psychoshenanigans | Skeleton City // PSL

Phalanx obligingly steps through the door... and keeps on wandering while they ponder the question.

"Favorite is... blue." Quite definitive. And then, just as definitive-- "Red. I like pink. Mm... white."

Uh-huh. Robin follows Phalanx out the door, closing it quietly behind them. He imagines that, if he let them, Phalanx would name just about every color there is to like. He supposes it will make shopping easy, at the very least. Someone in there will like whatever he gets for them.

"Good to know," he cuts them off somewhere, just so that they don't keep listing things, "I think we'll have fun looking around."

He leads them out of the building, out into the street. The shadows are long and dim down here, and the carved streets are fairly empty--save for a couple of strange "early risers" and people heading on the long road to working far above. The grid still isn't due to come on for another half-hour or so.

"So, Phalanx, I'm also curious..." He picks bits of his own bangs back into place while he walks, since he left without doing his hair properly, "What do you think of Vincent?"

Out here, Phalanx is a lot like how Robin had first found them--drifting along like they don't quite realize that they are fully a part of this plane, dragging a cloud of energy with them that shivers and reverberates somewhere underneath the air. Except, with how asleep and empty the avenue is at this hour, it has room to spread out. With all this stillness, their aura almost chatters amongst itself.

The question manages to still and focus them a little bit, but the rest is still wandering.

"--Think of Vincent. Of Vincent... we think of Vincent."

Being out and about in just a dress-sized shirt and tangled blanket is much less than Phalanx is used to, so they absently start straightening the blanket into more of a true shawl-shape. Fashioning a hood out of the tangled mass is the hardest part, but they're working on it.

"...Big, and he's a tree. A big one."

This is a good time to adjust their clothing situation; the few people down here who would notice a strangely-dressed person rearranging their rags and blankets won't go out of their way to approach them, even if there's a surprisingly well-dressed person next to them. Robin adjusts his shirt sleeves, an unintentional mirroring of what Phalanx's behavior--though he is particularly glad that he doesn't have to wear his gloves today.

"A big tree?" Something about that makes Robin laugh a little, "Yes, I think that fits him very well. Deep roots and broad leaves, that one."

He glances over to check that Phalanx's hood is properly obscuring their white hair--but has no adjustments to make of his own.

It's not a fantastic hood, but for what is visible, their white hair could maybe pass for platinum blonde if no one is looking all that closely. It still doesn't mesh well with their impossibly-dark eyes, but it could be worse.

"And animals live in trees. And climb..." Lifting an arm, Phalanx wiggles stained fingers demonstratively up into the air. "They hold things. And shade. Bark..."

He looks up at those stained fingers, entertained.

"Yes, those are all characteristics of a tree..."

He hasn't seen trees in a while either, now that he thinks about it. It's been a long stint in the Underground. Just a week or two, though, not years or decades. As he walks them in the direction of a long set of stairs carved into the wall, he thinks back on something Phalanx had said yesterday, something relating to time...

"Hey, Phalanx, do you know what power lines are?"

When Robin looks up at Phalanx's fingers, so does Phalanx--getting distracted by their own digits. As they continue to follow along, they become absorbed in rubbing at the discoloration that seems to be a possibly permanent thing for them, picking at the edges of the nails where it may always look as if dirt is lodged underneath.

And in response to Robin's question? Phalanx just laughs, as if it's a pretty a good joke. What a stupid question...

Well, that's not a response he gets often. He frowns.

"Hey, don't laugh at that. I'm serious."

He extends an arm to rap the backs of his fingers against Phalanx's shoulder. Nowhere near a shove or even a flick, but enough to say that he wants them here on this physical plane.

"I want to know if you know what power lines are."

Robin wants them here and present, and he gets his wish. When Phalanx turns to shoot him a look from under their blanket-hood, their eyes are blue and vivid, and their hair seems to be truer blonde. They've got an inexplicably bright grin on their face.

"You don't believe me?"

Being met with a totally new (and yet, somehow familiar) set of colors is fascinating--if a little off-putting. Who is he talking to now, and why would they ask that? Is that an affirmation, a challenge, or are they even talking about the same thing anymore?

But Robin can't help but smile, glancing down at the steps in front of him to try and hide the fact that Phalanx is somehow beating him at his own game. He's supposed to be influencing them, not the other way around.

"I think I believe you," he admits, "But no one has seen those old things around since before the Third End, before the world split open. That was hundreds of years ago."

"Not old," Phalanx corrects.

They've got that tone again like they're gently explaining to someone who just doesn't understand.

"New. All new. I would fix them--built a few--and in houses..." They gesture aimlessly, trying again. "Put it into houses. Power and... I do that. I did that."

Robin listens, humming a single note in thought, but not answering.

If he is to believe Phalanx--and he has no real reason not to--then he has to accept that some part of them is old enough to have worked on electrical lines, installed them in homes, and likely back in a time where that kind of thing was commonplace. That was a world of skyscrapers, digital information, cross-country communication, but it was so long ago that even Robin has a hard time remembering that it even happened, sometimes.

The only way a spirit could survive that long is inside of a host. Has Phalanx--or their physical form, at least--been around since before the world ended? And if so, does he have any chance in all the Gods' Kingdoms of ever finding a trace of what created them, how they were created, or why?

And that's his best theory, the strongest case he's built so far. The others are so vague or so theoretical that he doesn't have a clue where to start looking. It'd take a Gods-sent miracle to connect any of those dots.

In their short time together, Robin has already gotten the impression that Phalanx is always at least partially aware of what Robin is mulling over--so he gives it a voice. It's the polite thing to do.

"You're a very curious collection of people, Phalanx." He smiles, glancing over to see if their face or hair has changed since the last time he looked, "I'd like to find out where you came from, but I'll admit that I'm not sure where to start."

"No, you are--" said exactly like a child would, but it's with the same almost-knowing grin as before. It's the meaning behind it that counts, and they seem to be finding it funny. Or, something about the conversation is at least extremely entertaining, if true humor is too concrete a concept for them.

And their face hasn't changed, yet. Same colors, same grin, same demeanor, maybe same conversation thread still going on.

"Mm... and I don't know. We can't remember. We would go backwards... Follow backwards? But, we can't remember."

Their path suddenly turns them down a dark corridor, lit only with strings of pale lights running down the length of the hallway. Almost without thinking about it, Robin pulls a something out from around his neck--a small vial of glowing red liquid, topped with some kind of intricate brass cap, hanging from a chain. It lights up the tunnel a few feet in front of them, but not much further.

Robin laughs too, at being called a curious collection. He won't admit out-loud to being a collection of several things at once, but he can at least acknowledge the commonality.

"That's all right. If anyone can figure it out, it's me. Birds of a feather, as they say."

"--They say, drop rocks." Or something like that. It's hard to remember.

Phalanx makes the comment offhandedly while eyeing the dark corridor, but then the greater part of their attention gets caught by the red glow. It convinces them into the tunnel after Robin, and they catch up close enough to try reaching for the vial.

"Magic?"

"Hm?" Robin looks curious, sounding amused as Phalanx reaches for his vial, "These? Have you never...?"

But he stops himself mid-sentence, because whether or not Phalanx has, he doubts that enough of them would remember coherently enough to give him a sensible answer. He holds the chain out a little further away. "No, it's mostly chemicals. Bioluminescence. Fungal bacteria reacting to other liquids."

And then, with a clever smile, "If I let you hold it, are you going to give it back?"

At least some of Phalanx is listening and nods in response, but who knows if the rest of them are going to remember and follow through. They're already having trouble keeping their dirty, fidgety fingers to themself while Robin holds the necklace out but doesn't hand it over.

"Looks like magic. And neon. And radium."

Robin is going to take the lack of a question as a "no", deciding to face straight ahead and lead the way rather than letting Phalanx lose his very expensive trinket in one of his hundreds of pocket-folds.

"It does look a bit like that, doesn't it," he goes on, musing partly to himself, "Though people here haven't quite caught on to that third one, yet. Radium, what a word..."

There is a light at the end of this tunnel, and not just metaphorically--the thin, pale glow of a lantern marks the approaching split in the path. When they get there, he leads them the left way, up a flight of stairs.

Phalanx follows like they should, looking down at their bare feet while they navigate the stairs, busying on words in the meantime.

"Phosphorous... radium and--? Sticks. Little sticks. Snap. Glow."

"Glow sticks! Oh, Gods..."

His delighted groan echoes along the chamber walls. They open out into a wide room, with a vaulting ceiling, at the end of which is a small, rusty-looking elevator.

"It's been so long since I've seen one of those things..."

Sometimes, and especially in this moment, talking to Phalanx is a little like having an old television show playing in the background--one he's seen a thousand times, but not since he was much younger.

Speaking of that, "Hey--do you remember televisions, too?"

"No." And then a second later, "Yes!"

Their face lights up with the same nostalgic surprise as Robin's.

"She had one... little one, but it was from far away. There was..." They pause, squinting out into the dark, empty air of the chamber while the memory forms. "...Dancing. This dancing and a lot of music."

He giggles! And it is the innocent sort, something he isn't used to much anymore--but their surprise is contagious, and hearing the memories come back only unravels a few more in his own mind. He wasn't a fan of television at the start, but even he could admit that some beautiful things were made for it.

"What was the music like?" He asks, wanting to prompt a little more out of them. With Phalanx referring to a "she", it sounds like they're zeroing in on a particular part of them. One pinpoint out of the usual mob.

He also pushes the call button for the elevator.

At first, Phalanx's eyes are blue as they search the air like they're tracking butterflies. Something about them changes as memories, or personalities, or pieces of being float and sink inside of them. Maybe not the color, exactly, but some less-definable quality to them shifts around.

"Like... bright. Or fast. With..." Their brows furrow with the effort of both words and memories. They gesture, too, as they search. Dirty figures twitch a little, like they're trying to track a beat. "Metal? Deep... high... up and--"

The furrowing turns into something that is almost a frown as Phalanx trails off, closing their eyes and moving their mouth without sound. Almost forming the shape of words, but maybe more trying to remember the shape of the sounds in the music.

Robin watches Phalanx changing as he waits, pleased once again to see something strange and inherently magical happening in front of him... But also wary of the fact that they won't be able to speak like this once they ascend. No one is around to see them, and no one would be interested in their conversation in this remote corner of an access tunnel--but that won't be the case for long.

Still, he nods while Phalanx finds some words to describe the sound of something they knew in another place and time. He follows easily. What he's hearing isn't so different from how he sounds in his own head, half the time.

"Brass, maybe? Trumpets, trombones, that sort of thing."

Swing, maybe, or those fast-tap jazz numbers. He wonders if Phalanx would enjoy going to a show somewhere, here in the Underground. He wonders if they could sit still long enough to enjoy it. Maybe some of them like music, but maybe some of them don't.

Somewhere, very high above them, a humming sound filters down through the vents and tunnels, accompanied by soft clicking and popping noises as the grid slowly wakes up. Inset bulbs high in the ceiling slowly warm, spilling a dim, dirty light over the both of them. It's much less dramatic than the way it had turned off the night before. Robin pays the change no mind, watching their rickety cab slowly descend the elevator shaft instead.

Phalanx's eyes are distinctly green as Robin guesses correctly and puts a few pieces together for them. They flap one of their sleeves at him.

"--That sort of thing, that sort of thing! Yes!"

But then the cavern begins to wake up and all sorts of sounds fall down over them. Phalanx is stirred out of their train of thought, color fading out of their features. Their steps slow and they look up, dispersing, until their eyes are empty-doll black again.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject