psychoshenanigans | Skeleton City // PSL

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.

Ah, and there they go again... He watches their attention disperse as if they were moths shooed away from a lamp. For the first time, he wonders if they're happy in there, or if their strange, cobbled-together life is more strife and frustration than anything.

It's probably more complicated than any of that, though.

Impulsively, he reaches out to rub their back in a friendly, grounding sort of way.

"You get used to the lights, after a while."

The car finally reaches their stop with a shudder and a clunk. Something dings, and the doors open with a hiss that sounds from somewhere under their feet.

"Come on," he tries to lead them gently into the elevator cab. "Let's go have some fun."

They're still easy to lead and seem generally amiable, but they don't answer with words. Like any scattering thing, it'll probably take some time to convene on a single point again.

In the meantime, they seem a simple sort of curious--looking around at all of the interesting things they may or may not understand and just experiencing reality.

And after their little talk of memories, Robin is satisfied with the company and in no hurry to bring Phalanx back to a pinpoint of awareness. He'll simply let them observe the world in peace while he pushes a button and sends them slowly climbing up a series of pulleys towards a much higher, more colorful part of the world.

There are some things to see along the way, easily visible through the bars of their cab, but the really interesting things don't start until they reach the lower tier of the market. It's early in the morning, so the streets are not as packed as they were the day before, and many shops are not open yet--but there are enough early risers and merchants finishing up their night shifts that the sprawl of tents and booths is still fascinating to watch.

The elevator spits them out right at the edge of a line of awnings. A couple people glance at them as they pass, but that's to be expected. They look pretty weird, the two of them.

"Okay, clothes first." Robin takes Phalanx's hand and guides him forward, knowing exactly where to go, "We'll have to find you some pants, a jacket, maybe a cloak..."

Whether it's in response to the growing amount of activity and people all around them, or trying to function while so scattered, more of Phalanx's attention goes toward bundling themself up. Either way, it's good timing--white hair and weird, black eyes become a little harder to notice when they pull their hood forward and start trying to fashion a scarf over the lower portion of their face with their free hand.

At least for now, it's more believable that Robin is leading along some unfortunate person than a potentially magical monster.

That's good. Robin will keep an eye on them to avoid any unfortunate magical mishaps, but he's pleased to see the bundle of spirits--intentionally or not--handling their own appearance.

They don't have very far to go. Robin will keep them away from the part of the market where he'd originally found them, just to avoid any vendors they may have stolen from... But their first stop isn't far from where they'd come up.

He leads them to a large, rectangular tent covered in a pale purple fabric. The edges of the awning are decorated with a gold, geometric pattern, and the "front door" is still wide open. He ducks inside, tugging Phalanx along with him, as a woman starts to answer from where she is pinning things to a form in the corner.

"Hello there, what can I--" She stops, realizing who has just walked in, "--Robin, how are you? What are you doing here this early?"

Robin waves and grins. They apparently have a friendly rapport. She puts her work down, a small woman with a perfectly bald head and a little more color in her skin than most. She's dressed very richly, in a long dress colored a deep, deep blue.

"I'm hoping to dress up my weird little friend," Robin explains plainly, gesturing to Phalanx. She looks confused (and maybe a little skeptical), as she looks the mismatched pile of clothes and blankets over. Robin continues, "A relative just kind of dropped them on me while he's busy with some counsel thing."

There are other things to look at in this tent aside from the woman, of course. There's a plush rug underneath them, and a dozen mannequins dressed up in various jackets, dresses, sashes, and doublets. There are one or two small shelves for tools and accessories, but most of the fabric bolts and other large displays are stacked up neatly on the floor.

This place is incredibly distracting to Phalanx, so there is no chance in the world that they're going to speak up and contradict whatever Robin is saying. The pile of spirits might as well be an oversized toddler, paying the adults no mind while they wander as far as their held hand will allow, trying to look at the interesting tools and pretty fabric.

"I see..." The woman says, still dubious.

But not for long. While Phalanx is distracted by the interior of the store, Robin walks over to the woman to lean down and whisper something in her ear behind one of his gloved hands.

Her expression turns from skeptical to understanding, followed by a small pout as she regards Phalanx in an entirely new light. "Oh, poor thing."

"Yes, yes, but that's neither here nor there right now." Robin also looks a little pitying as he straightens up to talk, though it's entirely for show. "Toba, I have got to get this boy some pants."

"Well, I'll look and see what I have in his size..." the woman, Toba, says with an assured nod, "So long as you're paying for it."

"Oh, of course, of course." Robin waves his hand dismissively, walking back over to see what things are currently catching Phalanx' eye. The woman disappears past a flap into a "back" section of her shop, giving them a moment where no one is watching.

First, it had been the fabric to catch Phalanx's attention, and then the startlingly soft feeling of plush carpet beneath their feet. But, by the time that Robin returns to their side, Phalanx's focus has entirely settled on the tailor's tools and supplies.

Those needles and bobbins, and that open tin of pins are especially attractive, apparently. When Robin reaches them, Phalanx is busy carefully picking up an array of tiny things and lining them up in their palm.

He should be more worried about his unintentionally-thieving friend getting hold of sharp pins and needles, but he isn't. He leans over their shoulder, looking at what what they're gathering, smiling politely.

"What've you got there?"

Yeah, there might already be some of those tiny things hidden (stabbed) into the blanket they're wearing, if we're all being honest with ourselves.

But the ones currently in Phalanx's palm are being held reverently. And when Robin asks about them, Phalanx looks momentarily surprised to see him there, but quickly catches up.

Words are still a little too much to put together. So, when Phalanx looks excited and lifts their hand a little to show Robin, there's just an enthusiastic, "Mm!"

"Ah, look what you found."

It's cute, how they hold these things up to him like a child. To their credit, in some places, those pins are very valuable. But they can't go stealing a nice lady's things, so...

"You know you can't keep those, right?"

By the way a little furrow forms in Phalanx's brow, it's pretty clear that they don't get it. They look up from the pins and needles and bits of thread, peering at Robin's face for an answer.

Oh, goodness. Not a clue, at least not this time.

"Those belong to someone else. They paid good money to be able to keep them."

Robin is explaining this very calmly, even though said "someone else" can be head rifling around in the back and getting closer to the door-flap.

"Why don't you put those down, and we'll get you something else to look at?"

The look of confusion gets worse, this time, and starts to border a little on frustration. So far, compliance has been pretty easy (if clumsy) but Phalanx changes things up a bit by not immediately following along.

Words are difficult, but they try really hard anyway. It takes them a visible moment of focus before they manage it. And when they do, their voice is still soft, but there's an edge of insistence--not arguing, but gently stating as fact.

"Mine."

Okay. So it'll be a little more difficult than simply asking.

"Why are they yours?"

He also isn't arguing, simply asking a question. He wants to know the path of logic that led them here, if there is one at all. Maybe he'll decide it isn't worth the pain of teaching a pile of ghosts about things like the possession of material goods. This would sure explain why he caught him being accused of stealing from a market stall in the first place...

Phalanx's hair gains a bit of color and waviness at the ends as the frustration grows. They press their mouth into a flat frown, looking back down at the trinkets in their hand, and think hard.

"Why are they yours..."

A few seconds go by as they wrestle in their own head, but in the end, they just start to close their fingers around the sharp little things and explain with some exasperation, "Mine."

Ah, now that won't do. Robin's attention shifts from Phalanx to the movement at the door as the woman returns, holding a sizable stack of outfits and pieces of fabric in her arms, so tall that she has to crane her neck to look over them.

"All right, I don't know what kind of styles you're looking for, but I've pulled a few selections..."

As she begins talking and before she can get a good look at anything, Robin casually steps between her and Phalanx, obstructing most of them from view.

"You always make such lovely things," he says, stepping towards her, "Let's see what you've got."

Now, his goal has shifted. It's less trying to convince Phalanx of anything, and more... keeping this woman from noticing anything odd about his friend's appearance. He can explain away a childlike person taking things that aren't theirs, but he can't explain their hair magically changing from white to not-white.

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