psychoshenanigans | 13th Cycle // Continued Thread

[He is, likewise, beat-to-shit and painfully hungover. But while Irahl's journey back to the ship is a blurry slog, Vincent's has been more of a rollercoaster--and not just because he's been fighting off constant nausea ever since becoming conscious.

His initial scare came shortly after waking up. As he tried to remember any of what got him into this sorry state, the first things to come to mind were them playing pool, and then moving out to the lawn, and then starting to fight. Out of the blurry memories came a sudden panic that he may have lost control and murdered his only friend, followed by waves of relief when Irahl showed signs of life and responded to his questions, however minimally. He didn't push, since he wasn't exactly in state where he could help--and for once, he couldn't smell much to really confirm how bad it was. The front of his face was generally a bit of a horror show, he was pretty sure he'd broken his nose.

As fucked up as he was, he made sure that Irahl got into his shuttle first before he finally hauled his own sorry ass into his. Sitting in that little pod was almost worse than standing had been, because there was nothing to do on the journey back to their ship than think about how fucking awful he felt. His head was pounding, it hurt to breathe, his face was swollen, his hands were mangled... And when he tried not to think about his body, his mind would just start re-playing what it could remember of the night before. He said a bunch of embarrassing things. And then he beat the shit out of his friend in some kind of a drunken bloodlust, and then they...

Oh, he was mortified when he realized that they did more than just fight. He spent the rest of the shuttle ride trying desperately not to remember the details.

By the time he made it back onto the Eclipse, the other man was already heading for the showers. Vincent didn't have the heart to interrupt him, torn between wanting to know if he was okay and not wanting to admit that anything happened in the first place, lest it become more true. He tried to busy around a little bit, but he was in too much pain to keep at it for long, and wound up slumped against a wall in the hallway, head down against his knees, waiting for Irahl to come back out so that he could have a turn.

When the other guy finally remerged, Vincent picked his head up enough to try and ask if he was doing okay--but the response he got in return was short, and he felt immediately sickened by the thought of trying to pursue it further. Defeated, he finally slunk into the shower room to clean himself off.

The shower helped calm him down a little, at least. It helped to know he was getting all the blood off of him. He stood in the icy water until everything had gone numb, and then stood in it for a while longer. But in that quiet space, zoning out under the spray until his body didn't sting as badly, he kept remembering. Each new detail felt worse than the last. What must Irahl think of him now? Why did he do that? Why did he do any of it? He can remember what it felt like, and he didn't feel in control, but he also didn't feel not in control, and...

As Vincent finally leaves the shower, a towel over his head and a number of bandages over the things that wouldn't stop bleeding, he feels pretty guilty. He doesn't know if Irahl is okay. He's afraid that he'd violated their relationship in some way. And he's still incredibly confused about how much he didn't hate it. However, he is also extremely tired, and his entire body is screaming for him to stop moving and start being horizontal as soon as possible.

He stops briefly in the the galley before heading back to the bunk room. Once he's through the doorway, he's faced by a couple more challenging thoughts--firstly being, now that he has some sense of smell back, he knows that Irahl is still bleeding, and he doesn't feel particularly compelled by the scent. He'd braced himself for the usual reaction, but nothing came.

Secondly, as he walks closer to Irahl's bunk, he realizes that he can pinpoint a couple of the other's injuries near his neck, which cause Vincent to suddenly remember that he fucking bit him. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with him?

He tries to keep this off of his face, not manifesting more than a slight frown as he completes his task. He sets a tall glass of ice water on the floor next to Irahl's bunk, within arm's reach should the guy want it.]

Here.

[He has one for himself as well, which he takes back with him to begin the painful process of lowering his own broken body down into his own bunk.]

[To Irahl's great misfortune, though his entire body and soul felt more exhausted than he'd been in months, sleep did not feel even remotely attainable right now. Between the vaguely-nauseating way the room rotated slowly around him (was he somehow still drunk??) and the jolts of memory that would hit him whenever his brain relaxed, he'd quickly given up hope of retreating to unconsciousness. So, Irahl had been in the process of chasing the next best thing by zoning out as far from his body as he could get, when the sound of Vincent's voice yanks him back to the present.

It's a little disorienting to suddenly find the other man that close. Vincent isn't looming over him by any means, but being caught without having been wary of his approach first, lying down here with injuries and without so much as sleeves on, let alone armor and cloak, still hits Irahl with a pang of vulnerability.

He spends a couple seconds being very glad that Vincent can't see him--looking a little startled, a mural of bruises and injuries, with almost every scale he has on display--before he catches up to what the other man has left on the floor for him.

Vincent doesn't get a word or a sound of response, but Irahl does carefully lean over to take a drink. And damn does that ice feel good on his mouth, despite the shock of pain that it sends through his battered nerves first.]

[Vincent finally settles down into his bunk with a sound that lands somewhere between a groan and a pained sigh. He's leaves the water cup balanced on his chest for a long time before he finally works up to taking a sip.

In the meantime, he tries to think of what to say. How to ask. Where to even begin. Maybe it would be better if he just didn't say anything. His mind wanders to how it had all started--thinks of making some joke about this being a weirdly high price for a few bags of chips. It doesn't land well in his head, but it does remind him of something that suddenly does make him laugh.

The laugh is quiet and pretty quickly replaced by a tight cough (he thinks one of his ribs is... bruised or out-of-place or something), but he'll say aloud:]

So, that's how you play pool...

[If Vincent had gotten over his worry of maybe nearly killing Irahl before, he should maybe worry again, as Irahl fully chokes on his ice water.

Well, most of his mouthful of water gets cough-laughed back into his glass. The rest goes lung-ward. There's no time to tell his brain that he technically can't drown.

The glass rattles against the metal floor as he fumbles to put it back down without spilling it, while rolling over to cough into his arm at the same time. He needs a minute.

When he's finally able to drag air into his lungs again, he needs another few moments to ride out the jagged spasms running through his ribs (yeah, he remembers now, something bad had happened in there), before he can speak. His voice has a pathetic rasp to it when he finally does.]

...Who won?

[Vincent immediately covers his mouth with his hand, concealing some of his surprise, dismay, and a little bit of delight that he at least got Irahl to laugh. He apologizes several quiet times behind his fingers, having genuinely not meant for anyone to nearly choke to death.

But hey, he got a response. That's also good. Vincent moves from holding his mouth to holding his head, fighting the headache that's starting to return.]

Funny thing, think it's technically a tie. Guess we'll have to have a tiebreaker sometime.

[He says it in good humor, and then immediately regrets that it left his mouth. It sounds stupid. Irahl's not going to want to play with him again right after this game ended in both of them getting clobbered.]

[Part of Irahl's mind can't help but interpret Vincent's comment a certain way, (especially with how things tended to go in his previous imprisonment,) and wonders exactly where one would say the "pool game" had actually ended. And the rest of Irahl's brain works on bludgeoning all of that back into whatever mental corner he can find with a pointed and mortified fervor.

Even thinking about Vincent's comment in a way that doesn't make his entire being recoil is a lot right now. It's funny for a couple of seconds, but then it continues to exist as something that has been said out loud. They've officially addressed that anything from the pool game onward had happened at all, and there's no going back from that.

So, now that his glass has been safety returned to the floor and he can breathe again, Irahl retreats to the shelter of his bunk. He groans uncomfortably as he tries to find a settled place that doesn't hurt too badly. He wants to fall back on his usual defense mechanism of draping his arm over his eyes, but everything is far too banged-up for that.

He considers not answering Vincent at all, but leaving an awkward silence feels like a much worse option.]

Dunno. Don't think pool is my thing.

[The funny thing is that Vincent really had just meant his comment to be about the pool game; it ended in a tie because neither of them actually won. But part of his berating himself is in realizing that of course no one in their positions would take it that way. It's hard not to think of everything weighted that happened after.

So, Irahl's comment makes sense. It makes him sad, but it makes sense. The ice in Vincent's cup rattles a little as he brings the thing up to his forehead, using the base of it as a makeshift icepack.]

If it helps, most pool don't end with the players clobberin' each other...

[He meant that to be a humorous comment as well, but the last of his smile fades as he fails to find it particularly funny himself. He mostly just feels bad for that and what came after (though he's likewise trying not to think about it). He wants to try to explain himself, but he can't think of an explanation that doesn't sound awful in one way or another. After another awkward silence, he tries to at least say something.]

Hey man, I don't really... I dunno how to apologize, but... I think I got kind of out-of-control down there, and m'sorry if it's... If I...

[He kind of trails off there for a long moment, because he's not sure whether to say that he's sorry if he freaked him out, or sorry if he made him uncomfortable, or if he ruined their friendship, because he's mostly sure that at least one of those is true, but he doesn't know which one and he doesn't really want to imply any of them.]

[Lying there on his back, (because lying on his side would hurt, with a brutal bruise on one shoulder and claw-marks on his opposite hip,) staring at the underside of the bunk above him and unable to get away as Vincent begins to gradually unspool an apology, a sick, weird weight begins to settle in the center of his chest. Unable to even cover his face to hide from it, the feeling gradually crushes him until his lungs feel flat and lifeless. It's a familiar feeling, but too old to put a name to.

He sounds like some of the life has drained from him by the time he answers, once he's sure that Vincent has rambled to a stop. His voice is just as flat and lifeless as he feels.]

It happens.

[His heart sinks a little, hearing that flat answer. He's immediately sure that he's just making everything worse. He wants to respond immediately, say that it shouldn't happen if he doesn't want it, or even just... Admitting he had a nice time, to try to look on the bright side, but... He holds his tongue and lays there in his bunk with his eyes closed, with a broken nose and a headache and stupid glass of water on his head.

There's just... Too much to handle. And he still doesn't know how Irahl feels. He finally gives up, realizing he probably just needs to shut up and figure out how he feels about everything himself before trying to make amends.]

Okay. I'll shut up an' let you rest.

[He moves his cup back down to the ground. Maybe he'll try to get some rest himself, not that he really feels like sleeping right now either.]

[It's for the best.

They should both rest and deal with this after the dust has settled. That has always been the way to go, for Irahl, if leaving before the dust has settled isn't an option.

The relief of them both being allowed to rest begins to change fairly quickly, however. While he lays there wondering if Vincent will be able to sleep, the feeling shifts toward quietly and desperately hoping that he does, because that sunken feeling in Irahl's chest gets worse almost as soon as the silence settles.

A few minutes in, and the feeling of internal collapse becomes the feeling of compression. It's like he's slowly caving in until there isn't enough room for his heart and lungs to fit and fill properly. He doesn't need a lot of air, but there in the stillness of the room, he feels like he's running out of it anyway.

Whether or not Vincent has miraculously fallen asleep by that point, Irahl eventually levers himself up as unobtrusively as he can until he's sitting on the edge of the bed.

He should go somewhere. He wants to go somewhere. But his head is pounding and his chest is tight and he's basically in his underwear and there's nowhere to go anyway.

So, he props whatever part of his face hurts the least down on the heel of his hand, sits there, and just breathes for a minute.]

[Of course Vincent hasn't fallen asleep. Breathing feels like a chore. His head is still swimming with half-remembered sounds and sensations, and he's trying, with very little success, to pick apart any of it without getting emotional. He shouldn't be thinking about it at all, but his frazzled mind is trying to overcompensate for how devastatingly uncertain everything feels.

When he hears Irahl getting up, he doesn't really move... But he's immediately alert, listening intently. His guilt and unease are momentarily silenced as he tries to hear if something is wrong. Or if whatever's happening is starting to get worse.]

[Irahl isn't typically one for hyperventilation, but for someone with good enough hearing, his breath at least has the careful, overly-measured sound of someone who is focusing very hard on keeping it even.

He would love to be able to walk this off or at least curl up into his usual disassociating stance, but this is as far as he can withdraw. He just has to wrestle himself into calming down right here--mostly out in the open, with another person in the room.]

[Yeah... It's not getting better. For just a moment, he tries to think through if his presence would make things worse, but he's never been good at thinking. He's compelled to help, one of the few instincts he's never been able to ignore, no matter how bad of an idea it may or may not be.]

Irahl, hey...

[Lucky for the other guy, Vincent's approach will be slow as he has to gingerly lift himself up out of the bunk. Once he's up, he grabs the blanket that he's still stubbornly keeping at the end of his bed, crosses their little room, and goes to drape the thing gently over Irahl's shoulders.]

[It's both kind of Vincent and startling when he says Irahl's name, warning him of the approach. Irahl doesn't glance up, not moving an inch from his carefully-maintained state of face down on one hand, but his attention is at least brought over to the sound of Vincent heading his way. He can only spare part of his focus to wonder what he's planning, so he's surprised again when a blanket settles gently around his shoulders.

Irahl doesn't react well (or at all) to most offers of help. This one, however, at least gets one tense sigh in amongst all of the other strictly-ordered breathing. He is desperately relieved to have one thin piece of armor added onto his sorry state.

Despite his embarrassment for being caught like this (again?), he'd like to thank him. Can't quite manage it yet.]

[Well, a lot like the last time, hearing a sigh is a lot better than being punched. Vincent will take that as a good sign.

He kneels down at the edge of the bed (with a grimace, but he gets there), trying his best to be unobtrusive. He doesn't have the power to dampen his presence like Irahl does, but he has a soft voice and a calm demeanor, and sometimes that works just as well.]

Hey, bud. How can I help...? [Irahl had shared that little music player with him when he was freaking out. Come to think of it, Vincent doesn't remember hearing him put those in like he normally does. Realizing this, he asks:] ...Where's your music thing? Is it with your other stuff?

[Irahl would love to tell Vincent that it's okay, he's got this, forget about it--anything. This is his struggle in response to Vincent's first question, until it is suddenly followed up with Vincent then giving him something extremely easy to answer and that he desperately wants.

It doesn't keep him from hating himself any less for it, however.]

--The box.

The box...

[Okay, that's probably... The box of stuff from the station. Maybe it's in the kitchen, or maybe it hasn't even left the back of Irahl's shuttle--but it's a concrete goal that he thinks he can handle.]

Got it. I'll get it. You sit tight for a few, okay?

[Not that Irahl seems like he could really get anywhere in a hurry. Vincent gives his arm a gentle touch (afraid to pat him in case he's secretly got a big bruise there), then stands back up to go search for that missing music player. He'll leave Irahl with a little time to himself, for better or for worse.]

[Yeah, Irahl gets both better and worse while Vincent is away. It's both.

On one hand, it's a relief to have room to be a little bit less okay, so he's better able to grapple with the strangling feeling wrapped around his chest. On the other hand, however, Vincent continuing to be bafflingly patient and kind makes the sucker-punch feeling in his chest get worse. The touch on his arm especially sinks him, right now.

Outwardly, Irahl doesn't to seem to have changed much by the time that Vincent returns. A little calmer, maybe.]

[Thankfully, Vincent checks the closest sensible location first. It doesn't take him that long to find the box of snacks left out on the galley table, and searching through that reveals the music player and accompanying headphones without a problem.

He returns, doesn't hear any immediate difference with Irahl, and judges that it's probably safe to come over and offer up the guy's music player. And once it's delivered, he automatically goes to have a seat (slowly, again) at the end of the other's bed, as if that's just a normal place to sit in these kinds of situations.

He'll give him a moment, see how this goes.]

[Irahl has always been as unobtrusive or as unnoticed as possible when having a bad time, so he goes through the ritual of starting up his music without a problem, and takes a minute to himself while giving little outward sign that there's still something wrong. His breathing isn't quite so tense, and he seems downright calm compared to trying to claw out his own augment.

Inside is a mess, however. He hates that he can tell he's glad that Vincent doesn't walk back to his own side of the room, when he should be wanting nothing but for the other man to get as far away from him as possible, right now.

It's bad enough in there that--by the time enough music shocks into his head that he's able to calm down another couple steps--he makes the realization that he really needs to say something. He's actually at a level of not-okay that he can't ignore, and this results in one of those dizzying looks at himself and his whole situation that he spends so much time and energy avoiding.

Eventually, he sighs in defeat, and shifts in a sort of off-kilter way--uncomfortably shrugging one shoulder forward.]

Do you... ever feel like this place isn't real, sometimes?

[Vincent waits, patiently. He actually lays down, at a point, with his feet planted firmly on the floor, because sitting up is way too uncomfortable an experience right now.

He's a little surprised to hear a question, but he's grateful to hear Irahl trying to voice anything. It's not a hard question for Vincent to answer.]

Yeah, sometimes. Hard to believe it ain't a dream, every now an' again.

[Irahl fully realizes that he has picked a wild place to start any sort of conversation from, but he's glad that Vincent at least answers mostly in the affirmative. It gives him a place to start. He might have dropped the attempt completely if Vincent had said no.

Like other things that are difficult or complicated for Irahl to put into words, it takes him a minute, slowly and awkwardly picking his way through the thought on the fly. At least he has been preemptively reassured that the man he's trying to talk to is incredibly patient.]

Yeah. It's been... uh. Hard to keep in mind. That it's real.

[He moves his shoulder in an antsy way again, like his skin is uncomfortable.]

Sounds weird, but normally I have... There's this sense. All the time. But I don't really have it out here.

[And he pauses there, not because he's expecting a response or because his thought is finished, but he's hearing the words as they're leaving his mouth and is despairing, as they're making even less sense out loud than they had in his head.]

[The mood of this is actually very familiar to Vincent, reminding him strikingly of strange, faltering conversations he would have with his smarter half. There was always a level of inherent vulnerability to them--and it's present here as well, he assumes--just in the fact that they let him listen to their struggling to describe something that they feel is important. Genuine vulnerability is something that he really values, and so he has the utmost respect and patience for it here, just the same as he did back home.

Besides, it's not so hard to understand. He hesitates to answer, but it's not because he's confused. If anything, he sounds... Amazed?]

No, I... I get it, I've got one too, normally. It's been gone since I got here...

[Maybe it hasn't fully sunk in for Vincent yet, the fact that they're both monsters, and that they've probably had a lot of the same life experiences.]

Edited (this is the extra space police, open up!) 2023-12-06 05:16 (UTC)

[It also hadn't dawned on Irahl that Vincent might understand him on something like this, if only because the few times he had confided in other creatures like himself, they hadn't seemed to be able to relate. He'd always thought this was a him thing. And even if whatever Vincent is talking about isn't exactly the same, it's still close enough to what's going on with him now to count for something.

Irahl also sounds tentative then, but it's a mix of confusion and wary amazement. Like he's hesitant to believe Vincent's response.]

Really? ...It's a feeling that's like...

[First, he pauses because he starts to lift his hand to gesture in an effort to explain, before remembering that Vincent can't see. Then, the pause becomes him opting not to try describe it with words either, in the event that he'll immediately run into more ways that they're different than they are the same, and he doesn't want that right now.]

...I'm used to it always being there. So without it, it's like. Floating. Or dreaming.

[Vincent isn't completely sure if Irahl gives up trying to explain, or if what he eventually ends up saying is his description of the feeling, but it doesn't matter to him much either way. He nods--though he quickly stops, because his head and his neck still both hurt.]

Yeah, same. That's... Exactly what it's been like.

["Floating" is a good way to put it. He would extrapolate, but as... Exciting as this is, he also doesn't want to steamroll past whatever Irahl may or may not be trying to say with all this.]

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