly between the other two, sinking comfortably smaller, like liquid puddling between two big stones. A blanket-wrapped hand pats Vincent's leg happily.

"Busy houses... you know? The ones with lots of people. Like that. They like each other--it's nice."

Vincent 'looks' down at where a blanketed hand has patted his leg--both a little bothered and a little heartened by the gesture, neither of which are strong enough to actually get him to move. Whatever they're saying about "busy houses" doesn't quite hit the mark either (he's been in plenty of busy houses and never much enjoyed them), but he's kind of a sap who likes the idea of people just being fucking nice to each other and living in relative peace--and it's been a long day, and maybe he's ready to stop fighting it and just go along with whatever unbelievable thing has stumbled into his life for now.

So while Robin snickers quietly, Vincent shrugs, "Guess it's a nice sentiment, at least."

"Do you think that Kneecap would like Phalanx?" Robin asks, out of the blue, "Speaking of houses with lots of people."

"Yeah, probably. That guy's weird."

With the way that Phalanx continues to puddle and settle down, they may be half convinced that the three of them are just going to live there on the couch from now on, in one big, happy, communal blob forever. A blanket flipper is casually left on Vincent's leg (along with the feet and whatever else is still lumped half-on him from before), and Phalanx plunks their head back down on Robin's chest, lower than before.

At this point, the creature has slunk down almost to the point where they could be considered lying down, curled up in an impressively small, boneless pile.

Vincent grunts in resignation, crossing his arms as he's settled against. He still isn't comfortable with Phalanx, for a lot of reasons, but at least they aren't scared of him anymore. That gives him a little comfort. He can help better when he isn't innately startling to the person he's trying to help.

Robin, meanwhile, soaks up the contact and settles in deeper against the couch. He hadn't actually made long-term plans for sleeping, but he wouldn't be opposed to staying just like this, the three of them piled up in one of his favorite places.

"Mm... Want anything else, mynah?" They seem content to pool in their current collection of blankets, but he supposes he might as well make this "sleeping" thing final. He chuckles a little, under his breath, "Anything for your nest?"

Vincent is in trouble. With how Phalanx lives more or less moment-to-moment, this is increasingly becoming how the state of the world simply is to them. The ghosts are gaining gravity in that spot. Roots are probably starting to grow.

And they're seemingly absorbing Robin's gushy, affectionate nature, which is a dangerous prospect for everyone. Especially to someone with Vincent's sensitive hearing, the chuckle that echoes Robin's sounds like an eerily-exact copy.

"Want... want? We don't want." Phalanx's free hand flutters back and forth, wherever it's hidden under the blanket. "And they say not to touch those. Because of the mites."

Vincent finds the double-laugh very creepy, but visibly frowns between Phalanx's explanation and Robin's startled, tickled laughter.

"They do, huh?" Robin finds that very funny, still grinning, reminded of some very old advice that has been all but lost to time in these parts, "Sure, we don't need them anyway."

"I'm going to bed," Vincent announces, deciding to end his participation in this discussion sooner rather than later.

"How do you know when?" a surprisingly-lucid-sounding Phalanx turns to ask in Vincent's direction. With all this fixating on the here and now, their features are beginning to shift away from blank monochrome as well.

"Are you tired? Do... we go too?"

Upon being addressed so directly, Vincent instinctively turns his head to meet their eyes--or where he assumes their eyes must be, relative to where he assumes their mouth is. He almost wishes he hadn't, though, now expected to answer this bizarre series of questions.

Robin says nothing, smiling tightly to hide a laugh, far more interested in hearing what Vincent comes up with in response.

"Uh..." He stalls, torn between a smart-ass answer and a genuine response, "Yeah? I'm tired...?"

He does not sound very sure of himself, until this last part, "You guys should stay out here."

Phalanx slowly nods--which is of no use at all to Vincent--also seeming unsure about this.

And then Phalanx swivels around to look at Robin, seeming expectant. Whether because their questions weren't entirely answered, or they want some verification for the answers, they're waiting to see what Robin has to say next.

Robin considers poking fun at Vincent (it's so easy) for not wanting two cute boys in bed with him... But the man has been incredibly accommodating this evening, and the only other person who would hear may not appreciate the humor in making Vincent uncomfortable.

So he shrugs up his shoulders, nodding to admit the truth.

"Vincent is right. Let's let him have his room to himself."

They did already crash in it earlier today. And who knows--maybe in the dead of night, Robin will change his mind. Things happen. Bed plans change.

"But he's..." Phalanx begins, but it almost seems as though they hadn't actually meant to make words happen, because they trail off before they go anywhere.

If they'd been a creature with any amount of social awareness at all, they might have been intentionally catching themselves, but that's a low possibility in this case. Phalanx doesn't even think to move over so Vincent can easily get off of the couch, let alone probably think about the words they may or may not be saying.

"...But he's what?" Vincent asks flatly, narrowing his not-eyes.

Now it's Robin's turn to watch Phalanx, eyebrows raised a little, wondering what his new collection of friends could possibly have to say in response.

And Phalanx looks at Robin...!

Because it takes them a second to realize who Vincent is actually talking to. And when that finally registered, they're visibly confused.

"But he's... what?"

Robin's snickering is enough to get an annoyed "look" from Vincent, who adds, "What do you think is so funny, huh?"

"Nothing, nothing...!" Robin waves a hand in the air before gathering Phalanx back up, attempting to pull them up a little more snugly against his chest. Perhaps it is a cue to end the conversation, or perhaps it is simply Robin trying to move poor Phalanx out of the way.

"I'm sure that Phalanx is just happy to have a new friend here, that's all."

"Uh-huh," Vincent gives a good dead-eyed stare right at Robin's stupid, cheerful face, "Well I hope my old friend ain't gonna get up to any trouble while I'm asleep."

Robin just laughs, petting Phalanx's hair again, dipping his face down to check on the color of their eyes, "No, I think you and I will be just fine out here. Right, Phalanx?"

Their eyes are green, and they're searching Robin's face right back, carefully parroting, agreeing-- "Just fine. Out here."

Maybe Phalanx is starting to catch on to the fact that they really do need to gather and check themselves out here in the real world again, because they even clumsily pull their feet closer to their own body and reclaim the hand that they'd long ago forgotten on Vincent's leg, like a good physical and social being.

Vincent is free, if he's fast.

Vincent does take the opportunity to stand up, accompanied by the creaking of floorboards (or possibly his knees) as he returns to being a good foot and a half taller than anyone has any right to be.

But he doesn't flee the scene immediately. He leans over, feels around for the mound of blankets that is Phalanx, and then deftly tucks them into the couch. He gets Robin, too, tugging a loose blanket over and vengefully stuffing the corner of it between the cushions--causing Robin, in his surprise, to giggle like a six-year-old.

"Goodnight, kids." Vincent states, "Have good dreams or whatever."

It's hard to tell if he's annoyed or amused. Maybe a little of both.

Being entombed together in one cocoon only enhances the creepy-twin effect as Phalanx again mimics Robin's giggle. And maybe also some of his sass, because the "Have good dreams. Or whatever," that Phalanx answers with sounds almost a little too intentional.

Now sass--as big a pain as it can be--is something that Vincent understands. To him, it's a sign of normalcy. And Robin is almost acting normal too, laughing like a human and stooping to being smushed into a couch. Because of all of this, Phalanx may even catch Vincent actually starting to smile a little as he walks away from the couch, presumably to head to his room and sleep off his weird, weird night.

Robin sighs happily, settling back a little more, and embracing his newly-tucked-in situation.

There are smiles all around, so Phalanx continues to join in. They still have green eyes and an easy grin when Vincent finally disappears, turning back to Robin and settling down into happy, dead weight just as easily as before.

Things are simple right now, easy to follow. For something that is supposedly a crowded hive of homeless spirits, they're oozing contentment right now.

That's something that he and Robin definitely have in common. Busy minds, busy spirits--maybe they just appreciate the value of a comfortable place to rest, and a person next to them to anchor them to the world while they dream.

"I suppose we'll learn more about you tomorrow, friend..."

He winds a hand through the blankets, making just enough room to run his fingers through Phalanx's hair, something to do over and over as sleep slowly starts settling in around them.

Aside from the occasional muttering, Phalanx stays rooted in one spot while they sleep, putting in a full, solid night of rest--which, unbeknownst to their new friends, is actually quite a feat. Wrapped up and latched onto something real and kind does them a lot of good. Their poor, buzzing brain will appreciate it in the morning.

Unfortunately, Robin doesn't share all of that peace. Having a warm body right there keeps his own nightmares at bay as it usually does... but maybe Phalanx is just a little too empty to be a perfect comfort during the night. It almost feels like something else gets in.

Whatever the reason, at some point, there is the awareness that comes with a dawning dream... but there is nothing there to see. Only wandering, meaningless thoughts and a whole lot of darkness. It's not bad, at first. There is no need for speaking or breathing or anything else, so it just simply is.

However, all at once, the darkness begins to itch. Like the onslaught of a million carnivorous worms, it needs to be scratched at, dug at. In one random instant, the peace evaporates and there is just an entire world's worth of impossible, choking, crushing weight that needs to be clawed away. All at once, this fact is simply and brutally all that exists.

He was buried alive, once. Well, he was buried while dead, technically. No one thought he would come back to life. But he did, and being under the ground surrounded by darkness and crushed on all sides by six feet of earth was enough to give him bad dreams for a long time.

But that was something. That was rough dirt and suffocating and he was still aware of his limbs. This is something that goes on for an eternity, nothing and everything, and he will never be able to dig himself out, no matter how much he tears at it. It will eat him forever. It will eat, and eat, and eat, and eat--

Robin wakes in the middle of his own fitful thrashing, halfway tangled in blankets, gasping like he hasn't breathed in minutes. He anxiously shoves everything away from himself, confused about why his clothes are still on, when he shoves into a heavy body and suddenly remembers that he's on Vincent's couch in Vincent's apartment, and that he had fallen asleep next to...

He looks over, suddenly hoping that it is Phalanx, paranoia already turning them into a dozen other far-worse things in his mind.

It does happen to be Phalanx, but they're not waking up very quickly--or, at least not with any agile amount of sense as they're shoved and thrashed at. So, there is nothing to notice or help when all of their dead weight moves back from the demigod... and starts to pour over the edge of the couch.

Depending on how many limbs Robin has free and how much the two of them are still wrapped together in death-shrouds, one or both of them may be in for a surprise.

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