psychoshenanigans | Skeleton City // PSL

"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.

The relief is palpable as Robin gives Phalanx space and stops trying to take away their things. No promises that their hair will halt in its change from one color to another, but they do shut up and keep their head down, so maybe the good tailor won't notice anything too strange.

They're content to keep their attention quietly down at the things in their hands (while they're still out in the open, anyway) and even halfway turn their back on the other two people there, to keep their trinkets safe.

Robin and Toba talk back and forth for a moment, chatting about styles and which fabrics are what. She has a couple of opinions about what's fashionable these days, and Robin casually asks about the morning's business, to which she begins to tell him all about a couple of strange people who came by looking for a coat for some party they were going to, and...

All of it is Robin trying to establish a comfortable tone in the room. After a few minutes (Toba has, by now, leaned back against one of those shelves to recount an earlier argument she'd had with a glass-blower down the street), Robin turns back to Phalanx to get their attention again.

"Hey, Phalanx. Can you come over here for a moment?"

This, Phalanx can listen to without a fight. And maybe Robin has bought enough distance between then and now that Phalanx has returned to some sort of forgiving balance.

It's hard to tell for sure, with the way that both of their hands are bundled up somewhere in the blanket again. There could be pins wadded up in their fingers, stuck in the folds of cloth, or left behind on some shelf. Appearance-wise, Phalanx has found some equilibrium with wavy blondish hair and brown eyes--a little different than what they had first walked in here with, but not shockingly so.

Either way, they toddle over curiously, and at least halfway try to make sure that their blanket doesn't catch on anything as they do so.

"Your name's Phalanx?" The woman says, trying to be friendly. "That's an interesting name."

"It is," Robin answers on their behalf, "I think it's Islentic or something."

He holds up a coat towards them. It's grey, fairly long, and trimmed with ornate black embroidery of flowers and small forest animals. There are several pockets on the inside and outside--but most importantly, it has a large hood.

It seems a bit small compared to their blanket bundle, but Robin thinks it'll actually be a little large, if they can get some of those extra layers off of him.

"Oh, that's a nice neutral one," she starts explaining, "It'll go with everything."

"What do you think?" Robin asks Phalanx, totally prepared to explain away some off-the-wall answer.

"Not yours," Phalanx replies matter-of-factly, after looking over the coat for a moment.

So, at the very least, those words are still rattling around in the memory pan, whether or not the origin of them is. And they look at Robin's face afterward, looking for reaction or more information, probably.

For the first time, Phalanx earns a flat look from the demigod.

"It could be yours, if we pay for it." He puts a smile back on, then, picking a different question. "Can I put this coat on you?"

The woman watches, shifting a little in her spot, before starting to busy herself with folding things next to them instead of watching this interaction straight-on.

Yeah, it's probably best not to watch this straight-on and so close up... but it really shouldn't be missed, either. A little secondhand embarrassment is probably worth it.

Because Phalanx agrees to this suggestion, but is absolutely going to try and comply while still wearing the blanket-cloak. And they just kind of... aimlessly raise their arms sort of out to the side, like they expect Robin to just drape the thing on them or something.

Let the games begin.

Robin sighs, openly, because he wants everyone in the tent to know that this is going to be a tricky situation.

"Would you like any help...?" The tailor starts to ask, but Robin practically cuts her off before she can finish that last word.

"No, we'll be fine. This will just take a moment."

But he walks up to Phalanx anyway, reaches for his blanket, and starts to peel it off of him.

With a fussy sound, the arms that were previously being offered so freely get sucked back towards Phalanx's body when Robin starts peeling. They're not super adamant about it, but it's still enough to be kind of a pain. It's just a moment of anxious fight, before they let Robin tug on their arms like they're not attached to their body anymore.

A thimble and two pins fall to the floor, though. And their hands remain suspiciously folded up.

The pins, as luck would have it, hardly make a sound as they go falling against the carpet. The thimble, on the other hand, is makes just enough of a clunk for an experienced clothier to hear--and she looks over just in time to see it rolling away from Phalanx.

If she is suspicious, concerned, or even curious--Robin keeps on going anyway, intent on getting them out of the biggest blanket and into this nice coat. It is a struggle, but he is patient and determined enough to see it through to the end.

He hopes they like this coat, though. Because he may not have the patience to try on many more.

It seems like Phalanx might like it! They at least seem to find the process interesting or satisfying in some way. It might just be the sensation of being much more thoroughly bundled up than they had been in the oversized blanket, but they settle into the change pretty quickly. There is a brief window of time where Phalanx is entirely without without something covering their head, but as soon as the coat is tugged securely around their shoulders, they start trying to nudge the new hood up with closed hands.

Robin will help, to complete the transition, by pulling that hood up the rest of the way. With that done, he also bends down to scoop up that thimble before Phalanx can remember that it's there.

"Sorry about that," he says to the woman, handing her back her thimble. She looks surprised (or, at least, pretends to) but takes it with a smile of thanks.

"It's all right, really..." She says, looking at Phalanx in one of her designs, not thinking much about the rude implication of what she says next, "Children will try and grab my things all the time. It happens."

But Robin pays this no mind, also turning to regard Phalanx. "I think this one looks pretty good, don't you?"

Toba agrees, of course, because she wants Robin to buy something. Robin looks over at the pants that would go with it... but then he remembers the lunacy of their previous pants incident, and changes his mind.

"I'll take it. And the wraps, for hands and feet, please." Robin nods to himself, "No need to try them on."

"Hands and feet," Phalanx parrots as they step over to placidly observe the transaction. Robin's friend may be a bit of an accidental thief, but at least they are otherwise fairly well-mannered and basically pleasant. It's almost nice, how they idly up to Robin in their nice new coat to watch and wait--and their hands are quietly kept closed the entire time.

Oh, now he's being good. Robin takes those last two articles of clothing--essentially long strips of fabric that transition slowly from white to grey--and pays by producing a spool of what looks like gold thread from his own pocket and handing it over to the shopkeeper.

"And I think I owe you a little extra on top," he says, covering for any inconvenience they may have caused, "I'll bring some tools my next week."

That should cover for whatever Phalanx is obviously still holding in his hands. She seems pleased by the arrangement, and wishes them both a good morning--which is their cue to head back out of the tent and into the morning market street once more.

Robin leads Phalanx maybe four tents away before he takes them aside, out of the road and out of earshot of the few stragglers wandering between stalls.

"All right," he asks, "What are you holding?"

Of course, Phalanx seems a little perplexed by the question, and looks down at their own hands to see what they're up to. Slowly, all those guilty fingers uncurl.

One hand is entirely empty. It must have just been curled in a fist out of habit, to match the other one. The other one, however, is full of pins, needles, and tiny bobbins of thread--half of which are absolutely stabbed at least a little bit into Phalanx's hand.

There's a small bit of blood, and Phalanx gives a quiet groan of surprise when they see what has happened.

"...Ah."

He had a feeling this would happen. Unfortunately, he doubts that Phalanx fully remembers the circumstances that led them to a hand full of pins.

"Here, here, let me see..." He tucks his package under his arm so that he can reach out for Phalanx's hand. He fully intends to just start... pulling needles out. "Does it hurt?"

At least Robin doesn't seem bothered by it. He isn't acting like this is a bad thing.

Phalanx also isn't acting like this is too bad of a thing. The vague concern on their face as they watch Robin take their wounded hand is much more like that of someone observing the misfortune of someone else. As Robin begins to remove the pins, Phalanx doesn't wince--just stares on with tentative, morbid curiosity.

"Does it hurt?" Phalanx asks, looking to Robin like he can answer this way better than they could.

Robin asked because it's a little hard to tell... Not just because Phalanx doesn't seem to be reacting, but also because they don't seem to feel it in the way that normal humans do. The hurt is there, but it isn't connected to them, because the hand that's bleeding isn't really connected to them either.

So he tilts his head a little, considering how to answer, eventually settling on a simple, "A little."

He pins each of the removed needles into his own shirt sleeve to get them out of the way. Phalanx can keep the bobbins and bits of thread, but all of the sharp things are being taken away.

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