psychoshenanigans | Skeleton City // PSL

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Skeleton City // PSL

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?"

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The woman's brows are almost completely covered by bandages, but they can almost feel one skeptically raise as these potentially dangerous words come babbling, unfettered, from this stranger's mouth.

"Who did?" She asks Phalanx.

Robin, thinking quickly, grabs for the lowest common denominator he can summon under such short notice, "No, I told them a story yesterday. The one about the boy who gets killed and turned into a bird."

"...A bird?" She asks, this time turning her skepticism towards Robin.

"A bat, sorry. Birds are the old version." He shakes his head a little even though she can't see, "But I think I may have embellished a little too much, they've been talking about it all morning."

He gives the top of Phalanx's hood a subtle little tug, hoping that it's enough to get them to lie just a little lower than the "helpful" way they're acting now.

Edited 2018-09-24 04:38 (UTC)

Phalanx probably misses the subtle message that Robin is trying to get across, but the distracting half-truth gets the job done anyway. The spirits perk up at the mention of the story that had made such an impression on them the day before, and they veer off down that mental path instead.

"He dropped rocks on their heads and killed them," Phalanx shares, delighted.

"Ah..." If the woman is still suspicious, it doesn't take long for her to give up on this particular form of pursuit. The skepticism leaves her face and her tone. "It's been a long time since I heard anyone tell that story."

She moves again as she says this, reaching silently for her deck of cards. Robin's eyes track the movement immediately, cautiously watching as she begins shuffling them in her surprisingly dexterous, wrinkled hands.

"We'll be going now," he states all of a sudden, standing up in his place and trying to bring Phalanx up with him.

Phalanx can't react that quickly, especially when at least half of their attention is divided up on other things. Part of their mind is on the new curiosity of the cards, part is still back on the story about birds and death, and only a little is left to spare for the body. With them still curled up in the place they had previously been trying to retreat into, they haven't thought about moving in a little while. Robin pulls on dead, unoccupied weight, and Phalanx looks confused.

"Tell the story? We're going?"

"All of a sudden, dear?" The woman continues to shuffle her cards, seemingly unperturbed by Robin's quick attempt at an exit.

Robin feels the resistance of dead weight and realizes that Phalanx isn't going to move that fast--not unless Robin really startles them, and that's the exact thing he's trying to avoid. He considers just hoisting the whole pile of them into his arms and walking away, blanket and all, but he settles on exploring his other options first.

"No fortunes," he tells the woman, starting to sound irritated again.

"It's not for you, boy." The fortune-teller only shakes her head and continues as if talking to a stubborn child, "For your friend. Would you like one?"

Still holding the majority of the deck, she places three cards face-down on the table in a neat row. The cards themselves look a little old, with nothing but a blue background and white circle on the backs as any sort of decoration.

"Fortunes?"

Phalanx can pretend that Robin isn't there either. Maybe the woman's demeanor is just as contagious to the creature as everyone else's is. They reach out a finger toward the cards, but retreat quickly before they actually get close.

"But fortunes are for futures? We don't have anymore."

Maybe she interprets their question wrong--because she doesn't seem to think it was a strange thing to say at all. Rather, she smiles kindly and gestures to the cards in front of her.

"Everything has a future, but fortunes can tell the past and present, too."

She has probably done this a few hundred times, by the way she subtly reclines in her chair and resumes the roll of an actor playing a particular part. She never stops shuffling the remainder of the cards, though.

Robin stands next to Phalanx, saying nothing, but squeezing his fingers into a fist at his side.

"Fortunes. Fortunate."

They get a little bit braver when they get fidgety, this time. Their fingers nearly reach a card, before they stop and dig at threads in the tablecloth with their nails instead.

"Do they tell... tell. Tale..." No, still not quite right. They try again. "--Take. Do they take? ...Do you take?"

The woman continues to smile, patiently waiting as they find their words.

"No, no. This one's free, dear."

Robin continues to frown, but keeps his eyes on the cards in her hands.

"I really don't think this is the time," he says, now half at Phalanx and half at the woman conducting this fortune-telling. She, at least, seems content to ignore him.

Phalanx laughs at Robin's comment--suddenly emoting much more than they had been for much of the morning. They turn enough to grin back at Robin from around the edge of their hood.

"Future or present or past." This isn't the time, indeed.

They're still grinning when they turn back to the woman, and their eyes are again some bright color that they hadn't been a few moments before. Phalanx is apparently enthused about this idea, now.

"Are you going to use a candle too?"

Again, perhaps misunderstanding: "No, I don't need any candles. And any fortune teller who says they do is overcharging you." She would probably have winked, if that was the kind of expression possible with no sight and bandages over your eyes.

Still, she leans forward to help. "Would you like me to reveal your first card?"

It's a good thing that she moves onto the topic of the cards before Phalanx can comment on how all they'd had to pay in exchange for the candle fortune was their departure from the tent. Phalanx hums instead, thinking about the words but not articulating them, and creeps a hand across the table.

Their stained finger crawls like an inchworm until it bumps into the first card, and then pushes it forward a little bit.

"How many first cards? Not enough, maybe..."

The woman chuckles, reaching for the card that has been pushed her way.

"Well, perhaps if these aren't to your liking, we can pull another round..."

But her voice trails off as she begins to flip the card over. She cannot see, but she can feel something happening, something that she has never experienced before. It's startling and foriegn and pervasive, and for a second she doesn't know if it is coming from her or if it is coming from the cards themselves.

All she knows is that something is very wrong.

The card that she'd pulled does not matter, because whatever picture was on the face is being very quickly consumed by an inky blackness. It spreads to the four corners just as the card is turned fully upright. With a gasp, she quickly turns over the other two cards to reveal that the same dark energy is spreading over them too, devouring the symbols and images in a solid, featureless darkness.

"W-What--" Is all she can stutter out.

Robin puts a hand on Phalanx's shoulder, but says nothing. He only tugs at them, wanting to leave now more than ever.

Edited 2018-09-29 05:14 (UTC)

Phalanx frowns. Though, it's more in their posture than their expression, with the way their head hangs.

Their eyes are black again, of course--not that anyone else in the room is in a position to see it. It's the same as the cards. And Phalanx reaches out to try and fumble one of the upturned cards back over, as if there might be something useful and revealing on the other side. As if, maybe, they'd just been drawn wrong the first time. The weight of Robin's hand, his tugging, pulls them half over to the side, almost out of the chair. It's more like melting than standing.

"No, it's... it's okay, because there's pieces in there..." It's not all hungry blackness. The blackness has dawn in everything they are, you see. It's not that bad, really. "But what about? All the times. All of them...?"

Unfortunately, the fortune teller isn't really listening to what Phalanx is saying right now, because she has reached into her deck to find that all of the cards--every single one--is being stained with this dark energy that she doesn't understand. The cards go spilling all over the table as she flicks them away in fear, like she doesn't want to touch whatever is spreading through her tools.

The back of the card that Phalanx touched remains supernaturally untouched--as if this blackness truly is devouring the contents of the cards but not the physical material itself.

"Keep that one," Robin tells them, suddenly leaning in at their shoulder. There's a slight intensity to him, similar to when they first met, where he is unsettled and burning brightly underneath a very heavy layer of self-control. "That's yours. We need it."

"What are you--" The fortune-teller begins a question, standing back from the table, but Robin cuts her off.

"I told you," he says curtly up at her, "We're leaving now."

Phalanx listens and finishes dissolving. They don't nod, but they obediently clutch up the card and melt in Robin's direction--helpfully, this time.

They're mumbling something as they find their feet, and they don't sound particularly happy about it (a little like the woman's tone, actually) but the words aren't anything real. They're jumbled and disappointed, and they still want direction. So, the spirits murmur and sulk and come apart, but finally follow where the gleaming presence of Robin wants to lead them.

That's fine, that's good. As long as they continue holding on to that card, Robin will guide them and all of their blankets safely out towards the door.

"You might need to get another pack of cards," he calls back over his shoulder at the fortune teller, "You can bother Vincent if you've got a problem with that."

The street outside is blinding compared to the dimly-lit interior of the tent. It spills in as Robin lifts up the tent flap and pushes them back out into the busy market, where significantly more people have come out for their morning routines, looking for fresh deals and doing their chore of shopping for the day.

There's a sort of constant, whirring buzz in the air now, as people of all shapes and sizes pass by them on the street. It could either be overwhelming or strangely soothing, depending on how the waves of busying noise wash over the brain.

Robin keeps Phalanx snugged close again and starts to walk them away from the tent... But now that they're out of the tent, he calms down considerably, sinking calmly back into the crowd and leading them somewhere a little quieter.

"Well, okay," he begins, after they'd wandered only a few feet from the tent, "That was a little more dramatic than I was expecting. That woman drives me crazy, though."

He doesn't sound very sorry about what happened.

The card is presumably safe, but as it has already disappeared into layers of fabric, along with Phalanx's hands, it's hard to tell for sure.

Phalanx is continuing to be cooperative by letting themself be led along, but they're almost pushing the other end of the spectrum by leaning on Robin and seeming a little reluctant to use their own legs. Standing up under their own power just doesn't seem to be very appealing at the moment.

"Drives her crazy," they seem to correct. "You're always driving."

That gets a short laugh out of Robin--was that supposed to be a compliment, or an insult? Either way, he can't entirely disagree with them.

He does feel a little bad for how this morning has gone. It's already been a lot more... exciting than he was expecting. Eventful, at the very least. And after watching Phalanx run through what seems like half-a-dozen identities, several memories, and more interactions with normal humans than either of them were ready for, he can understand their exhaustion.

So, once they make it out of the busy part of the market and begin to skirt the quieter parts of the cave, Robin scoops all of them up in his arms and carries them as if they were no lighter than the blankets they're wrapped in.

"Thank you, Phalanx." He wants to let them know that they did well, even if their understanding of the situation is scattered and drifting. "Want to go back to Vincent's place?"

Phalanx seems a little surprised to be scooped up like that, but in all honestly, it isn't much more or less surprised than they are at most things. And once the shock of it settles, being carried is just one more point of solidity that they're drawn to like an especially photophilic moth to a flame.

But when they can't actually hunker down and melt into Robin's chest, they just do what they can to try and wrap any loose edges of blanket around themself.

"Go into the trees." Er... "Tree. One tree."

Robin smiles, doing what he can to help Phalanx get comfortable in his arms. No one pays them much attention here on the edges; it's easy to assume that Robin is just carrying around a bundle of clothing and blankets.

"That's right, the tree." He remembers their conversation from earlier, when he asked Phalanx what they thought of Vincent, "We'll sit in the shade for a bit. I bet he's not even awake yet."

Though, this time, a memory flashes across his mind. It had been trivial at the time, but he had once dragged an unconscious, bleeding Vincent through the forest on the outskirts of the town. The sun had been shining through the canopy of leaves overhead. The birds called out to both of them, the trees whispered their names to each other. It had been when Vincent lost his eyes. He'd left such a dramatic trail of blood all over the forest floor.

"...Hey, Phalanx," he starts asking, leading them back towards a service elevator, "Have you been up to the forest outside the city?"

"Forest. Forest..." Phalanx mumbles uncomfortably, before a string of words begin to compulsively spell out of them.

"Outside of the city. We played. We cut trees. Build a house. Paper. Chop... a lot of it. In big stacks. Stack it right. The right way. If it runs out, we'll freeze..."

Robin, who is at this point getting used to Phalanx's strange, rambling answers to questions, listens to them go on about chopping wood in preparation for winter. At least, that's what he assumes they're talking about.

"No, not right now. It's the middle of spring."

He doesn't say this to correct them, necessarily, but rather to assure them that this isn't something they should have to think about right now. His question is answered, sort of. It sounds like Phalanx has been out in the woods, but maybe not Robin's woods.

"I'd just wondered if the people up there might know who you are."

Phalanx opens their eyes and looks up. Big, bottomless eyes looking all the way up--like they had done when Robin had asked them why they were where they were when he'd first found them. They look at things that can't possibly been seen with mundane, mortal eyes.

"Up there? Why? Did they die?"

Edited 2018-09-30 06:06 (UTC)

"Hm."

That's the short answer. Between this and the number they'd mentioned earlier, he's starting to see a theme.

"Sometimes, but not more than usual." He tilts his head a little while he ponders over the thought. Their magics are both foreign, and the people above know a lot about the mysterious ways of the world... but with a comment like that, Robin doubts that they'd know much more about his pale friend than he does.

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