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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"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.

"Cousins, maybe? We had cousins..."

But other than that, Phalanx doesn't see why the people up there might know them any better than anyone else does. And with that, the dissolved, waterlogged flood of memories add to the fatigue they were already feeling, and their face burrows down into fabric.

Unless Robin has anymore questions, they'll just be down here, being blankets.

That's fine with Robin. He accepts the silence, leading them through the innards of the caverns without trying to drag any more conversation out of them. He gets the feeling that they've already done a lot more talking than they're used to.

He stops at a couple of places on the way, but the events of those meetings are largely insignificant, and none of the people he talks to seem at all interested in the fact that he's carrying a large bundle of person around.

It's nearing the middle of the day as Robin finally brings them both back to Vincent's apartment. The door is unlocked (as it usually is), and they enter the dark, quiet, familiar living room almost as if they'd never left.

"Hey," Robin calls out to the apartment, in case his friend is awake, "We're back."

Phalanx is very happy not to resurface during any of that. Robin knows exactly how much discomfort they're in after such busy, disquieting hours--the bones of their psyche have been pushed too far in too many directions. Their memory and mentality might be more flexible after being so stirred-up, but the side-effects are painful and exhausting.

There's tangible relief once they finally retreat somewhere quiet and familiar. "Back, back, back..." Phalanx murmurs into the blankets.

Robin hums as if agreeing with Phalanx before gracefully nudging the door closed behind both of them with his heel. There's also a grunt in response from the direction of the bedroom, making it sound like Vincent really may not have gotten out of bed after all.

"I brought food," Robin calls out again, maneuvering a bag he'd picked up on the way home over towards the nearest flat surface. Vincent grunts again, but that may just be his reaction to anything Robin says when the man is mostly-sleeping.

He goes to drop his other bodily cargo off on the couch, setting them down slowly so as not to jostle them out of whatever peace they'd found while travelling.

"How are you feeling?" A simple question, stemming more from curiosity than from worry.

The bundle murmurs and jostles itself a little as it moves around on the couch until it's small and comfortable again. The spirits don't like being away from Robin, but they're quick to find their own center to curl up around again.

"We're feeling," Phalanx confirms. They appear sleepy, looking forward at nothing with tired eyes, but they sound surprisingly present. "But with... old things. Skin and eyes and ears and fingers."

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