psychoshenanigans | Skeleton City // PSL

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.

At first, things progress more or less as expected. Phalanx watches with detached discomfort--hovering around this point of interest, but not really anchored to anything otherwise.

And then, several seconds in, they suddenly notice Robin hooking the pins into his own sleeve. Distracted from the needle-wounds in an instant, Phalanx's eyes flick over and fixate on this new focal point much more quickly than they usually tend to.

He catches it, of course. He continues dexterously stabbing pins into his own shirt sleeve until they are very nearly all collected out of Phalanx's hand.

"Phalanx," he says, starting to smile mischievously, "Are you worried that I'm taking your pins away?"

The way that Phalanx looks at Robin, and then very clearly looks suddenly concerned says that they might not have been before, but they definitely are now.

"Work-- working. Working," Phalanx insists with some urgency.

Robin pauses, holding the last needle between his fingers. He tries to think of what that could mean--is that something either of them said earlier? But that one word isn't really enough to go off of.

"I don't understand."

It isn't a word that has been deposited in Phalanx's head lately, and now that they've got it, having dug it up themselves, they're latching onto it with more energy than they've shown for most things.

"Working. Working--" Phalanx repeats, as they regain the use of their hands to try and start reaching for the pins again, almost anxious about it.

"Working, working, working."

Robin stops one of those hands before it can get to the pins. The other might be able to sneak around, but he'll keep the slightly-bloodied one in place.

"Are you working?"

He's putting a good effort into trying to figure this out... It's not at all the direction he thought this would go, but then again, few things with Phalanx seem to end predictably.

All of Phalanx halts when Robin catches that one hand, like they don't quite realize that they could just use their other, free hand to continue trying to get what they want. There is too much going on in their head for something like that.

"Mine. Working."

They're meeting Robin's eyes with the same sort of directness that he's pinning on them, and by their tone, they're trying just as hard to work this out.

The fact that the both of them seem to be just as puzzled by the things coming out of their mouths makes Robin want to start grilling them for any other context. He even considers reaching straight into his mind, briefly, just to siphon some understanding out of them--but even with his burning curiosity, he knows better than to make such an impulsive mistake.

"Okay..." He doesn't know if it'll work or if it'll make them lose their train of thought, but he lets go of their hand, plucks a couple of the pins back out from his sleeve, and holds it out for them. "Here."

Phalanx looks very relieved to have them offered back--just as relieved as they'd been when Robin had left them alone back in the shop. All of their focus goes right to the pins as they delicately pluck them from Robin's hand.

They manage to mind the sharp bits when they focus like this. And, without hesitation, they begin deftly sticking them into their own sleeve, just like Robin had them.

Well, that's curious. Following this train of thought, Robin wordlessly plucks out a few more and hands them to Phalanx in the same fashion, just to see if he'll keep doing it.

And, following another hunch, he eventually asks, "Sewing?"

It's not a very specific question, but no worse than the one-word repetition that Phalanx had offered him earlier.

Phalanx diligently stores every pin and needle in their sleeve, all in a neat little row, all oriented in the same direction.

They only break their focus when Robin offers that word for them. Their features have gained a little more color in the time that they've been working on their little project, so that bright brown eyes meet Robin's when they look up again.

"Sewing?"

Ah, maybe that one was a miss after all.

"Is that where you know the pins from?"

But that won't stop him from giving it a shot. It's entirely possible he's got this all wrong--but if he can exhaust one train of thought, he'll at least have made some progress in solving the mystery.

"Sewing." This one is more of a statement, sounding more sure as the idea has had a few seconds to sit.

Then, with a sudden flicker of understanding, Phalanx holds up one of the bobbins of thread.

"Sewing?"

"...Yeah, that's used for sewing."

Again, it isn't much, but he'll nod, waiting to see if this realization that Phalanx is having leads to anything substantial, or if this whole thing has just been another note in a song with no tune.

This flicker of understanding continues to burn, and Phalanx follows it all the way to successfully picking the end of thread from the spool, identifying the difference between the needles and pins in their sleeve, and beginning the attempt to put the two together.

Someone in there seems to be remembering how to sew.

This is not what he had in mind when he decided they should visit the market. But how could he have predicted something like this would happen? He sees it as a learning opportunity, if anything, even if it is a very small one. Even if this turns out insignificant in the long run, he can already say he knows a little bit more about Phalanx than he did when he woke up.

So he takes one of those fancy, well-made wraps from his arm and holds it out to Phalanx. It's already neatly hemmed, but it wouldn't be a far stretch of the imagination to see it as a long strip of fabric waiting to be turned into something else.

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