Skeleton City // PSL

[birdsbirdsbirds]

They call it the "Market", and it's always buzzing like a hive. The vast caverns are warmed by the hundreds of bodies all hauling, shouting, pitching, laughing, exchanging things from one hand to another. Even more people stroll up above, their voices lost in the tangle of bridges made of stone and wood and metal. The place is lit by dozens of electric signs, spilling brightwarm colors where the hanging lanterns cannot reach.

There is a lot to look at. One person seems to trade a bolt of rich red cloth for some nails and hinges. One man is trying very hard to convince another that the chicken he is holding is worth at least three bags of grainmeal. And then there is whatever Phalanx is holding, which they most certainly did not trade for, and it most certainly leads to someone reaching out over their stall table and grabbing them harshly by the arm.

"Hey, you little theif!" Says an irate, heavy-set woman, "What do you think you're doing?"

Comments

[pileofspirits]

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.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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?"

[pileofspirits]

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.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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."

[pileofspirits]

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."

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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.

[pileofspirits]

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.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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."

[pileofspirits]

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.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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.

[pileofspirits]

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?"

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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.

[pileofspirits]

"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?"

[birdsbirdsbirds]

"...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.

[pileofspirits]

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.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

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.

[pileofspirits]

Ah! And that's all Phalanx needs to sit down right where they're at, in the dust, and start sewing.

Muscle memory apparently goes a long way even when you're an undead conglomeration of souls, because Phalanx only fumbles a little bit as they thread the needle and set to task--wrapping the fabric around their hand and starting to sew some part of it together.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

"Well, well..."

Said quietly to himself, as he doesn't want to disturb them during this moment of lucidity... But he smiles again, leaning back against a fence post to watch Phalanx start stitching the fabric together as if they'd never been away from it for long.

He'll keep an eye out for danger, of course, or anyone coming to bother them... But this early in the morning, no one will bother them. No one comes.

[pileofspirits]

Without the usual sorts of things that would interrupt someone's focus--physical needs, social pressures, weariness--who knows how long Phalanx would sit there and sew if left indefinitely to their own devices. Once they get going, they seem set and ready to continue doing so forever.

They form quick little stitches, if not the neatest or most deliberate, and soon there is a seam of white thread running down their arm, sewing the wrap to itself.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

At least they won't be losing it any time soon--though it doesn't escape Robin that it will also be a bitch to peel that off of Phalanx if he ever has to clean him up again.

"Are you having fun?" He puts the minor annoyance aside, kind of pleased just to be watching them work.

[pileofspirits]

Phalanx doesn't look up from their work or answer with words, but they do smile to themselves, as if they're hearing a nice thing from far away.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Is he going to have to break him out of it? It seems a shame, they're having such a nice time, wherever they've gone. But eventually they're going to run out of things to sew--and Robin is a little concerned that they may just start sewing a sleeve to some other part of their coat without noticing.

So he crouches down to get on Phalanx's level, speaking to them again, a bit more pointedly. He sounds amused.

"Phalanx, where are you now?"

[pileofspirits]

"Work," Phalanx immediately replies, as if it really should be obvious.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

"Oh, well." Robin shrugs with a bit of a laugh. "Fair enough, I guess."

He gives them another moment of peaceful sewing before bothering in again.

"We do have to move on, though. Can you finish that up later?"

[pileofspirits]

You let a kid have a toy, give them a project, and then want to take it away again? Phalanx does finally pause in their task to look up at Robin, but they seem pretty uncomprehending about it. Big, confused brown eyes wondering why Robin would even be asking something like that.